He thought training would make him strong, maybe even flashy. Turns out, it was mostly cold water, sore muscles, and repeated humiliation. Three weeks in, he still hadn't learned which was worse.
The mornings were the same as ever.
He wakes up to the soft, golden light of the sun streaming through his window—or at least he still tries to.
There's still something about the warmth of the early morning that makes him want to bury himself deeper into the blankets.
But If he turns around and falls asleep again, you guessed it. A splash of icy cold water right to the face.
And because the nights are longer now, he usually needs to wake up before the sunrises.
"Tired already?" Paul sneered, watching as Tatsuya dragged his feet by the third lap. "That's pathetic. If I were your enemy, you'd be dead before you even finished complaining."
Tatsuya, out of breath, wiped the sweat from his face and gasped, "You are my enemy."
"Oh? Then fight me."
"…No thanks."
Tatsuya learned early on that Paul took everything literally. Say anything even remotely challenging, and you'd find yourself in an impromptu sparring match where the only possible outcome was getting smacked upside the head.
And that was before the strength training.
Now, normally, strength training involved things like lifting weights, doing push-ups, or maybe swinging a sword a few times. But Paul's version of strength training?
It involved a boulder.
Not a dumbbell. Not a barbell.
A boulder.
Paul, completely serious, would roll over a massive rock and say, "Pick it up. Walk with it. Don't drop it, or you die."
There was no explanation. No instructions. Just that one horrifying sentence.
And so, every morning, Tatsuya would carry a boulder across the training field while contemplating all the choices that had led him to this moment.
Apparently the idea came from the Dûrmach, hardy cave-dwellers tripe's.
There it is tradition that the one who can lift the biggest boulder becomes the ruler of the tripe, or cave….
Tatsuya asked Paul once what they were like, and you can say they are like dwarfs.
They life deep in mountain caves, they built entire kingdoms in there. In the old history book it was called The Underealm, like an entire world underground.
part 2
Sword training in the afternoon was a special kind of torture.
At first, it seemed simple—just swing a wooden sword a few times and get used to the weight. But no.
Paul's training method was maximum suffering at all times.
"Keep swinging until you can't feel your arms," Paul ordered.
Tatsuya laughed nervously. "Haha, good one—"
"I wasn't joking."
Fifty swings and his arms burned. A hundred, and his soul felt like it had left his body. Paul, of course, wasn't done yet—sparring came next.
No.
No, it was not time for sparring.
It was time for a water break. It was time for a nap. It was time to go back in time and stop himself from ever signing up for this in the first place.
But Paul didn't care.
Sparring was just another word for getting beaten up.
Every time Tatsuya swung his sword, Paul dodged. Every time he tried to counter, Paul effortlessly smacked him upside the head with the flat of his blade.
He might as well have been fighting a ghost. A really smug ghost.
"You're too slow."
WHACK.
"You leave your guard open."
WHACK.
"You suck."
WHACK.
Tatsuya collapsed onto the ground, bruised and exhausted. "At this point, I feel like I'm just your personal punching bag."
Paul grinned. "That's because you are."
There was no justice in this world.
By the time evening rolled around, Tatsuya was half-dead.
His body screamed in protest. His muscles ached. His legs barely worked.
But dinner? Dinner was hope. Dinner was salvation. Dinner was—
"You don't get to eat until you finish your training," Paul declared.
Tatsuya stared in horror. "What do you mean, I still have training?!"
Paul smirked. "100 push-ups. 100 sit-ups. And another round of sword swings."
At that moment, Tatsuya realized something terrifying.
Paul wasn't training him to become stronger.
Paul was training him to die.
And yet, somehow, through sheer desperation, he pushed through. He did the push-ups, the sit-ups, the sword swings.
Then—finally—dinner
Was it good?
No it wasn't good... it was incredible, for every beat up he received, every time he felt like he couldn't go on, for every time Paul scolded him for doing something bad.
It was all worth it in the end.
The moment Paul set the dish down on the table, Tatsuya's instincts screamed at him.
This was not normal.
The golden-brown roast glistened under the light of the lanterns, a rich, savory aroma filling the air. The crispy skin crackled slightly as the juices seeped from the tender meat. Steam rose, carrying a fragrance so enticing that it bypassed logic and burrowed straight into the deepest, most primal part of Tatsuya's soul.
His mouth immediately started watering.
Tatsuya dove in after he was done with his prayer. "Lord bless this food for Jesus will, amen."
The moment the first bite touched his tongue, his mind ascended to another plane of existence.
The outer crispiness of the roast contrasted perfectly with the melt-in-your-mouth tenderness inside. The seasoning was perfect—just the right balance of salt, herbs, and something mysterious yet divine that made his entire being tremble with emotion.
He inhaled sharply. His hands shook.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
"…This… this is…"
"What? Good?" Paul smirked, looking far too pleased with himself.
Tatsuya slammed the table.
"IT'S AMAZING!!!"
He didn't care how he looked. He didn't care about dignity. All that mattered was this food.
He took another bite.Then another.
Tatsuya was always blown away by taste of Paul's cooking skills.
part 3
The next day, something shifted.
Paul always stood in the same spot — tall, unshakable, a shadow that could frighten dragons. He always greeted Tatsuya with that same smug grin.
But today—
Today was different.
The air was heavier. The grin was gone.
The playfulness in Paul's eyes had been replaced by a cold, razor-sharp focus that made Tatsuya's stomach twist.
His gaze fell lower — and froze.
Paul wasn't holding the usual wooden sword.
Both of his real blades hung at his waist, the metal glinting in the dim morning light. The hilts were worn smooth from use — weapons that had seen war.
The sight made Tatsuya's throat tighten. The line between training and something far more dangerous had vanished.
For the first time in weeks, he felt afraid.
When did I start feeling safe around him?
Then Paul spoke.
"What unseen truth binds every warrior, no matter how strong?"
His tone was calm, almost gentle — and that frightened Tatsuya more than shouting ever could.
For the first time since training began, Paul smiled without mockery. That alone sent a chill down Tatsuya's spine.
What unseen truth…?
The question echoed in his mind. It sounded simple — too simple. But something about the weight in Paul's voice told him the answer mattered.
Strength? No, that couldn't be it.
Honor? No. Even cowards could win battles.
Resolve? Closer. But even resolve could break.
His chest ached. His body still throbbed from weeks of punishment — every swing, every bruise, every time Paul had beaten him into the dirt.
And yet, he had kept going.
Because no one else would do it for him. Because no one was coming to save him.
"Self-reliance," he said at last, his voice steady.
Silence.
Paul exhaled slowly, eyes unreadable. Then, with the weight of a verdict, he said:
"Wrong."
The word hit harder than any sword strike.
Tatsuya blinked, the air catching in his throat. "W–what?"
Hadn't everything up until now been about pushing himself beyond his limits? About standing on his own? About becoming strong enough that he wouldn't have to rely on anyone else?
How could self-reliance not be the answer?
Paul said nothing. Didn't explain. Didn't correct him.
Only silence.
Then — "Now that you are familiar with the sword," Paul said, reaching for the rack behind him, "I'll allow you to handle a real one."
Tatsuya froze. "A real… sword?"
Paul drew it in one smooth motion. Steel whispered through air. The edge caught the light — brilliant, merciless.
Even the air seemed to grow still.
"I bestow upon you this sword," Paul said. His voice carried no ceremony, no pride — only gravity.
Tatsuya stepped forward, hands trembling as he reached out. The instant his fingers touched the hilt, a chill raced up his arm.
It wasn't just steel. It was a promise — and a warning.
Paul's gaze flickered, just for a moment — something between disappointment and sorrow.
"Go on," he said quietly. "Get a feel for it."
Tatsuya lifted the blade. Its reflection trembled with his unsteady breath.
This was no game. This was the first step into a world where mistakes drew blood.
Paul raised his hand, and the air around them pulsed — not with magic, but with something raw, unseen.
And Tatsuya's instincts screamed that whatever came next would change everything.
This was the real thing.
This was his first step as a true swordsman.
Paul extended his arm, his fingers curling into a loose fist. A moment later, a pulse of energy rippled through the air. It wasn't magic—not in the way Tatsuya had come to understand. It wasn't an incantation, nor a spell bound to elemental laws.
No.
This was something else.
part 4
The space around Paul seemed to shift—as if the very air was bending to accommodate a presence greater than what his physical body should allow. The pressure was intense, subtle but overwhelming. It wasn't just raw power—it was something refined, something deliberate.
"This—" Paul said, his voice edged with something dangerous, "—is called Manaflux."
"Unlike Physical Enhancement magic—which channels mana through incantations—Manaflux requires no spell, no circle. It's pure control. Magic turned inward, without mediation."
Paul took another step forward, and in that instant—
—He vanished.
Tatsuya barely caught it. One second, Paul had been standing in front of him. The next, he was beside him, his presence overwhelming, suffocating, as if a beast had suddenly appeared at his back.
Tatsuya twisted on instinct, heart hammering. "What—?!"
"This isn't speed magic," Paul said, completely unaffected by Tatsuya's shock. "I didn't cast anything. This isn't elemental manipulation, nor is it an incantation. This is mana, turned into force."
Tatsuya swallowed.
Paul raised a single hand, fingers lightly curled into a relaxed fist. "Manaflux is the art of reinforcing the body with raw mana. It's not as simple as enhancing your strength or speed. It's a total transformation—your muscles, your bones, your reaction time—everything is elevated beyond human limits."
His fingers tightened, and the air seemed to vibrate around him. "To use Manaflux, you must first draw out your inner mana. But instead of shaping it into a spell, you force it outward, creating a layer of energy over your body."
Paul's arm pulsed. The next moment, he struck out with a simple punch—aimed at nothing, merely demonstrating the motion.
The force behind it, however, was unreal.
A burst of compressed air shot forward, a faint shockwave rippling from the sheer power of the strike. Even without touching anything, the ground trembled from the aftershock.
Tatsuya inhaled sharply.
"The biggest difference between Manaflux and spellcasting," Paul continued, lowering his arm, "is that it requires conscious control at all times. Unlike a defensive barrier that passively absorbs attacks, you have to apply Manaflux yourself in response to every action. Every movement. Every attack. Every defense."
Tatsuya's brows furrowed. "Then… why not just infuse it into armor or weapons permanently?"
Paul let out a short, knowing laugh. "Because that's not how it works."
He extended a hand, summoning his sword from its sheath in a single, fluid motion. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt—
—Mana surged into the blade.
The metal itself hummed with power. Not like an enchanted weapon, where magic was embedded into its structure. No—this was something far more primal.
"I can reinforce my weapon while I wield it," Paul explained. "But if I drop it? The effect vanishes instantly. That's the difference between Manaflux and Thaumatology."
Tatsuya's lips parted slightly.
Thaumatology—magic that imbues weapons and armor with permanent enchantments. The reason magic staves and artifacts existed was because their enhancements were stable, locked into place.
But Manaflux?
Manaflux was activation-based. It wasn't a passive enhancement. It was a swordsman's own will—his own mana—directly applied in the moment.
It was an art that required complete mastery over one's body.
Paul sheathed his sword once more. "In battle, a mage relies on incantations. A swordsman relies on their technique. And those who have truly refined their craft—"
He lifted his chin slightly, his presence looming.
"—can close the gap between magic and martial skill."
Tatsuya exhaled slowly, his mind racing.
This…
This was something else entirely.
Paul narrowed his eyes. "You want to become stronger, don't you?"
Tatsuya clenched his fists. "Of course."
"Then listen well." Paul's voice dropped slightly, his gaze sharp.
"Mastering Manaflux isn't just about training your body—it's about understanding the technique. Just like how a mage refines their spells through repetition, so too must a swordsman refine their enhancements."
His tone turned cold, cutting.
"If you try to use Manaflux without proper training, your own body will break under the strain."
Tatsuya's breath hitched.
Paul's gaze darkened. "The muscles you enhance? They'll tear apart if your body isn't ready. Your bones? They'll shatter if you push past your limits too soon. Even your own reflexes—if they aren't sharpened properly—will work against you."
Tatsuya swallowed hard.
But then he looked confused. Okey, so it works the same as channeling your mama for a spell but I haven't felt once something like mana flowing inside me? Maybe I need to train in first to be able to connect with it?
"How do you train your mana?" He asked.
"Mana," Paul began, his voice cutting through the silence, "is like a muscle."
Tatsuya's ears perked up.
Paul took a slow step forward, his boots pressing into the dirt. "A warrior strengthens their body through rigorous training. A mage does the same, but with mana. If you want to increase your capacity, boost your output, and enhance your control, you need to treat mana like a living part of you—something that can be trained, stretched, and refined."
"Let's start with expanding mana capacity."
Paul held up a single finger.
"If you want to increase how much mana you can store, you have to push your limits. Just like a muscle grows stronger through resistance, your mana pool grows larger the more you empty it. That's the essence of Mana Depletion Training—casting until you can't cast anymore."
Using mana until he had nothing left? That sounded… unpleasant.
Paul smirked as if reading his thoughts. "It's painful. Draining yourself over and over again forces your body to adapt, increasing your reserves. But don't misunderstand—simply emptying your mana once won't do anything. It's the constant repetition that makes a difference."
He raised a second finger.
"Then there's Progressive Overload. If you only cast the same weak spells every day, your mana won't grow. You have to increase the intensity. If a swordsman lifts heavier weights over time, then a mage must push their magic further. Stronger spells. Greater output. Each step forcing your reserves to expand."
Paul let his words hang in the air before continuing.
"And finally, there's Meditative Absorption—the art of drawing mana from the world around you. The land, the air, the ley lines running beneath our feet—all of them carry mana. By meditating and synchronizing with the environment, you can steadily expand your internal reserves."
Tatsuya's mind raced.
These were real methods. Tangible. Practical.
Paul wasn't just talking about vague theories—this was something that could be trained.
"And what about strengthening mana output?" Tatsuya asked, his voice firmer than before.
Paul's lips curled into a slight grin.
"Good question."
He lifted his arm, curling his fingers into a loose fist.
"Mana output is like muscle strength. The stronger your mana, the more forceful your spells will be."
Without warning, he swung his fist forward—
—And the air exploded.
A shockwave rippled outward, kicking up dust and sending leaves flying. Tatsuya stumbled back, eyes wide.
There was no incantation.
No spell circle.
Just raw force.
Paul exhaled and lowered his arm. "That wasn't magic. That was my mana, compressed and released in an instant. That's Compression Training—the art of condensing mana before unleashing it. The more you refine your control, the more destructive your magic becomes."
Tatsuya took a shaky breath.
"This kind of training takes time," Paul continued. "Another method is High-Intensity Spellcasting—casting powerful spells repeatedly to strengthen your mana channels. It's the magical equivalent of resistance training—forcing your body to handle greater and greater strain."
His gaze darkened.
"And for those who truly want to refine their power, there's Elemental Resistance Training. Exposing yourself to fire, lightning, ice—experiencing the elements firsthand—forces your mana to adapt, making your spells more potent."
Tatsuya's stomach twisted.
That sounded… insanely dangerous.
But Paul wasn't finished.
He raised a third finger.
"The last major aspect of mana training is regeneration."
Tatsuya straightened.
Paul took a deep breath, his chest rising, then slowly exhaled.
"Mana Breathing Exercises," he said. "Controlled breathing, synchronized with your mana flow, can accelerate recovery. The faster you recover, the longer you can fight."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Restorative Meditation works the same way—just like sleep heals the body, deep meditation restores mana faster."
Paul then pointed directly at Tatsuya.
"But if you really want to improve, you need Controlled Mana Flow."
Tatsuya blinked. "What's that?"
"It's simple," Paul said. "Casting spells continuously at low intensity without exhausting yourself. It refines regeneration, just like endurance running strengthens stamina."
Tatsuya's heart pounded.
"Mana was so much more than just energy.
It was a living force—something that could be trained, sharpened, and expanded."
Paul gave a small nod, as if satisfied with Tatsuya's reaction.
"But," he said, his tone shifting, "there's a danger in overtraining."
Tatsuya stiffened.
"If you push too hard, you risk Mana Depletion Sickness. Extreme exhaustion. Unconsciousness. Permanent damage."
Paul's voice was grave, but he didn't stop there.
"Worse than that is Mana Vein Rupture—when the internal mana channels tear apart from overuse. If that happens, you might never use magic again."
Tatsuya felt a chill run down his spine.
Paul's eyes locked onto his.
"Strength means nothing if you destroy yourself in the process. The best mages don't just train hard—they train smart."
Silence settled between them.
Paul then took a step back, crossing his arms.
"This is the foundation of mana training. If you want to grow stronger, you'll follow these principles. Otherwise—"
His eyes narrowed.
"—you'll break before you ever reach your potential."
Tatsuya inhaled sharply.
This wasn't just a lesson.
It was a challenge.
Paul had laid out the path before him. Now, it was up to him to walk it.
part 5
"So," he said, his voice lower unyielding. "You think you are ready to try some basic spell casting?"
Spell casting? The thought of it made Tatsuya a little bit nervous.
Not because his chest got filled with excitement or he found it scary but because it was another reminder that he was never going back home.
"Yeah, let's try it…."
Paul planted his foot into the dirt and drew his sword. The blade glinted beneath the fading sunlight.
He channeled his mana into his sword, it started to give off a white glow, humming with raw power.
Paul exhaled slowly, his eyes sharp.
"Sword Art of Wind—Tempest Gale!"
He swung his sword—
—And the world breathed.
A gust of wind burst forth from his blade, kicking up dirt and leaves in a spiraling vortex. It wasn't violent, but it was controlled—precise. The force of it pushed against Tatsuya's skin, rustling his clothes, sending his hair whipping to the side.
Paul lowered his sword, the Manaflux around his blade slowly fading. "That," he said, turning to face Tatsuya, "is how you cast it through Manaflux—channeling your mana directly into your blade and releasing it with your swing."
"But you don't have to rely on a sword. You can also cast it normally."
He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.
The same gust of wind manifested instantly, swirling around his palm before dissipating like mist in the breeze.
"Your turn," Paul said, stepping back.
Tatsuya nodded, gripping his wooden training sword. His fingers trembled slightly, but he ignored it. He took a deep breath, focusing on everything Paul had taught him.
First, he had to call upon his mana.
He closed his eyes.
Felt the air around him.
Reached deep within himself—
—And found nothing.
His breath caught.
No, he must've done something wrong. He clenched his jaw and tried again, this time focusing harder.
Still—nothing.
A hollow sensation settled in his chest, a creeping sense of unease clawing at the edges of his mind.
He opened his eyes, swallowing down the anxiety rising in his throat.
Paul was watching. Waiting.
Tatsuya refused to embarrass himself.
If he couldn't feel it inside, then he would just do it normally.
Gritting his teeth, he raised his sword.
"Sword Art of Wind—Tempest Gale!"
He swung downward.
Nothing happened.
Not even a breeze.
Silence filled the training ground.
Tatsuya's grip tightened. He must've messed up the chant. That had to be it.
Again.
He took his stance, planting his feet into the ground. This time, he would get it right.
"Tempest Gale!"
He slashed the air—
—And again, nothing happened.
No wind.
No resistance.
Just emptiness.
Paul's expression hadn't changed, but Tatsuya could feel something in his mentor's gaze. It wasn't disappointment.
It was understanding.
A cold realization gripped Tatsuya's heart.
He wasn't failing.
He wasn't just messing up the technique.
He—
He couldn't use magic.
His breath came faster, uneven. His hands trembled as he lowered his sword.
No. That wasn't possible.
Everyone had mana. Everyone.
Even if it was weak, even if it was minuscule, there had to be something inside of him.
His eyes darted to Paul, desperation creeping into his voice. "Am I… doing something wrong?"
Paul sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then—
"You can't feel anything, can you?"
Tatsuya froze.
Paul's tone wasn't mocking, nor was it pitying. It was simply stating a fact.
"I…" The words wouldn't come out. His throat felt dry.
Paul let out a slow breath. "I have never seen this before…." His gaze was steady.
"I am sorry Tatsuya but…."
Tatsuya looked at Paul defeated, It was as if the world had suddenly tilted beneath his feet.
He looked at him for answers that maybe he knew something.
No mana.
No magic.
His entire body felt numb. His mind refused to accept it.
That couldn't be right.
That couldn't be right.
If he had no mana, then what was he supposed to do? What kind of cruel joke is this! Why refuse to let me rest and sent me to this place when I can't even use magic!!!
Why bring me here! Why don't just let me rest. I'll kill you!! You hear me I'll kill you who ever brought me here!!!