"So you see, each technique has three forms — Low, Mid, and High. They become accessible only when certain requirements are met." Damien's calm, deep voice carried through the oak-paneled study as he handed a thick, leather-bound book to his daughter. The afternoon sunlight cut through the tall arched windows, dust motes drifting in golden beams, settling on the shelves of ancient manuscripts and blades that hung like slumbering sentinels on the wall.
Sophia received the book with careful hands, her small fingers brushing against the embossed Verdant sigil on the cover — a sword entwined by ivy. She could feel a quiet weight within the pages, something old and sacred.
The two sat across from one another — Damien behind his desk of dark ironwood, his expression steady as a blade's edge; Sophia perched on the high chair opposite him, her legs swinging slightly in excitement. After breakfast, he had promised her an explanation — a lesson on the aspects of Swordsmanship Thomas and Iris had yet to cover.
"And what are these requirements?" she asked, opening the first page.
The parchment revealed a skeletal figure drawn with fine black ink — a detailed anatomy almost identical to the one Juan had shown her during his mana lessons.
"That right there," Damien said, leaning forward and tapping the diagram, "is our human anatomy. Here—" his finger traced the region between the heart and the solar plexus "—this part houses what we call the Sword Core. It is a metaphysical heart, a crystalline formation of pure Aura that develops within a swordsman's spirit."
His eyes softened slightly as he continued, "It's not visible to the naked eye, but it's there — resonating quietly within every blade wielder's essence. For you, Sophia, it will be the same. A Swordswoman's core burns no differently."
Sophia's eyes widened as she followed the faint lines of the sketch. The idea of something luminous existing within her, a heart of crystal and light, stirred a strange fascination.
"This Sword Core is necessary to learn some of the techniques," Damien continued. "Just as a Mage draws upon mana, a Swordsman wields Aura."
He paused, allowing the words to breathe before elaborating — his tone shifting into one of reverence, as if reciting scripture.
"Aura is the manifestation of life essence refined through willpower and intent. Every living being possesses it as a faint spark — an invisible pressure that mirrors one's vitality, conviction, and spirit. For most, that spark remains dormant, unnoticed. But for a Swordsman, it becomes both a weapon and shield."
Sophia looked up, her curiosity overtaking her restraint. "How can I use Aura?"
Her father's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile — half pride, half warning. He recognized the gleam in her eyes; it was the same hunger that had burned in him when he was younger.
"Aura is not something you use immediately," he said, closing the book and setting it aside. "It cannot be absorbed like mana — it must be forged. Tempered through mind, body, and spirit until they move as one."
Sophia's mouth opened to speak again, but Damien raised a hand gently, forestalling her question. "That will come later. We will speak of Awakening the Flame of Aura once you are ready — when your body and resolve can truly bear it."
He flipped the book open again, revealing rows of ornate script and diagrams. "For now, remember this — the stage of your Sword Core determines how much of a technique you can access. From Initiate of the Blade to Adept Bladeswoman, you can only perform the Low Forms. Attempting Mid Forms before your foundation matures will only lead to backlash — sometimes fatal."
He pointed at the chart inked on the right-hand page. It mapped the progression from Initiate, Apprentice, Adept, each stage marked by a different hue of Aura. The higher stages branched into Blade Seeker, Sword Sage, and further beyond.
"As you climb higher — from Blade Seeker to Sword Sage — Mid Forms become accessible. The High Forms, however, belong only to Sword Saints and Grandmasters."
He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. "And as for the Sword Sovereign…"
A faint shadow passed over his expression. "History has not yet seen one. But if such a being were to exist, the power they wield could swallow the world itself."
Sophia swallowed hard. The image of a swordsman whose strike could cleave through the world lingered in her mind — both terrifying and strangely beautiful.
Damien gave a quiet chuckle at her wide-eyed stare. "Don't let that frighten you. A blade's power reflects its wielder's heart. To command such strength requires more than skill — it demands purity of will."
He gestured to the chart again. "There's also a difference between using a Form and mastering it. Two swordsmen may wield the same technique, but the one with a stronger Sword Core — or a steadier foundation — will always surpass the other. Still, if your fundamentals are solid, and your will unwavering, you can overcome anyone — even those stronger than you."
The words ignited something within Sophia — a subtle fire that burned behind her calm eyes. To defeat someone stronger… That notion resonated deep in her chest, like a secret promise.
"The stages of the Sword Core," Damien continued, now writing on a slip of parchment, "go as follows: Awakening, Steady Flame, Refined Ember, Flowing Current, Radiant Core, Harmonic Core, Crystalline Core, and finally, Luminous Heart."
He paused. "The name of the Sovereign stage remains unknown. Perhaps it is meant to be discovered — not taught."
Sophia watched the lines of his writing, the graceful discipline in each stroke. She felt a quiet awe — not just for his knowledge, but for the composure with which he carried it. The weight of a man who had lived by the sword's truth.
"That should be it for now," Damien said, stacking the documents on his desk. "Go rest for a while. Juan will be arriving soon."
Sophia rose, bowing her head slightly in a gesture she had picked up from her tutors. "Thank you, Daddy!" she said, her voice brightening as she clutched the book close to her chest.
As she left, Damien watched her small figure disappear through the doorway — sunlight glancing off her silver hair. His expression softened.
"She learns faster than I did," he murmured under his breath, before turning back to his papers.
—Afternoon—
The training room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the wall clock and the rustle of chalk across a slate board. Juan had arrived, carrying his usual satchel filled with scrolls and strange devices. He placed it on the table beside the board, dusting off his sleeves.
"So," he said, glancing at Sophia, "how has your progress been?"
Sophia straightened instinctively. "I've been practicing daily! It's been going well. I used to take five minutes to cast a Fireball — now I can do it in two and a half."
Juan's lips twitched in satisfaction. "Not bad," he said, removing his gloves. "Continue like that. Consistency is the true teacher. The more you refine, the deeper your core becomes."
Sophia nodded. Ever since that first lesson on the Path of Mana, her daily routine had changed completely. The mornings were for sword and body; afternoons for magic. Juan had given her several books — basic manipulation techniques and harmless spell formulas — to practice when he was away.
Her photographic memory had made memorizing the circles effortless, but repetition — mastery — that took time. She could feel it every time mana coursed through her: the subtle resistance, the sluggishness that yielded just a little more with each attempt.
Juan turned back to the board and picked up a stick of chalk. His cursive writing, once hard to decipher, now looked fluid and deliberate.
"Let's talk about why you need to increase proficiency and capacity," he said. "First — proficiency. What is it?"
"It's… one's ability to perform a task more skillfully?" Sophia ventured.
"Correct." He nodded, drawing smooth arcs on the board that shimmered faintly with residual mana. "In magic, proficiency is like sword training. The more you practice a stance, the better you become at it. The same applies to spells. The more you form and release them, the faster, cleaner, and more efficient your casting becomes."
He extended a hand, and four small motes of colored light appeared — red, blue, brown, and white — hovering gently above his palm.
"Fire, water, earth, air. The basic elements. Their control comes from habit — from the body learning the rhythm of release."
Sophia watched, her focus sharpening as the motes shifted and spun around his fingers like miniature planets.
"To increase your mana capacity," Juan continued, "you simply keep filling your core. Again and again, until it refuses more."
He drew in a slow breath, absorbing mana from the air. The space around him rippled faintly — a brief vacuum before the surrounding energy rushed to fill it. Sophia felt the disturbance, subtle yet immense.
Her own Mana Core, by comparison, was a pond — wide, still, and patient. It took hours to fill, and days to refine completely. She and Juan had tested it once; it had taken more than a day and a half before she could no longer bear the fullness.
"So," Juan said, writing again, "the method is simple: fill your core to the brim, then use that mana through repeated casting. Each casting sharpens proficiency and gradually stretches the capacity."
He sketched a clean diagram — a circle representing the Mana Core — and began marking concentric rings inside it. "Each ring represents a Circle of progression."
Sophia tilted her head. "There are tiers?"
"Yes," he said, drawing lines with precision. "Each Circle corresponds to a tier of magic. A 2nd Circle Mage uses Tier 2 circles, and so forth. What you've been learning so far — the spells and magic circles — are Tier 1. When you ascend to the 2nd Circle, you'll need to learn more advanced ones."
"Can't I just memorize them all now?" she asked eagerly.
Juan chuckled, shaking his head. "You could try — your memory certainly allows it — but access is the problem. Most higher-tier spells are guarded by academies or noble houses. Knowledge, after all, is power — and power is rarely shared freely."
Sophia frowned slightly, understanding his meaning. Families and academies kept such knowledge as leverage — weapons of influence.
"What about magic circles?" she asked. "Can't we learn those freely?"
"That we can," Juan said, smiling faintly. "But remember — each spell's circle has a unique structure and runic pattern. Mixing incompatible ones can lead to… unpleasant consequences."
He drew another set of circles on the board, each more complex than the last.
"Tier 1 through Tier 8. That's as far as recorded magic goes. Anything beyond is speculation."
Sophia memorized them as he worked, her gaze sharp. The runic language etched into her mind like calligraphy across her thoughts.
"Remember," Juan warned, his tone firming, "these must be used sequentially. If you try to imprint a Third Circle pattern directly onto a First Circle Core…" He snapped his fingers. "It'll explode. Instant death."
Sophia nodded solemnly. "I understand."
"Good." He began to draw seven intricate circles in sequence — Tier 2 through Tier 8 — each glowing faintly as mana resonated within the chalk lines.
Half an hour passed in steady rhythm, the only sounds the quiet scratch of chalk and the low hum of gathering mana. When he finally stepped back, the board was covered in a spiral of symbols that pulsed faintly like breathing light.
Sophia had already memorized every detail.
Juan wiped the board clean, the chalk dust rising like mist. "Now — advancement. To move from the First Circle to the Second, you repeat the refining process. You fill, refine, expand, again and again. It may sound simple, but it isn't."
Sophia frowned slightly. "Why? If it's just refining, can't anyone become a 8th Circle Mage?"
"Not everyone," Juan replied quietly. "Each person is born with an inner talent — the innate potential that defines their limit. You can train and refine endlessly, but once you reach your bottleneck, progress halts. Only a few can shatter it."
She leaned forward, curiosity mingled with disbelief. "So… most people can't reach it?"
"Most stop long before," Juan said. His gaze softened. "But you, Sophia — your talent is vast. Even among those I've met, few compare. You could stand at the summit if you learn to wield what you already have."
The words hung in the air like a quiet prophecy. For a heartbeat, Sophia was silent — not out of pride, but shock. At the top of the world? It sounded distant, impossible… yet thrilling.
She thought of her past life — a life where freedom had been denied to her — and now, this one, where strength could make freedom real.
"Sophia," Juan said softly, noticing her distant eyes.
"Yeah?" she answered absently.
"Don't let such thoughts swell your head," he said, tone firm but kind. "Even the greatest talent means nothing without effort. Becoming a 8th Circle Mage takes work — relentless, patient work."
Sophia smiled faintly and nodded. "Hmm… I know." Her goal was to become the strongest, be it with Swordsmanship or Magic. She would reach the pinnacle of power to never let anyone take her freedom.