I headed back toward the cell.
Step.
Somehow...
Step.
My feet felt a bit lighter as I walked down the corridor.
A guard followed a few paces behind me as we passed the baths and smithies.
For a brief moment, I considered asking for permission to wash, but I dismissed the thought.
I was too tired.
Too drained.
The constant training to the brink of mana depletion had worn me down.
My body felt hollow, and I was slightly light-headed from the wounds I had received.
My gaze drifted down.
The cut along my throat had stopped bleeding, but the wounds on my shoulder, thigh, and arm were still open.
I would have to bandage them properly.
Click.
The guard opened the door for me, and I entered.
Thud.
The door closed behind me.
My feet had already carried me forward, toward the table.
I poured myself a cup of water and drank my fill. Then grabbed a piece of bread and meat before climbing the bed.
Up there, I ate slowly, savoring the meal.
Honestly, it tasted like ordinary bread and ordinary meat.
But after months of stone-hard bread and barely enough rations to survive, it felt almost luxurious.
I finished my meal and turned toward the wall of numbers.
I counted them one after another.
And—
For the first time since arriving here—
I didn't have to add another number.
It felt good.
So much that it even surprised me.
This relief, which I felt upon not having to kill someone.
It was strange.
How I had once loathed the thought of killing another person and now—
Now I was relieved that I went one day without killing someone.
I reached beneath my mattress and pulled out the strips of cloth I had hidden.
Carefully, I wrapped my shoulder, thigh, and both arms, tying the knots tight enough to stop the bleeding.
I checked if the knot was tight one last time before lying down.
But sleep didn't come immediately.
So I resumed what I had done for the past few days.
Training my mana control.
It was ironic.
The only reason I had survived today was that I had pushed myself to the brink of collapse every single day.
But that was also the reason I was so exhausted and why I was losing in the first place.
Until now, I had only activated my mana lines during fights or training.
But this time, I tried something different.
I was trying to ingrain this technique into my body like muscle memory so that I could constantly hold the mana lines and be ready at every moment.
I wanted to use mana the same way I breathed, without even thinking.
A thin line connected my core to each limb.
So faint that it barely used up mana.
I held those lines.
And eventually—
Sleep took me.
***
Click.
The door opened, and a guard brought another crate of food.
My legs felt heavy as I climbed down the bed.
I was tired.
The nightmares didn't let me rest.
I took some food and headed straight to the arena.
It was empty.
Only a pair of guards sat near the entrance, playing cards.
They glanced at me before resuming their game.
I walked past them and halted in front of the weapon rack.
My gaze lingered for a moment on the short sword I had used yesterday before my hand gripped the familiar hilt of a longsword.
I pulled it out and walked to a faraway corner of the arena.
Step.
I raised the sword into position and focused on the mana lines, enhancing myself.
Training began.
I practiced basic slashes and stabs while trying to keep the mana lines active.
With the new technique, I could train much longer without draining myself.
My movements felt smoother.
Faster.
Stronger.
It almost made me smile as I thought back to the reason I had even started to drain my mana during training.
I had the idea that if I drained my mana and put strain on my core, that my mana pool would expand further.
A kind of forced growth.
Like in those anime I had watched on Earth.
The protagonist would push himself beyond his limits and grow stronger from suffering.
But reality wasn't like fiction.
This wasn't an anime.
And not a novel or manga.
I wasn't the protagonist.
I was just a slave.
Nothing more or less.
For us—
Suffering brings only one thing.
Suffering.
Going beyond our limits won't make us stronger.
It wasn't bravery.
Or heroism.
It was recklessness.
If I went beyond my limits—
If I collapsed here—
I would die.
That was the reality for us ordinary beings.
We were not heroes.
We weren't meant to be one.
All we could do was struggle.
To struggle and survive.
Or to succumb to our own weaknesses and become a villain in another one's story.
That was our reality.
***
After hours of training, I stopped.
My muscles were sore and my legs heavy, but I wasn't nearly as exhausted as I had been in the days before.
Because I hadn't drained my mana.
I placed the sword back in the rack and left the arena.
The bath was empty when I arrived, so I took the chance to wash myself properly again after a long time.
I scrubbed off all the blood and dirt from my skin before entering the pool.
It was really important to bathe once in a while.
Not for hygienic purposes.
But the hot water would untangle the tension in your muscles.
It was for recovery.
Time passed, and other teens arrived, entering the bath.
I left the pool before I had to share it with another guy.
The teens threw me some glances and whispered amongst themselves as I dressed myself, but I ignored them and left.
I stopped at the cell's threshold for a moment, thoughts drifting.
Only nine of us remained now.
There were once sixteen.
Soon, they would bring in new ones.
Step.
I stepped inside and made my way toward the table.
There were still some pieces of bread left.
I took one and climbed the bed.
The food vanished soon after, and I practiced my mana control again.
Rather than the mana lines, I focused more on the burst of mana I used during my movements.
They had to be accurate and only fill the muscles needed for the movement.
It wasn't easy, even with my advanced knowledge of human physiology from Earth.
I had to study some movements myself, finding out which muscles were used and which weren't.
I couldn't even fathom how the other teens worked around that problem.
Visualizing the path the mana had to take eased the process, but it was still hard.
I pictured it like a second blood cycle.
Then, in that blood cycle, I had to push even more blood to the corresponding muscles during movements.
A bit too much blood and I would be uselessly drained.
If I pushed it into the wrong muscle?
The movement would feel slower, weaker.
It was a cumbersome process.
But it was needed for my survival.
Mana was the only strength I could depend on.
I practiced short bursts of mana while doing various small movements like curling my toes or clenching my fists.
The training seemed monotonous.
But it was the only way to keep me occupied.
We were locked in this cell for weeks, maybe even months now.
The others only slept or rested.
Some time ago, they started talking to each other, but that was it.
We couldn't really do anything else except that.
Since I had no reason to grow closer and converse with any of the other teens, and couldn't sleep all the time.
I would just put all my focus and energy into training.
The stronger I became, the faster I would regain my freedom.