[Status]
The blue screen shimmered into view, and for the first time, the numbers brought a surge of fierce satisfaction.
[Name: Roy White]
[Title: Illegitimate Son of Boron White]
[Class: Support Magician]
[Element: Plant]
[Mana Type: Standard]
[Bloodline: Unawakened]
[Potential: C]
[Rank: G+]
Attributes:
· Attack: G+
· Agility: G+
· Stamina: F-
· Vitality: F-
· Mana: G+
· Luck: D+
(Full skill list not displayed - No significant change)
My breath caught. G+. I was at the peak of the lowest rank. The barrier to F-rank felt thin, ready to shatter. My Stamina and Vitality had cracked into the F-tier. The month of grueling labor, of feeling my body break and rebuild, was quantified here in cold, glorious data. It was working.
The door to the cottage swung open. Sir Kane stood there, arms crossed, his sharp eyes appraising me instantly. "Hmph. You've put on some muscle. Let's see if you've gained any skill to match. Show me your basics."
I took the practice sword and moved through the basic forms. This time, there was no trembling, no strain. Each motion was crisp, controlled, powered by a body that finally understood its purpose.
When I finished, Kane gave a single, firm nod. "Adequate. You've mastered the foundation. More importantly, you're peaking at G-rank. Good. Now the real work begins."
He gestured for me to sit. "The Imperial Swordsmanship Technique has two core components. First: the Forms and Footwork—thirty-two linked movements for attack, defense, and repositioning. Second: Imperial Sword Aura—a method to channel your energy into the blade for explosive power. You are a mage. You lack Aura. The second component is, for now, beyond you."
I'd expected this. "I understand. I need the first part. The control."
"Smart," he grunted, not quite a compliment. "Watch."
For the next hour, Sir Kane became a lesson in controlled violence. He demonstrated the first sequence of the Imperial Forms. It wasn't about brute strength; it was about precision. A lean, not a lunge. A pivot that carried force from the ground, through the hips, into the shoulders, and out through the tip of the sword. It was efficient, elegant, and deadly.
"Your turn," he said, tossing me the sword.
My first attempt was a disaster. I tried to mimic his power, driving strength from my newly hardened muscles. The result was clumsy, off-balance, and left me gasping.
"You're forcing it," Kane criticized. "You're thinking like a laborer swinging a hammer. This is a surgeon's scalpel. For this week, forget power. Focus only on the shape of the movement. The exact angle of the wrist. The placement of the foot. Make the form perfect in its emptiness. I will return in seven days. If the form is clean, we will begin to add power. If not… we continue."
He left, and the true grind began.
For the next seven days, my world shrank to the eight basic movements of the first Imperial sequence. I performed them in the morning light and the evening dusk. Without the drive for power, my movements felt hollow, like a dance with no music. But slowly, the awkwardness faded. My body began to remember the pathways. The foot placements became automatic. The sword felt less like a foreign object and more like an extension of my intent.
By the end of the week, I could flow through the sequence without a conscious thought, a perfect, powerless shell of the technique.
Kane returned, watched me in silence, and gave another curt nod. "Passable. The vessel is prepared. Now, we fill it. Begin again, but this time, think about the moment of impact. Not before, not after. Let the power be a consequence of the form, not its goal."
This was the true challenge. Marrying the precise form to the raw strength of my F- rank body. It was a frustrating, delicate balance. I'd overcommit and stumble, or undercommit and make the movement feeble.
But I persisted. Day after day, failure after minor adjustment.
And then, halfway through the second week of this new phase, I felt it—a subtle shift deep inside my core, like a glass pane cracking. The world seemed to snap into sharper focus. The fatigue from the day's training burned away, replaced by a fresh, vibrant energy.
I knew instantly. I had broken through.
I waited until evening, after Kane had left, to check.
[Status]
[Rank: F-]
Attributes:
· Attack: F-
· Agility: F-
· Stamina: F-
· Vitality: F
· Mana: F
· Luck: D+
A fierce grin spread across my face. F-rank. I was officially out of the "utterly pathetic" bracket and into the "merely weak" category. Every physical attribute had risen accordingly. My Vitality reaching a solid F-rank made sense—the elixirs and training had forged a more resilient body.
But my eyes locked onto the Mana stat. F-rank.
That… didn't make sense.
Mana growth was notoriously slow, often requiring specific meditation techniques, rare herbs, or intense magical practice. I had done none of that. I'd focused entirely on my body and the sword. Yet, my Mana had not only kept pace but had made a significant jump from G+ to F.
Why?
My Support Magician class gave a 10% recovery speed bonus, not a growth bonus. My Plant element was passive. I hadn't cast a single spell beyond the healing on my first day.
A cold, thrilling suspicion crept into my mind. I looked at my hands, then at the small, hardy weeds stubbornly growing between the stones of my training yard. During my endless repetitions, when my focus wavered, my mind had often wandered to the feel of the earth under my feet, the sun on my skin… the quiet, persistent life of the plants around me.
Could it be that simple? Could living in sync with my element, with my body in nature, be passively nourishing my mana? Or was it something else… something tied to the Growth Type of my Plant Creation skill?
I had no answers. But I had evidence. My path was unorthodox, but it was working. My body was stronger. My sword was taking shape. And my magic was growing on its own.
The mystery of my mana would have to wait. For now, I had a technique to grind to the next level. The Imperial Forms were still at G-rank proficiency. I needed to push them to E-rank, then D-rank, before I could even think about attempting the Kane Swordsmanship.
One step at a time. One breakthrough at a time.
I picked up my practice sword, the weight familiar now, and began the first movement again. This time, with the power of an F-rank body behind it, the air whispered as it cut through the dusk.