The Trans-Continental Caravan arrived at Saranhell a day after Ereth’s evaluation. Though he was still disappointed in his middling performance, he had no choice but to look ahead. Today marked the start of a grand journey.
“Bags?”
“Check.”
“Water?”
“Check.”
“Compass? Map? Salt? Dried meat?”
“All here.”
Upon hearing Ereth’s confirmation, Adra took a long drag of her cigarette, exhaling the smoke with the blissful relief of a job well done. “This should last us most of the way to the capital.”
Ereth let out a satisfied moan while stretching his back and replied, “Alright~ If that’s all we need, then let's train until we get to our destination. I feel like I’ll get the hang of formation soon.”
“Sorry, but that won’t really be an option, at least not in the way we’ve been training as of now,” Adra curtly said.
“Eh? Why not? Aren’t you the one who gave me a C- yesterday after my training?”
“I know you wanna play with the new toy you’ve been given — you’re still a kid after all, but this matter requires our immediate attention. Consider it your next job.”
“I’m listening…”
“I’m good friends with the head merchants of this little operation, Surt and Freid, so we ain’t gotta pay in cash or any physical resources. Instead, we’ll be serving as bodyguards for the caravan. In exchange for this little favor, we’ll be granted free passage through the Shurlana Desert. I’ve fortified the interiors of each cart with special protective talismans, so they shouldn’t be an issue. Your job, as well as the job of the creep, is to provide some offensive power.”
“...Isn’t that what I usually do?”
“There’s a catch.”
“And that would be?”
“As a bodyguard, you’re obligated to stay outside and keep watch. What I’m saying is…you’ll be exposed to the heat of the sun 24/7, so you’d better train that formation of yours.”
“...Oh.”
The pitch of Ereth’s voice dropped dramatically, his shoulders slumped forward, his mien heavy with exhaustion. It was as though the young man had received the worst news possible, a calamity that should have never occurred.
For the vast majority of the trip, Ereth would be forced to endure the cruel sun’s gaze.
“...Will I at least have some shade?”
“None at all.”
“...”
———
Gentle Breeze
Morning Lark
Autumn Field
Evening Calm
Ereth repeated the esoteric chant in his mind incessantly, as though possessed by a cruel spirit. This chant was known as the Yuujarata, a common magical incantation used to raise concentration. It was especially useful in training Formation, where a steady, stable mind was paramount to success.
Formation was the very core of Internal Magecraft. It involved not only the manifestation of the Contours of the Heart, but its stabilization as a visible force-field around the mage in question. At this stage, the raging torrents of energy would become a flowing wave akin to either water or vapor, depending on the person.
The mastery of Formation resulted in a drastic boost in all bodily functions and capabilities, such as flexibility, strength, speed, muscularity, bone density, decelerated aging, and even internal cooling.
In Ereth’s case, internal cooling was his primary objective. It had been beating, gnawing, and tearing away at his skin like millions of tiny fire ants. It was incredibly irritating, painful, and annoying beyond belief. It was as though God had designed the embrace of the sun as his natural and most potent enemy.
“Fuck! I can’t stand this heat!”
His concentration had finally broken down. It was all too much, far too much. The endless sands, the shiny, almost blinding reflections of light. The lack of breeze. Everything in the Shurlana Desert seemed to indicate that his father was playing some elaborate prank on him under the guise of “instruction.”
I’ll kick his ass… He thought. I’ll definitely kick Zoltin’s ass for this!
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
The training wasn’t working. His progress in Formation had seemed to hit a wall. While it was true that training required some level of difficulty to stimulate growth within the trainee, this was a form of training that Ereth had never encountered before. It was esoteric, confusing, strange, and lacking in any definitive terms.
Ereth had never done well with the metaphysical. Swinging his sword felt far more thrilling than meditating.
“Adra! Let’s switch places!”
The young swordsman called out to the Fiery Magician, who just so happened to be lounging in one of the middle carts of the caravan. No, it could not be described as a mere “cart.” It was something far closer to a traditional ox-driven cart found in the tales Ereth once read in the Eternal Twilight. They were said to be common amongst eastern royalty.
“No can do. Sorry. Not happening.”
Her curt words clashed violently with her lackadaisical, almost regal condescension. She sat atop her cushioned seat in her lavender-colored room, with a bottle of wine in hand. The lavender room was filled with incense, bottles of wine, an assortment of fruit, and various men of handsome fashion.
“This is all a part of your training, yeah? So stop complaining and get back to work. I’m busy here.”
“You’ve done nothing but drink and play with men all this time. Isn’t this a bit unprofessional for a teacher? Would it be inappropriate for a student to request some attention from their teacher?”
“Oh come on, you’re underselling yourself! You’re a talented boy! Very talented! I’m sure if you concentrate reeeeeally well, you’ll master Formation all by yourself!”
“Don’t use my talent as an excuse to be neglectful. Also, I’m twenty years old, I’m not exactly a child…”
Ereth’s impression of Adra underwent a constant flux of respect and utter disappointment. She was both a mentor and a friend, yet totally unreliable and hedonistic. For a moment, he considered asking Abraxas for some help, but knowing that guy’s terrible personality, nothing would end well if he got involved.
“Ha…why are all of my party members such idiots? This isn’t usually how it goes in stories…”
As a single child born in a supernatural world, Ereth has had very little social interaction outside of his father. His only understanding of human beings comes from the texts and myths of the old world.
Dante’s Inferno, Paradise Lost, The Illiad, Demian, Beowulf, Gilgamesh, and The Stranger were some of the works that he most enjoyed. He understood humanity as metaphor, but not substance.
Having lost his argument with Adra, Ereth regrettably returned to his lotus position, clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and concentrated on his training once more. It was a decision made not out of choice, but necessity.
Gentle Breeze
Morning Lark
Autumn Field
Evening Calm
Magecraft was the art of the self. In order to cultivate strength, one must have an ample ability to introspect. Who are you? What do you hope to achieve? What is the conclusion your heart desires more than anything else? Such questions were paramount in understanding the essence of the Contours of the Heart, and Ereth could not yet answer such questions.
Who am I? Well, I’m Ereth, of course. Son of Zoltin of the Promised Victory. The man who will one day become the Immortal Sword Saint. I haven’t changed, nor will I ever change. However…what is the meaning of that title? What does it mean to be the Immortal Sword Saint, a hero for all?
A lack of experience. Profound naivety. Immaturity beyond limit. Ereth did not understand because he did not live. Perhaps it would be best to call him neither human nor shura, but a different existence altogether.
As his consciousness drifted through the endless void, sparks of light appeared, flickering briefly. They were incomprehensibly faint, so much so that they were barely visible, yet Ereth reached out to those resplendent lights.
The moment I was saved by Abraxas, I almost felt a sense of awe. When I first met Adra, I thought she was a bit rude, abrasive, and fiery beyond belief, yet she also held a bit of kindness within her heart. The battle with the Ne’fari Queen was exhilarating. My training was hard and confusing, yet every day I find something new that I enjoy about Magecraft.
The memories he had made in the human world, through relatively few, were of endless value to the boy. He had met many people on his quest, some named, some unnamed, yet he had felt a similar warmth for them nonetheless.
This life isn’t all that bad. I want to continue living and exploring this world with them by my side.
“I want to continue living” — a prayer of utmost sincerity. It was neither good or bad, wrong or right, just or evil, but a desire that every living being held within the depths of their heart.
With a singular prayer as his paint, Ereth constructed a grand tapestry of light within the immutable darkness. His Contours flowed where they had once crashed, became smooth where they were once coarse. Though it was not entirely refined, Ereth’s dream provided a path towards his desired future, a “map” for his heart to follow.
