Scias woke up with the sunrise, stretching carefully as he tested the limits of his body.
The splitting headache faded to a dull throb, a reminder of yesterday's overexertion rather than crippling force.
He gathered some berries from nearby bushes, chewing thoughtfully while watching raising sun
'No more impulsive experimentation,' he decided, washing down his breakfast with cool water.
'I need to approach this carefully and with a plan.'
He sat cross-legged outside his cave.
"First, consistency," he murmured, making a mental note.
"I managed to use magic several times yesterday, but never reliably. That's the foundation."
His mind drifted to his military days, recalling how they trained fresh recruits.
They didn't start with complex battlefield maneuvers. No. They began with basic forms repeated until they became second nature. Only then would they progress to variations and tactical applications.
"Magic seems to require the same approach," Scias reasoned, adding more notes in him mind.
"Master one technique completely before attempting the next."
He tapped his fingers against his chin, considering the variables he noticed during yesterday's practice.
The force of his spell had varied wildly. Sometimes it barely hit the tree, other times it would couse the bark to splinter.
His casting speed fluctuated too. At times, the spell would come out immediatelly and at different times, it would take a while for the spell to materialize.
'And the mana consumption,' he thought, remembering the exhaustion that had ultimately overwhelmed him.
'I need to test how much energy each attempt requires.'
Scias came up with a training plan that first focused on achieving perfect consistency with his first spell.
Only after mastering that—reaching a point where he could cast it ten times in a row—would he allow himself to experiment with other things.
Ten times was a number he came up with after yesterday.
"After consistency comes control," he said aloud, continuing to develop his plan.
"Learning to increase or decrease the force at will. Then speed—casting it more quickly with less preparation."
He smiled faintly, remembering the formations drill sergeants put him through as a young soldier.
The principles weren't so different—break down complex actions into simple steps, perfect each step separately, and then combine them.
The final section of his plan addressed the mana drain he experienced.
He was planning to start with just five succesful attempts per set with mandatory rest periods between.
"Patience," he reminded himself. "One cannot become a master over night."
Standing, Scias moved through a gentle stretching routine, preparing his body for the work ahead.
Yesterday's accidental discovery opened a door, but the path beyond would require discipline and methodical progress—qualities that served him well as a commander.
He glanced at the dented tree from yesterday, a physical reminder of what he accomplished and what remained possible.
Looking at it, Scias felt determination. He felt purpose, direction and excitement.
'One step at a time,' he thought, completing his stretches and retrieving his crude training plan. 'And each small step becomes the foundation for something greater.'
With clear goals and plan established, Scias was ready to begin his journey into magic.
The experience from his former life would guide him now.
Scias settled into position before the same oak tree.
"Five successful casts per set," he reminded himself, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension. "Then rest and contemplate."
He calmed his breath. His palm extended toward the tree, and he visualized the force flowing through his arm—not pushing, not straining, but comming out from his palm and striking the tree.
First attempt produced nothing.
Second likewise failed.
Scias adjusted his stance slightly, remembering the exact feeling from yesterday.
On third try, energy surged through his arm and came out of his palm in form of invisible force that struck the tree. Bark splintered on contact.
"One," he counted aloud, taking measured breaths. A faint smile crept onto his lips."
It took six more attempts before he achieved his second successful cast, then four for his third. The fourth came immediately after, surprising him with its power. For his fifth success, Scias needed only two attempts.
"First set complete," he murmured, stepping back from the tree to take a small break.
He carved the number of attempts on the ground with a stick. Then he rested on a nearby rock, breathing deeply as he monitored his body's response.
The headache from yesterday lingered faintly at his temples, but didn't intensify.
After a five-minute rest, Scias began his second set.
This time, his success rate improved slightly—achieving five successful casts in twelve attempts. Again, he wrote his progres on the ground.
By his fourth set, the dull throb behind his eyes began to strengthen, a clear warning sign from yesterday's overexertion.
Though tempted, he didn't push further. He knew better.
'Because I was not fully recovered, I should not count this as a full session,' Scias thought, looking at the numbers drew in ground.
Four sets in a session. Five succesful spells in each set.
First set took sixteen attempts. Second took twelve attempts. Third and fourth both took eleven attempts.
With his third and fourth set he got to similar success rate at which he ended yesterday.
After gathering water from the creek and eating a meal of dried meat and some wild berries, Scias sat outside his cave, enjoying the warmth of midday sun on his face.
Despite the short training, satisfaction filled him. Each set showed slight improvement, consistency building slowly but noticeably.
"Mustn't overdo it," he said to himself, stretching his limbs.
"Let's do something else instead."
His gaze fell upon his crude spear leaning against the cave entrance.
He made it during his first days here—a straight branch hardened in fire, tipped with a sharp stone, bound with tendons.
Scias rose and took the weapon, which felt very natural in his hand.
In his former life as a commander, he favored sword—weapon of Astana's elite knights—yet this primitive spear sat in his hands with unexpected familiarity.
"Feels good," he muttered, testing the weapon's balance with a few jabs.
He moved further from his cave and fell into a basic stance, feet shoulder-width apart.
His body moved through forms he couldn't consciously remember learning, yet executed with practiced precision—lunging thrusts, sweeping blocks, quick jabbing combinations that would keep opponents at bay.
The spear whistled through air as Scias increased his speed, his body flowing from one movement to the next without any conscious thought.
Unlike the drain he felt when using magic, this physical exertion energized him.
No longer disturbed by knowing things he never learned.
If these skills came naturally, he would embrace them—just another tool to help him in this unfamiliar world.
He practiced until sweat dampened his shirt, the physical exertion a welcome counterbalance to the mental strain of magic training.
At least his muscles ached in familiar ways, unlike the strange hollowness that followed mana depletion.
The days went by as Scias settled into his training.
Each morning began with his usual stretching followed by magic practice and physical exercise with his crude weapons, then hunting or gathering as needed.
The routine brought structure to his isolated life.
Scias was growing increasingly frustrated with the slow pace he initialy came up with. Five successful spells per set felt too little, too limiting. A child's play rather than a serious training.
"This won't do," he muttered, thinking about his practice till now. He increased it from five to ten succesfull spells per set.
The increased goal pushed him harder, though his success rate initially suffered. Where he would complete five casts with growing reliability, reaching ten in a session proved more challenging.
Keeping his focus for so long at a time was the problem. With growing experience, this problem was slowly fading away.
By the fifth day, Scias began recognizing subtle signs of mana fatigue before they manifested as pain.
A slight buzzing sensation at his temples, a peculiar hollow feeling in his chest—these warnings appeared consistently before headaches set in.
"Listen to your body," he reminded himself.
He learned to end his practice sessions at the first hint of these sensations, sometimes stopping mid-set.
The disciplined approach paid dividends—he recovered faster between sessions and found his overall daily capacity increasing, slowly but steadily.
Afternoons were dedicated to physical training.
Scias divided these sessions between practice with spear, with bow, and martial arts.
The bow proved particularly useful for hunting.
At this point, Scias rarely missed his targets, providing himself with a steady supply of meat.
He developed a rotation between hunting and gathering to maintain his food without depleting the local wildlife.
Through it all, his magic training continued.
Scias tracked his progress, recording number of attempts needed for succesfull casting.
The invisible force he projected grew more reliable under his command, responding more predictably to his intent.
On the seventh day, his success rate climbed to eighty percent—eight clean casts out of ten attempts.
By the eighth day, he managed nine out of ten consistently across three sets before stopping.
The ninth day dawned clear and cool.
Scias went through his morning routine, washing in the creek before settling into his practice stance.
As he extended his palm toward the now heavily scarred oak tree, he noticed something. Something he didn't pay attention to before.
The mana flowed more effortlessly, responding to his will without resistance.
Compared to the first time he used magic, this was starting to feel like magic was part of him, it came more naturally now.
He cast the first spell, then second. And then…
Ten casts, ten successes.
He rested briefly, then began again.
Ten more perfect casts.
A third set yielded the same result—flawless execution, each blast of force striking exactly where he intended.
"Finally," Scias exhaled, a smile crossing his face.
The consistency he sought arrived, opening the door to next phase of his training.
Now he could begin working on true control—changing the power and shape, testing the limits of what his magic could achieve.
The foundation was laid. It was time to build upon it.
Scias sat against the trunk the practice tree, looking at the marks in the ground that tracked his progress.
The evidence was clear—44 successful casts when he'd begun proper training, now up to 52 before reaching his limits.
A small improvement, but significant in its implications.
'My mana capacity can grow,' he thought, a sense of quiet satisfaction flowing through him. 'Like a muscle responding to exercise.'
He leaned his head back against the bark, allowing himself to simply breathe and bask in the sun.
The military commander in him recognized the strategic value of this discovery—if mana could be strengthened through consistent use, then a disciplined approach would yield steady improvement.
However, he was no longer a military commander.
He had no reason to keep himself to a strict discipline. Rather, he would take his time and have some fun with magic.
Afterall, there is no reason to be so hard on himself and be stuck with his old habbits.
Now that he has created his foundation, he will slow down.
He decided to honor today's accomplishment by taking the remainder of the day off.
His previously smooth hands were now laid with callouses. They would be normally occupied with weapons practice or crafting, but now they rested idle in his lap as he watched sunlight through leaves overhead. This inactivity felt strange after years of constant vigilance and responsibility, yet he recognized its value.
A huge colorful bird, almost the size of a hawk, landed on a branch above, its feathers unlike any Scias had seen on either world.
It trilled a complex melody before flying away, leaving him in awe.
These small moments of beauty amid survival became increasingly meaningful to him.
As afternoon faded toward evening, Scias gathered only enough firewood for the night's cooking, deliberately avoiding his usual foraging.
He prepared a simple meal of smoked meat and wild berries, eating slowly while contemplating his next training phase.
The previous methodical approach worked for him.
However, he didn't want to fixate on one thing alone.
Living like this taught him that there is more to life than constant training. Beauty can be found everywhere. He just needs to slow down and look.
The need for rigorous training and dedication from the military days was gone.
Slowly, Scias was leaving his old self behind.