Kene paced frantically around his room, his thoughts spiraling out of control. What had happened during the spar was completely unexpected, and the implications were far-reaching. Ayre—he’d heard of talents like that before. People , as Hiro used to say. For a brief, dangerous moment, Kene even considered the possibility that the boy was Hiro’s vessel.

  The idea was dismissed almost immediately.

  There had been no resonance. The ritual had been designed with that failsafe woven directly into its magic—if any of them reincarnated within proximity of another, the pull would be unmistakable. Kene would have felt it the instant his soul settled into Ester’s body. He would have known to seek Ayre out without hesitation. No, this wasn’t Hiro.

  Which meant something far stranger had occurred.

  He had truly stumbled upon a peerless talent—by sheer coincidence—within his own territory, no less.

  Kene thought grimly.

  Blademasters, as this era called them, were documented but poorly understood. They were individualistic, elusive figures who surfaced only occasionally—sometimes contracted during wars, sometimes serving as royal guards—but otherwise remaining shadows in history. Records described them vaguely: warriors who could cut what should not be cut, and move in ways the body should not allow.

  Ayre’s accidental feat fit those descriptions perfectly.

  What he had done was reinforce his weapon with mana and will—what this era referred to as . To achieve that unintentionally meant the boy possessed an extraordinary amount of willpower. The realization unsettled Kene further, reminding him that he himself had been neglecting his own will-focused training. That weakness would become glaring at the higher ranks.

  Part of him wanted to take Ayre straight to Hiro. Under his guidance, the boy’s development would skyrocket—that was the ideal scenario. But it was also reckless. Kene had no idea where Hiro was now. For all he knew, he never reincarnated at all… or worse, he had awakened on a different continent entirely.

  No. That option was off the table—for now.

  The most sensible move was to keep Ayre close. In Kene’s original timeline, the boy had faded into obscurity, and Kene refused to let that happen again. Talents like his were irreplaceable, especially with the calamities looming on the horizon. Ayre would make a powerful comrade—if nurtured properly.

  Kene reasoned.

  Ultimately, the goal would still be to hand him over to Hiro for advanced training. Until then, Kene would do what he could.

  Merva, meanwhile, had unknowingly helped him immensely. Whatever her personal motives were, pairing him with Ayre had accelerated everything. Kene mused.

  In truth, he had planned to awaken several of the guards eventually—Merva included. But not yet. He wanted to advance his cultivation first. Kene believed in humanity’s potential, but not in its consistency. Until he was the strongest force in the territory, he wouldn’t feel secure placing that kind of power into others’ hands.

  With a quiet exhale, he reached for a quill and began drafting a manual—the basic battle art taught at the mage tower. It was something he could safely offer both Merva and Ayre. Though it paled in comparison to true Enforcer bloodline battle arts, it would serve as a solid foundation.

  Those higher-tier arts were something else entirely.

  They were tailored to a single individual, seamlessly incorporating unique traits, gate abilities, elements, known spells, and weapon preferences into one cohesive system. That level of refinement was what separated a mundane fighting style from a true battle art. Crafting one often required the accumulated knowledge and resources of an Enforcer bloodline, though a handful of geniuses had managed it alone through intuition, trial, and error.

  Tailored battle arts were no joke. At times, they could double an enforcer’s effectiveness outright—marking the difference between the elite and the expendable.

  Quach and Hiro had already mastered their own arts in the old timeline. For them, it was simply a matter of regaining strength. Kene, however, had been a mage first and foremost. He had never needed such a thing.

  Now, walking the path of an Enforcer, he would have to create one from nothing—refining it gate by gate, step by step.

  And this time, he would not be late to the process.

  ***

  Kene crossed the stone paths of his personal courtyard at an unhurried pace, hands clasped behind his back as he approached the cluster of mages under his command. The space had once been ornamental—a place meant for idle walks and idle thoughts—but recently it had become something closer to a training ground.

  He needed them sharper.

  Outside of assisting with the artifacts, from what he read in the report their spellwork during the last raid had been… serviceable at best. Inefficient. Sloppy under pressure. But before he corrected them, he needed a clearer understanding of what he was working with.

  The moment they noticed his approach, the mages straightened. Each offered a subtle bow—measured, respectful, practiced.

  Dule still looked like he was permanently on the verge of a nervous collapse, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes darting as if expecting reprimand at any moment. Preema, by contrast, wore her usual scowl, arms folded, bright blue hair catching the light in sharp contrast to the muted stone around them.

  Kene mused briefly.

  “Young Master,” they greeted in near unison.

  Kene smiled easily, as though this were a casual visit rather than an inspection.

  “How has the improved array circle been performing so far?”

  The reaction was immediate—and telling.

  There was a flash of something close to hunger in their eyes. Even Dule’s ever-present anxiety seemed to falter for half a heartbeat, replaced by naked interest.

  Preema spoke first, words tumbling out before she could stop herself.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Is it true it’s a piece of your father’s legacy—!? Ah—erm. Young Master.”

  “Keep your voice down!” Dule hissed sharply, glancing around the courtyard as if assassins might emerge from the hedges at any moment.

  Kene nearly laughed. The concern wasn’t entirely misplaced—stealing a fragment of Ester’s father’s legacy invite a quiet execution. But that wasn’t what this was.

  The knowledge he’d given them came from the Golden Era, yes—but not from Ester’s lineage. The of a legacy was simply a leash. One he intended to remove once his power base here was secure.

  Before the moment could spiral further, Celiel stepped in smoothly.

  “My apologies, Young Master,” she said, tone controlled but tight. “Mage Preema appears to have forgotten her etiquette.”

  The last words were almost growled.

  Kene wondered, mildly amused.

  “It’s quite all right,” he replied calmly. “And to answer the question—yes, it is. Though I trust you’re all intelligent enough not to use it openly within the capital.”

  “O–Of course, Young Master,” they replied quickly.

  Good. Time to tighten the hook.

  “I’ll be frank,” Kene continued, his tone shifting just enough to sound personal. “My family has treated me like utter garbage for most of my life. I don’t particularly care about hoarding their secrets.” He shrugged lightly. “And stronger mages under my command benefit me far more than dusty traditions ever will.”

  Interest sharpened in their eyes.

  The lie served two purposes. First, it distanced the knowledge from —making it feel inherited rather than self-derived. Second, it made them listen. People paid closer attention when they believed wisdom came from somewhere grander than the speaker.

  “What do you have in mind?” Preema asked, unable to restrain herself. Celiel shot her a warning glare.

  “That depends on you,” Kene said evenly. “I need to know where each of you stands on your magical journey.”

  His gaze settled on Preema first.

  “We’ll begin with you. What are your affinities?”

  She hesitated, then answered, “Just one. Water.”

  he thought, then wisely kept that to himself.

  She raised her palm, conjuring a hovering orb of water—clean, stable, well-controlled.

  Kene nodded and swiftly scribbled a rune sequence onto a sheet of parchment before handing it to her.

  “Embed this into your circle array. Focus on the second and fourth nodes.”

  Preema studied it, brow furrowing. “This looks like an inversion sequence, of some sort, some of the runes I don't recognize” she said slowly. “I was expecting a combat spell.”

  “Conjure water,” Kene instructed. “Then activate the array.”

  It took several attempts. She had to eyeball the alignment, adjusting by instinct rather than calculation. While she could easily conjure water with her magic, it was the array circle that interacted with said element and embedded functions within it, that dictated how it should act.

  When it finally clicked, the droplet she summoned began to bubble violently atop the circle. Steam hissed into the air, dissipating, then, for a heartbeat, a flicker of flame sparked into existence before vanishing.

  “What...how did you do that?” Dule blurted.

  Preema frowned. Seemingly not impressed “I could’ve done that by just casting a fire spell within the water droplet using a corporality sequence.”

  “No,” Dule said abruptly. “You need to pay attention to what you just did.”

  She bit back a retort and tried again.

  Water. Steam. Flicker. Extinguish.

  This time her eyes widened.

  "You see it now!" Dule exclaimed,

  “…This is one spell,” she said slowly. “I never changed the casting.”

  “Exactly,” Dule said, excitement bleeding through his nerves. “It’s property inversion, not replacement.”

  Kene nodded. “Explain further.”

  Dule swallowed. “If she just casted a fire spell within the droplet, yes it would have achieved the same end result, but that would have been two separate spells...erm young master."

  Dule seemed to be finding his voice now, as he continued...

  "What Preema did instead, was change the existing property of her water element using the sequence you gave her, like, like it transformed? that way it doesn't drain as much mana since its still just the one spell. It allows elemental versatility while remaining within a single affinity.”

  “Correct,” Kene said, “You sacrifice potency but gain efficiency and versatility. considering you're both first circle mages your reserves are still small, so at least with this method you'll keep more in the tank as the raid progresses."

  Preema stared at her hands, awe creeping past her usual scowl.

  “This will change everything.”

  Kene’s gaze shifted to Celiel, who had grown unusually quiet.

  “Show me the barrier spell you used during the last raid,” he said.

  She complied, forming a familiar translucent sphere around herself. Functional, but crude. In his era, that design was used for cheap enchantments, not battle. The issue with that geometry was a single strong piercing attack would shatter the whole structure, forcing the mage to spend lots of mana to reconstruct a new one.

  Kene handed her another diagram, this one depicted an interlocked hexagonal lattice, forming a segmented sphere. Taking the same example as the piercing attack, if it was to come in contact with this design, it would only shatter the hexagonal plate it comes in contact with, and maybe a few surrounding ones depending on the intensity of the attack. As a result, the Mage would only have to rebuild the effect plates instead of the whole structure.

  Her breath caught. “This design…”

  “Try it,” he said simply.

  It took time. When she finally managed a partial construct, Dule fired a mana bolt on command. The impact shattered a single plate, nothing more.

  Celiel rebuilt it seconds later.

  Silence followed.

  “This will help us immensely,” she said finally, voice steady but reverent.

  Kene inclined his head. “Practice. All of you. And keep this confidential.”

  They nodded solemnly.

  “Celiel,” he added, turning away. “You’re coming with me to the forge. It’s time to see what the blacksmith has prepared for our troops.”

  She followed without hesitation.

  ***

  The blacksmith’s workshop was far more modest than Kene ultimately intended. A squat stone structure squatted near the edge of his grounds, smoke drifting lazily from a single chimney. Inside, the space was functional rather than impressive—a handful of anvils, bellows worn smooth by decades of use, and racks of tools arranged with careful familiarity rather than abundance.

  It would suffice. For now.

  Kene already had plans to expand it into a proper artificing workshop, one capable of housing multiple forges, engraving stations, and controlled enchantment chambers. But ambition had to bow to practicality. Until the territory’s food production and finances were secured, excess infrastructure would be wasteful. Survival came first. Power followed.

  Orquin had been Mikkel’s recommendation to oversee the production initiative. The man wasn’t an artificer, but he had decades of experience fulfilling military commissions, and he’d worked alongside artificers often enough to understand their needs—even if he couldn’t replicate their craft outright. More importantly, Orquin respected metal. Not just as material, but as labor given form.

  That kind of mindset was rare.

  “Good evening, Young Master. Mage Celiel,” Orquin greeted, bowing deeply as they entered.

  “It’s good to see you as well, Orquin,” Kene replied. “I hope I haven’t been keeping you too busy.”

  “Not at all,” the blacksmith said with a faint smile. “Your commissions have been… invigorating. I don’t believe I’ve worked on anything like this since I first moved here—several decades ago, now.”

  There was pride in his voice, carefully restrained but unmistakable.

  “Come,” Orquin continued, gesturing deeper into the workshop. “You’ll want to see what I’ve been cooking up.”

  Kene and Celiel followed him past the forge and into a side area where a long worktable stretched beneath hanging lamps. Resting atop it were several longswords, neatly arranged. Each blade bore etched rune lines that traced elegant paths along the steel, catching the light as Kene stepped closer.

  He lifted one, testing its balance. The craftsmanship was solid—the weight distribution good, the edge clean. Orquin had followed the blueprints faithfully. Still, as Kene examined the runework more closely, his trained eye caught the flaws.

  Several sequences were slightly misaligned. Nothing catastrophic, but enough to introduce inefficiencies, mana bleed, slower activation, uneven reinforcement. Predictable, given Orquin’s background. He was a master metalworker, not a trained artificer.

  Even so, compared to mundane steel, these blades represented a substantial leap in power for the guards. And refinement was always iterative. The process would improve with repetition.

  Kene placed the sword back onto the table.

  “This will serve our purposes,” he said evenly. “As a prototype, it’s more than acceptable. We’ll refine the etching process as we move forward.”

  Orquin inclined his head, relief flickering briefly across his features. “Of course, Young Master.”

  Kene turned slightly, glancing between the blacksmith and Celiel.

  “Together with Mage Celiel, we’ll begin a test run by enchanting a blade directly. That should give us a clearer idea of where the weaknesses lie.”

  Celiel straightened, already focusing. Orquin’s eyes lit with interest.

  The forge, modest as it was, suddenly felt like the birthplace of something far larger than itself.