After the argument, I forced a hollow "thank you" for the food and retreated. I didn't want to drag the fight out any further. I needed solitude.
My room was swallowed by absolute darkness, save for a small, silver patch of moonlight that had settled on my worn desk. I moved mechanically to my chair, sank into it, and picked up my notebook and pen.
I didn't know what I was writing, or why. I just tried to make my pen move across the page. Then, a single drop of water splattered onto the ink, followed immediately by another.
I tried to wipe the tears away, frustrated that my own emotions were betraying me, but they kept falling. It was a deluge, and it felt like even my body was refusing to obey. The hurt was a dull, heavy ache in my chest.
Why me, God? Why am I the one? Why can't I use my mana?
I whispered the questions, wiping the endless stream from my eyes. Why don't they understand? Why are they judging me? I try everything I can!
The page was quickly becoming soaked. When I finally stopped crying, the house was silent and the moon had climbed high. It was long past midnight. Sleep was impossible.
A restless energy pushed me out of my chair.
I opened my door and slipped out. The staircase was shrouded in a strange, thick gloom. I descended slowly, soundlessly, and moved through the dining hall and out the door. The fresh night air was a welcome relief, a balm to my raw emotions.
It was a full moon night. I started walking aimlessly until a faint sound stopped me. It was a fragile, metallic clink, barely audible. It seemed to come from the backyard.
My feet turned toward the storage shed where Father kept his equipment. I felt a sudden, desperate thought: This is my last time. If I couldn't channel even a flicker of magic tonight, I would quit the dream. It would be hard, but I knew I couldn't keep fighting a battle I couldn't win.
I carefully opened the shed door, making sure not to make a sound. The inside was pitch-black. I fumbled for a moment, trying to find the corner where I thought the old weapons were kept.
My fingers brushed against something cold and smooth. I focused, and in the sliver of moonlight filtering from the door, I saw it: a katana with a handle of solid black pitch. I was instantly drawn to it. I couldn't recall when it had arrived or who had given it to us. It was simply there, tucked away in a corner and buried beneath a mountain of old utensils.
Then, a distant memory flickered. This property had once belonged to a veteran knight who had died in the war, his family vanishing shortly after. Perhaps this sword belonged to him.
I moved the surrounding boxes and metal trays aside, clearing a path. The katana was long—too long for me to wield properly now, but I knew that one day, I would grow into it.
Driven by an irresistible pull, I tried to lift the sword. It was heavy, and the surrounding clutter made it difficult to maneuver. I braced myself and pulled with all my strength.
The moment the sword came free, I lost my balance. My feet skidded, and the entire stack of boxes and rusty junk came crashing down around me.
"Oh, shit!" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. If Father woke up now, I'd be punished severely.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the beautiful black katana. As I took my second step toward the door, my leg struck something soft that wasn't a box.
I reached down and lifted it. It was a book.
Clutching the heavy sword in one hand and the book in the other, I slipped out of the storage shed and into the moonlight.
In the faint, silver light, I examined my find. The book was large, bound in black, and across its cover, in faded, elegant script, were the chilling words: "The Curse and the Dark Magic." It was interesting, but unsettling.
Sighing, I held the book tighter and started walking. My footsteps carried me toward the village training ground. The village was completely dark, but the moonlight made the path visible. I spotted a faint glow from the temple up ahead. I stopped at the gate, took one of the small, sheltered candles, and continued my trek.
The training ground was vast, and under the cloak of night, it seemed to expand into an endless void.
"Stop thinking nonsense," I scolded myself.
I sat down in the center of the clearing, placing the katana on the ground and the book beside it. I settled the candle near the page, its small flame casting jumping shadows on the text.
I began to read.
The first page offered a terrifying description:
The Dark Energy is the confluence of destructive power, the sacred art used only by those who master the Dark Core.It is a volatile mixture of all Elemental Magic, amplified by the essence of destruction.The Light Magic, on the other hand, is born when all elemental magic is mixed with the essence of life, manifesting a different aspect of power.
I turned the page, desperate for an answer.
How to use Dark Magic: First, you must create a Dark Elemental Core. The Dark Elemental Core is a fragile vessel with an extremely high essence. To begin, you must first know the efficiency of the four elemental magics.
"What four elemental magics?" I shouted, frustrated. "I can't even use one now! What is this bullshit?"
I frantically turned the pages, looking for any other method, any easier technique. Then, my eyes landed on a heading:
How to extract dark magic by using—