The Forsaken Heir

Shaking his head, Lorian continued his walk back to the Bronze Hall, still processing the events of the night before. The confrontation with the second years had been unexpected, but it only strengthened his resolve. He had no intention of backing down, no matter who tried to intimidate him. He had more important things to focus on.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window, rousing him from a surprisingly restful sleep. Lorian stretched, shaking off the last remnants of grogginess. Today was Thursday, and with it came Combat Training—something he was looking forward to, especially after his frustrations in mana control the day before. He was determined to make progress. Today would be different.

After gearing up, Lorian headed for the training grounds, the early morning air brisk against his face. The clatter of weapons and the sharp commands of instructors echoed across the academy as students readied themselves for the day’s exercises. As he approached the combat area, Lorian noticed several students already preparing, some sharpening their swords, others running through their warm-up routines.

The instructor for today’s class, Lady Cerys, stood at the center of the training grounds. She was impossible to miss—tall and commanding, her presence demanded attention. Her long black hair was tied back in a tight braid, and her sharp red eyes seemed to miss nothing as she surveyed the students. Dressed in practical combat armor, Lady Cerys was every bit the warrior her reputation suggested. There was an intensity to her, a fierceness that made the students straighten up as soon as she entered their line of sight.

Lorian couldn’t help but be impressed by her. Lady Cerys wasn’t just skilled—she was battle-hardened, her movements precise and efficient, with the ease of someone who had seen real combat. He had heard whispers of her exploits in the kingdom’s military, though no one dared ask her about them.

“Today,” Lady Cerys began, her voice cutting through the morning air with authority, “we’ll be working on mana channeling—specifically, into your weapons. Brute strength alone won’t save you in a real fight. If you want to be more than just a swordsman, you’ll need to learn how to fuse your mana with your blade. Otherwise, all you’re swinging around is a dull piece of metal.”

Lorian straightened, her words hitting home. This was exactly where he needed to improve. He had always been strong with internal mana control, able to enhance his physical abilities during combat. But when it came to pushing that mana outward, into his weapon, he struggled.

Lady Cerys scanned the group, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Pair up. Show me what you can do with your mana. Don’t waste my time with half-hearted efforts.”

As Lorian moved to find a partner, a stocky, sandy-haired student approached him with a wide grin. “Looks like we’re paired up, mate,” the student said, his easygoing demeanor a stark contrast to the intensity of the class. “Name’s Geralt.”

Before Lorian could respond, Geralt’s attention wandered over to Lady Cerys, his grin widening. “You know, after class, maybe I’ll ask her if she wants to grab a drink,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Could use some personal lessons from someone like her.”

Lorian raised an eyebrow, barely able to hide his amusement. He hadn’t expected Geralt to be so bold, especially not with someone like Lady Cerys. The students around them had already quieted, watching the scene unfold.

“Hey, Lady Cerys!” Geralt called out, taking a few steps toward her, his confidence absurd. “What do you say to a drink after class? Could use some one-on-one instruction.”

For a moment, silence filled the training ground. Lady Cerys turned slowly, her sharp red eyes locking onto Geralt. Her expression didn’t change, but there was a glint of amusement in her gaze. She approached him with deliberate steps.

“Personal lessons, huh?” she said, her voice soft but dangerous.

Without warning, her sword was unsheathed in a blur of motion. Before Geralt could react, she hooked his leg with the flat of her blade, sweeping him off his feet and sending him crashing onto the dirt.

The students erupted into laughter, Lorian included. Geralt lay on the ground for a moment, dazed but still grinning. “Worth a shot,” he muttered, pushing himself up and dusting off his clothes.

Lady Cerys sheathed her sword, her expression unchanging. “Lesson one: stay on your feet before you ask for anything else.”

Lorian shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. Geralt’s reckless confidence reminded him of Caelan—his old friend had the same charm, always trying to impress people and failing in the most spectacular ways.

Once the laughter died down, Lady Cerys’s gaze hardened again. “Enough distractions. Pair up and show me how you channel your mana. If you think you’re just here to swing a sword, you’re in the wrong place.”

Lorian refocused, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly as he prepared to channel his mana. His internal control was solid—he could feel the energy coursing through his body, empowering his strikes and enhancing his movements. But when it came to pushing that power outward, into the blade, it was as if something blocked him.

Geralt, for his part, wasn’t much better. His swings were powerful, but his mana control was all over the place. Lorian could see the frustration on his face, but Geralt laughed it off between attempts. “I’m more of a hammer-and-anvil kind of guy,” he said with a shrug. “Magic’s not my strong suit.”

Lorian grinned, feeling a bit of camaraderie with Geralt. Despite the guy’s lack of precision, he didn’t let it bother him. “You’ve got spirit, at least,” Lorian said, channeling his own mana into his sword. Or at least trying to.

The hum of energy in his blade flickered, weak and unstable. Lady Cerys’s sharp gaze caught the faltering glow almost immediately, and she stepped over to Lorian with her usual calm authority.

“You’re holding back,” she said, her voice cutting through his frustration. “Your mana’s there, but you’re trying to force it into the blade instead of letting it flow naturally. You need to work with the sword, not against it.”

Lorian nodded, taking her advice to heart. He adjusted his grip, breathing deeply to calm himself. This time, he didn’t try to force the energy. Instead, he let it build within him, then pushed it into the sword slowly, guiding it through the metal as if it were an extension of himself.

The blade hummed faintly, a soft glow radiating from it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress. Lorian felt the connection between his body and the weapon growing stronger with each swing.

“Better,” Lady Cerys said, nodding slightly. “But you’re still not there yet. Keep working.”

Despite the progress, frustration simmered beneath the surface. Every time Lorian thought he had it, the connection slipped, and the blade’s glow flickered out. It was a slow, grinding process, and he could feel his patience wearing thin.

Geralt, on the other hand, was struggling just as much but managed to keep a lighthearted attitude about it. “Guess we’re both not naturals,” he joked, giving Lorian a wry smile. “But hey, at least we’ve got swords, right?”

Lorian couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, we’ve got that going for us.”

By the end of the session, Lorian’s arms ached from the strain of the drills, but he had made noticeable progress. The connection between his mana and his blade was still fragile, but it was there, and it was growing stronger. He just needed more practice.

Lady Cerys gathered the students for a final word. Her gaze swept over them with the same intensity as before. “You’ve made progress, but progress isn’t enough. Mastery is what you need, and that doesn’t come overnight. Remember, every battle is won before it begins. The preparation you do here will determine whether you walk off the battlefield or are carried off. Dismissed.”

The students began to disperse from the training field, the cool evening air beginning to settle in. As Lorian wiped the sweat from his brow, he found himself hesitating. He wasn’t ready to leave yet. Something inside him was telling him to keep pushing, to keep trying to channel his mana through his sword despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs.

Lady Cerys was preparing to leave when Lorian called out, “Instructor Cerys, may I stay and train a bit longer?”

Her red eyes flicked back to him, curious. She studied him for a moment before giving a small nod. “You may. Just don’t push yourself too hard. Progress takes time, and you don’t want to burn out.”

“I understand. Thank you,” Lorian replied, grateful for the extra time.

As Lady Cerys departed, the field slowly emptied until Lorian was the last one left. The soft hum of mana still lingered in the air from the day’s training, and the fading daylight cast long shadows across the grass. Alone, Lorian raised his sword again, focusing on channeling the mana through it like he had been practicing all day.

But once again, the same tight resistance appeared. It was like a funnel constricting the flow of mana, making it difficult to push through. No matter how hard he tried, it either slipped away or became unstable, sparking along the edges of his blade.

Frustration clawed at him, but he gritted his teeth and kept at it, determined to make some sort of breakthrough before the night was over.

He was so focused on his training that he didn’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps until a familiar voice called out, “Lorian!”

Lorian turned to see Elara walking toward him, her blonde hair catching the light of the setting sun. She smiled as she neared, though there was a hint of concern in her expression.

“Where have you been?” Elara asked, crossing her arms. “I’ve been trying to catch up with you for days. You’re never back at your room after class.”

Lorian chuckled softly, though it was more from exhaustion than amusement. “I’ve been training. Trying to push through some things. I didn’t want to waste any time.”

Elara raised an eyebrow. “So, you’ve been hiding out here, working yourself to death?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Lorian said, shrugging. “But there’s a lot I need to improve on.”

Elara smiled, though her eyes remained thoughtful. “You’ve always been like this. Even back home in Aelshire, you never knew when to stop pushing yourself.”

Lorian let out a breath, his gaze drifting toward the blade in his hand. “Well, it doesn’t feel like it’s helping much. I’ve been trying to channel my mana through my sword, but it’s like there’s something blocking me. I can’t push enough power through, and when I do, it becomes too unstable.”

Elara tilted her head, her expression softening as she considered his words. “It sounds like you’ve been struggling with more than just sword techniques.”

Lorian nodded, his frustration clear on his face. “It’s like no matter what I do, I hit this wall. I’ve been at it for hours, and it’s… frustrating.”

Elara placed a hand on his arm, her voice gentle. “I get it, Lorian. Believe me. You’re not the only one dealing with struggles. The students in Class 1 are so competitive, and I’ve been trying to keep up with them. But being one of the youngest in the academy… it hasn’t exactly been easy to make friends. Everyone’s constantly trying to one-up each other.”

Lorian frowned, surprised by her admission. He hadn’t realized how much Elara was dealing with on her own.

“That sounds tough,” Lorian said softly. “But you’ve always been good at pushing through stuff like that.”

Elara smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their unspoken frustrations hanging in the air between them. Finally, Elara glanced at his sword, then back at Lorian. “You know… I might be able to help you with your mana control. If you’re okay with a little tutoring from your sister.”

Lorian blinked in surprise, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “You want to help me?”

Elara shrugged playfully. “Why not? You’ve helped me plenty of times before. Besides, I’ve been dying to practice some things myself, and it’ll be good to train with someone I don’t have to constantly compete against.”

Lorian nodded, grateful for her offer. “I’d appreciate that. Maybe you can see what I’m doing wrong.”

Just as they began discussing their plan, Lady Cerys, who had remained nearby, observing Lorian from a distance, approached them one last time before leaving. Her gaze swept over the two siblings. “Elara’s right, Lorian. You’ve made progress, but you’re still forcing it too much. Focus more on control, less on power. You have potential, but it won’t mean much if you burn yourself out.”

Lorian gave a respectful nod. “I understand. Thank you, Instructor.”

Lady Cerys nodded once and departed, leaving the two siblings alone on the training field.

Elara grabbed one of the spare practice swords lying nearby, then stood beside Lorian. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

They began their training, with Lorian focusing on channeling mana through his sword while Elara gave him pointers, adjusting his stance and reminding him to breathe more steadily. At first, there were small improvements—his mana flowed a bit more smoothly, and the sword glowed faintly in response. But after a while, the same tight funnel appeared, restricting the flow of power.

Lorian gritted his teeth, frustration boiling over. “It’s happening again… I can’t push past it.”

Elara frowned, watching him closely. “It really does sound like a seal. But if it is, I should be able to detect it. Here, let me check.”

She stepped closer, her eyes glowing faintly as she channeled her own mana. She placed her hands near his chest, feeling for any disruptions or abnormalities in his mana flow. Lorian stood still, waiting for her to find something—anything—that would explain the resistance he had been feeling.

But after a few moments, Elara stepped back, confusion in her eyes. “I don’t understand… I don’t see anything. Your mana flow looks fine.”

Lorian stared at her, his frustration mounting. “But it doesn’t feel fine. Every time I try to channel my mana, I hit this wall. If it’s not a seal, then what is it?”

Elara shook her head, clearly puzzled. “I don’t know. It really should be a seal. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Lorian sighed heavily, lowering his sword. “Great. So I’m stuck.”

Elara placed a hand on his shoulder, her gaze soft. “You’re not stuck, Lorian. You’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out together.”

Lorian nodded, though the frustration still simmered beneath the surface. He wasn’t used to feeling so helpless, and the thought that there was something wrong with him—something he couldn’t see or understand—only made it worse.

They continued training for a little while longer, though Lorian’s progress remained frustratingly slow. The tight funnel of resistance still held him back, and no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn’t seem to break through it.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the training field, Elara suggested they call it a night. Lorian agreed, though the thought of giving up—even temporarily—gnawed at him.

“We’ll keep working on it,” Elara promised as they left the field together. “You’ll get there, Lorian. I know you will.”

Lorian smiled faintly, grateful for her support. But as they walked back toward the academy, the frustration lingered in his chest, a constant reminder of how far he still had to go.