The mystery of my burgeoning mana lingered. The most logical answer was my heritage. I was the son of a Wood Half-Elf. Elves were born steeped in natural mana, living in harmony with the world. Their affinity was innate.
Of course, I thought. That's why my Mana stat outpaces everything else. It's in my blood.
But that raised another question. My element wasn't Wood—it was Plant, a rarer, more advanced variation. Even among Wood Elves, a true Plant affinity was a birthright of legendary figures, appearing maybe once a century. How did a discarded half-human like me inherit it?
The novel hadn't covered Roy's mother. She was a narrative ghost. My existence was an anomaly stacked upon an anomaly. A trashy side character with a top-tier elemental gift he couldn't even use properly.
I pushed the thoughts aside. Speculation wouldn't make me stronger. Action would.
My week of foundational form work was over. Sir Kane arrived for our session and, without a word, demonstrated the first Imperial sequence again—this time with the full, controlled power of his C+-rank body behind it. The air hummed as his practice sword cut through it, a testament to perfect force application.
My turn. I tried to replicate it, to pour my new F-rank strength into the precise forms. The result was a mess. I over-extended, my footwork staggered, and I nearly dropped the sword.
Kane didn't scold. He offered sharp, surgical corrections. "Your shoulder is tense. Power comes from the hips. The strike is a release, not a push."
I adjusted, tried again. And again. By the end of the session, I could complete the sequence without falling over, though it was clumsy and slow.
"You have the shape," Kane assessed, sheathing his own sword. "Now you must fuse it with substance. Drill it. Daily. With your aptitude… you might master the physical component in six months. A year is more realistic. Master it, and I will teach you the principles of my own style."
He paused, a flicker of what might have been genuine regret in his eyes. "It's a pity. You have the mind for the sword, but mana, not aura, flows in your veins. And your class… a Support Magician. You will never learn the true heart of my technique. But I will show you what I can."
With that, he left for his duties.
I trained for two more hours, until my muscles burned and the movements became slightly less foreign. Then, I allowed myself to think beyond the Imperial forms.
My survival couldn't rely on a single, stolen technique. I needed a system. A unique edge.
Sitting on the cottage steps, I began to plan, my thoughts aligning into three parallel tracks.
Track One: The Hybrid Blade.
I needed to merge my magic with my sword, not keep them separate. "Magic Swordsman" was a protagonist's trope, but the core idea was sound. I couldn't use aura, but what if I could channel raw mana through the blade? Or use my Plant magic to alter the battlefield as I fought—roots to trip, vines to bind? Furthermore, my past life's Kendo knowledge was a resource. Its philosophy of distance, timing, and explosive striking could be woven into something new. A swordsmanship for a mage who refuses to be helpless.
Track Two: Ancient Magic.
The current human magic system—chanting long incantations—was slow and cumbersome, designed for those with a weaker natural connection to mana. Elves and Dragons used an older, instinctual method: Visualization. They shaped magic with thought and will, not words. I was half-elf. My blooming mana suggested a strong connection. Could I bypass chanting altogether?
I knew the progression: Mage -> Great Mage -> Archmage -> Wizard for chanters. For natural talents, it was Sorcerer -> Sage -> Great Sage. The latter path was faster, more potent, but required an innate gift.
I had to try. If visualization failed, I could fall back on the intermediate step: Incantation (silently picturing the spell formula), which was still faster than vocal chanting.
Track Three: Practical Acquisition.
I needed specific skills and spells. A strengthening skill for my body. A movement skill for agility. Basic, non-elemental utility spells (Mage Hand, Light, Cleanse). And of course, practical Plant magic beyond simple healing and enhancement.
There were three ways to learn:
1. Spell Books (Consumable): Magical tomes that transferred knowledge directly into the mind upon use. Incredibly expensive.
2. A Master: The traditional route. I had Kane for the sword. I had no one for magic.
3. Instructional Tomes: Normal books written by mages, explaining theories and practices. You had to learn the hard way, but they were cheaper and reusable.
My funds were nearly zero. Option 3 was my only viable path for now.
A new daily schedule crystallized in my mind:
· Morning (4 hours): Imperial Swordsmanship Drill. Forge the body and technique.
· Midday (4 hours): Magic Experimentation & Study. Pursue the Ancient Path. Attempt visualization. If that failed, practice incantation.
· Evening (3 hours): Kendo Principles & Hybrid Theory. Practice the forms from my old world and theorize how to blend them with mana.
It was an brutal regimen. But the alternative was death.
I stood up, my body aching but my resolve ironclad. The broken boy from the mansion was gone. In his place was a student of war, with a stolen blueprint of the future and a desperate will to rewrite it.
Tomorrow, the real work began. Not just learning, but creating.