An essence battery. I couldn’t believe it. They were easily as illegal as mana pots, if not more so. Originally, they had been created so that next-of-kin could absorb the mana from the deceased family member’s corpse, thus allowing the cultivation efforts to continue through the generations. The first ones were crude, inefficient things, but by the 1950s the tech had become powerful… and dangerous.

It meant that generations of family members could fast-track progression, granting potentially massive power boosts to young people who inherited the essence of a powerful cultivator. It also created yet another problem for wills and estate lawyers to sort out. And for those who weren’t smart enough to handle their wills—which were a surprising number of people—their collected essence, stored in batteries, had become resources for the state to use to boost the power of their enlisted cultivators.

Essence batteries were a great idea initially, but the tech had soon been implemented for more nefarious purposes, particularly as they became more and more efficient. A small number of rogue cultivators gained dangerous levels of power quickly, and caused all kinds of trouble. In response, global governments did what they usually did; they banned essence batteries for everyone because of those few who used them for immoral ends.

Even though I had no problem with them in theory, since I myself used illegal magic, I couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t the fact that Astrid’s essence battery was illegal which caused this discomfort. It was that she was using it to absorb the residual mana from a person she’d just killed.

Scratch that, I corrected myself. A person I’d just killed.

Fuck me. I was a murderer. Well, not a murderer. It had been self-defense.

So I was a killer then.

My uncle and aunt, who had raised me after my parents died, had always been proud of me and stuck up for me, no matter what I did. Somehow, I doubted they’d be all that happy to learn that their foster son had become a killer.

”You shouldn’t worry,” Astrid said, as though reading my thoughts. ”These guys would have killed you as soon as they caught me. It’s no big deal. Besides, I have a license to kill.” She winked at me. “And I suppose the license could apply to you. I’m not sure.” She shrugged.

“A licence to kill? What the hell is that supposed to mean? A licence from whom?”