The Runic Alchemist

'Some kind of inferior copy of a famous weapon...'

As he suspected, the Eldorians had indeed copy-pasted it. Yet, the original spell had somehow survived in some form. Could he replicate it? It would certainly require immense mana. The quality of steel used for the sword was top-grade, but with just one lightning spell, it had deteriorated to 91%. The stored mana must be beyond its limits, which makes it hard on the metal, no matter how good it is.

That's why runesmiths prefer lighter but more useful spells—ones that aid swordsmen in battle rather than relying on pure attack-based magic.

"Heh...? It's already at 91%?" Sam exclaimed, grabbing the attention of several nearby soldiers, including Einar and Yovan.

"Yeah, the spell is too powerful. You should only use it when absolutely necessary," Damian suggested, handing Sam's sword back to him.

"That was wild, though... Such power. Combined with your impressive swordsmanship, you were a menace on the battlefield," Yovan praised. For once in his life, Sam didn't gloat but instead felt embarrassed and shy. Weird guy.

"Impressive was this guy," Damian said, shifting the praise toward Einar. "When the hell did you learn the aura blade? Even first-rankers on their third job struggle with that."

"We were pretty busy in the six months you were gone," Einar replied with a smile, not really explaining how he had achieved the feat.

"Would you teach me?" Damian asked. Both Einar and Sam looked surprised, as did Yovan.

"I thought you were a mage... Those incredible blasts, and your mastery of wood-style magic was flawless," Yovan muttered, confusion in his eyes.

"Yeah, impressive? It's a goddamn miracle for a first-ranker, on his first job no less, to master wood-style magic," Einar added, supporting Yovan's claim.

Around them, other soldiers of all ages either listened in or went about their tasks. Damian had already assigned one-fourth of them to guard duty on rotating shifts around the camp. The rest were free to do as they pleased. Some had already fallen asleep, while others ate, chatted with their comrades, and discussed the battle they had survived and the incredible things they had witnessed.

One of the older soldiers nearby, a high-level first-ranker—likely on his second or third job—spoke up. "They told tales about you, Captain. I had my suspicions though, but after that last burial, I have to say—you're much more worthy than many I've served over the years."

Damian smiled at the middle-aged man and replied, "I'm just trying to survive, using everything I've got. I had to learn fast and prove myself, or I'd be beaten every day... It's a great motivation.."

The old soldier chuckled at that.

"The boy who killed a second-rank lord of Pyron... So it's true?" asked another soldier, this one younger than the previous but still much older than Damian.

Damian didn't reply and continued eating. It seemed that tales about him were becoming common knowledge. The only thing he could do now was to try to downplay them, though he knew it wouldn't work—not as long as he continued to unleash spells far above his rank in front of them.

The others tried to get some rest as Damian and Einar moved away from the camp to practice. Damian had suggested they start tomorrow, but Einar, already thinking of himself as Damian's master, insisted they train right away.

When they reached an open space surrounded by large stones, with the moonlight barely leaving any shadows, Einar instantly slipped into his mentor role. Guy was enjoying it for sure.

"Aura control isn't just about brute strength or forcing it to obey. Think of it like guiding water through a channel—you shape it, direct it, but you don't fight against it. First, you've got to sense your aura, feel it like a second skin around you. Once you've got a grip on that, focus on breathing, slow and steady. Every breath should push the aura, make it expand and contract with you.

The real trick, though, is balance. Too much force, and it scatters. Too little, and it slips away. You need to find the right tension—just enough control to maintain it, but still allow it to flow naturally. It's about synchronization with your body and mind, not dominance."

Adjusting his footwork, and showing his breathing technique, Einar executed a flawless, powerful 180-degree sword arc, leaving a red trail behind, shimmering like a beautiful ring around a distant planet.

Damian, exhaling and focusing fully on his body, repeated the movement, but his sword left no aura behind, only sharp noise of wind displacement. His senses were sharp and overwhelming when it came to mana, but aura was something he had barely noticed, let alone tried to feel or control. He repeated the motion with more focus and balanced breathing, again and again, but with no success.

"Don't worry, it's not something you can learn in a day. It requires constant practice and meditation. The breathing techniques used by pugilists are actually really helpful," Einar added, continuing his mentor role.

After half an hour, Damian stopped. He still felt nothing but mana all around him and inside him, burning like molten lava. Maybe having a imitation might help...

Einar looked worried and confused as Damian muttered some words and traced a small runic circle, one he had learned from the prince of Faerunia. In a split second, it activated, igniting his sword in burning black flames.

"What the hell...? You mastered it?" Einar exclaimed, almost falling over in shock.

"No, it's a spell—like those enchanted aura blades," Damian explained, observing the black flames. He concentrated deeply, blocking out all other senses, his mind singularly focused on feeling the unknown energy. Find adventures on m_v l|e'm-p y r

Then, deep within his flesh and bones, he felt something. He wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't been slowly trickling forward, making its way to his hands and then to his sword. It wasn't an almost physical like force he felt for mana, which burned within him, bright and still at his core. Aura was more of a sensation—fleeting and elusive.

Only lasting if he focused and relaxed, letting it wash over, like a flow of running water, relentless yet free of bindings, free to flow everywhere.