It only took a handful of seconds for him to coat the surface of the stick in a heavy layer of swordsman’s aura, what was roughly akin to a tenth of what his body could produce with his current level of stamina. The first thing that he did was try to stabilize this energy in a coherent shape, as it tended to fluctuate like flames over an open fire despite being invisible to the naked eye. He managed to do this in about twenty seconds with the help of his sixth sense, somewhat used to the process as he often cloaked his practice sword in energy to ensure that he dealt heavier hits during his spars with Zech and Jaden.
It was the next phase in the process that gave him the most trouble.
As soon as he attempted to condense the energy so that the coating could cover the stick in a more precise, less volatile manner, he was once again met with the dissipation of said energies. This left him feeling noticeably drained, as if he had just sprinted down a long street at full tilt. It was quite disorienting to feel a sudden rush of fatigue from simply sitting there in meditation.
Okay, he thought, encouraging himself to make another attempt. This time, let’s try using half the previous amount.
The same result ultimately took place, but this time he had been able to rein in the energies so that they only extended about a fingernail’s length out from the stick’s surface. This gave him the idea to use the most minimal amount of energy possible, so that he could then attempt to add new, thin layers of loosely arranged aura as if he were adding a second coating of paint to a plank of wood. In this way, he didn’t have to mentally keep track of a large amount of energy at once, and could gradually work his way up to a greater amount in a way that was more comfortable and accommodating.
The hours dragged on until noon was upon him, though Alistar had only made a small amount of progress. No matter how much effort he put into carefully forming an outline of swordsman’s aura around the detestable stick, the process always fell apart as soon as he tried to increase the amount of energy past a certain point. It was as if he were trying to cup water in his hands for multiple minutes while endeavouring to prevent even a single drop from spilling.
I’m so thirsty.
The day was quite hot, and now that Alistar was thinking about water he couldn’t help but desire a drink.
Tramon had forbidden him from leaving until he managed to cut one of the logs in half using nothing but the stick and his swordsman’s aura, which left him quite anxious as he had promised Mr. Herst that he would stop by about an hour after noon to share lunch with the elderly man. He would likely be late, and that was if he managed to make it at all. The thought of not upholding his commitments stoked a strong sense of guilt within his gut. Alistar had never broken a promise before, at least not purposely.
Dropping the stick with a sigh, he probed the inside of Tramon’s small, whitewashed home with his magical awareness only to find that his teacher had long since fallen asleep with his head pressed against the surface of his dinner table. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice if Alistar decided to leave the collegia for a while in order to lunch with Mr. Herst?
No, he sighed, thinking better of it. If Tramon found out that he skirted his lessons then he would be stuck meditating under this tree for a month at least. He wouldn’t be surprised if the intensity of their sparring sessions became harsher as well.
Holding a finger up in the air, Alistar focused on the energies around him—the natural energies that pervaded the environment—and relied on his inner energies to coerce some of the surrounding moisture to gather at the tip of his finger. He watched with satisfaction as a small globe formed in front of him, hovering in the air above his index finger like a stationary bubble of suds. As if it were second nature, he willed the water to float into his open mouth and swallowed it down with a smile.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
He had formed a habit of only drinking water that he himself had gathered when he was away from home, which made it so that he had no choice but to rely on this particular brand of basic magic on a regular basis. As a consequence of this, he hardly had to invest much thought or focus into activating this particular spell anymore, and could even gather his body’s worth of water so long as there was enough of it in his surroundings.
If only swordsmanship was as easy as magic. His limiters didn’t even light up anymore when he used the basic spells that he had learned over the past year, which were limited to gathering water, lighting candles, and healing small cuts and abrasions. He was positive that his cautious teacher would have taught him more techniques by now had he not caused so many candles to explode in his initial attempts to light them, an unfortunate consequence of having such a large amount of inner energy.
Even if I tell him it’s fine now, he still won’t teach me anything new. Finding his feet, he picked the stick back up and considered it with exasperation. And now there’s this.
Complaining had never done him any good in life, so he shook all negative thoughts from his head and resumed practicing.
Alistar didn’t make any significant breakthroughs until midway through the afternoon. After countless attempts at cutting the log, he finally had the idea not to inject any aura inside of the stick, but rather around it as if it were sitting in the sheath of a sword. In this way, he didn’t have to be conscious about condensing and manipulating nearly as much energy no matter how thin the outward layers were, and could instead focus on slowly sharpening the end as if he were pinching the peak of a tiny, hallow roll of clay into a pointed tip. Like this, he was able to gradually shape the arrangement without losing control over it and causing it to dissipate.
Once he had finally succeeded in maintaining an experimental form, he faced the nearest log and carefully took up a basic striking stance from the skillsets of the apprentice stratum’s first tier.
Let’s give this a try.
Clearing his mind, he got a feel for the distance between him and the log. Factoring in the limits of his reach, he struck out with a horizontal slash. Since it was among the three basic moves that he had been learning from the onset of his training with Tramon, he had practiced it to the point of subconscious perfection. The ordinary slash was only one of the many moves that could be used with the basic striking stance, which also included simple yet precise lunging, stabbing and cleaving motions, but today the move yielded surprising results now that it was combined with such a delicately refined layer of swordsman’s aura.
Hmm.
He’d managed to leave a moderate scar on the log’s side, about a finger’s length and as deep as a nail was wide. The stick broke upon impact, unfortunately, but that did nothing to lessen the elation that Alistar felt as he stood there in the hot summer sunlight, sweating profusely with a wide, childish smile on his face.
I need to try again.
He scoured the area for a stick of similar dimensions to the one that he had been using up until this point, but couldn’t spot any. Growing a bit impatient, he decided to climb up Tramon’s tree and pluck a young branch from its perch. Once back on the ground, he plucked all of the tinier branches from the sides of the main body and then snapped the lengthy branch in half. Now that he had two more suitable sticks, he wasted no time in repeating the earlier processes and lashing out at the log once again, though the result ended up being the same.
Staring down at his remaining stick, it became clear that he was still going about things incorrectly, as Tramon’s stick hadn’t been altered in the slightest during his earlier demonstration. How had his master protected the stick’s structure from the backlash of a strike that was strong enough to cut through a thick log?
Maybe I have to pour energy inside of it after all?
Frowning, Alistar repeated the process once more. Standing over his broken stick, he knelt down and traced a finger through the lengthy scar that he’d left on the wood, which had grown a bit deeper and a bit wider than before.
Looking up at the beaming sun, he began to feel a bit anxious now that he was so late for his appointment with Mr. Herst. The old man had wanted to talk about something important with him, but as things were he likely wouldn’t be able to leave the collegia until sundown, perhaps even longer.