"998."
"999."
"And… 1000."
The wooden sword came down with the last ounce of strength in my arms. My shoulders burned, my grip throbbed, and sweat dripped from my chin onto the dirt below. Finally, the count was complete.
I let the practice sword slip from my hands. It hit the ground with a dull thud, sending a small puff of dust into the air. My lips curled into a tired smile. A thousand swings. Completed.
The sun was already dipping below the horizon, its light painting the training yard in fading gold. I hadn't realized how much time had passed, locked in the rhythm of swing after swing. My arms felt like noodles, my fingers cramped, and every breath rattled in my chest.
"Huff… huff… huff…"
Still, I couldn't call it a day just yet.
Bending down, I gathered what little strength remained and lifted the wooden sword again. This time not for training, but to return it to its place. With slow steps, I carried it to the weapons rack and leaned it against the others. A sense of relief washed over me the moment I let go.
But my mind wasn't finished moving, even if my body was.
I wanted—no, I needed—to read.
I walked back inside, guided by the soft glow of lanterns along the hall. My room greeted me with the quiet comfort of books stacked neatly on the nightstand. Among them waited the one I had been saving for tonight: Mana Cores: The Foundation of True Power.
Sitting down, I pulled the book closer, its old leather cover cool under my fingertips. I opened to the first chapter and began to read.
Much of the early section was information I already knew. Mana cores were rare, forming only when someone reached an advanced age—ninety, maybe even a full century. Only then would their body have absorbed enough mana from the world to condense it into a core. It was what made them precious, the mark of a mage who had lived long enough to shape true power.
But I wasn't ninety. I wasn't even close. And yet… a mana core pulsed inside me.
Turning another page, my eyes caught on a passage that made my breath hitch.
A mana core is more than a vessel. It is a filter. By drawing in mana from the world, the core refines it, changing it into the wielder's own unique mana. With this process, one's supply of mana becomes limitless, so long as mana exists in the air.
I froze, staring at the words.
Limitless mana.
Not only that—the core didn't just supply power. It remade it, transforming the world's energy into something that was mine alone, malleable and obedient.
And what caught my attention was a passage in the book explaining how I was supposed to absorb mana. It wasn't just about pulling it in like I had imagined—it was a cycle.
I had to release some of my own mana outward, scattering it into the air. By still holding control over my mana, I would use my released mana to gather and draw in the surrounding mana, clumping mana together until the world's mana started to shift into something I could call my own. Then, once I gathered mana, I would take it back in.
In other words, it was a way to replenish myself endlessly. A perfect loop. But I would take insane mana control something I didn't have yet, and the book didn't even explain how I would clump mana together using mine.
Thoughts filled my mind as I leaned back against the backboard of my bed, staring at the glowing lines of text, my heart beating faster. This wasn't just a fact in a dusty book—it was a method. A skill. And if I could master it, I'd never run out of mana again.
But that was for later. I wasn't ready yet. If I tried to force it now, I might just end up burning myself out or worse. For now, I needed to focus on something I could actually start planning: my suit of armor.
I pushed the book on mana cores aside and reached for another, one I had taken from the library's section on magical crafting and enchantments. The pages smelled faintly of old parchment and ink, and just flipping through them gave me a thrill.
The first section I found talked about magic circuits—the foundation of any enchanted object. Without them, metal was just metal, stone was just stone. To carve and bind mana into form, I'd need to write enchantments directly onto the armor using mana ink. The book described it as a rare alchemical mixture, crafted from powdered monster cores and mixed with silver filings to allow mana to flow like blood through veins.
I paused, my mind already picturing glowing lines running across my future armor, a network of power thrumming beneath the surface like nerves in a body.
Turning the page, I found a list of recommended crafting materials:
Mythril: Lightweight yet stronger than steel, able to conduct mana efficiently. Perfect for flexibility.
Adamantite: Nearly indestructible, though extremely heavy. Often used in shields or fortress gates.
Dragonbone: Surprisingly light, naturally resonant with mana. A rare but powerful base material.
Steelwood: A magical wood infused with iron. It bends and flexes but retains the strength of metal.
Stardust Ore: Said to fall from the sky, brimming with natural mana. Extremely difficult to refine, but ideal for enchantments.
The thought of combining these into a single suit made my chest tighten with excitement. Armor that could fly, fire beams of light, and resist any blow—it didn't feel like a childish dream anymore. It was starting to sound possible.
I traced the words on the page with my finger. To make it real, I'd need circuits, ink, and a material that could balance both strength and mana flow. For now, it was just theory, but every invention started as an idea written on paper.
That reminded me—I didn't even have paper or a proper pen yet. If I wanted to design armor, I'd need a place to map out the circuits, the joints, and the enchantment placements. Building something like this wasn't just about brute force or raw magic. It was about planning every detail, every layer, until it all fit together.
I flipped back through the list of materials, my eyes catching on mythril. Lightweight, flexible, and a natural conductor of mana—it seemed like the most practical foundation for a suit. Dragonbone sounded amazing, but realistically, where would I even find that? Adamantite was far too heavy for armor that needed to fly. Mythril felt right. If I could get enough of it, I could start small, maybe just an armguard or a chestplate, and expand later.
I shut the book and rested it on my lap, already envisioning the glowing circuits crawling across silver-white armor. But for that vision to mean anything, I'd need supplies—paper, ink, tools, and eventually the crafting materials themselves.
A smile tugged at my lips. Tomorrow, I'd ask Mom to take me into the city. If I could convince her, maybe I'd finally get the chance to pick up the basics. Even if I couldn't buy mythril yet, just browsing the shops and getting a feel for the market would be the first real step toward turning my dream into reality.
I stood, stretched, and padded toward the living room where Mom was sewing by lamplight.
"Mom," I said, trying not to sound too eager, "can we go to the city tomorrow? I… want to pick up some supplies."
She looked up from her work, eyebrow raised. "Supplies? For what?"
"Books, paper, maybe some ink," I answered quickly. "For studying. And… planning things."
Her expression softened, and she gave me a small smile. "Planning things, huh? You're just like your father." She set down her needle and thread.
"Alright how could I say no to my little pumpkin. We'll leave in the morning."