As a result of all this sword training, I ended up focusing only on the strength and speed of my blows. My technique was already excellent, so there was no point in wasting time on the basics.
Of course, it's not for nothing - it's been two months since I got my Sandan in kendo. Two years of intense practice. Two years under the watchful eye of my sensei, who was more of an executioner than a mentor. He never taught us flourishes or elegant movements. Our style was direct, dry, almost ugly. But there was a reason.
The combinations of blows I saw in other styles always seemed plastered, predictable. They had a beginning, middle and end - almost like choreography. But what sensei gave us was different: he taught us how to break these combinations. To read the opponent the instant he moves. And, at that moment, adapt our style. Interrupt their sequence, destabilize their rhythm, attack where it hurts most.
I remember seeing this clearly in my first tournament, in my second year of training. While the others duelled with formal stances and memorized sequences, I acted out of molded reflex. I became armed with instinct.
We didn't use combos. There was no room for repetition. Every move was a calculated response to the enemy's style. Fast, precise, lethal.
Our style wasn't for showcase champions - it was for assassins. And it worked perfectly.
After the sword training, we were led to a smaller courtyard, covered by a tent stretched between rough stone columns. It was time for the lecture on magic.
I sat on the ground, my body still warm from the fight, but my mind focused. I listened carefully, because I knew - understanding the enemy's strength was the best way to overcome it. And so far, I knew nothing about magic. That bothered me.
The instructor, a bored-looking wizard, explained that the basis of everything lay in the runes. According to him, the formula was simple: you imagine a group of specific runes, energize them with your own mana and - voila - a spell is cast.
The theory seemed so absurd. But as he demonstrated, conjuring small spheres of fire, translucent shields or even making a stone float in front of him, the logic began to fit. It was like activating a program - the symbols were the commands, the man was the fuel.
We were also taught a new form of meditation to perceive mana. Different from what I used to do. The instruction was clear: 'Sit down. Empty your mind. Don't breathe. Let the flow find you'.
The "don't breathe" part seemed silly to me at first. How could I feel anything if I was denying my body? How could I concentrate if I couldn't master the rhythm of my breathing?
Nevertheless, I tried. And... I couldn't.
I returned to my own form of concentration, the one I had refined through "body control". Deep breathing, control of the heartbeat, full attention to internal processes. And then something different happened.
It was as if thousands of tiny particles - very fine, light grains of sand - were moving around me. Invisible, but tangible to my expanded sense. They floated in the air, slid across my skin, passed between my fingers. And when I breathed... they came with me. I absorbed them.
At that moment, something inside me began to change. It was subtle, almost imperceptible at first - a strange sensation, as if the air around me was reorganizing itself. The particles, previously scattered and chaotic, began to align themselves, as if obeying a mute call from within me.
And then I felt it. They weren't exactly part of me, but they weren't strange either. It was like stretching out my arm and realizing that, somehow, it stretched beyond skin and bones, reaching for something bigger. An invisible, pulsating field. The particles were... under my control. Not with the same precision that I move a finger or contract a muscle, but there was a connection.
As if my mastery over the body had expanded - not just physically, but also... energetically.
Is that it?
Is this... sensation what they call mana?
I wasn't sure. But if it was mana, then my path was different. A path not foreseen by manuals or traditional magicians.
"Mana can be internal and external," said the professor, in that slurred voice of someone who has repeated his speech a hundred times and still can't believe anyone is listening. "The internal is stored in the mana core and is completely subordinate to us, unlike the external."
By now, I was more attentive than ever. Each sentence sounded like a key unlocking doors inside my head.
"External mana" he continued. "can be used in meditation to replenish one's reserves. But this will only be possible when the magic rune reaches yellow."
Runes that change color? I made a mental note.
"Although... there are rumors" the professor hesitated for a moment, perhaps pondering whether he should say it, "that mages with a black rune can inject external mana directly into a spell."
That made me straighten my posture. Directly into the spell...? If that's true, it explains a lot. Including what happened to me.
The memory of the fight with the foreman came back vividly. That moment when my body moved faster than it ever had before... It wasn't just adrenaline or technique. Something different ran through my muscles. A sudden energy, like a discharge that propelled my movement.
What if I had actually inhaled mana along with the air?
What if, by concentrating it in my legs, I had actually strengthened my muscles with it, even without conscious intention?
Or worse... what if that's what stopped my bones from breaking when I blocked that monstrous sword blow?
I continued to listen as suspicion turned to silent certainty inside me.
"The power of a magician," the teacher resumed, more seriously. "depends not only on the amount of mana, but also on the strength of the mind rune and the quality of the purification of mana from elemental impurities."
Mind rune? Another new concept.
"With a green rune, a wizard can cast up to two spells at the same time," explained the professor, walking slowly around the room while the attentive eyes of the class followed him. "With a blue rune, that number rises to three. Naturally, this difference may seem small, but in practice it's devastating."
He paused briefly, just long enough to make sure everyone was paying attention.
"The speed of casting increases with the quality of the rune, but this comes at a cost: mana consumption increases proportionally. In simple terms - pay close attention to what I'm about to say - a mage with a blue rune can cast a master-level spell in half a second. A mage with a green rune would take about five times as long. And on the battlefield, five seconds can mean the end of a life... or a war."
A respectful silence hung over the group, until, out of nowhere, someone spoke up:
"And I already have orange!"
The voice came from the right, cutting through the atmosphere like a blade through silk. We all turned towards the busybody. It was a boy - my age, maybe younger - with a self-confident smile on his face.
The teacher choked in the middle of his explanation. He gave a dry cough, shook his head and muttered, almost resignedly:
"Summoned... what can you expect from them? They're growing by leaps and bounds."
"Summoned." There was that word again.
Apparently, I wasn't the only freak there. But even among the freaks... I didn't feel like I fit in. Something told me that my path wouldn't be the same as theirs.
White Rune... I thought, looking at my palms. But if I really did use external mana during the fight... even if I didn't have a yellow rune... what does that make me?
And more importantly: what will happen if I keep breathing that power?