I'm pretty sure that ever since your awakening, you've felt the mana moving through you, haven't you?"
I nodded, still getting used to the strange, humming awareness inside my own body. "Yes. Ever since I woke up, I can feel it—like an invisible river flowing in, swirling around for a moment, then seeping back out."
"And that is precisely the reason it leaves. It has no vessel to stay in. You lack a mana core… or a mana heart."
I frowned. "A mana heart? What do you mean?"
"Think about it," he said, that ever-present smile playing on his lips. "How do mages store and wield mana? In the rings themselves? That's impossible. Did you truly think mages functioned without some kind of reservoir at their center?"
"No, I questioned it," I admitted. "I thought perhaps they used the physical heart itself as a kind of storage organ."
Arthur gave a slow, approving nod. "I see. You are quite perceptive."
Is he mocking me?
"Mages possess what is called a mana heart," he continued. His voice took on a lecturing tone. "During the formation of the first magic circle, a fundamental transformation occurs. Your heart ceases to be merely a pump of blood. It begins to actively absorb, refine, and store ambient mana, functioning much like a martial artist's mana core. It becomes your battery—the wellspring of your power."
To illustrate, he opened his right palm. Above it, a shimmering, three-dimensional hologram of a human heart materialized in golden light. Around it, a single, luminous ring spun slowly, etched with faint, glowing runes that pulsed with a steady rhythm.
"I see…" The visual made it all click into place. It was an elegant, if slightly terrifying, system.
"Now that you understand the mage's path, let's discuss mana cores." He opened his left palm. Another hologram formed—this time a perfect, spinning sphere of light. "Mana cores are the chosen vessel for martial artists and most other species who seek to merge magic with might. They grant the ability to manipulate this energy to enhance the physical form—speed, strength, resilience—and to fuel unique, often violent, techniques. Since humans and some other living creatures aren't born with them, we must cultivate or implant one." The sphere pulsed. "Its primary function is vital: it absorbs the wild, raw mana from the world and purifies it. This refinement is non-negotiable. Without it, you risk mana poisoning."
I understood the analogy. It was like purifying water or taming lightning. Raw mana was chaotic, corrosive. To channel it directly would be to invite a slow, agonizing death from the inside out.
"A martial artist," Arthur went on, a hint of admiration in his tone, "channels this refined energy to unleash supernatural strikes, sharpen their senses to preternatural levels, and perform techniques unique to their path. It enhances everything—healing, defense, raw power. It is, I must admit, a very… visceral path."
He let the holographic core continue its lazy spin. "And just like mages, martial artists have a ranking system, though theirs is marked visually, by the color their core emits."
This part wasn't surprising. I'd read similar concepts in countless stories.
"There are ten primary ranks, known as Star Ranks."
"Star Ranks?" That term was new.
"Indeed. One Star is the foundation, Ten Stars the known peak. Each rank is signified by a distinct core color." The golden sphere in his palm began to cycle through a brilliant, deepening spectrum. "Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Gray, Silver, White, Purple, and finally, Black. From lowest to highest. What lies beyond a Ten-Star Black core… the color is a mystery."
I absorbed the information. It was more nuanced than the simpler systems I knew. Here, black wasn't the beginning of weakness, but the apex of power.
"That's fascinating. But how does one actually advance?"
"An excellent question." He gave me a genuine thumbs-up. "Advancement is a trinity of study, practice, and experience, fueled by the constant absorption of mana to saturate your vessel. For mages, you must practice and master increasingly complex spells. This understanding literally weaves the next ring around your mana heart. However," his tone grew heavier, "progress becomes a steep climb after the fifth circle. You must move beyond casting and into true comprehension of magical law. Hence, the most powerful mages are often hermits buried in libraries."
No wonder wizards are always in towers, I mused. Magic is the ultimate academic discipline.
"For martial artists," Arthur continued, a fierce grin briefly flashing, "the path is written in blood and struggle. Growth is forged in battle. Not skirmishes, but harsh, punishing fights. Ideally, life-and-death duels. Pressure tempers the spirit and forces the core to expand and evolve." The grin vanished, replaced by solemnity. "That is not the only way. Profound enlightenment—a sudden insight into yourself or the nature of existence—can also shatter barriers. But such moments are gifts, not guarantees."
Arthur's gaze sharpened, pinning me in place. "You said you wish to walk the path of the sword?"
"Yes," I replied, the word leaving no room for doubt.
"Good. Because later, when you inevitably hit walls in your progression, understanding mana alone will not be enough. You will need to understand your blade, and the art you bind to it."
"You mean… a concept like becoming one with your weapon?"
He nodded once. "Precisely. If you are serious about scaling the heights of power, you must grant this aspect the same reverence as your magical studies."
"What exactly are sword arts?" I asked, my curiosity fully ignited.
"Sword arts are codified systems—not just flashy movements, but philosophies of motion, intention, and energy flow refined over a lifetime of practice into lethal perfection. You can adopt another master's art, and if it resonates with your soul, it may carry you far. But most who wish to leave their mark must, in time, create their own techniques. A style that is an extension of their very being." He gave me a look that was almost pitying. "It will be a monumental, lifelong pain in the ass, Young Master."
I turned the idea over. It was thrilling. Forging my own path, my own unique expression of power… it was the ultimate challenge. Difficult? Immensely. But the easy road never led anywhere worth going.
"No pain, no gain," I said, a determined smirk finding its way to my lips. The old principle held true everywhere: Your efforts never betray you.
With a sharp clap that scattered the holograms into motes of light, Arthur stood. "Enough theory. Time for practice. Let's begin creating your mana heart… and forging your first magic circle."
"Sit. Lotus position." Arthur's voice was no longer that of a conversationalist, but a drill instructor's. I settled onto the cool grass beneath the willow, crossing my legs and letting my hands rest on my knees.
"Now, you will listen to every word I say. No objections, no distractions. I am in command here." His smile was still present, but it was a blade now, cold and sharp. "Unless, of course, you'd like to experience what it feels like when a heart explodes from mismanaged mana."
A cold trickle of fear traced my spine. "I understand."
"Good. Close your eyes. Shut out the garden. The wind, the scent of roses, the sound of my voice. Focus only on the mana. Find that current. Isolate it. Hold it. That is your first step."
I took a long, deep breath, filling my lungs with the fragrant air, then slowly exhaled, pushing the world away. My awareness turned inward. The mana was there, as always—a whispering, ethereal tide flowing through me. But feeling it and commanding it were universes apart. I reached for it with my will, but it slipped through my mental grasp like smoke.
This is… a lot harder than it sounds.
"Not as simple as you imagined, is it?" Arthur's voice was a calm anchor. "Patience. Do not chase it. Become still, and let it reveal itself to you."
I forced my racing thoughts to quiet. I stopped trying to grab and instead began to observe, to map the natural, untamed flow of energy within my own flesh. Time lost meaning. There was only the rustle of leaves, the beat of my own heart, and that elusive, whispering tide.
Then, I felt it—a subtle click, a shift in perception. The ambient energy didn't just pass through me; for a crystalline moment, it responded. A tiny, vibrant spark of connection ignited in my consciousness.
A smirk of pure triumph touched my lips.
"Good," Arthur murmured, his approval a tangible warmth. "Now, consciously invite your body to absorb it. Don't force it. Guide it. Envision yourself as a dry sponge and let the mana soak in."
I shifted my intent. Instead of a command, I issued an invitation. The mana responded in kind. A delicious, warm tingling blossomed deep in my core as the ambient energy ceased its outward flow and began to pool within me, held fast by my newfound focus.
I heard the soft crush of grass as Arthur moved behind me, then felt the firm, cool pressure of his palm settling between my shoulder blades. His touch was like a brand of ice and certainty.
"Now," he said, his voice resonating through the contact. "I will chart the pathway. A thread of my mana will flow through your meridians, tracing the exact route your energy must travel before anchoring at the heart. Memorize this path. Every sensation, every turn. Your success—and your survival—depends on it."
I gave a stiff, silent nod.
It began as a trickle of sensation—cool, polished, and utterly controlled—entering my body from his hand. Arthur's mana was nothing like the wild energy I was learning to hold. It moved with surgical precision. It flowed down the channels of my arms in a wave of crystalline pins-and-needles, lighting up my fingers. It reversed, traveling down my legs to my toes, then ascended my spine in a cool rush that made the hairs on my neck stand up, before finally converging in the center of my chest. There, it coiled gently around the steady, physical drumbeat of my heart.
"Now," Arthur's voice was a guidewire in the dark. "Replicate the path. From the beginning."
His hand remained, a steadying anchor.
"Okay."
I inhaled, pulling the intricate map he'd painted inside me to the forefront of my mind. I turned my focus to the warm, gathered energy within. I tried to push it toward my hands.
It resisted, sluggish and stubborn.
"Don't command it," Arthur corrected, his voice gentle but firm. "Suggest. Guide. Let it flow."
I adjusted. Instead of shoving, I recreated the feeling of the channel he'd shown me—a smooth, inviting pathway. I poured my will into that image, and the gathered mana began to stir. Slowly, like viscous oil, it trickled down the pathways in my arms, reaching my fingertips. A jolt of pure exhilaration shot through me.
It's working! Now, the rest.
With meticulous care, I guided the energy down to my legs, back up to my head, and finally, I directed the entire stream back to the epicenter of my being—my heart. The mana settled there, a dense, warm, pulsating orb of potential.
A breath I didn't know I was holding escaped me. "I did it."
"You did. Now comes the crucible." Arthur's tone was grave, the weight of centuries in his words. "You must contain all that mana exactly at your heart. Not a single wisp can escape. Then, you must spin it. Not with force, but with perfect, unwavering intent, until it forms a single, unbroken, luminous ring. I will demonstrate the motion once more. Your absolute attention is required."
Holding the energy in place was an agony of concentration. It strained against my will, seeking every tiny crack to leak away. My entire being felt taut, my brow furrowed with the strain.
Again, the cool, foreign energy entered my chest. This time, it didn't travel. It enveloped my gathered mana and, with impossible finesse, began to spin it. I could feel it clearly—a band of warm, solid light slowly revolving around the core of my existence. The sensation was profoundly intimate and utterly bizarre.
After one perfect revolution, Arthur withdrew his influence, and the mana dissolved back into a formless pool.
"Now," he said, the single word loaded with finality. "Do it yourself."
I drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead and traced an icy path down my spine. This was the threshold. Success meant my first step as a mage. Failure meant… Arthur hadn't been speaking in metaphors.
Mimicking his demonstration, I focused every shred of my consciousness on the gathered energy at my heart. I didn't try to form a circle immediately. I began to encourage it to move, to stir in a single direction. It resisted, churning chaotically. With painstaking, agonizing slowness, I coaxed a portion of it into a slow, arcing flow. It was like trying to stir solid stone with a thought.
An arc of light began to form in my mind's eye, etching a ghostly path around my heart. The effort was excruciating. A deep, grinding ache bloomed in my chest, as if my ribs were being slowly pried apart. I gritted my teeth, swallowing a cry. I have to. I have to.
I was drenched in sweat, my shirt plastered to my back, my hair sticking to my temples.
The arc grew, inching its way around the vital organ. It was almost complete. Just a few more degrees of rotation and it would meet its beginning, sealing the loop.
Come on! Almost… there!
"You are on the cusp!" Arthur's voice cut through the haze of pain, firm and resonant. "You can do it, Young Master!"
His belief was the final catalyst. With a last, monumental surge of will—a scream of effort trapped in my silent mind—I shoved the trailing end of the luminous arc forward.
It connected.
The moment the two ends touched, a silent, world-ending BOOM! detonated in the very center of my being.
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Sike! Instead of writing two more chapters, I combined both of them into a long one and sorry for the information dump, this chapter was really necessary for your guys' understanding of the power system. Let me know what you think!