One of the abilities Rowan Mercer now possessed allowed him to manipulate open flames within roughly thirty meters.
He could ignite flammable objects, draw existing fire toward himself, or cause streams of flame to rise from empty air.
On its own, the power was straightforward.
But Rowan had already pushed it far beyond its intended design.
Through experimentation, he discovered he could reshape those flames according to principles taken from other worlds.
Not just ordinary fire.
He could alter its nature into cursed flame that gnawed at both flesh and spirit.
He could create soul-scorching fire that bypassed physical defenses.
He could even mimic draconic fire or specialized flames that carried additional lethality against divine beings.
None of these existed naturally in this world.
They were translations.
Adaptations.
The more Rowan studied this world's underlying laws, the more systems he could bridge together.
Just like he once converted one world's magic into a form compatible with another.
Given enough time, he would eventually be able to convert all of his internal energy into this world's usable format, massively strengthening any ability tied to it.
Time was the key.
And Rowan had plenty of it.
"Going out like this… feels a little too obvious."
Rowan hopped down from his crib and looked at himself in the mirror.
Small body.
Soft features.
Unmistakably an infant.
He shook his head.
"I need at least a basic disguise."
He rummaged through the wardrobe and pulled out a winter baby cloak his mother had bought in advance. He wrapped it around himself, then tied a black scarf across his face, leaving only his eyes visible.
"Better than nothing."
He checked the mirror again and nodded.
No matter how he dressed, his size would still draw attention.
But at least people wouldn't immediately identify him as a six-month-old baby.
Most would assume he was a frail, unusually short child.
If someone felt suspicious, so be it.
The disguise was only meant to fool ordinary people.
Not supernatural practitioners.
Especially not members of the major churches.
The Seven Churches were the most powerful forces in this world.
Yet their gods had not descended in a very long time.
Rowan suspected those beings were occupied keeping far worse things at bay.
Which meant the strongest active practitioners in the world were likely only a step or two below true godhood.
Even without using any energy, Rowan's physical body alone was enough to keep him safe.
More importantly, if he wanted to learn about this world as quickly as possible, interacting with the churches might actually be beneficial.
They had knowledge.
Records.
History.
As long as Rowan did not reveal the true nature of his power, no god would detect that he came from outside this world.
He had already crossed paths with Night Church operatives before.
He often moved across rooftops at night.
If the gods had noticed him, they likely only found him strange.
Not threatening.
And since no one had come looking for him, that meant one thing.
He was still beneath their radar.
"Flame Step."
Fire blossomed around Rowan's feet.
He vanished.
Flame Step was one of the Magician's mobility abilities.
Within thirty meters, Rowan could blink between existing flames or sparks he had previously planted.
A short-range teleport that depended on fire.
While shifting, ordinary flames could not harm him.
Once the movement ended, fire returned to being fire.
Stay in it too long, and you would still burn.
Rowan had refined the technique.
He created a tiny spark high above his house.
Jumped to it.
Then created another spark farther ahead.
Jumped again.
By repeating this process, he could simulate long-distance movement without ever touching the ground.
Normal Magicians could never sustain this.
Their bodies would collapse after a handful of jumps.
Rowan ignored such limits entirely.
Dusk still lingered.
The streets were full of people.
Traveling by rooftop would have been far too noticeable.
After hundreds of chained Flame Steps, Rowan arrived at the dock district of Tingen City.
The city's underground supernatural market operated here.
Inside a place called the Black Drake Bar.
The owner, Swain, was a retired enforcer from the Storm Church.
He had stopped advancing out of fear of losing control.
Now he ran the bar, providing neutral ground and protection for supernatural trades.
In exchange, he took five percent of every deal.
All of this came from the clown killer's memories.
It made sense.
Better a controlled market than scattered illegal dealings.
Not only supernatural practitioners came here.
Occult hobbyists did as well.
Most had no real understanding of what they were buying.
But sometimes, what looked like junk to them was priceless to the right person.
Rowan appeared inside a narrow alley across from the bar and took a step forward.
Then stopped.
"…Someone's fighting."
His ears twitched.
"Let's take a look."
Rowan dissolved into flame and reappeared atop a thick pillar near the pier.
Below him, on the deck of a cargo ship, five supernatural practitioners were surrounding a scaled creature.
One of them was familiar.
The same young man Rowan had seen at the warehouse.
The one with the strange inner realm.
Rowan listened closely.
The "monster" was not a monster.
It was human.
A former enforcer from the Storm Church.
He had lost control.
Turned into a mindless killing thing.
To prevent it from escaping the docks and slaughtering civilians, Swain had brought another enforcer and recruited two Night Church operatives who happened to be trading at the Black Drake Bar.
They were here to put him down.
Rowan watched in silence as power clashed and blood splattered across wet wood.
"…What a cruel world."
He exhaled softly.
"Gaining power here really is a miserable business."
...
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