Unlike skills that are created, techniques can be passed down and taught to others. They’re usually sold for credits by the Adventurers Guild or wandering mercenaries. The sale of a good technique has the ability to raise a poor farmer into a wealthy noble in an instant. But make no mistake, the truly powerful techniques are usually kept secret.
Aegon Matred, High Duke of Blood.
Sunstone Kingdom, Year 2256.
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After his meeting with principal Zatya, Aodhán made his way to the library, not because he had anything of importance that he wanted to read but because he needed to think, and the library was the only place he could get a modicum of privacy aside from his own room.
A ping sounded in his mind, and he found half a dozen concerned messages, all from Andrew and Daruk, already waiting for him. He sighed and replied to their texts, telling them not to worry and that he was fine.
Andrew was more curious as to what had caused his scuffle with Cyrus, but he obviously couldn’t tell them that, so he ignored the message instead and focused on the problem at hand.
He had no idea what Principal Zatya’s plans were or how she intended to turn him into an eldritch terror like the abyssal wraith. Whatever her plans were, though, they couldn’t be easy or good.
Aodhán couldn’t deny that a small part of him was looking forward to whatever the principal had in store for him, but a much larger part rebelled against the idea. The life of a soldier had never really interested him, and after the catastrophic vision he’d had of Az, it interested him even less.
He walked into the library a few minutes later and began perusing the shelves. He wasn't really looking for anything in particular, but the action calmed him, and after several minutes, he stopped before a shelf filled with novels.
Unlike on earth, where novels were usually fictional, the books in this section were more realistic, although he wouldn’t be surprised if the exploits of most characters had been exaggerated.
He picked out a book on the exploits of ascendant candidate Lightus Mirevael, a high duke currently residing in the capital sector. He took the slim book and made his way to his usual desk.
The book mainly spoke about his adventures during his younger years, and Aodhán was mildly surprised to learn that that man was almost 200 years old. It was no secret that the stronger one became, the longer they lived, but death came to everyone eventually, and the only way to avoid it was by ascending and becoming immortal.
Before long, Aodhán forgot about his current problems as he delved into the life of the high duke. Like his name suggests, ascendant candidate Lightus had a light affinity and was reputed to be one of the strongest individuals on the continent.
Aodhán shook his head as he read further. If there were so many powerful people on the continent, why haven’t they solved the problem of the curse by now? Something about the principal’s story wasn’t adding up.
Also, was it truly possible that Attilan had forgotten about Lutia? Surely they must have spies and agents monitoring the situation of things, and if they did, then they must know that Lutia was no longer under the effect of the limit as they had been five hundred years ago, and if they knew that, why were they not attacking? Why were they simply content to watch as their enemies grew in power?
He shook his head when he realized he’d been staring into space for a long time. He checked the time and cursed when he realized he only had a few minutes left before control training began.
He quickly returned the book to the shelf and made his way out of the library. He arrived at the hall a few minutes later and found that almost all the meditation mats had been taken. His eyes scanned the gathered students, and he caught the eyes of Cyrus and his friends.
Hostile barely described the looks they sent him, and he shook his head. It would have been nice to have friendly competitors, but Aodhán found that he didn’t much mind the alternative. If Cyrus wanted to be enemies, then so be it.
He found Daruk and Andrew quietly conversing at one corner of the hall, and he made his way towards them. They looked up when he approached, and Daruk asked in concern. “Where have you been? We’ve been trying to reach you for the last two hours."
Aodhán checked his messages and realized that Daruk had texted him half a dozen times in the last two hours. He must have been so distracted that he failed to even register the pings in his own mind.
“I’m sorry, I was at the library.” He replied and pointed to an empty mat behind them. “Is that taken?”
“No, we reserved it for you.” Andrew replied, and Aodhán thanked them. When he sat down, Daruk whispered. “Are you alright? Everyone’s been gossiping about you and Cyrus all day. What happened?”
“Yeah.” Andrew added. “You rushed out of the hall, and the next minute, you and Cyrus were trading blows in the hallway. I didn’t even know you guys had beef."
“We didn’t have beef.” Aodhán turned to catch Cyrus, still staring at him. “But apparently, we now do.”
“Is this about the girl? Lupin?” Daruk asked, but before Aodhán could respond, Andrew spoke. “If it’s because of Lupin, I would advise that you simply let her go. As much as I ignore propriety and status, I know it is a terrible idea for you or anyone here to go up against Cyrus; he’s the son of a duke.”
Rather than argue with them and tell them they were wrong, Aodhán nodded. “You’re right. Thank you for the advice."
That seemed to settle things for Andrew, but Daruk glared at him suspiciously. Before the discussion could proceed any further, though, Master Lamarr walked into the hall and proceeded to her usual spot in front of the class.
“Good evening, students, I must confess that I am amazed at how far you’ve all progressed with the weaves. Today, I’ll be electing ten who have shown excellent control to help those who are still struggling.”
Aodhán groaned when she began calling names; if she called his name, this would be an epic disaster. Fortunately, the world wasn’t so cruel, but the new arrangement was still disadvantageous to him.
He usually spent this time harnessing and taming his willpower, but now he couldn’t just pretend to be listening to the lecture; he had to actively participate.
Master Lamarr called on Cyrus, Yurin, Isis, Alesh, Eren, and five other students before dividing the class into groups of nine and assigning a student to each group. More than a few students turned to stare at him curiously, questioning his absence from the list of students Master Lamarr had called.
It was no secret that his control was excellent, but since he’d barely participated in the class since it began, many had begun speculating that this amazing control was a fluke.
Aodhán ignored them, aware that it was only a matter of time before the truth eventually came out. Until then, though, he would guard it jealously.
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Fortunately or unfortunately, Yurin was the student assigned to their group. Aside from Andrew and Daruk, Aodhán only recognized two other people in his group. One was Derek Sylithen, the diminutive boy with silver and purple hair who had answered a question in Valerie’s class, while the other was Tobais Menzies, who had once been among the top ten students on the tower leaderboards but now occupied the 49th position.
Yurin grinned as he began explaining the process of creating weaves and the ways to train the mind on how to focus on multiple weaves at once.
“I can currently create eighteen weaves at once.” Yurin said after a few minutes of explanation. “It’s not easy, but it gets easier with practice. How about I give a demonstration, and then you all try?”
Aodhán groaned internally. If he refused to partake in the exercise, he would draw the teacher’s attention, and if he did partake and failed to create the weaves, then he would still draw the teacher’s attention.
He exchanged glances with Daruk and Andrew, both of whom found the situation thoroughly amusing.
Daruk whispered. “At worst, we’ll fail to create a single weave and get mocked by the entire class.”
“No.” Andrew disagreed. “Failing would only call attention to us because no one in their right mind would believe that two of the strongest people in the entire class can’t create a single weave.”
“We’re three, Andrew.” Aodhán corrected, but Andrew shook his head. “I’m not as strong as you guys; I don’t think people would find it hard to believe that I can’t create a single weave.”
“Look around, Andrew; the weakest person here can at least create five.” Daruk muttered.
Aodhán shook his head as Daruk and Andrew began arguing. The perfect imbuement technique wasn’t a life-threatening secret; in fact, it probably wasn’t even a secret at all, as Aodhán didn’t believe he was truly the first person to create such a technique.
But the technique gave him an edge over his peers, and he wasn’t ready to give that up yet. What use was an edge if the entire world had it? Besides, it was too powerful to share with his classmates.
The argument finally came to an end when Yurin called the first person in the group for their demonstration. The girl created seven weaves at once and was applauded by the rest of the group, including Aodhán, who was still thinking of a way to get himself out of this situation.
The second person created six weaves, while the third created nine. Derek created thirteen weaves, but Tobias only created eight. They were both applauded, but just as Yurin called the sixth person for her demonstration, Master Lamarr suddenly arrived to inspect their group.
“I trust things are going well, Yurin?” She asked, and Yurin nodded. "Yes, master Lamarr; in fact, Emily was just about to give us a demonstration.”
Aodhán sighed, frustrated, as Master Lamarr motioned for Emily to proceed. How could he lie himself out of this situation with Master Lamarr watching like a hawk?
He didn’t want to seem proud, but he was pretty sure she’d timed her arrival to watch him and Daruk. She obviously wasn’t stupid, and she must have noticed their lack of participation in the previous classes.
Emily only managed to create five weaves, which was the lowest he’d seen so far aside from himself, Andrew, and Daruk. As one, the focus on the entire group landed on him, as he was the 7th member of the group, and he finally realized just how curious his classmates were of him.
Even the other groups had halted their exercise to watch him, and Aodhán could practically see the questions burning in their eyes. Is he stronger than me? Is he stronger than Cyrus? Was his victory in the tournament a fluke?
Aodhán took a deep breath and prepared to disappoint them. The weaving technique was much simpler, truly, but the reason he was finding it so hard was because he’d already perfected the imbuement technique, which was more powerful than the weaves.
It was like trying to write with his toes after perfecting writing with his hands. It wasn’t just hard; it was almost impossible.
He closed his eyes and focused on his energy and willpower, and an instant later, he channeled them through his pathways and out of his hands. That was the easy part, yet he had only managed to create a single strand, and he could already hear the confused whispering of his classmates.
He shook his head, dreading the reactions his next action would spark, and focused on the strands of energy and willpower floating before him. He futilely tried to weave the strands together, but like water, they constantly slipped through his mental fingers and were almost impossible to grasp.
After an entire minute of failure, he opened his eyes and dismissed the strands. “Sorry to disappoint you, Master Lamarr, but I cannot do it.”
The confused whispers rose, and a roar of laughter erupted from a corner of the hall, but Aodhán didn’t bother looking; instead, he focused his attention on Master Lamarr.
Rather than the disappointment he’d expected, her expression was completely neutral, and when the laughter finally died down, she said, “You cannot do it because you’ve learned a better technique, am I right?”
Aodhán hesitated for a moment before giving a single nod in response. The whispers died as the students focused on their conversation.
Master Lamarr turned to Daruk and Andrew. “I take it; this is the same technique that both of you have learned.”
“Yes.” Daruk replied, while Andrew simply nodded in agreement.
Master Lamarr frowned slightly, thinking for a moment, before she suddenly turned back to Aodhán and asked. “Am I correct to assume that you created this technique yourself?”
Aodhán hesitated once again. It would be so much easier to say no, but he saw no need to lie about it. Besides, a part of him wanted to brag for once, to rub the faces of his rivals in mud, and so he replied. “Yes.”
Another wave of confused whispers and gasps rose until Master Lamarr raised a hand and silence descended on the hall. She observed him carefully for a few seconds before she suddenly smiled and asked. “Would you like to give us a demonstration of this technique, Mr. Brystion?”
Aodhán didn’t mind at all. He turned to the wall opposite him and released a simple, un-empowered beam of lightning the size of his fist. It struck the wall an instant later but did no damage, and Aodhán said to master Lamarr, who was now standing beside him. “That’s an un-empowered skill.”
“Noted.” She nodded. “Now empower it.”
Aodhán didn’t need to be told twice. He raised his hand to the wall again, and instantly, five strands of energized will zipped through his pathways as a beam of condensed lightning the size of his head shot out of his hand and struck the wall with a deafening roar.
The impact shook the wall with unparalleled ferocity, causing minor shockwaves to ripple through the air and sending sparks flying in all directions. The once-invisible runes lit up, their golden glow intense as they tore the skill apart and absorbed its energy before it could do any further damage.
The runes disappeared a moment later, leaving brilliant tendrils of electricity to dance and writhe across the surface of the wall, tracing intricate patterns of destruction in their wake.
When things finally died down, Aodhán was surprised to see that the wall remained undamaged, save for a blackened patch the size of his palms that faded away the next second.
The smell of ozone tainted the air, and Aodhán turned to see the horrified and amazed expressions of his classmates. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying the look on their faces. The fear, awe, envy, disgust, and lust that he found on their faces almost made him giddy with happiness.
His problems melted away, and a part of him wondered, Would it be so bad to let himself be molded into a weapon? Would it be so terrible to instill fear and horror into the hearts of his enemies? To let the principal make him a monster?
Yes. That last part was terrible, but the other two weren’t bad at all. Master Lamarr stared at the wall for a moment before she asked. “Would you like to share this technique with the class?”
“I’d rather not.” Aodhán replied, and he could almost taste the disappointment of the other students. Master Lamarr, on the other hand, simply shrugged. “It’s alright; every awakened worth their seals must eventually create their own techniques anyway.”
She turned to the rest of the class. “There’s nothing more to say on the matter. If you haven’t realized the importance of control yet, then there’s nothing I can do to help you. We all saw the skill in its raw form and the exponential increase that Aodhán’s control technique produced.
Like I always say, control is important. It bridges the gap between tiers, which you can all see in your leaderboards.” She observed the silent students for a moment. “That is all for today. Five points each to the ten students who helped me today, and thirty to you, Aodhán. Five for that beautiful display, and twenty-five for creating your own technique. Have a good day, everyone.”
Immediately after Master Lamarr dismissed the class, Aodhán, Andrew, and Daruk walked out of the hall with the envious and amazed stares of their classmates boring into them. They were only a few feet away from the entrance when a voice rang out. “Wait! Aodhán!”
Aodhán turned around to see Imani rushing towards him, her textbooks clutched tightly in her arms, and when she reached him, she gasped. “Teach me your technique, please.”