Gravity Mage with Level-Up System

From MC's Perspective:

Don Blaire stood at the center of the square, towering over his five servants, each dressed in impeccably tailored black tuxedos. The sharp contrast of their formal attire against the bustling, sunlit street made them appear even more intimidating.

Their faces were expressionless, but beneath their composed exteriors, one could sense the barely contained power. Each servant had a strength that ranged from level 6 to level 8, and the sheer aura they exuded was enough to make the air feel heavy.

As soon as they arrived, the atmosphere shifted. The buzz of the street vanished, replaced by an unsettling silence. Passersby, sensing the impending storm, scattered with haste, clearing the area in mere moments. It was as if everyone knew, without needing to be told, that something dangerous was about to unfold.

The tension in the air was palpable. Eyes darted towards the scene, watching from behind windows or distant alleys, but no one dared to stay close. Conflict was imminent.

Amidst the charged atmosphere, I remained calm, turning my gaze from Don Blaire and his imposing entourage towards Gloria, who stood by my side.

"Miss Gloria, can you show me the way to any hotel? From here on, I'll manage on my own," I said, my voice steady and unwavering, though my departure in such a tense moment was unexpected.

Gloria's eyes widened in disbelief. She hadn't anticipated me, Vincent Carey, to make such a bold move. The street was dangerous, but leaving now—while Don Blaire was standing before us—seemed almost reckless. Her gaze flickered nervously between Don and his servants, concern etched on her face.

Don Blaire, sensing the shift in her expression, smirked, his voice dripping with condescension. "It's good to see you know your place. Unnecessary bloodshed won't be required," he sneered, convinced that my calm departure was rooted in fear.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

He regarded me for a moment before shifting his focus entirely to Gloria. "Gloria," he said with a patronizing tone, "He doesn't need your assistance. The Falcon Hotel is just at the end of the street. He'll find it easily enough."

"Falcon Hotel," Gloria repeated, her voice cold as ice. The name clearly held weight, and I could tell that she wasn't pleased. Don had ties to that establishment, and it was no simple recommendation. She was about to protest, her lips parting to speak, but before she could utter a word, I cut her off.

"Alright, I'm going. Thank you for your help," I said with finality.

Without waiting for further discussion, I turned on my heel and began walking down the street. My eyes remained focused on my goal, the end of the street where the Falcon Hotel awaited. Behind me, I could feel their gazes—Don's smug expression, Gloria's anxious stare, and the tension radiating from the still, powerful figures of Don's servants.

The street ahead seemed long, but my steps were sure. Whatever lay at the end, I would face it on my own terms.

Gloria's instinct was to intervene, to stop Vincent from walking headfirst into danger. She opened her mouth, but as her gaze fell on Don Blaire and his formidable servants, she hesitated. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

These men, with their steely eyes and controlled strength, were not to be trifled with. She knew better than to get too deeply involved, especially with Don's reputation looming over the entire city.

She had already risked enough by helping Vincent secure a temporary ID, which was no small favor in itself. To her, Vincent was just a passerby, a stranger caught up in something far bigger than he likely realized. She couldn't afford to be entangled in whatever came next. With a sigh, she clenched her fists and forced herself to let him go, even though every instinct told her not to.

But in her decision to pull back, she had made a grave miscalculation. Gloria thought that by allowing Vincent to leave without interference, Don would lose interest. Yet, she underestimated Don Blaire's vindictive nature. The idea that a mere stranger had crossed paths with him—without fear—irked him more than she imagined.

He had no intention of letting Vincent walk away unscathed. Don didn't know who Vincent really was, but that didn't matter. To him, it was about control, dominance. This man had dared to remain composed in front of him, and that couldn't be ignored.

Don's decision to hold off for now wasn't mercy—it was strategy. The Falcon Hotel had ties to him, giving him leverage. He thought to deal with Vincent later, on his own terms, when it suited him best. For now, the stranger would be allowed to think he had walked away freely.

Gloria, however, wasn't privy to Don's internal scheming. Frustration gnawed at her as she glanced at Don one last time. His smug expression made her skin crawl. She couldn't bear to stay in his presence any longer. With an angry glare, she turned and briskly walked away, heading toward her family's estate. Being around Don had always left her feeling suffocated, and today was no different.

Don Blaire watched her leave with an indifferent shrug. Her defiance didn't surprise him—he had seen it before. The moment she was out of sight, his expression darkened. He signaled to his servants, his voice low but commanding.

"Follow him," he ordered, nodding toward Vincent's retreating figure. "Keep your distance, but make sure he doesn't get too comfortable."

Two of his servants silently stepped forward, their faces unreadable. Without a word, they began trailing Vincent, moving through the shadows like hunters tracking their prey. The remaining three stood at attention, awaiting their next command.

Satisfied, Don adjusted the cufflinks on his jacket and turned to leave with his remaining entourage. The onlookers, who had hoped for more excitement, murmured in disappointment. They had expected a showdown, a clash of titans, but instead, they were left with nothing but the eerie calm that followed Don's departure.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, whispers of what had transpired lingered in the air. Don Blaire's presence always had a way of leaving an impression, even when nothing explosive happened—at least, not yet.

On the other hand, I found myself surprisingly at ease as I walked along the cobblestone street. The city was bustling, yet it felt calm—like a world where conflict and danger were far from anyone's mind. I took in the surroundings with keen interest, marveling at the architecture that lined both sides of the road.

It was a sight unlike anything I had seen before. The buildings were robust, made of large marble stones, something I had only ever seen in castles back home. Here, even the simplest structures were carved from granite-like stone, giving the entire city an air of durability and grandeur.

As I walked, my eyes flicked to the locals. They were dressed in what appeared to be traditional garb, though it varied so widely that I couldn't tell which outfits signified importance or rank. Back in my homeland, it was easy to tell who was who.

Merchants followed their own dress code, with fine fabrics and specific colors indicating wealth and status. The City Guards, on the other hand, wore their uniforms with pride, a clear indicator of their authority. Even common folk from the capital and its outskirts had their own styles, easily recognizable.

But here, it was different. The people's professions and statuses seemed to blur together. There were no clear-cut distinctions, and it left me guessing at who they were, what they did, and how they fit into the life of this strange city. Even so, I found it fascinating, absorbing the sights and the subtle nuances of their culture as I continued down the street.

Suddenly, a sharp ding echoed in my mind, followed by the mechanical voice I had grown accustomed to.

[Ding! Warning]

[Host, a few Wizards are stalking you.]

The message caused my eyes to flicker momentarily with surprise. I hadn't sensed them, but the system's warning was clear. Without missing a step, I let my expression remain calm, my pace unhurried.

There was no need to alert anyone around me—or the stalkers themselves—that I had caught on to their game. It wasn't unexpected. I should have known that Don Blaire wouldn't simply let me walk away without keeping an eye on me.

But I wasn't worried. I had prepared for this eventuality, and if they thought they could catch me off guard, they were sorely mistaken. Still, there was no reason to draw attention to myself just yet. I kept my focus ahead, maintaining the same steady pace as I moved toward the Falcon Hotel, now not just a place to stay but a potential stage for what was to come.

The city remained lively around me, but beneath that calm surface, the tension was beginning to rise.

The two servants were calm, their pace leisurely and unconcerned. They seemed indifferent to the target, yet they still followed their master's orders out of fear of retribution.