Chương 26: The Sword King I Never Asked For

No matter how often Sieghart practiced, Archery refused to appear on his status screen. He fired ordinary arrows, magical arrows, stationary shots, moving shots, and enough embarrassing misses to threaten every fence post surrounding the farm. The system remained silent. His physical ability with the bow still improved. Sieghart learned to keep his shoulders relaxed, maintain a consistent anchor point, and release the string without twisting his wrist.

The target gradually accumulated more holes than the wooden frame supporting it. Edric considered his progress excellent for a five-year-old. Sieghart considered that description technically accurate but strategically meaningless. Monsters wouldn't become less dangerous because their opponent was performing above the expected level for his age. Sieghart didn't particularly need the bow as his main weapon.

Fireball possessed greater destructive power, Water Creation could produce cutting pressure, and his elemental combinations offered far more flexibility than a single ranged weapon. The bow provided one advantage that made continued training worthwhile. Every magical arrow he fired emptied part of its storage, allowing him to recharge the weapon through Mana Transfusion. His usual training session developed a simple rhythm. Draw, aim, release, recharge. Draw, aim, release, recharge.

Even when the arrow missed, Mana Transfusion still received practice, which meant failure had finally discovered a way to become productive. The skill responded far more readily than Archery. Every attempt improved Sieghart's transfer speed, reduced the energy lost between his body and the enchantment, and made it easier to control the exact amount of mana supplied. By the time his arrows struck the center of the target consistently, Mana Transfusion had already reached Level Fifteen.

Mana Transfusion — Level 15 Transfer speed greatly increased. Energy loss greatly reduced. Multiple transfer channels available. Mentality increased by 13. The growth had transformed Sieghart's control. He could recharge the practice bow almost instantly, although he slowed the process whenever Master Thorne or his grandparents watched closely. More importantly, every level increased his Mentality. His mind became capable of maintaining larger flows of mana without developing the familiar pressure behind his eyes.

Sieghart couldn't determine whether the parameter literally strengthened his brain or merely increased his ability to process magical information. Either way, the difference was impossible to ignore. Spells that had once required complete concentration became considerably easier. He could water several sections of the farm simultaneously while maintaining Protection and using Wind Magic to move loose leaves away from the crops. The improvement wasn't unlimited.

Attempting to control too many effects still left his thoughts sluggish, and complex elemental combinations required careful attention. However, his limits now stood far beyond where they had been several months earlier. Despite that progress, the Transmission Path hadn't granted him another skill. Mana Transfusion remained its only branch, and Arcane Magic stubbornly refused to advance beyond Level One.

Sieghart had transferred thousands of mana points into bows, swords, lamps, farming tools, heating plates, and several experimental objects Master Thorne insisted were completely safe. Apparently, repeating one technique could improve that technique indefinitely without deepening the greater magical discipline behind it. The system demanded more than repetition before it recognized true advancement. Black Magic had gained experience when Sieghart killed monsters with offensive spells.

Its progression appeared tied to defeating enemies, destruction, or applying its power during genuine conflict. White Magic presented a different mystery. Protection leveled through increased output and sustained use, but the foundational magic hadn't gained visible experience. Arcane Magic followed the same pattern, remaining unchanged while Mana Transfusion continued advancing. Sieghart wondered whether every type of magic possessed a separate progression condition.

Black Magic might require combat, White Magic might require successfully protecting or healing others, and Arcane Magic could demand the creation of new mana applications. If that theory was correct, charging the same equipment repeatedly would never level Arcane Magic. Sieghart needed to accomplish something fundamentally different with raw mana. Unfortunately, none of his books provided an explanation.

They discussed magical growth, but only in vague conceptual terms that never mentioned levels, experience values, skill trees, or notifications. One author claimed that repeated use allowed a technique to become part of the practitioner's soul. Another argued that magical disciplines advanced whenever someone achieved a deeper understanding of their nature. A third insisted that true progress required receiving guidance from ancient spirits.

That author had disappeared into the mountains and was never seen again, which weakened the credibility of his argument.

'This is troubling…' The descriptions resembled Sieghart's system just enough to be frustrating. People in this world clearly experienced measurable progression, but they interpreted it through tradition, physical sensation, and personal philosophy. Perhaps the system merely translated natural growth into a form Sieghart understood. Instead of sensing that his soul had become more compatible with a spell, he received a blue notification announcing that the skill had gained a level.

That would explain why no book described the system directly. Other people didn't see windows, numerical parameters, or branching paths. They experienced the same changes without receiving an organized interface. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. It also meant Sieghart couldn't expect a book to tell him how to earn Arcane Magic experience. He would need to translate the authors' conceptual descriptions into practical experiments and discover the requirements himself.

At least the increased Mentality continued providing immediate benefits. Sieghart's daily Protection training had become much easier since Mana Transfusion reached Level Fifteen. The spell remained active while he worked, studied, practiced archery, and ate his meals. White mana constantly reinforced his body, gradually turning a technique that once required concentration into something resembling a second layer of skin. Protection always disappeared when Sieghart fell asleep.

No matter how firmly he intended to maintain it, the spell deactivated the moment his consciousness faded. He had attempted several solutions. He activated Protection immediately before sleeping, tied a string around his finger as a reminder, and even practiced while lying in bed to make the state feel natural. Nothing worked. The spell depended on active mental control, and sleep interrupted that control completely. Sieghart's body couldn't maintain the magical structure through instinct alone.

He wasn't quite there yet. That limitation didn't bother him as much as it once would have. Months earlier, maintaining Protection for an hour left his mind exhausted. Now he could keep it active throughout most of the day without discomfort. Eventually, the spell might become automatic enough to survive unconsciousness. Until then, Sieghart would continue extending the duration, increasing the mana output, and allowing his mind to adapt.

One afternoon, Sieghart sat on his bed with Protection active while reading a recently purchased book. The volume documented famous warriors who had defended the eastern territories during the previous twenty years. Sieghart had bought it because the book included reports about dungeon guardians. Those creatures possessed enormous mana reserves, making any reliable information about them potentially relevant to his own condition. Most of the book contained exaggerated battle accounts.

Warriors apparently never stumbled, retreated, or required assistance. Every victory occurred against impossible odds, usually beneath dramatic weather conditions. Sieghart suspected half the stories had been improved by professional writers. A warrior defeating ten enemies became one hundred. A large monster became a towering abomination capable of swallowing fortresses. He continued reading anyway.

Even embellished accounts could reveal useful information about Aura techniques, monster abilities, and the strength expected from elite combatants. Sieghart turned another page and stopped. A painted illustration occupied most of the paper. It depicted a red-haired warrior wearing black-and-crimson armor, standing amid several enormous monster corpses with a broad sword resting against one shoulder. The face looked younger, but Sieghart recognized the green eyes and severe expression immediately. His father.

The title above the illustration appeared in elaborate red lettering. THE CRIMSON SWORD KING Sieghart raised one eyebrow.

'What the… pretty flashy title.' That was a remarkably fancy title. Apparently, Lord Alaric Emberhart hadn't been satisfied with being muscular, wealthy, noble, and dressed like a legendary knight. He also needed a name that sounded like the final boss of a sword-fighting game. Sieghart began reading. According to the book, Alaric had already been considered a living legend during his youth. He entered his first dungeon before adulthood and cleared it with only three companions.

Two years later, he began entering smaller dungeons alone. He defeated monsters, destroyed cores, and killed several dungeon guardians without assistance. Sieghart reread that section to make certain he hadn't misunderstood. Dungeon guardians possessed the unusually large mana reserves Elara had mentioned. They were among the few creatures capable of using magic repeatedly without immediate exhaustion. His father hunted them alone. The book also claimed that Alaric had never lost a formal duel on the border.

Swordsmen, spear users, armored knights, and foreign champions had challenged him, but none managed to defeat the heir of House Emberhart. One battle description concerned an armored troll that avoided close combat by throwing boulders from a ridge. The monster had apparently learned that approaching Alaric's sword was an effective method of dying. The troll hurled several stones large enough to crush wagons. Alaric answered by drawing his sword and cutting the incoming boulders apart before they reached him.

Not deflecting them. Not dodging them. Cutting them apart.

'Surely this is an exaggeration..' Sieghart slowly lowered the book. He remembered the boulder at the edge of the farm. Destroying it had required a rapid barrage of Fireballs, considerable concentration, and enough smoke to reveal his position from a distance. His father could apparently accomplish the same result with one swing while also cutting through a projectile moving fast enough to flatten a wagon. The book might have exaggerated the details.

Sieghart wanted to believe that explanation, but House Emberhart had defended the border for generations. Alaric's reputation needed some foundation, and the recent invasion had placed him in command of the territory's forces. Perhaps the ridiculous armor hadn't been compensating for anything. Sieghart looked at his practice bow resting beside the desk. His accuracy had improved, Mana Transfusion had reached Level Fifteen, and Protection could remain active for most of the day.

Those achievements had felt significant until he learned that his father could solo dungeon guardians and slice flying boulders apart. If humans with powerful Auras could reach that level, Sieghart remained far weaker than he had assumed. Killing five isolated pig-men through ambushes didn't make him ready to face elite warriors. Unlimited mana provided limitless fuel, but his spells were still basic, his body remained young, and his strongest attacks required time to prepare.

Someone as fast as the Crimson Sword King could probably cross the distance and cut him down before the first Fireball left his hand. That thought created an uncomfortable pressure in Sieghart's chest. He didn't want to fight his father, yet his independence ultimately depended on possessing enough strength that Alaric couldn't control him. Money, knowledge, and secrecy could protect Sieghart temporarily.

They wouldn't matter if House Emberhart eventually ordered him to return and sent warriors capable of cutting through everything he placed in their path. He looked down at the illustration again. The artist had shown Alaric surrounded by broken stone and burning monster corpses, his sword raised while soldiers cheered behind him. Sieghart still resented the man for sending him away. Unfortunately, resentment couldn't erase strength.

If anything, knowing how powerful his father was made the abandonment more infuriating. A living legend had decided that his firstborn child wasn't worth training. Sieghart closed the book and activated his status screen. Mana Transfusion had grown, but his foundational paths remained low. Fireball needed more speed, Protection needed greater strength, and Arcane Magic needed an offensive application. He could congratulate himself after reaching a level where falling boulders stopped being a serious problem.

Until then, celebrating basic progress would only make him complacent. Sieghart picked up his bow and headed outside. The sun remained high enough for several hours of training, and the target still possessed sections that hadn't been pierced. His father had earned the title of Crimson Sword King. Sieghart didn't care about earning a title of his own. He only intended to become strong enough that no king, sword or otherwise, could decide his future.