{Chapter: 93: Iron Eating Beast}
And so, Charles had held back the truth. He had never called Saya his role model. Never told him that the path he walked was one he followed not out of ambition, but admiration. To Saya, Charles feared, he was still a follower—someone who hadn't yet earned the right to be called equal, let alone friend.
In his heart, Charles often wrestled with the idea of "dreams." What was his dream, really? Was it to become a Wizard of great renown? To protect those he cared about? Or was it, shamefully, to simply become someone that Saya could one day respect not as a subordinate… but as a peer?
He didn't know.
Not yet.
And so, he stayed silent, staring into the quiet night sky, hiding his thoughts behind a smile.
Saya, meanwhile, misunderstood the silence. He turned back toward Charles with a light-hearted chuckle, brushing aside the intensity of the moment.
"You've hit a bottleneck with your training, haven't you?" he asked suddenly. "Come. I've got something you might find useful."
Without waiting for an answer, Saya beckoned him forward with a flourish of his hand. The velvet carpet muffled their footsteps as he led Charles deeper into the mansion, through a corridor lined with arcane paintings and softly glowing mage lights that hovered like will-o'-the-wisps in glass lanterns.
They arrived at a large door—the entrance to Saya's personal study.
The moment the door swung open, a rush of warm, perfumed air met them. The study was vast, filled with high shelves stacked with tomes on wizardry, philosophy, politics, and ancient swordplay. Crystal vials shimmered on alchemical stands near a side desk. The room bore the unmistakable scent of incense and aged parchment.
Saya moved with practiced familiarity to the back wall, where a bookshelf stood slightly ajar.
With a flick of his wrist, and the soft murmur of a password, the bookshelf shifted, revealing a hidden compartment in the wall.
From it, he retrieved a finely crafted wooden box, its polished mahogany surface inlaid with gold runes that shimmered faintly in the low light. The craftsmanship alone hinted at its value, but Saya's reverent touch said more than gold ever could.
He turned, holding the box out with both hands, a rare note of seriousness in his tone.
"This," he said with a slight boastful grin, "is something most people will never lay eyes on. It should have remained in the royal family's secret vault, but… my father made an exception. He knows every wizard must eventually refine their body, and he feared my progress was too slow in that regard. So, he sent this to me."
He opened the box slowly.
Inside, resting on a bed of dark velvet, was a weathered scroll sealed with crimson wax bearing the emblem of Saya's royal house. A subtle pulse of power radiated from it, like a sleeping beast beneath silk. Even Charles, whose talent was mainly physical, could feel the weight of magic emanating from within.
Charles gently set aside his thoughts, the swirl of inner conflict fading like morning mist under sunlight. His eyes were now fixed on the intricately carved box before him. A faint scent of cedarwood rose from its polished surface, and the gilded patterns etched into the grain shimmered subtly under the study's warm candlelight.
He leaned forward slightly, curiosity etched across his face. "What kind of secret is so important that even the royal family safeguards it so fiercely?" he murmured, unable to hide his anticipation.
Saya, standing beside him with a slight smirk playing on his lips, opened the box with deliberate ceremony. The hinges gave a soft creak as the lid rose, revealing a thick tome resting atop a bed of deep red velvet. Its cover was a strange blend of rugged leather and fine embroidery, almost as if a martial artifact and a piece of art had been fused into one.
With practiced care, Saya lifted the book and handed it to Charles. "This," he said solemnly, "is a Knight Training Method unlike any other. It surfaced only in recent years, but even in that short time, its value has become apparent to many powerful factions across the continent. It focuses on conditioning the most neglected parts of the human body—vulnerable joints, weakened tendons, corrupted blood channels. Some say it can even reverse long-term damage, if practiced diligently."
Charles accepted the book reverently, his fingers tracing the embossed glyphs along its spine. He could feel a faint hum, almost like residual energy, clinging to the pages. Opening it slowly, he expected to see detailed instructions, arcane sigils, or complicated diagrams.
Instead, what greeted him were drawings—dozens of them. Full-page illustrations, drawn with exquisite precision. And in each one… a bear.
But not just any bear. This one was depicted in odd, almost exaggerated poses. One image showed it twisting its torso while keeping its legs planted. Another had it standing upright, arms extended and claws curled as if holding an invisible sphere. Despite the whimsical appearance, Charles could immediately tell there was a hidden rhythm, a deliberate pattern in the postures.
It was art. But it was also instruction.
The bear's muscular structure was highlighted with fine lines and subtle shading, its joints circled and annotated with flowing handwritten notes in an ancient language. In some images, its movement arcs were detailed with faint white lines that curved elegantly from frame to frame—like constellations tracing a divine choreography.
Fascinated, Charles began mimicking the poses. At first, it seemed silly. His arms waved awkwardly, and his legs quivered under postures meant for something far heavier and sturdier than a human. But the longer he practiced, the more he began to feel something shift within him.
There was a pull—no, a flow. Warmth began to stir in his limbs. Not the burning heat of overexertion, but something smoother, more invigorating. His muscles trembled, not in fatigue, but as if awakening from a long slumber.
He dropped to one knee, panting, sweat forming on his brow. "Incredible…" he gasped. "Even just the first few moves… they activate the body's core in ways I've never experienced. This is far more than a martial art. It's… a healing technique. A secret cultivation path."
Saya grinned. "Told you. This is only a fraction of the full technique—one-twelfth, to be exact. That's why it's so valuable. My father only got access to this piece because of his position, and even then, it was secured in the royal vault under magical lock and key."
"One-twelfth?" Charles' eyes widened in astonishment. "And it already feels this potent? The full version must be unimaginable. We have to keep this safe. No one outside the royal family can know."
Saya leaned back against his oak desk and crossed his arms. "Relax. Even if someone found out, they wouldn't be able to piece together the entire technique. According to ancient records, the complete set was never preserved in one place. Decades ago, this training method was mistaken for a series of artistic picture books. Merchants sold them as novelties—until a knight happened to replicate the poses during warm-ups and realized the effects. After that, all hell broke loose. Every noble house, mercenary guild, and shadow faction tried to seize them."
"Of course they would," Charles muttered. "Something like this… it's beyond valuable."
Saya nodded. "In the chaos that followed, the collection was fragmented. Pages lost, stolen, reprinted and scattered. Rumor has it that each volume was given a number and a title—disguised as art. The authorship was never officially confirmed. Until now."
He pointed at the bottom of the first page.
Intrigued, Charles flipped to the back of the book. There, in elegant script, was the title:
[Dex. Author: Indescribable Lexus – Black and White Iron-Eating Beast Volume I]
*****
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