Roman lowered his hand toward Riven, who was still slumped on the floor, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, sweat dripping from his brow. “Get up, kid. It's time to start the real training,” Roman said, a vicious smile cutting across his face.

Riven stared up at him, his muscles screaming in protest. One thought echoed through his mind as he clasped Roman’s hand—this was a bad idea.

Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet, dusting himself off. The scythe rested on his shoulder, its weight oddly familiar now, as if it had always belonged there. He watched as Roman strode toward the corner of the room, rummaging through something unseen. For a moment, Riven considered following, but after two straight hours of getting his ass handed to him, he decided against it.

Instead, he leaned against the wall, savoring the brief reprieve. So this is what he meant. The scythe felt natural in his grip—like an extension of himself rather than just a weapon. Did that mean everyone had a weapon they were meant for? Something woven into their very being?

Riven’s musings were cut short as Roman reappeared, holding a handful of small metallic orbs, each carved with intricate rune patterns that lay dormant.

“What’s that?” Riven asked, his curiosity piqued. He had always had a bad habit of poking into rune-based tools, ever since his father’s artificer friend had shown him his laboratory years ago and sparked an appreciation for the craft.

“This is your next training exercise,” Roman said in a serious tone, handing one of the orbs to Riven. “I want you to try channeling your mana into it.”

Riven took the orb in his left hand, bringing it closer for inspection. Alright, this shouldn’t be too hard, he thought. He pushed his mana into it, spreading it evenly through all five fingers—the best he could manage with his current level of mana control.

The runes on the orb flared to life, glowing a deep blue as a small curved crystal display flickered on, listing random values that Riven couldn’t decipher. Roman, however, narrowed his eyes, watching the changing numbers intently, humming in thought.

A minute passed before Roman finally spoke. “You can stop now.”

Riven pulled his mana back, but the moment it settled within him, he noticed something was off. Some of it is missing. His brows furrowed. Did the machine absorb it? But for what?

“Kid, you’ve got excellent mana purity and decent control,” Roman said, his expression contemplative. His eyebrows knitted together, as if something wasn’t adding up.

“Is something wrong?” Riven asked, hearing the concern in his own voice.

“No, no... it’s just that I sense something else from you—a much more solid, distinct power. But the readings on this device don’t match what I’m sensing,” Roman said, rubbing his chin and eyeing Riven carefully.

Riven tensed. He knew exactly what Roman was talking about. It’s that blasted amber mana. Zephyr had been clear—take this secret to the grave.

A heavy silence passed as Riven weighed the consequences of defying one of the Twelve Swords of Valaria.

Roman sighed. “Look, kid, if you don’t show me your full potential, I can’t train you properly. And anything you share won’t leave this training ground. That’s my word.”

Riven exhaled sharply, then muttered, “Please keep this a secret.”

He let the amber mana flow, its presence undeniable. It wasn’t like regular mana—it had intent. Purpose. Instead of spreading through all his fingers, it pooled in his palm before a single thin strand traveled through his thumb and into the orb.

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The moment it made contact, the device flared to life again, numbers flashing wildly. Roman’s reaction was immediate—his eyes widened in shock.

Riven blinked. That’s… unexpected. Roman had never struck him as someone who wore emotions on his face. In fact, he seemed adept at masking them. Yet now, the shift was unmistakable.

“Kid,” Roman said, his voice steady but heavy with meaning, “who else knows about this?”

His gaze was piercing, his expression carved from stone.

Riven hesitated, but the question had thrown him off guard, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled out.

“Only Zephyr knows.”

The moment it left his mouth, he groaned and smacked a palm against his forehead. Zephyr is going to kill me for this.

Roman, however, visibly relaxed, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Coughing into his fist, he muttered, “I assume he told you to keep it secret?”

Riven nodded slowly, still cursing his own stupidity.

“Very well. Let’s leave it at that.” Roman took the orb back and strode toward a nearby weapon rack.

“Can you do what you just did regularly?” he asked over his shoulder.

Riven nodded again, this time more animated.

“Good. That speeds things up. Here.”

Roman turned and tossed a long scythe toward him.

Riven barely had time to react. He dropped the training scythe, scrambling to catch the new one midair. The moment it landed in his hands, he felt its weight—heavier than he expected. His body reacted instinctively, his feet shifting into a wider stance to counterbalance the weight, stopping him from toppling over.

A sigh of relief escaped him. He glared at Roman, who stood watching with an all-knowing smirk, nodding in silent approval.

Roman turned back to the weapon rack, lifting another identical scythe before facing Riven once more.

“I’ll teach you three forms and their variations,” he said, holding up three fingers. Then, one by one, he curled them down.

“Slashing, stabbing, and swinging. Master these, and you’ll have the foundation to learn anything.”

Riven tightened his grip on the scythe, a determined fire burning in his eyes.

“I’m ready.”

The next hour passed in a blur, feeling more like a fleeting second than a full sixty minutes. Riven lay sprawled in a heap, gulping down liters of water handed to him by a worker from the outside bar. His muscles ached, his breath came in ragged gasps, and yet, his eyes still flickered toward Roman, who sat nearby, leisurely sipping what looked like an alcoholic drink, ice clinking softly in the glass.

Who knew repeating the same movements over and over again could be this exhausting? He had to circulate mana through his body just to fight off the creeping fatigue, and even then, he still felt like he'd been put through a meat grinder. But despite the brutal repetition, Riven couldn’t deny the effectiveness of the training. In just three hours, he had grasped the basics of wielding a weapon he’d never even touched before.

His brief respite was cut short by the sound of a glass hitting the table—soft, yet deliberate, the ice settling with a faint clink.

"Now that hits the spot, kid!" Roman called out, his voice laced with satisfaction.

Riven turned his head, still catching his breath. Roman smirked, swirling the remnants of his drink before setting it aside.

"Your basics are decent for now," he said, standing up and stretching his shoulders. "Instead, I’ll teach you the fundamentals of imbuing objects with mana. Considering what I saw from the readings, it should come naturally to you."

Riven was about to force himself to his feet when Roman unexpectedly closed the distance, sitting cross-legged in front of him. He placed the scythe across his lap, resting his hands on it before shutting his eyes.

Riven hesitated, then followed suit, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing.

"The difference between controlling mana inside your body and channeling it into an object," Roman began, his voice calm and steady, "is that within your body, mana retains the shape you will it into. But inside a foreign object, it tends to revert to its natural state and disperse into the ambient mana around it."

He tightened his grip on the scythe, fingers flexing slightly.

"The trick is to maintain a part of your focus on keeping the mana contained—essentially forming a thin coating around the weapon. This not only enhances its durability but also increases efficiency."

As he spoke, a faint purple glow began to emanate from the scythe, tracing along its length like veins of living energy. It wasn’t the structured glow of runes or engravings—there was nothing physically carved into the weapon—yet the radiance pulsed with an unnatural vibrancy.

Riven watched, fascinated. His exhaustion momentarily forgotten, he leaned forward, his fingers twitching with anticipation.

This was the kind of training he had been waiting for.