Two weeks. That's how long I'd locked myself away beneath piles of old books, buried beneath musty pages inked with secrets of mana control and aura flow. Two weeks of reading until my eyes burned, of tracing diagrams over and over with my small, trembling fingers, trying to etch ancient knowledge into a mind reborn into a child's frail body. The storeroom had become my sanctuary, its dim corners and dust-laden air a far cry from the battlefield memories of my past life—but no less important.
And now, at last, it was time. The field behind our humble home welcomed me beneath a golden sky. Evening light filtered through the trees, painting everything in soft amber hues. Dew still clung to blades of grass beneath my bare feet, cool and sharp against my skin as I stepped into the open space. My breath came slow, measured, my heart steady beneath the thin layer of aura already coiling faintly beneath my skin.
In my hand, the wooden sword my father had given me weeks after my third birthday rested with familiar weight. It was nothing more than a polished branch carved into shape—a toy to most. To me, it was the first key.
Ahead of me, Father trained as he did every morning, his blade singing through the air with that effortless precision born of years upon years of repetition. I watched for a moment, letting the rhythm of his movements settle into my bones like a heartbeat I could sync with. His presence grounded me. Reminded me that this was real. This was now.
I raised my sword. Not for play or to mimicry.
I drew a slow breath, closed my eyes, and reached inward—not toward muscle or bone, but toward something deeper. The books had described it as a flame, a current, a second heart pulsing beneath flesh. Aura. Mana. A force not so different from the ki I once wielded in my former life, yet distinct enough to demand fresh understanding.
And then—I felt it. Like the first warmth of sunlight cresting over cold stone, it flickered to life. Weak, fragile… but real. A thrill surged through me as I pulled that energy into my limbs, directing it down to my feet, into my legs.
"Haa!"
My voice broke the stillness as I kicked off the earth, my small body twisting through the air in a full rotation. My sword carved a clean circle through the space around me, the motion fluid, precise—a echo of techniques once drilled into muscle long since buried beneath this child's skin.
I landed light. Breathless. My chest rose and fell in sharp, eager bursts. 'I did it… It's real. I can use aura. Just like ki.' For a moment, I let myself savor the victory. I practiced again—simpler swings this time, refining the connection between thought and movement, energy and form. But it wasn't long before exhaustion gnawed its way through me, leaving my limbs trembling beneath the weight of effort.
'Still too weak… This body… It's not enough yet.' A voice broke through my thoughts. "How did you awaken your aura? And those swings… Where did you learn them? I didn't teach you that." I turned, startled. Father stood nearby, wiping sweat from his brow, sword at his side. His eyes—those sharp blue eyes—narrowed on me with suspicion tempered by something quieter… curiosity, perhaps. Or disbelief. 'Ah. I forgot… Dad was here, too.'
I forced a sheepish smile. "I noticed you always focused before swinging your sword. So… I tried doing the same. Then I felt something… and it worked." Father's frown deepened. His gaze sharpened. "Those weren't the random swings of a guessing child. They were too precise." I shrugged, trying for innocence. "I guess… I just made them up?" His stare lingered. Skeptical and measuring. But eventually, he exhaled and turned his sword over in his hand. "Fine. Starting tomorrow, I'll teach you properly."
For a heartbeat, I could only blink at him. No scolding. No lectures about danger. Just… acceptance. A promise of guidance. I hadn't expected that. "Oh… and…" I hesitated, then blurted it out before my better judgment could stop me. "I also… formed my mana core." That finally cracked his composure. "Don't joke. You're barely three."
"I'm not joking!" I puffed my cheeks, frustration slipping into my tone. "I really did it!" To prove it, I gathered the mana along the pathways I'd forged in secret. A breath later, shimmering energy wrapped itself around my small frame, clinging to me like a second skin. It hummed faintly against my flesh, visible only to those trained to see. Father stared. His brows drew together, confusion giving way to silent awe as instinct recognized what his mind struggled to accept. "How… how did you do this?"
I hesitated, then offered the simplest truth I could manage. "Remember when you told me about the books in the storeroom? I found a box. There were books on the continent, on aura, on magic… creatures. I read them. I didn't understand all of it, but… enough."
His gaze softened. Surprise faded into something quieter—recognition, perhaps. "Those books… they belonged to your mother. She kept them from her adventuring days… She threw away more than she kept." He looked at me again, this time with something closer to caution. "And your mana core?"
"I read about the rehabilitation method… but I broke it down. Made smaller steps. Practiced those until they worked."
"…Alright," he said at last, slowly turning back to his training. I exhaled in relief.
'That was close… I handled that well enough.'
'I'm sorry, Mom. Dad. I can't tell you everything. Not yet. But someday… I will.' Later, alone again, I tried once more. The mana answered swiftly this time, wrapping around me in that familiar warmth. Distant, rhythmic. Drawing closer. I turned as a polished carriage pulled to a halt before our home. Black horses. Gilded trim. The mark of nobility etched in its fine design. The door opened, and a man stepped down. His posture spoke of command, his movements fluid, precise. His gaze settled on me first.
"Oh? You must be Rayon. The one Robert told me about." His smile was practiced, polite. "You're as cute as he described. But… why a wooden sword? Shouldn't children your age be chasing butterflies?" He paused, studying me more closely. "…Aura. And a mana core? At your age?" Before I could answer, Father appeared at my side, his expression easing into familiarity.
"Liam. It's been too long, old friend." The man's grin widened. "Far too long." Father raised an eyebrow. "But how did you find us? I never told you the way here."
"I'm head of the family now," Liam said with a shrug. "Connections." Their laughter came easy—old ties rekindled. A moment later, Mother joined us, warmth in her smile as she welcomed the nobleman like an old friend. I watched quietly, absorbing it all. "This is Sir Liam Ronhard," Father told me at last. "One of the kingdom's fifteen Swordmasters."
I bowed. "My name is Rayon Krater." Liam chuckled. "Polite, too. Rare in one so young." His gaze returned to Father. "How? How did he awaken aura… form a core? This isn't normal." Father's eyes lingered on me, pride flickering beneath the weight of unanswered questions. "He told me today. Said he watched me. Read books. Altered the methods himself." Liam's stare sharpened, then softened. "A genius, this one. Intelligent, too."
Mother's smile grew, her pride unspoken but radiant. Father chuckled. "Yeah… I know." Liam's tone shifted, growing more serious. "That's partly why I came. There's a post in the capital. Guard duty. A good one. I've already secured it. A place for your family too. Consider it. Write me before week's end." Father hesitated. "A big decision… I'll need time."
Liam smiled. "But not too much. Work piles faster than you'd think." Father and mother asked to wait for today by he declined politely, his carriage vanishing soon after down the winding path. The house grew quiet once more. Mother turned to me, a knowing gleam in her eye. "Well, young man… You've got a lot of explaining to do, don't you?"