Roman lowered his hand toward Riven, who was still slumped on the floor, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, sweat dripping from his brow. "Get up, kid. It's time to start the real training," Roman said, a vicious smile cutting across his face.
Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet, dusting himself off. The scythe rested on his shoulder, its weight oddly familiar now, as if it had always belonged there. He watched as Roman strode toward the corner of the room, rummaging through something unseen. For a moment, Riven considered following, but after two straight hours of getting his ass handed to him, he decided against it.
Instead, he leaned against the wall, savoring the brief reprieve as his eyes fell on the scythe in his hand. He turned it slightly, letting the faint light catch along its curved edge. It felt strangely natural—like his body already knew what to do with it. Even though he'd never wielded one before, every shift of his grip, every subtle movement of his stance seemed to flow in rhythm with the weapon's shape. When he'd swung it earlier, it hadn't been forced; his body had simply… adapted, contorting and spinning to follow its natural motion.
Riven's musings were cut short as Roman reappeared, holding a small metallic orb doted with blue crystalline hexagonal gems, each carved with intricate rune patterns that lay dormant.
"What's that?" Riven asked, his curiosity piqued. He had always had a bad habit of poking into rune-based tools, ever since his father's artificer friend had shown him his laboratory years ago and sparked an appreciation for the craft.
"This is your next training exercise," Roman said in a serious tone, handing the orb to Riven. "This little thing measures three things—mana purity, density, and total quantity. It also has a channel inside it—an artificial mana path that's intentionally uneven and narrow. Passing mana through it lets me see how good your control really is. It's not perfect, but it's the best I've got on hand."
Riven turned the orb over in his palm, eyeing the faint runic lines that pulsed softly beneath the surface. "So… I just circulate mana through it?"
"Exactly," Roman said with a curt nod. "Feed it steady, don't force it. Let it flow through the internal path and back."
Riven inhaled slowly and focused. Alright, this shouldn't be too hard. He let his pink mana pour through his fingers into the orb, guiding it carefully through the invisible channels within. It was harder than expected—his flow snagged in places where the pathway twisted or constricted, but he managed to push through.
The runes flared to life, glowing a deep azure. A curved crystal display flickered into being, numbers shifting rapidly across its surface. Riven couldn't make sense of any of it, but Roman's sharp eyes followed every change, his expression unreadable.
A minute later, Roman lifted a hand. "That's enough. Pull it back."
Riven withdrew his mana, though the moment it settled back inside him, he felt slightly… hollow. Some of it was missing, as if the device had taken a sip of his energy.
"Kid," Roman began after a pause, his tone softer but no less serious, "your mana is exceptional. High purity, high density, and a healthy reserve to match." He gave a low whistle. "You have a Flickering Soul don't ya."
Riven's heart skipped. He thought Roman would question him about it—after all, it wasn't every day someone with a Flickering Soul walked up to you. Hell, it wasn't something you saw even every other year.
Roman, however, didn't press further. He didn't ask why someone like that was scraping by in the lower quarters or bonded to a creature of such a weak bloodline. He simply studied the orb again, frowning.
"The device's readings make sense," he muttered, "but also… not."
Riven tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Roman's gaze shifted back to him, sharp and thoughtful. "The moment you stepped into my tavern, I felt something. A presence—not overwhelming in strength or volume, but potent. Ferocious. The kind of energy I've only ever felt when standing across from beasts of higher bloodlines—rare and above."
Riven felt a chill crawl up his spine. For a man who called himself a tavern owner, Roman's instincts and mana sensitivity were frighteningly precise.
Roman didn't push further. He just watched Riven for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly—not with suspicion, but curiosity, as though he were quietly waiting to see what the boy would say.
Riven said nothing, simply clutching the orb tighter as unease settled deep in his gut.
Riven tensed. He knew exactly what Roman was referring to. That blasted amber mana.Zephyr's warning echoed sharply in his mind, the memory clear as day: Never show that power to anyone, not even your parents. Take it to the grave if you must.
The weight of those words pressed down on him now, making his throat tighten. He didn't know if revealing it would bring trouble to himself—or worse, to others.
Roman let out a long sigh, folding his arms. "Look, kid, it's alright if you don't want to share," he said, voice steady but firm. "But if you don't show me what you can really do, I can't train you properly. We'll just be wasting both our time."
Seeing Riven's hesitation, Roman gestured toward the glowing blue crystals embedded in the walls—each etched with intricate runes that pulsed faintly. "These," he explained, "are sound-dampening wards. Nothing said or done here leaves this room. Not even a whisper escapes to the rest of the building."
He held Riven's gaze, tone softening. "Whatever secret you're keeping, you have my word—it stays between us. I'll take it to the grave if I have to."
Riven exhaled sharply, then muttered, "all right."
He let the amber mana flow through his body, its presence undeniable. It wasn't like regular mana—it had intent. Purpose. Instead of spreading through all his fingers, it pooled in his palm before a single thin strand traveled through his thumb and into the orb.
The moment it made contact, the device flared to life again, numbers flashing wildly. Roman's reaction was immediate—his eyes widened in shock.
Riven blinked, never thought the man could make such an expression.
"Kid," Roman said, his voice steady but heavy with meaning, "who else knows about this?"
His gaze was piercing, his expression carved from stone.
Riven hesitated, but the question had thrown him off guard, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled out.
"Only Zephyr knows."
The moment it left his mouth, he groaned and smacked a palm against his forehead. Zephyr is going to kill me for this.
Roman, however, visibly relaxed, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Coughing into his fist, he muttered, "I assume he told you to keep it secret?"
Riven nodded slowly, still cursing his own stupidity.
"Very well. Let's leave it at that." Roman took the orb back and strode toward a nearby weapon rack.
"Can you do what you just did regularly?" he asked over his shoulder.
Riven nodded, then quickly added, "Yes—and it's basically the same as regular mana. It feels and acts exactly like it."
"Good. That speeds things up. Here."
Roman turned and tossed a long scythe toward him.
Riven barely had time to react. He dropped the training scythe, scrambling to catch the new one midair. The moment it landed in his hands, he felt its weight—heavier than he expected. His body reacted instinctively, his feet shifting into a wider stance to counterbalance the weight, stopping him from toppling over.
A sigh of relief escaped him. He glared at Roman, who stood watching with an all-knowing smirk, nodding in silent approval.
Roman turned back to the weapon rack, lifting another identical scythe before facing Riven once more.
"I'll teach you three forms and their variations," he said, holding up three fingers. Then, one by one, he curled them down.
"Slashing, stabbing, and swinging. Master these, and you'll have the foundation to learn anything."
Riven tightened his grip on the scythe, a determined fire burning in his eyes.
"I'm ready."
The next 2 hours passed in a blur, feeling more like a fleeting second. Riven lay sprawled in a heap, gulping down liters of water handed to him by a worker from the outside bar. His muscles ached, his breath came in ragged gasps, and yet, his eyes still flickered toward Roman, who sat nearby, leisurely sipping what looked like an alcoholic drink, ice clinking softly in the glass.
Who knew repeating the same movements over and over again could be this exhausting? He had to circulate mana through his body just to fight off the creeping fatigue, and even then, he still felt like he'd been put through a meat grinder. But despite the brutal repetition, Riven couldn't deny the effectiveness of the training. In just two hours, he had grasped the very basics of wielding a weapon he'd never even touched before.
His brief respite was cut short by the sound of a glass hitting the table—soft, yet deliberate, the ice settling with a faint clink.
"Now that hits the spot, kid!" Roman called out, his voice laced with satisfaction.
Riven turned his head, still catching his breath. Roman smirked, swirling the remnants of his drink before setting it aside.
"Your basics are decent for now," he said, standing up and stretching his shoulders. "Instead, I'll teach you the fundamentals of imbuing objects with mana. Considering what I saw from the readings, it should come naturally to you."
Riven was about to force himself to his feet when Roman unexpectedly closed the distance, sitting cross-legged in front of him. He placed the scythe across his lap, resting his hands on it before shutting his eyes.
Riven hesitated, then followed suit, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing.
"The difference between controlling mana inside your body and channeling it into an object," Roman began, his voice calm and steady, "is that within your body, mana retains the shape you will it into. But inside a foreign object, it tends to revert to its natural state and disperse into the ambient mana around it."
He tightened his grip on the scythe, fingers flexing slightly.
"The trick is to maintain a part of your focus on keeping the mana contained—essentially forming a thin coating around the weapon. This not only enhances its durability but also increases power."
As he spoke, a faint purple glow began to emanate from the scythe, tracing along its length like veins of living energy. It wasn't the structured glow of runes or engravings—there was nothing physically carved into the weapon—yet the radiance pulsed with an unnatural vibrancy.
Riven watched, fascinated. His exhaustion momentarily forgotten, he leaned forward, his fingers twitching with anticipation.
This was the kind of training he had been waiting for.