Chapter 41. Basically a Wizard (Technically a Spark the Size of Rice)

Chapter 41: 41. Basically a Wizard (Technically a Spark the Size of Rice)

Magnara dragged me to the armory just before dusk.

It was a long, low stone building near the Red Gate, with racks of weapons lining the walls and a smell of oil and leather and cold iron.

The old smith, a stooped boar-eared woman with forearms like tree trunks, handed me a bundle without a word and went back to her anvil.

"Well, open it," Magnara said. "Why are you daydreaming like that?"

"I don’t know... it’s just... nah, never mind." I unwrapped the cloth, and my breath caught.

It was a sword. Not a flashy one.

It had a simple, straight blade about a yard long, a plain crossguard, and a leather-wrapped grip, and it was clearly meant for work rather than show.

But the steel had a deep, dark gleam to it, with faint swirling lines in the metal. When I picked it up, it felt right, solid and balanced.

"It was forged from the bands of the old Red Gate," Magnara said. "The ones I broke."

I stared at her. "You’re giving me a sword made out of your own crime...?"

"It is the best iron in the valley... Do not make it strange."

"That’s the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Name it whatever you like... I will not call it that."

I thought about it for about three seconds. "Gate Junior."

"No."

"Sir Stabs-a-Lot?"

"No."

"The Red Menace?"

"I will leave you here to die in the dark."

"I’m going with Gate Junior."

She pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose and said nothing.

The rest of the gear was almost as good. She handed me a set of boiled-leather armor with steel plates on the shoulders, chest, and forearms, and a special reinforced strap around the ribs to guard the spear wound.

A heavy winter cloak, lined with thick gray fur. A rucksack stuffed with rations, a waterskin, a map, and a small clay jar of Marrow’s swamp paste, which the old goat had apparently sent over via Millie with a muttered threat about what would happen if I didn’t use it.

There was a leather pouch with a few silver coins, a set of throwing knives, a pair of steel-plated gloves, and a new pair of boots.

I put on the cloak... just to show my aura, but honestly... It was warm.

And I mean it that it was really, really warm. I wrapped it around myself, and I think I might have made a noise.

"If anyone touches this coat," I said, "I will cry."

"You are already crying," Magnara observed.

"A little."

She watched me for a moment with her arms folded, and I think she was fighting a smile.

"Now," she said, "I will see how you fight real close when you’re not injured."

It wasn’t a request. She tossed me a wooden practice sword and took one herself, a ridiculous slab of timber the size of a table leg, and led me out to a patch of packed dirt behind the armory.

I got through about four seconds of dignity before she knocked me flat on my back.

"Your footwork is terrible," she said.

"I’ve been told that by someone before."

"You plant your feet like a fence post... You commit your weight before you know where the strike will land." She nudged my ankle with the toe of her boot. "Again."

I got up. But... She knocked me down again.

I got up again. And she knocked me down a third time, and I lay there looking at the sky, watching a few clouds float by while my ribs screamed and thought, ’I am going to die in a training yard.’

But Apex Physique was doing its work, and by the fourth round I’d started to feel something click. Magnara showed me two things, very simply.

First, how to keep my weight low and let my hips lead so I could change direction without losing balance.

Second, how to read where the strike was going from the shoulder instead of the blade.

I still lost, but I lasted almost thirty seconds that time.

"Better," she said, lowering her wooden sword. "For a human criteria who can survive a minotaur for half a minute."

"Did you just compliment me?"

"I said better... Not good."

"I’m going to put that on my headstone."

She looked at me for a long moment, and her voice dropped.

"I will say something, and I will say it only once to you," she said while looking at me, nodding. "I am beginning to trust you... by a little."

"But if you ever betray Millie, or Elsbeth, or anyone under your protection... I will break you in half with these hands and feed you to the fishes!"

"Yikes..." I met her eyes. "Well now... That’s a fair deal for a traitor anyway."

"It is the only one I offer."

I nodded, and she gave me a short, satisfied grunt, and I felt oddly honored.

...

Sylvara found me in the little garden behind the stone house just after sunset, sitting on a bench with a bag of ice on my ribs and a bruise blooming on my left hip.

Her lights followed her through the twilight, drifting like slow sparks, and she carried a small basket in one hand.

"I believe you were promised a lesson," she said.

"I was...?"

"By me... Just now..." Sylvara giggled. "I decided."

I couldn’t help laughing as well because... goddamn... she’s so gorgeous up close.

She sat down on the other end of the bench, set the basket between us, and held out her hand. A tiny pale light settled on her fingertip, and she let it hover there like a little star.

"I will keep this simple," she said. "There are two broad kinds of magic in the world, and a smaller third..."

’The first is kin-magic, the gifts of blood... A Wolfkin of the northern clans may command ice."

"A Lunhare may weave illusions..."

"These come naturally to those who are born with them and cannot be learned by outsiders."

I nodded. "Got it! Magic from your family tree."

"Precisely... The second is formula magic, which you can call the human art." Sylvara smiled gracefully. "It uses written patterns, circles, and spoken words to shape mana."

"It is slower and clumsier, but it can be learned by anyone with enough patience and a good teacher."

"And the third?"

"Reinforcement." She curled her fingers, and the little light flared. "It is the simplest of all."

"You push mana through the veins of your body to strengthen it... Every warrior uses it, to some degree, because it is the foundation of fighting."

"So that’s what Apex Physique is, huh...?" I said while looking at my hands.

"Perhaps something like it... But yours is not quite the same." Sylvara extends her hand. "May I?"

"Please..." I lower my head. "Do the honors."

She reached out and gently took my wrist. Her fingers were cool and light, and her eyes went distant.

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything... Then her brows drew together.

"Hm..." she said.

I’m starting to get worried about what she’s about to do with me, so I asked. "That’s not a good ’hm,’ is it?"

"It is a very interesting one." She tilted her head. "Your mana is very small, Leon..."

"Smaller than that of most children... And your veins are... locked."

"It seems like it was... sealed, almost, as if something closed them long ago." Sylvara frowned. "But there is something else..."

"A thread, woven through you, that I cannot read at all... It does not belong to this world."

"That’s my power as a human, I guess."

"Power as a human... Yes... You have mentioned it, and I know that different humans are blessed with different kinds of power to make them special." She released my wrist, but she kept looking at me. "But you here... It is the most fascinating thing I have ever felt."

"I should very much like to study it... if you will permit me, later."

"I mean, hell yeah," I said. "But... I hope that it doesn’t involve needles or something that could do something wrong to my body."

"I make no promises... just like any other beastwomen out there."

I laughed, and the sound felt strange and good in my chest.

She put the little light back into the air and showed me how to find my own mana, a thin, faint warmth like a pilot light deep in my belly.

It took twenty minutes of concentration and a great deal of swearing before I managed to push a tiny, flickering spark into my fingertip.

It was the size of a grain of rice and lasted maybe two seconds.

I jumped up and shouted, "I DID IT!" loud enough to startle half the garden.

Sylvara clapped her hands softly. "Oh my~! That’s wonderful!"

"I’m basically a wizard now!"

"Nope~! It’s more like that you are basically a very small spark."

"A wizard’s a wizard if they can produce even a small spark!"

She laughed, bright and musical, and she leaned toward me conspiratorially. "I have known many mages in my life, Leon... and I tell you honestly that you are the most interesting creature I have met in a hundred years."

Oh wow... she’s being close all of a sudden, and I did not know where to look right now other than those massive tits that I had to quickly avert my eyes from somewhere else.

From the corner of the garden came a loud, very deliberate cough. I turned and found Elsbeth leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and an expression so cold that frost could have formed on the plants.

"Ohh..." I said. "Hi, Elsbeth, I didn’t see you there chilling around."

"Do not mind me."

"I wasn’t."

"Excellent."