“Good job, Cedric!” Alex clapped for the Chosen, giddy with excitement. “You're close!”

“Aye, I’d be a lot closer if’n you’d be so kind t’not break me bloody flow wit’ yer lip flappin’!” The Chosen snapped from between clenched teeth. Cedric’s eyes were shut tight, his breathing was laboured; he weaved his body through the Spear-and-Oar Dance in the middle of the forest clearing, muscles flexing with every movement. “Clap fer me when I ain’t tryin’ t’ think about so many things at the same time!”

“Right, sorry!” Alex called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “I’m just trying to encourage you!”

“Yer still talkin’!”

“Right, shit, sorry! It’s just that you’re doing so well—”

“Now yer jus’ bloody doin’ it on purpose!”

“I’m not, I swear! It’s just, right, right! Sorry! Shutting up now!”

Alex fell silent for a long moment…at least long to him.

“But seriously, I’m super proud,” he said under his breath, watching the Chosen of Thameland dance, his moves flowing from one to the next under the morning sky. A natural athlete, the redheaded man had readily absorbed the basics of every dance Alex had taught him over the past few days, and was always eager for more.

If only the same was true with the Chosen’s progress with the grounding exercise.

Asking Cedric to simply sit, breathe and be, was easy to ask of him, but close to impossible for him to do. Within minutes of starting the meditation, he’d be twitching, fidgeting, or shifting about; his mind would drift as boredom and impatience took over.

It had taken Alex the better part of a day to realise what was wrong: expecting the Hero to just stay still was like trying to herd barn cats. Futile.

He was the man who had ditched his priestly escort to run off to Coille forest to fight Ravener-spawn, because he needed to act.

Cedric was a doer, and after Alex realised that, he knew he had to adapt—if the Chosen’s body wanted to move—then he shouldn’t be fighting it. Instead of trying to force him to sit still, he needed to work on the grounding exercise while performing the Spear-and-Oar dance.

Calm would have to be achieved through the explosive power of movement.

And that movement would then steady his breathing.

The Chosen had moved through the dance’s steps, stances, and positions as his chest rose and fell: inhale for four, hold for seven, then exhale for eight.

Each day, his breathing had grown a little less laboured.

Until, something wonderful happened.

The Chosen’s movement was now matching his breathing.

His morphic weapon—shaped like a spear—pulsed. His steps were steady. His exhalation was timed with an explosive step.

‘Yes!’ Alex thought. ‘Keep going. You’re almost there…you’re almost…’

Something shifted in the Chosen’s movements. A subtle twitch of a muscle, a shift in his timing. His breathing became calmer…

…and then, there it was.

Success.

Cedric had gotten it.

His body moved with perfect harmony, power, grace and beauty, all conducted by a breath as steady as the tide. His face was a mask of serenity, his eyes utterly calm, gaze focusing on the path ahead. A few minutes passed. Then dozens.

The Chosen seemed entranced, united in body and mind. Alex watched him, reluctant to break the union he’d worked so hard for.

He would leave the Chosen in peace for a time and do some learning of his own.

Slipping to the side of the clearing to get his satchel, the young archwizard took out the spell-guide for Steel Body, opened it and began tracing the magic circuit with his index finger: some points on the diagram were familiar—similar to sections of blood magic spells he’d learned before—but most were new to him.

He’d never cast a spell that was capable of transforming his flesh so completely, and such transmutations were notoriously tricky. Miscasting a spell like this, would not only risk a mana reversal, but could turn the casting wizard into a mound of sand, a piece of twisted wood, or a ball of squealing flesh. None were appealing.

There’s no way he would have risked casting this spell when he had the Mark of the Fool.

But now…things had changed.

‘The best thing is for me to cast it with a gesture,’ Alex thought, opening a notebook. ‘I could use it for physical resilience and strength, then dismiss it for speed and faster mana flow. Hmmm…what’s this part here? …ah, that should be helpful.’

Alex stood, and holding the spell guide, looked over the incantation one final time, then nodded. ‘Guess there’s only one thing left to do.’

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

He focused the Mark of the General on perfecting his pronunciation. Memories of incantations—successes and failures—came pouring back to him, guiding him through the syllables of the intricate spell. Mana surged, and a complex, eight part magic circuit formed within his mana pool.

The magic circuit completed.

Power surged through his body, his sense of touch dulled. Iron oozed from his veins, suffusing his body. His perception of dampness and the bite of cool spring wind on his skin faded. His flesh transformed, changing to shining, polished steel. Strength poured into his muscle fibres.

“Wow, this feels so stra—”

Breath failed him partway through the sentence…yet he didn’t have to take another one, at least for now. In his current form, the archwizard had no need for breathing to sustain life, a trait that would come in handy.

Alex placed two fingers against his neck.

No pulse either.

He was—effectively—a living steel statue.

‘This is so cool,’ he thought. ‘I wonder what Claygon will think?’

I want to test it…right now!’ Tromping to the nearest tree, Alex curled his right arm back—balled his hand into a fist—and swung.

A loud crack and an explosion of tree bark followed, as his fist struck the trunk, burrowing into the wood.

‘Not bad!’ he thought. ‘Maybe let’s try something else.’

He reached around the tree trunk, gripping it on either side, and using his teleportation power, severed the trunk from its base and teleported the stump and roots away. He began to lift.

The tree wasn’t quite the size of the old oak Hart had wrenched from the ground, but it was close, yet Alex had little trouble hoisting it over his head.

His body was stronger under this spell. He took a conscious breath, raising the tree up and down.

“It isn’t the flashiest spell, but it’s damn useful, if any Ravener-spawn get too close to me, I could crush them to pulp. And a steel body is fantastic for defence…damn, if I’d known this spell when I was fighting the hidden church in Kelda’s sanctum, I doubt their consecrated soil would have affected me. Anyway, I know it now, and I’ll be making good use of it. Maybe I’d better put this tree down and see how Cedric’s doing.”

Alex slowly laid the tree on its side—branches cracking and snapping as they touched the ground—and looked up to check on Cedric. He found the Chosen staring at him.

“Oh! You’re done!” the General clapped unevenly, his palms clanging together like dull bells. “Good job!”

“Why th’bloody blazes ‘r y’metal?” Cedric sounded bewildered.

“What?”

“Yer bloody metal, mate!”

“What do you mea—Oh, it’s a new spell!” Alex slapped his hand against his forehead. There was another clang. “It turns my body to steel…as you can see. Anyway, what’s important is that…”

Alex grinned, pointing at his mouth. “You’re not the only one with metal in your mouth now!”

Silence.

“Wha—what th’—”

“I mean you have a golden smile, but mine’s steely,” Alex joked.

“Please bloody tell me y’dina learn this spell jus’ fer yer shite joke!”

“N-no!” Alex cried. Cedric looked sceptical.

“Anyway, let’s move on. The spell changes my body to magically enhanced metal. It’s not flashy, but it’s eighth-tier.”

The Chosen’s eyes bulged. “The way y’say eighth-tier all casual-like makes me ‘ead spin. But, ah well, good on ya!” Cedric grinned and clapped, his gold tooth shining.

“Thank you, thank you,” Alex said, bowing his head exaggeratedly.

“Aye, an’ now tha’ ya finished showin’ off,” Cedric cracked his neck. “I gots somethin’ t’show ya. I was savin’ this one fer a surprise.”

The Chosen muttered an incantation, extending a hand in front of him. A shimmering wall of force materialised in the air.

“Holy crap!” Alex shouted. “Wall of Force! You broke through to fifth-tier!”

“I been workin’ on sixth, friend.” Cedric couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Been gettin’ close too. I’s kinda hopin’ t’get there b’fore Isolde gets t’seventh an’ leaves me behind, but she’s been sayin’ that she’s real close, so I dunno ‘bout that one. Th’others are real close t’fifth too. ‘Cept for Drestra…well, I’d best let her show ya fer herself.”

“I can hardly wait.” Alex rubbed his hands together, his palms making ominous, metallic, creaking and grinding sounds. “But wait, let’s leave the spells for a second. How’d it go with your dancing and breathing?”

Cedric’s smirk turned into an overjoyed smile. He slapped himself on the chest. “Friendo, it feels so bloody good! So natural, like I was always meant t’be fightin’ like that! Once I got m’breathin’ an’ dancin’ all in step, hoo boy! Everythin’ worked like a bloody charm!”

“Awesome,” Alex said. “Then the next thing we’ll be working on is getting you to cast more than one spell at the same time, using your body, not your mouth, which should be a lot easier now.”

“How so?” Cedric asked.

“Well, describe how your body feels when you’re dancing and doing the grounding exercise at the same time?” Alex asked.

“Feels bloody good an’...oh!” Cedric’s eyes grew wide. “I gets it! I can feel every muscle better. Feels like I’m noticin’ every muscle movin’ a lot more than usual. So now that I kin notice me own body’s movements easier…”

“You’ll have an easier time controlling those movements more precisely,” Alex finished for him. “Very, very good.”

“Aye!” the Chosen shouted. “Well, then, guess we better get back t’work! Tell me what t’do next oh teacher o’ mine!”

“Next, we’re going to be studying spell arrays and finding commonalities in—”

“I bloody hates ya!”

###

Drestra watched the trees before her.

Most looked just as they should: solid, old elms and oaks rising from the earth, with bursting leaf buds and new leaves springing up on their branches.

Some, however, looked semi-solid, off, not quite right.

The Sage of Thameland gave a tight smile of satisfaction.

Because she could tell they weren’t real.

“Those over there.” She pointed to three towering oaks. “They’re the illusions.” She looked at four Thundars standing nearby, hands on their hips—three of the minotaurs appeared somewhat vague—she pointed at the solid one. “And you are the real Thundar.”

“Damn, you got me!” the minotaur dispelled his illusions. The other minotaurs and illusionary trees shimmered to nothingness. “Hells, Drestra, you did it, you really can cast True Seeing now!”

The dragon smiled, taking off her veil and showing her teeth.

Thundar’s expression shifted, as it always did.

For a time, she used to think her teeth made him uneasy, but she’d come to realise that he felt the exact opposite.

Now, she took great joy in revealing her fangs to him.

“You’ll be able to cast it too,” she said, her voice crackling. “You’re almost at fifth.”

“Yeah.” The minotaur scratched the back of his head as he laughed nervously. He kept glancing at her fangs. “Gotta admit, Alex was right: wrapping your head around every little detail of a spell array is a pain, but once you can do it, it makes learning spells so much easier.”

Drestra watched him. “You’re all getting your heads around it faster than I am, but I’m slowly getting there. And—”

Suddenly, from nearby, there came a powerful crack like thunder.

Both minotaur and dragon whirled, spotting a massive bolt of lightning streaking over the canopy to the north. It peaked in the sky, exploding in a coil of electricity, sending out hundreds of hungry bolts seeking targets in every direction.

A familiar laugh rang out over the trees.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Thundar mused. “Looks like Isolde’s hit seventh-tier.”

“Cedric’s going to go a little crazy over that one,” Drestra grinned.