Takemikazuchi proved to be an outstanding addition to their little practice team. His skills were nothing short of sublime, and Adama watched Aiz learn more and more in real time as they clashed, electing to sit on the sidelines for now. The young swordswoman had gotten to the point where verbal instruction could do next to nothing for her. She simply needed more practice against opponents of high skill. He could tell that she was no stranger to fighting powerful enemies, but one could learn little of proper swordsmanship from slaying a dragon or besting a giant. True growth in skill was usually garnered by matching wits with an opponent of equal or superior finesse. And Take fit that bill perfectly.
The divinity’s movements were more art than mere combat. With perfect economy of motion, and a wide array of subtle movements, he managed to slip through and redirect a lightning-fast onslaught of attacks. The blonde-haired girl tried everything. Feints, stabs, leg sweeps, and a seemingly unbreakable cage of slashes were all seen through and perfectly countered or avoided. The Sword Princess was clearly growing frustrated, so she tried to increase her speed even further, but her enigmatic opponent held fast even against the eye-popping speed of the Level 5 adventurer. Eventually, though, something had to give.
Screeech!
With a great shriek of iron, Aiz’s sword cleaved through Takemikazuchi’s sword, sending the jagged upper half of the iron weapon spinning towards the edge of the rampart. Both fighters froze at this event, each of them huffing and gasping in exhaustion, though both were also grinning in excitement. Aiz’s sword remained immaculate and unharmed. When Tim stepped in to ask about it, Aiz responded:
“Desperate was crafted with the Durandal attribute, making it indestructible. If he were equipped with a comparable weapon, I imagine that I would have been on the losing side of that fight.”
But Take was already waving away her self-deprecating commentary:
“Nonsense. You are very strong. The reputation of the Sword Princess precedes her very nicely. If that fight were to have continued, your incredible speed would have begun to cause me problems.”
Truth be told, Tim was more than a little shocked. Not at Aiz’s speed but at the ability of Takemikazuchi to hold off a high-level adventurer, despite the fact that he was not an adventurer himself. Since all deities on Gekai had sealed off their powers, Take being no exception, Take’s physical attributes should be only at the peak of what an ordinary person could achieve with their own flesh and blood. Aiz was physically superior in every single way, and yet Tim agreed with her assessment. With similar weaponry, Take could have won. They had fought on even footing, despite the massive difference in power.
Adama was forced to snap out of his reverie when he realized that the others were looking at him for direction. He reached down at his side and pulled out a backup saber, handing it to Take, saying:
“I only brought this as a backup and we’re probably going to need more before the day is done. Aiz, go fetch us a few more backup weapons. Please.”
Before he had even finished his sentence, however, a cool breeze kicked up on the ramparts. He turned to see Aiz already sprinting over the rooftops of Orario, heading towards a large dark manor further in the distance he inferred to be Loki Familia’s home base. She had sprung into action even before he remembered he wasn’t technically a Sage anymore, so he ought to ask politely. Baffled a little, he turned to look at Take, who just gave him a mild smile and said:
“She probably just wants to watch us fight, so she wants to finish this errand quickly. Why don’t we wait a little for her to get back?”
Adama nodded, then took a practice sword stance. Facing away from the town, he closed his eyes and tried again to feel at the mysterious power source that dwelt within his consciousness. He spent most of his time in meditation examining his Mind and trying to get it to move with just his willpower alone. His theory was that the chants adventurers used for their magic were connected to their unconscious minds on a deep level. Saying certain words with the proper confidence would prompt their unconscious wills into shifting their mental energies in the right patterns to create magic phenomenon.
The bottom line was: If willpower could use Mind to do magic, using chants as a mechanism to direct it, then one could skip the chants if one’s willpower was powerful and adroit enough. His will was plenty powerful as it was, but that didn’t make conscious Mind manipulation easy. Most of his free time was spent meditating and trying to get more used to directing and sculpting his own Mind as he wished. It was like trying to push air around with your hands. Enough force would get it moving, but it tended to dissipate and float when he needed it to move in complex patterns. He had envisioned those patterns over and over, but getting more familiar with how the Mind was supposed to move was of limited use when it came to actually making the movements themselves. Like an uncoordinated man trying to emulate a famous dancer, Adama wrestled with his Mind and tried to get it to twist just right.
Stolen story; please report.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and swung once again, muscles tensing and shifting in his wiry frame to deliver the perfect practice cut. He held the finished position for a while, eyes still closed, before he finally opened them and gazed out at the environs surrounding Orario. With a quiet sigh, he looked over at Take, who had been watching this process with interest, and asked a question he already knew the answer to:
“I don’t suppose you just saw a magical cut go flying off into the horizon, now did you?”
“No, I don’t suppose I did. But I do suspect I know what you are trying to do. You’re not the first to try, and you won’t be the last. As most see it, chantless magic is more the realm of myth than reality. Most never obtain the willpower required to even try. The ones that do don’t always have the creativity or imagination required to attempt it either. And even of the elite few that do try, cultivating the skill necessary to do it is often time consuming and the life of an adventurer is usually short.”
Take paused in his response and considered Adama further, before continuing:
“But I will admit, I have a good feeling about you. I think I have a tip that will help. Close your eyes and take a stance. Try aiming at one of the crenellations at the edge of the ramparts.”
Adama obeyed, eager to get advice from this ancient and mysterious warrior. Take instructed:
“Imagine an empty stone cylinder. Like one of these towers has been hollowed out and you’re looking down through it and out the other end. Now remember how your Mind moves through your body when you use your magic. Twist the cylinder in a similar shape. Add connections or branches to new cylinders if you must. Just envision the pattern your Mind normally takes and replicate it.”
That took some imagination and willpower to manage, but eventually Adama created the network of cylinders in his mind’s eye and asked for more instructions:
“Now, imagine this network in your body and imagine warm water flowing through it. Like you have an extra set of stone veins. The warm water travels through the rock and it warms you up from the inside, especially on this chilly day. Breathe deeply and focus on this image. The water ebbs and flows as you breath in and out. Envision it.”
They stayed like that for 20 breaths, Adama breathing in and out, the faint noises of citizens waking up and going about their days fading into the background. All he focused on was the water slowly moving in and through the stone cylinders, increasing and decreasing with his breathing. As he finished his 20th breath, he heard a voice in his ear form the side:
“Now, use your will to replace the water and pour your Mind through the cylinders. Not all at once, but steadily. Do it in time with your breathing.”
He reached out to the warm power in his skull, bringing it to replace the warm water. It flowed through his stone structure, its heat even greater than the water it was replacing. That heat grew greater and greater as it snaked along his stone veins, a green vaporous gas caught in a confined space and pushed along by his will. When it reached the ends of the veins and had nowhere to go, he heard the voice again:
“Swing!”
Rocketing into motion, his practice swing sliced through the air quicker than thought, his sword whistling as it cleaved the frigid morning air. After he finished the motion, he held the mental image for a little longer and opened his eyes.
Nothing but scenery graced his vision beyond the walls of the Dungeon city. The parapet that he was facing seemed, initially, totally unharmed. But before he could feel much disappointment, his enhanced eyes studied the wall a bit further. On the short stone pillar right in front of him was a crack. It was very thin, but rather deep, perfectly straight, and totally clean. No force of nature had caused that.
He looked to Take, but the friendly neighborhood divinity just smiled genially at the young adventurer:
“A success on the first attempt? I feel more than a little jealous of Hestia now, knowing she snatched you up before me.”
Adama looked back at the pillar in a bit of confusion and Take elaborated:
“Chantless magic is typically weaker than its more standard equivalent. I’m sure your full powered technique would have done more. You’ll also need to drop the visualization technique eventually, but power and speed will improve with time and practice. Eventually, you might be able to get the chartless version to a point where it’s nearly as deadly as the normal version and much faster. Only with practice, of course.”
‘Well, isn’t that a treat and a half?” Adama murmured, gazing at his upraised naked blade lost in thought about further improving the technique, “How do you know so much about this?”
“Well, magic is a powerful tool of war. I’m no Hecate, but I know more than most about the arcane.”
As he finished his sentence, they felt another strong breeze kick up and looked over to the edge of the wall. Sure enough, Aiz had appeared right there in a burst of speed, carrying a veritable bouquet of deadly looking weapons. She looked at both men with a kind of eager curiosity, though her actual facial expressions changed very little. It was the intensity of her gaze that gaze away her inquisitiveness as she asked:
“Did I miss something?”
In harmony, both men answered:
“Nothing interesting.”