On certain philosophical questions, culture holds no surprises.
—Perhaps this is the language of truth
Runeterra was a world saturated with magical energy. Its abundant elemental forces gave rise to diverse and colorful life forms. Those beings older than humankind wielded primal natural magic. But for humans to use magic, they had to first transform natural magic into something they could control.
Through centuries of exploration and practice, humans recognized five elemental types: Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth.
"The five elements generate one another. Wood creates Fire, for within Wood lies warmth, and Fire emerges when it is drilled and kindled—thus Wood gives birth to Fire. Fire creates Earth, for when Fire consumes Wood, it becomes ash, and ash is Earth. Earth creates Metal, for Metal resides within stone and mountain; when soil gathers into mountains, stone grows, and within stone lies Metal. Metal creates Water, for its essence softens, moistens, and melts—thus Water flows from stone. Water creates Wood, for all growth springs forth nourished by Water. The five elements also restrain one another. Water conquers Fire, Fire conquers Metal, Metal conquers Wood, Wood conquers Earth, and Earth conquers Water."
Rosha rubbed his temples as he stared at the book *Foundations of Magic*. "Damn it, isn't this exactly the same as my ancestors' theory of the Five Elements? Don't tell me the author was a transmigrator too?" He had expected Riven to train him directly, but in the morning she had simply picked this Common Tongue volume from Asa's pile of borrowed books, handed it to him, and said, "Learn the theory first," before leaving.
Rosha didn't dislike studying—on the contrary, he craved it. The unlucky fool whose body he now inhabited had been a total slacker, barely literate. But the contents of these pages astonished him. Across space and time, two cultures could produce such strikingly similar concepts—what a marvel.
Lulu scrambled up his back and perched on his shoulder, combing through his freshly grown hair for lice. That made thinking impossible. Rosha chuckled, scratched the little monkey's head, and kept reading. To master anything, one needed a solid theoretical foundation.
The elemental cycle of generation and restraint also shaped the dynamics of magic. Mastery of Fire combined with Wood greatly enhanced flame spells—that was synergy. But Water naturally countered Fire—that was opposition.
All magical practice began with the five elemental systems. Later, clever mages discovered that once they mastered one element, they could combine it with another, giving birth to new schools of magic. Fire with Wood produced Wind; Fire with Metal produced Light; Wind with Metal produced Lightning; Wind with Water produced Ice; and rare mixtures of Lightning and Ice birthed the elusive Dark magic.
So though there were only five elements, there were ten magical systems. Each mage began as an apprentice, meditating to accumulate mana, learning incantations and spellcasting techniques, then training in live combat to advance step by step.
For warriors, cultivating battle qi was simpler. Mastery of martial technique was the foundation. No spells were needed—only the conversion of internal mana into qi, which was then fused with weapon skills.
The original Rosha had solid combat skills. Growing up a street thug had sharpened his instinct for fighting. His failure to advance beyond swordsman was due to his lack of intelligence—he never innovated new techniques on top of the basics he had learned. His magical affinity, meanwhile, was abysmal. Practically magic-resistant, like a lump of rock.
Now, Rosha's first task was to build upon that foundation, innovating new sword skills in order to advance into a Swordmaster. It sounded easy enough—after all, he had a store of practical martial arts knowledge from his original world. Combining those techniques with Noxian swordplay ought to produce breakthroughs.
But in practice, it wasn't so simple. He could invent new forms, but none carried the weight of true mastery. No matter how hard he tried, it felt incomplete.
"What am I missing?" Rosha asked aloud, glancing at Lulu sprawled on his chair.
The little creature only muttered a "lu-lu" in response, gave him a helpless look, and promptly closed its eyes again.
"You've overlooked the most important thing," came a man's voice from the willow tree.
Rosha looked up. A figure leaned against the trunk, messy black hair falling past his face, a woven cloak draped over his shoulders, one shoulder guard peeking out, and a naked blade at his side. A swordsman.
"Please, advise me," Rosha said with a respectful bow.
"The path from swordsman to Swordmaster is not only about new techniques," the man said after a pause. "It is speed, strength, agility…" He tapped his chest. "And above all—mind."
Rosha pondered a moment, then bowed again. "Thank you."
"You haven't been here long," the man added coldly, his voice heavy with travel. "I didn't see you the last time I came."
"Just over two months," Rosha admitted.
"Then the timing is just right…" the man muttered, almost to himself.
"What?" Rosha asked, confused. But before he could press further, the man had vanished. The world was quiet again, save for the chirping of insects.
"Hey, Lulu, there was really someone there, right?" Rosha asked, pointing at the willow.
Lulu nodded.
"Where'd he go?" Rosha continued.
The monkey rolled its eyes, as if annoyed at his chatter, then clambered off the chair, slipped through the window into Rosha's room, and flopped onto the bed to sleep.
"You little brat," Rosha cursed, though he chuckled and shook his head. Then he returned to contemplating the man's words.
Technique. Power. Speed. Agility. And most importantly—mind. The first four weren't hard. They could be honed through training. But what was *mind*?
That question filled his thoughts as he continued practicing thrusts with a wooden stick, faster and faster…
When he smelled smoke, he snapped back to awareness and realized the stick was burning.
"Speed and strength are there," Riven's calm voice came from behind him. "Compared to you—no, compared to *him*, Rosha—back in the army, the difference is clear."
Her words were steady, but inside she was reeling. What kind of monster was this man? He was only a swordsman, yet a single thrust had generated enough friction with the air to set the stick aflame. She had heard the air itself tear just now.
"Ah—Captain…" Rosha quickly dropped the burning stick and stomped out the flames. "What exactly is 'mind'? The mind of a swordsman?"
Riven paced in thought for a long while before answering. "Two things. Purpose and heart. Take me, for example. When I first trained, it was to fill my belly. Later, from Swordmaster to Magic Swordsman, it was for Noxus—for their so-called equality. In battle, at first I fought to defeat enemies, to survive. Later, I fought to protect my comrades, to let *them* survive…"
"Do you understand what I mean?" Riven asked, fixing him with her gaze.
"I do," Rosha nodded with a grin. "Simple and clear."
For a moment, a faint smile touched Riven's lips. As she turned to leave, she spoke two words over her shoulder: "You're gifted."
Rosha burst into hearty laughter…
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