Chương 76: Books Never Called Him an Idiot

By the time Sieghart and Ronan returned to Seraphina, the sun had nearly disappeared behind the western wall. The city's runic lamps were beginning to glow along the streets, bathing the passing vehicles and pedestrians in pale-blue light. Sieghart walked beside Ronan with his shoulders lowered and his steps noticeably shorter than they had been that morning. His clothes smelled like smoke, mud, animals, and several hours of forest travel. Most importantly, every muscle beneath those clothes hurt.

He had not felt this physically tired in a long time. His Stamina had recovered whenever they stopped moving, but ordinary exhaustion had settled deeply into his body. Sieghart had once spent entire days helping his grandparents maintain their farm. He had walked across fields, moved tools, carried small baskets, and performed whatever physical work his age allowed. Unfortunately, an entire year beneath the Lunar Arc guild had erased much of that conditioning.

Repeatedly casting spells inside one underground room had trained his mind far more than his body. His physical parameters remained low as well. Infinite Mana did not strengthen his legs, improve his lungs, or prevent his shoulders from aching after controlling a frozen rope against a monster larger than a wagon. Protection reduced damage and allowed him to endure impacts, but it did not magically transform his muscles into those of a trained Aura user. Even maintaining the spell created its own mental burden.

Ronan glanced down at him while they crossed another street.

"You look terrible."

"I am fine."

"You're walking like an old man."

"I spent the day running from monsters."

"You spent part of the day sliding away from one. The ice did most of the work."

"The ice didn't create itself." Ronan slowed slightly, allowing Sieghart to continue beside him without making his struggle too obvious. He possessed enough survival instinct not to offer carrying the boy. Sieghart would have refused, become irritated, and possibly increased the temperature around them until Ronan regretted attempting to help. The tracker instead adjusted the leather pouch containing the corrupted monster core and continued toward the guild at a more reasonable pace.

The farmers had thanked them repeatedly before they left. All the surviving animals had been returned, and Ronan had promised that Lunar Arc would investigate whether a tamer had deliberately placed the corrupted prowlers near their land. Sieghart had received a portion of the payment, although Ronan kept the exact value to himself until they reached the guild. He claimed that giving money to an exhausted child in the middle of a forest was unnecessary.

Sieghart suspected the tracker simply wanted another excuse to force him to return without wandering toward some other training opportunity. The Lunar Arc headquarters remained as loud as ever when they entered. Guild members occupied most of the ground floor, exchanging stories, drinking, arguing over payments, and examining notices on the job board. Sieghart maintained Phantom Image before crossing the entrance.

His crimson hair appeared dark brown, his green eyes became gray, and the recognizable features inherited from House Emberhart softened beneath the illusion. A few people looked toward him, but most were more interested in Ronan's burned cloak and bloodstained clothing. Someone shouted a question about whether he had fallen into a furnace. Ronan responded with a rude gesture and continued walking. Sieghart followed him toward the basement stairs without stopping.

After one year underground, returning to the small room should have felt disappointing. Instead, the familiar walls seemed unusually welcoming. The floor was level, the temperature remained stable, and nothing inside possessed teeth large enough to close around his torso. Perhaps he truly needed to leave the basement more often if ordinary furniture had started inspiring gratitude. Ronan placed a wrapped meal on the table before setting down the payment for the job.

Several silver coins struck the wooden surface with a pleasant series of sounds.

"The core has to be inspected and purified before it can be sold. If it's usable, you'll receive another share." Sieghart glanced at the coins.

"How much is the core worth?"

"That depends on what remained after you cooked it."

"The interior looked intact."

"So did the rope before the monster tore it apart." Sieghart stared at him.

"That comparison doesn't make sense."

"I'm tired, kid. Not every sentence needs to become a debate." Ronan left before Sieghart could ask anything else. For once, he even closed the door behind himself, proving that exhaustion could teach manners where repeated complaints had failed. Sieghart removed his cloak and sat on the edge of the bed. The moment he stopped moving, the heaviness in his legs became much more noticeable. He considered eating and sleeping immediately.

That would have been the sensible decision after spending an entire day healing animals, fighting monsters, experimenting with new magic, and traveling. Unfortunately, the sand sword leaning against the wall caught his attention. Sieghart had carried the weapon back from the farm. Ronan had questioned why anyone would transport a fragile sword made from compressed soil, but Sieghart refused to abandon a useful training tool. He stared at it for several seconds before standing again.

"I'll try once." That was how most excessively long training sessions began. Sieghart grabbed the sand sword and placed it horizontally above the table. Sand Control maintained its position while he sat in front of it and steadied his breathing. The exercise felt different after several hours of thinking about the weapon's internal structure. Before, he had poured mana into the hollow space and attempted to spread it evenly through raw control. Now he imagined the coating on Ronan's rope.

The weapon did not need countless disconnected sections filled independently. It needed one continuous mana structure capable of adjusting pressure across its entire body. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Sieghart placed two fingers against the handle and activated Mana Transfusion. Energy spread across the outer shell before entering through the cracks between compressed grains.

The mana reached the guard, flowed around both sides, and continued through the hollow blade. Sieghart reduced the amount entering weaker areas while reinforcing the internal connection. He completed the process considerably faster than his previous attempt. More importantly, the mana did not dissolve when it reached the tip. The energy remained stable from the handle to the end of the blade, filling the hollow interior like an artificial skeleton. Every section felt connected to everything surrounding it.

Sieghart lifted his hand. The sand sword remained floating without assistance from Sand Control. Its edge trembled slightly, and several grains broke away near the tip, but the weapon continued responding to the mana inside it. The process required far more concentration than moving his elemental constructs, yet the structure did not collapse. Sieghart rotated the blade once before returning it to its original position. A satisfied smile appeared briefly on his face.

The rope exercise had taught him how flexible objects distributed strain. The sand sword had allowed him to apply that knowledge to a rigid weapon possessing a hollow internal structure. Together, those lessons had solved a problem that a week of pouring more mana into empty air had failed to overcome. Sieghart released the earthen weapon and raised his empty right hand. His fatigue remained, but stopping before testing the real technique was no longer possible. Arcane mana gathered around his palm.

He activated Mana Transfusion without a physical target, forcing the energy to remain in place while Mana Rune provided an initial framework. A cylindrical shape formed against his palm. Sieghart stabilized it before extending the structure outward, building the handle as one continuous body instead of stacking separate layers. The summoned grip became solid enough for his fingers to close around it. The guard emerged next, spreading evenly toward both sides without breaking the connection.

Sieghart began forming the blade. Previously, the construct had dissolved shortly after extending beyond the guard. He had managed to create roughly one-third of the weapon before its internal instability destroyed everything. This time, Sieghart imagined the framework running through the sand sword. Mana extended from the handle into the forming blade like a connected skeleton. The weapon reached forty percent completion. Sieghart maintained his breathing and adjusted the pressure across the entire construct.

The edges sharpened while the central section remained thick enough to support them. Fifty percent. His Mentality allowed him to sense every unstable section before it collapsed. Whenever the mana weakened, he redirected power through the existing framework instead of blindly adding more from outside. The translucent blade extended farther. Sixty percent. Sieghart stopped increasing its length and concentrated on holding the incomplete weapon together.

The Mana Sword remained visible for three seconds, then five, then nearly ten. Its unfinished tip flickered repeatedly. Several cracks appeared along the central structure, but the handle and guard remained perfectly stable. Eventually, the pressure became too great. The incomplete blade broke apart from the tip backward, dissolving into pale particles before reaching the guard. Sieghart stared at his empty hand.

"Not too shabby." He had nearly doubled his previous progress in a single day. More importantly, he understood why the technique had improved instead of accidentally forcing his way forward. The correct foundation made every later section easier to create. Once he learned how to stabilize a complete blade, adding density and durability would become the next challenge. Sieghart leaned back and massaged his aching forehead. The results provided an uncomfortable lesson that had nothing to do with Mana Swords.

Learning from another person was considerably faster than studying alone. Books had given him knowledge about Aura, magic, monster cores, nations, and countless other subjects. They offered explanations without demanding anything and never judged how he intended to use what he learned. However, a book could not observe his failed spell and immediately identify the precise mistake. It could not choose an exercise suited to his habits or correct him while he practiced.

Ronan had accomplished in one afternoon what Sieghart had failed to discover after a week of experimentation. The man remained irritating, careless, and apparently incapable of knocking before entering any room, but his knowledge was undeniable. Lunar Arc contained many people with similar experience. The guild housed trackers, enchanters, healers, fighters, explorers, scholars, scouts, and specialists with unusual forms of magic.

Several probably understood disciplines that Sieghart had never encountered in his books. If he convinced them to teach him, his progress could increase dramatically. One year of proper instruction might accomplish more than several years of isolated experimentation. The idea should have been encouraging. Instead, it made Sieghart uneasy. He knew what would drive his learning once he started asking for advanced lessons.

Curiosity mattered, and survival remained important, but neither represented his true destination. He wanted revenge. The desire no longer controlled every expression or made his mana react constantly, yet it had never disappeared. Time had cooled his anger without changing its direction. Sieghart intended to find the people responsible for murdering his grandparents. Once he identified them, he would not stop after exposing their crimes or handing them to authorities he barely trusted.

He would acquire enough power to ensure that everyone involved paid personally. Pretending otherwise would only make him a liar in addition to everything else. Some guild members would refuse to help if they understood that purpose. They might willingly teach magic for self-defense, exploration, or protecting others while rejecting the idea of their techniques becoming tools for vengeance. Sieghart could not blame them.

If someone asked him for Fire Magic lessons while openly declaring an intention to burn down an enemy's home, he would probably refuse as well. Recent experience had made him particularly sensitive to houses exploding during the night. Hiding his intentions might allow him to learn more, but deceiving teachers carried its own risks. People became remarkably hostile when they discovered that their trust had helped someone kill others. There was also the matter of his identity.

Most members had only seen Sieghart briefly when Ronan first brought him into the guild. Phantom Image now concealed his most recognizable features whenever he moved through shared areas. However, illusions were not perfect. Someone skilled enough might notice the mana surrounding his face, while another person could recognize his habits, spells, or connection to Mira. If the guild discovered that the quiet child beneath their headquarters was Sieghart Emberhart, opinions would divide quickly.

Some might see the abandoned son of the Crimson Sword King. Others might remember the wanted posters accusing him of murdering his grandparents and destroying their farm. A few would believe the rumors. Some would assume House Emberhart intended to reclaim him, while others might view his Infinite Mana as an opportunity too valuable to ignore. Working for Mira did not mean every guild member trusted her decisions without question. Lunar Arc was not a single creature possessing one mind and one set of beliefs.

It was an organization filled with individuals who remained because their interests currently aligned. Loyalty could be strong without becoming absolute. Sieghart had watched enough people disagree on the ground floor to understand that Mira could not simply order everyone to accept him. Even if they obeyed publicly, private resentment and fear would remain. Learning from the guild offered enormous benefits, but every teacher would become another person aware of his abilities.

Every lesson would reveal more of what he could do and how quickly he improved. Sooner or later, someone would ask why a seven-year-old child required so many ways to kill things. Sieghart looked at the fading particles left by his incomplete Mana Sword. He could continue studying alone. That path would protect his secrets, reduce political complications, and ensure that no one questioned his motives. It would also waste time. His grandparents had died because someone feared what Sieghart might become.

Remaining weak for the sake of secrecy would not honor them or protect him from another attack. He needed teachers, but he also needed to choose them carefully. Trusting everyone would be foolish, while refusing all assistance because betrayal remained possible would be equally shortsighted. Ronan had proven that much, even if Sieghart disliked admitting it. He picked up the sand sword and began filling its interior again.

The mana traveled slightly faster than during the previous attempt, guided by a structure that became more familiar every time. Perhaps he did not need the entire guild. He only needed the right people. Finding them would be more difficult than learning any spell from a book, because books never lied about trusting him and never cared how their knowledge was used. Unfortunately, books also never called him an idiot until he corrected his mistakes.

For the first time since entering Lunar Arc, Sieghart began wondering whether remaining beneath the guild was enough.