Chapter 34 - Training
Northern Facility, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein, Year 989
The box of chalk appeared suddenly one day. It was a worn, wooden thing with visible holes gaping between loose boards, yet its dull brown color still seemed bright against the pervasive grey of the cell. Inside, a small pile of white chalk had been carelessly placed. Amara had stopped and stared at it after returning from a session, peering at those mostly broken pieces and the faint white powder lining the bottom corners.
She later learned that the guards had brought them in. Supposedly the magicians had “gifted” them to provide them with “some entertainment.” Amara suspected it was a poor attempt to distract them from Edith’s disappearance. Or maybe it was pure happenstance, another arbitrary decision in a vast sea of them. It was hard to tell. It was hard to not connect everything back to Edith.
Despite their half broken state, the kids in the cell scrambled to the chalk after the first one dared to touch the box. After that, it was as if a dam had been broken, and the grey floor and walls were soon covered in powdery white lines.
Amara had been content to sit back and watch, her eyes tracing the drawings the kids made. Some drew full portraits of people and distant places while others stuck to simple patterns and shapes. Amara eyed one drawing of towering fluffy white clouds, listening to the scratching of chalk against cement idly and wondering what Edith would’ve drawn. She seemed like she would’ve been good at these things.
Amara herself hadn’t drawn anything. She’d only picked up a small broken piece after the others had taken the whole ones, and she’d first rolled it around in her hand, feeling its odd texture and covering her skin in the substance. There was something satisfying about watching those white particles flake off and fall to the ground.
She turned the chalk over and finally brought it down to the cell floor. She didn’t think about what she was drawing, more focused on simply pressing the piece into the surface. It was softer than she expected; she could feel it bending slightly beneath her fingertips. She pressed harder, digging the chalk into the grey, and kept doing that until she’d run down the whole piece.
In the end, she was left with a plain solid layer of powdery white in front of her. There was no shape to it, no rhyme nor reason, and it stood out starkly compared to the thinner lined drawings that the other kids did. An undeniable, distinct mark on their surroundings.
She ran her finger over it, lifting it up to see the white powder now caked on the surface of her skin. There was now a bare streak on the floor where the color of the cell was once again revealed. She’d stared at that patch of grey, then at the untouched layer of chalk beside it, and suddenly wished with an overwhelming intensity that she could make it permanent somehow.
She couldn’t, of course. She knew that, and so she simply stood, grabbed another piece, and ground that into the floor as well, savoring each and every scratch.
—
Forest Outside Magrath, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein Year 995
“This should be far enough.”
Isolde studied their surroundings approvingly, finally stopping and setting down her bag against a tree trunk. Amara did the same, her own eyes scanning the small clearing.
After leaving the inn, the two had followed the road outside of Magrath until they reached the forest again. Instead of staying on the road, which would’ve led them to the mines, the two had stepped into the grasses and traveled past dense trees and thick bushes. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above them, and the grasses grew taller the deeper in they walked.
Finally, they reached a small clearing. The grass here was a bit shorter, and a few jagged boulders dotted the ground. The way the trees were spread out left space to train, and the canopy here was thin enough for a substantial amount of light to get in. Amara suspected someone else had used the place before, perhaps even for the same purpose, given how perfect it seemed.
Amara casually swung her axe across her shoulders and squinted up at the patches of sky visible through the leaves. She’d uncovered the blade a while ago, and the cloth now lay limp beside her bag. She heard rustling behind her and turned to see Isolde, her own spear pulled out but still in its compact form.
“Sooo, what’re we doing first?” Amara drawled.
“You have the ore I gave you, correct? If you’d like, you can start by learning how to use it.”
Amara dug into her pocket and pulled the ore in question out. When she held it to the sunlight, its distinct glow was a little more apparent than usual, but still significantly reduced compared to the gleam of Isolde’s old earrings or the polished ore she’d seen on the guards and Lord Alardice. Her eyes fell on the label.
#KXDL98310046
CLASS: 1 | GRADE: E | ENERGY
Activation: 3
Maximum Output: 5
Available Magic: 10
“There’s magic inside, right? Do I just flare my magic around the thing?”
Isolde chuckled. “Not quite. First, you’ll need to draw the magic out of the ore. After that, you should feel a new strand of magic within your reserves. That’s when you’ll flare your own magic, which should convert the strand from the ore. The process afterwards will be the same as usual.”
“Draw the magic,” Amara muttered. She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds kind of like what Aberrations do. Except it’s from a rock and not people.” Though, given the existence of sources like Levent, maybe the distinction was smaller than she’d initially thought.
Isolde smiled wryly. “Well, if some theories are to be believed, there may be a reason for that.” She shook her head. “Back to the topic at hand, it should feel similar to using your own magic, only the reserves are external. It’s a fairly intuitive process. Most people would be able to do it, if they had the resources to make an attempt.”
“Eh, I’ll take your word for it.” Amara wrapped her fingers around the ore and glanced around the clearing, searching for a good spot. Considering how nice the location was, she’d rather not destroy it on the first day.
After some consideration, she decided to target a tree at the edge of the clearing. That way, the brunt of the blast would fall outside the space. She set her axe down on the grass and strode closer to the tree. If the goal was just to use the ore, she didn’t need her weapon for now. After a pause, she removed her gloves as well and tossed them next to the axe. Almost immediately, she felt the breeze brush against her bare arms and savored the sensation.
Holding the ore out in front of her, Amara closed her eyes. She could make out the glow of her markings through her eyelids and smiled to herself. Using magic with the gloves on just didn’t feel the same.
Shifting into a wider stance, Amara focused on the ore the way she had while practicing magic identification. It was rather easy to locate, and she could feel the way the magic inside it pulsed and flowed like swirling flames. She pulled at that energy, and she felt a strand of it tug away. It was a strange sensation, to have a foreign warmth hovering within her reserves. Her first instinct was to recoil, but she kept her muscles relaxed and moved on to the next step.
Opening her eyes, Amara fixed her gaze on the bare tree trunk. And then, tightening her hold on the ore, she activated her magic.
Magic Reserves: 62,557 → 62,554 → 62,537 / 110,876
Maximum Output: 22
Variability: 1
It was a strange sensation. First she felt that foreign strand of magic burst outwards. Then her own pools were drawn as usual, compensating for the ore’s low maximum output.
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A familiar fiery orange light flashed in her eyes, and Amara stumbled backwards as the magic fired off into the tree trunk, falling and landing on the grass. She heard bark split, and when she looked up, rubbing where her elbows had dug into the earth when she caught herself, she saw that a hole had been blasted straight through the tree trunk. Its edges were black, and a thin trail of smoke rose from it.
“Huh, it’s still standing. Didn’t think—”
A loud snap interrupted her. In the next second, the bark split entirely, deep cracks running down its surface, and the tree crashed backwards, branches snapping as it fell.
“—Nevermind.”
Amara rose back to her feet and absently noted that the bandages on her back had shifted a little, but the healing wounds still felt intact, so it was probably fine.
Isolde’s eyes moved between the fallen tree and the lingering numbers on the back of Amara’s hand. “No matter how many times I see it, it’s still remarkable,” she muttered. She took a step forward to peer more closely at the snapped bark and the faint wisps of smoke.
“Does this happen every time you use magic?”
“Yep.” Amara pronounced the ‘p’ with a pop. “Other than the blast getting stronger each time the output goes up. But yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
“I see.” Isolde straightened again and turned to face her. “It’s certainly an impressive amount of destruction. However, I do wonder how skills may alter it.” She furrowed her brows in thought. “Even if you’re unable to adjust your output, you should still be able to create different effects with more practice.”
Her eyes fell on the ore still in Amara’s hand. On closer inspection, its shine was noticeably dulled, and when Amara squinted at it, she could see a few newly formed thin cracks running along its surface. She committed its appearance to memory, noting it down as what an ore with only one use left looked like.
“You didn’t have any trouble with the ore, I presume?”
Amara shook her head. “Nah. Like you said, it was pretty easy.” She paused, thinking. “It took longer to use than I thought, though. It didn’t look like you really needed to focus to use that earring of yours.” Kain hadn’t paused to use his ore, either, during the Aberration attack. The guard’s sword had glowed immediately and with minimal effort.
“That’s because I attuned my earring.” Isolde brushed a dark strand of hair back. “I’ll explain how to do that once we’ve acquired more quality ore. For now…” her eyes darted over to the patch of grass Amara had landed on, then back to the dirt on her elbows. “I recommend building up more strength before venturing further into magic use. It wouldn’t do if you’re unable to take the recoil of your own attacks.”
“That’s an awfully roundabout way to call me weak,” Amara joked. She bent down to pick up her axe again. “I’m not arguing, though. I’ve been thinking the same thing for a while now.” This would also be a good opportunity to get more used to swinging the axe around, Amara thought, especially since she was planning on sticking with the weapon. Compared to the times she’d used a sword or a dagger, something about its weight and balance felt more satisfying to her.
She turned her head, spying a particularly sturdy looking tree with high branches that would be easy to practice swings on. As she strode over, however, she paused, glancing back at Isolde.
“Are you gonna practice your magic?” she asked, curious. Isolde shook her head.
“Not today, I’m afraid.” She tapped the gemstone embedded into her spear, and the weapon uncoiled itself. Amara watched closely; no matter how many times she saw it, it was still fascinating how easily the metal went from malleable to solid and firm. The blacksmith had definitely been a form magic user, and now that she knew more about skills, Amara could confirm the exact ones used had been storing and delayed activation.
Gripping the shaft of the spear firmly, Isolde gave the weapon a few test swings before she, too, turned to find a target. Amara peeled her eyes away from her and turned back to the tree, raising her axe and digging the blade into its surface.
It landed with a satisfying thump, and she yanked it back out. The cut wasn’t especially large or deep, but that was fine, she told herself. She was trying to build more strength anyway. And so, raising the weapon again, she continued swinging.
The clearing was soon filled with the sounds of metal digging into wood, and Amara found herself falling into a rhythm. It was easy to block out her surroundings and focus on her target, leaving her only faintly aware of the other trees, grasses, and wind.
Pulling her axe out again, Amara finally paused and wiped a hand across her forehead, finding it slick. She hadn’t realized how much she was sweating, or even how long it had been, she realized. She turned around to ask Isolde, but stopped.
On the other side of the clearing, the other woman stood in a ready stance, her spear held firmly as she brought it up, down, and around in smooth, arcing swings punctuated by sharp thrusts. She moved in a steady rhythm, every motion with intention and targeting specific areas. She took no excess steps and didn’t pause, striking with a fluid grace that was entrancing to watch. Amara recognized it as the sort of effortless, confident movements of someone with more than their fair share of training.
“You’re really good,” Amara said. Isolde paused, lowering her weapon and turning in her direction. “How’d you learn to fight, anyway?”
“I’ve had quite a few teachers,” Isolde said lightly. Her lips tilted upwards. “Some better than others.”
“Well, I’m guessing at least one of them must’ve been pretty good.” Amara’s eyes traced the line of the spear, the way the metal gleamed in the sunlight.
“You wouldn’t be wrong about that.” Isolde stepped closer, pushing some loose strands of hair out of her face as she walked. “I’ve been rather fortunate in that regard.”
“Who was the best?”
Isolde paused at that. A strange look filled her eyes, one that Amara recognized as nostalgia. To her surprise, the woman’s features softened, losing the constant, vigilant sharpness they usually bore. Amara had grown used to distinguishing the woman’s more serene persona from her natural iciness, but this expression didn’t fall into either of those categories. It was completely new.
“Would you believe me if I said she was a mercenary?”
Amara’s eyebrows rose. “A mercenary?”
Isolde nodded. “Yes, or at least that’s what she called herself.” She chuckled, the fondness evident in her voice. “She’s the strongest person I know. Stronger than any Rose or noble.”
“That’s awfully high praise,” Amara said. Isolde laughed fully, her voice ringing out in the clearing.
“Perhaps. But if you met her, you would agree.” She hummed in thought. “Actually, I believe the two of you would get along quite well.” She nodded at Amara’s arms. “She also has many scars.”
That got Amara’s interest. She leaned a little closer. “Really? What kind?”
Isolde raised a gloved hand and gestured vaguely. “Burn scars, all across her face.” She lowered her hand again. “She’s quite recognizable. You’d know if you knew her.”
“Hm.”
Amara glanced up at the sky through the gaps in the canopy. The sun was definitely lower than before, but there was probably still a good few hours before sunset. She raised her axe again, turning back towards the tree as she spoke.
“You should introduce me sometime. I’d like to meet her.”
“Perhaps I will. She’s a bit difficult to track down, but—” Isolde’s words cut off, and Amara glanced back, frowning and muscles automatically tensing. Was there another Aberration nearby?
“Turn around,” Isolde instructed. After a quick sweep of the clearing revealed that there was no Aberration, Amara’s shoulder’s finally relaxed again, and she did as asked. She heard footsteps behind her and felt a faint brush of fingers across her back. To her surprise, she found the touch didn’t really bother her.
“I forgot about your wounds,” Isolde muttered. Amara felt one of the bandages gently peeled aside, and Isolde hummed in disapproval. “They don’t seem to have split open, but some have gotten rather close.”
The touch vanished as the woman stepped back, and Amara turned around again.
“That’s enough for today,” Isolde said, voice firm. “You should return to the inn. We can continue this tomorrow.”
“Aw, it’s really not that bad.” Amara patted her back. “Can’t even feel them!”
Isolde snorted and shook her head. “That’s even more reason to stop for the day. You’ll find yourself in trouble if you don’t know your limits.”
Amara would argue that she did know her limits and that those limits were quite far, but she could tell from the other woman’s face that arguing was pointless. She sighed.
“Fine fine. As long as we keep doing this tomorrow.” She felt like they’d barely scratched the surface.
Amara went to gather her bag, covering her axe again and reluctantly slipping the gloves back on and covering the scars dotting her skin. At this point the fabric had stretched enough that there was no longer any stiffness to them, but the deadened sensations remained a constant annoyance. She was about to turn to leave, but paused as a new thought entered her mind. “Hey, do you have that map of Magrath on you? You don’t need it, right?”
Isolde raised an eyebrow, but moved over to her own bag. “I have it. Are you planning on going somewhere?”
“Just need to make sure I don’t get lost on the way back.” Amara took the map from Isolde, tucking it into the pouch at her waist. She grinned and nodded her head at the tree she’d been practicing on. Its trunk now had a fairly deep cut along its right edge, where she’d continuously hacked away at the same location.
“Figured if I’m cutting trees anyway, might as well ask around and see if anyone needs some wood chopped. Get some money out of it.”
“Ah, I see.” Isolde nodded. “In that case, I’ll see you later tonight. Take care.”
Amara saluted.
“See you later.”