“Lasting Light!” Sashro nodded with enthusiasm as his master completed a rather low-tier spell. The dragonkin touched a pole that had been set up in the emptied arena and the entirety of the wood became a beacon of dim light.

“Good, Sir. Just a bit more mana and that would have been perfect. The spell doesn’t offer much light to begin with, but it’s enough for the darkness to retreat.” The spell had worked almost to the best outcome for the usual caster. There were torches lit along the edges of the arena’s base where the two stood among a series of wooden poles and straw dummies. More torches and braziers were lit along the stairs and upper levels of the stands.

Sashro had led his master down a great distance of The Spire. In the bowels of the mountain, there was an open area that stretched on in every direction. Darkness took hold of your vision before you could see the ceiling which was spattered with different mineral veins and gems that had been left during excavation. It was like being outside where the night sky above twinkled down on you.

Sashro had led the master around back hallways and risen platforms to avoid those that hustled about in the stony city beneath. Warm air rose from open pits of lava that spewed from different vents around this enormous chasm. The warmth was used for the homes and village in this area of The Spire, but it also created a nice draft that pulled in from specific, webbed vents in the stone. Christoph rather enjoyed the temperature as it was just warm enough that he didn’t feel he’d be drenched in sweat—though anatomically he did have new preferences to temperature.

It was a part of The Spire referred to as Tartarus. This was a city beneath the stones that stretched on quite some distance. Christoph assumed it was beneath the lands and not just a portion of The Spire itself. Along these private passages, the two had found their way to the King’s entrance into the arena. A number of goblins and smaller creatures had prepared the sandy battlefield for their master’s needs.

“We can use a system. With these minor spells as a marker, I can try to describe the mana required for higher spells and the requirements to use them. A similar system I use with my students.” Sashro was grinning wildly. I will do my very best! We had a deal! He continued to tell himself this as he trained his own master—Christoph was luckily a fast learner with the benefit of a body that could withstand such mana usage. His master’s equipment was also assisting in the preservation of energy.

“This spell should take roughly two and a half times the mana. Focus it into the formation of the spell, my Master.” Sashro stepped forward. He was holding a gnarled staff that was two or three vine-like branches that wrapped upward toward a thickened knot on top. Christoph glanced over the staff which seemed like a normal walking stick until he saw a glimmer from within the sections between the woven branches. Small jewels were held within, and Christoph wondered what each might do. “Frost Ray!”

A white and blue energy swirled around the wizard as he pointed toward one of the closer targets. The dummy’s straw body, wrapped up with twine and a few rags, began to shake as the energy of the spell rushed over it. It took some time, but the spell did build frosted crystals across the body and encased its torso in ice. The cold breeze continued until Sashro’s spell ended and he dropped his hand. By the end, a solid block of ice encased the body of the dummy; though, such a spell would be much more difficult against a moving target.

“Two and a half, hm?” Christoph took a few heavy steps to walk to the side of his teaching servant. He stood a good half meter over the human—depending on how he leaned to manage his tail. “Mmmm.” He lifted one claw, the one still showing flesh due to his failures, and roared, “Frost Ray!”

A similar circle of that white and blue energy began to condense the moisture in the air. Christoph could feel this frigid aura form about his claw. He focused on pushing the energy, two and a half times the amount of “Lasting Light,” into the spell. He had forgotten; however, that the spell must have direction. One cannot cast spells solely with the mana but must fracture the mind to control the different aspects.

Swirling winds lashed out from the epicenter of the spell. Sashro had to lift one arm to shield his face from the sudden gust of icy wind. This torrent of cold air ended after several seconds, but Sashro’s eyes widened with disbelief.

“Master!” He hadn’t seen too much of his master’s abilities over the years. Gohdin had kept much of his power a secret, only utilizing it when necessary… or at least that’s how it was before the madness settled in. A magic spell is often the same across all casters, but an expert in the arcane or mystic arts might be able to apply their own strength to a spell with practice—or through extraordinary circumstances.

There stood Christoph with his outstretched claw that was now entirely encased in ice. Formed around his hand was a block of ice weighing roughly twenty kilograms or so, yet his arm remained stilled in the air. Christoph examined the block and huffed.

“That’s not right.” A human, or even many dragonkin, would have dropped their arm to the ground with the weight. The cold itself should have been driving into the flesh like roots of some poisoned tree. Yet, he stood, simply frustrated, still and pondered his mistake. “What was the error?”

He’s stronger in ignorance than I am in practiced mind and body. I must restore his memory and his discovery. Sashro smiled at the sight of seeing the dragonkin wizard holding such a block of ice as if it were a pillow of feathers. He considered how his master wasn’t even wincing with pain as his hand was trapped in the block. “With such a result, I’d say it would be the identifying of a target or path for the magic to take. Since this is a ranged spell, you’ll need to also envision the spell’s course.”

“Ah.” Christoph was beginning to understand. He’d shot a bow a few times when he got to go hunting with some of the other boys from his village. You had to breathe right, draw the arrow back, take aim, release at the right moment, and through it all have the will to succeed with your plans. It was a concept that would assist in his connection of these tasks—though magic focused mostly on the mind where the bow had much more to do with physical control. His shortened training with the sword was the same.

It’s all similar. The discipline’s the same, but the subject of the discipline is what differs. Controlling your muscles for speed or minor adjustments takes a different path of focus than training to exert your power through broader strokes and attacks. The mind’s similar. I just need to train it right and develop the muscles the way I want.

This insight was something many fail to ascertain in their years of practice. It seems such a simple concept to work the individual muscles or talents that make up a particular set of skills, but to connect the basic idea of which muscles are important to what skill set is something many fail to realize. A warrior may swing a sword a thousand times and be able to split a tree in half using “Combat” skills, but if he ignores his legs the swings will lack a great deal of force as he twists and plants his feet. A mind could be similarly weakened. To realize the intent of a spell but be unable to aim it would be a waste of energy. Expelling energy in mass amounts without the concept of what to do with it could be deadly.

“I’ll need to try again.”

“Of course, my Master.” Sashro cleared his throat, to which Christoph broke out of his concentration to look at his teacher. “Does that not hurt?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Returning to the ice, No. It doesn’t. Christoph felt a bit of discomfort, but he wasn’t truly in pain. He flexed his arm and moved the ice closer to himself. If my body is that tough, then…

A heavy blow hit the sand in the center of the arena. A thunderous crack erupted and once again the arm of Sashro rose up to shield his eyes. With the dirt flung up in the air around them, the winds died and the grainy fog began to settle. Christoph was kneeling over a considerable divot in the sand where shards of ice scattered about him as if he’d walked into a field of glass.

I’m really glad that worked. I thought for sure I’d have broken my hand like the time I fell off the roof. Or the time I fell off the watchtower. Or the time I… I like these bones.

Standing up, to his servant’s amazement, Christoph checked over his claw which only showed signs of slight damage due to the extreme cold. He poked at one bit of blacked flesh beneath the scales where the acid had opened up his physical defenses. Tearing that one flake of blackened flesh from his hand, he turned toward the targets again.

“Another.” He reached out. “Frost Ray!”

Again and again, he used the spell to a similar effect. His hand would be stuck in a block of ice, and he’d smash it apart. Sashro watched silently; astonished by his master’s tenacity in training and the damage he continued through.

To Christoph it seemed that there was no progress being made, but the ice was beginning to form differently. Every spell cast created another block of ice that was more and more pointed on the farthest side. It wasn’t until over an hour went by that he realized there was a rough cone being formed at the base of his wrist which stabbed outward toward the target.

That’s pretty cool! I can’t believe I’m casting magic! I have to master this. I have to so I can show Malin… and the mind stumbled back into the moment where a grin of jagged teeth closed into concentration.

Though the undead have forgotten of sleep, their minds and souls tire. His mana reserves were depleting, and his ring wasn’t recovering enough for him to cast this many spells in so short a time.

“I’m not getting this as quickly as I’d hoped.” Though Christoph had meant that for himself, his servant answered.

“Master, I thank you for your confidence in entrusting me with this secret of your memories. I wish them a quick return, but your resolve and power are inspiring. I see progress made with every spell cast. What would have taken some years to accomplish has taken you less than a day.”

“I haven’t even hit the target. My hand is still freezing.” Christoph examined his hand for more of the blackened flesh and found none this time.

“The power you possess created a spell vastly superior to that of other magic casters. Even I, with my memories intact, could not produce such might.” He looked over the ice that hadn’t melted yet. Shards of blue and white glistened in the torch light atop darkened spots where the previous pieces had melted. “You’ve remastered the spell in all but projection. If I may be so bold?” He waited for Christoph to turn and nod before continuing, “This time, focus more on the mana rushing forward in a constant stream. Only think of how it connects from you to the target in a straight line.”

His advice was simple enough for Christoph to grasp. As he’d shot the bow, and as he’d swung the sword, he needed to lock in on what he was firing at. He looked over one of the straw dummies that leaned backward slightly as if surprised he’d lived this long.

“Mmmm.” Christoph took a moment to refocus his mind. It’ll reach him. I have to hit him! I can’t remain weak! “Frost Ray!”

With the roar of his dragonkin’s voice, the world beneath the ground echoed with his words. The spell commenced and filled the air around him with that glistening energy of white and blue. The spinning circle of the spell’s manifestation swirled about as the cold winds reached out.

When the spell was done, his hand was just barely encased. Ice formed from the middle of his palm out to cover his fingers. The icicle had formed around him again instead of the intended target, but at the very least, this time the icicle formed into a lengthy cone of blue. The point was thin—deadly with the weight behind it.

“Dammit!” Christoph pulled his fist and the icicle back. The point had reached almost halfway to the dummy about three meters away. Drawing his fist back, he unleashed his frustration with the terrifying roar of a monstrous dragon.

His fist swung forward and pulled the atmosphere with it. A wind tunnel pulled at Sashro’s robes as the dragonkin’s speed and power went from a pulled back punch to a completed follow-through. Then there was a crashing at the far end of the arena.

“Hmph!” Christoph threw both fists down and shook his head in frustration. He turned away from his servant in hopes that his face wouldn’t be seen. I can’t do this! How did I think I could do this?! He’s going to figure it out! I finally obtain magic… some actual power… and I can’t even do that!

“Magnificent!”

Christoph turned to see a small cloud puff up from the sand and the wall of the arena. Once it cleared, he gazed with wide eyes at the icicle that stood out of the wall with the broken remains of the dummy leading up to the place of impact. Sashro was trembling with excitement at seeing his master’s power unleashed.

Had that been a living body… Sashro looked back to his master with an increased sense of awe. “Simply magnificent! Even when restrained by one aspect of your abilities, you were able to conquer the challenge by means of another! Incredible, Sir.” Sashro looked back to the cracked wall and the sizeable icicle that had been nailed into it. He was always the answer. All knowledge will be ours! My dreams are not lost!

Christoph looked at the wall, the icicle, the scattered remains of the dummy, and then at his clawed hands—one of which was damp and marked across the palm with damaged flesh. He’d meant to keep these creatures bound and governed, and power was necessary for that to occur. With the sight of what his rage and his failure had created, a new thought went through his transforming mind.

What if I actually figured out what I was doing?

A wide, toothy grin spread over the dragonkin’s face. Revitalized by the mindless display of power, the King of the Undead took a moment to feel the emotion called “pride” fill him. It was a familiar feeling, but it had always been one reserved for providing for his family, working the fields until he couldn’t anymore, and even just doing the best he could without injuring himself. Any injury-free day was cause for celebration.

Now… now he wielded far more power and importance.

And the injuries barely hurt.

The dragonkin smiled.

“Again.”