Mana Blocking.
It was—according to probably the... 34th book—essential to mastering mana control.
At this point, I could collect, condense, compress, sort, filter, burn (which was awesome), save, distill, and circulate mana almost effortlessly.
However, if I couldn’t block it, I’d be a sitting duck. Even a ten-year-old with a speck of power could bully me effortlessly—or worse, accidentally kill me.
When I hit this wall, it drove me absolutely mad. Because to practice blocking, you needed someone to actually send mana your way.
And I was alone. In the woods. In a surprisingly remote area.
My options? Non-existent.
A solution finally came in the 51st book: Defensive Mana: An Explanation on Aura Methodology.
In the margins of that book—of course—Javier had left another note:
“Use the statue to practice. Put a mana crystal in its palm.”
I figured… why not?
After deciding to spend the rest of the day reading, just to get a baseline on what else I’d eventually have to learn, I waited until the next morning to begin training. I wanted to be well-rested and mentally fresh after breakfast.
I wasn’t exactly sure how this was going to go, so I prepared myself for the possibility that, as soon as I put the mana crystal in the statue’s palm, it would start blasting mana at me.
What happened was completely different from what I was expecting.
“Ah, a new young student. Tell me, what do you need help learning?”
The moment the mana crystal touched the palm of the statue, there was a sudden shift in its posture. I’m not even remotely embarrassed to admit—I almost messed my pants. It was so unexpected.
I’d read about golems in some of the books at this point, but they were always mentioned as passing examples, never really described. Apparently, I’d made a really dumb assumption, because I kept imagining golems as… I don’t even know what I was imagining. But this was way more impressive than anything I’d read about in all the fantasy books growing up.
The voice was polished and deep, with a kind inflection laced with subtle curiosity.
What stood out the most was the sheer presence the golem exuded. Its face was expressive, and the soft cobalt glow in its eyes gave off a powerful sense of intelligence.
I just stood there, staring at it for at least seven seconds before finally shaking myself out of it.
“I’m sorry for staring. I’m Jake. I need help learning to mana block. I mean… blocking mana.”
“Ah, yes. Quite a vital skill to learn—and definitely one that cannot be mastered alone,” it replied. “Tell me, young one, how far have you progressed in your primary manipulation steps?”
He asked the question gently, but there was a surprising eagerness in his voice.
I answered as accurately as I could, explaining that I could handle all the basics instinctively—condense, compress, sort, distill, store—all of it. I just didn’t have a way to practice blocking.
"I see. I see. Well, since you haven't had a chance to practice blocking, might I assume you also haven't practiced the other primary steps under stress or pressure?"
I gave a bit of a shrug, not bothering to hide the truth. "Well, I haven't had any real pressure besides just the learning curve and trying to speed up my time. But no, I haven’t really had to do anything under significant pressure, I guess."
"Ah, yes. I see. I see. In that case, we're going to need to begin building up your reaction time and instinctive responses before we even approach mana blocking. It is imperative that you can respond without consciously thinking—so that when something happens, your body reacts automatically with a practiced response."
"You want me to build muscle memory… for magic?" I asked, though it came out more like a flat statement than a question.
"Yes. You're familiar with the concept—good. That will make things go much smoother."
Before anything else could happen, I wanted to ask something that had been gnawing at the back of my mind. The golem felt too... real. "Are you alive?" I asked. "I mean—I really hope I’m not offending you by asking. It’s just that… this is the first time I’ve interacted with a golem, assuming that’s what you are. You’re behaving way more expressively than even the most advanced AI back home."
"AI?" he echoed with a hint of confusion. "I’m sorry—I don’t know what that is. But as for being alive… no, not really. I am the compiled memory and knowledge of many masters—experts across a large variety of skills and techniques. Some quite useful. Others you might find… extremely unique, but not particularly practical."
He paused for a moment before continuing, his cobalt eyes glowing faintly.
"I am a thinking being and I do experience very real emotions. Should this form run out of energy, or should I become unable to process mana, I will cease to function. The experiences I’ve gathered since activation will fade. But I would not presume to claim I have a soul. I lack one of the most basic functions of a living being—a heartbeat."
"Okay… well, thank you for the explanation. I hope I didn’t offend you," I said, offering a small bow of my head. "And I do appreciate any help you can give me. Is there a reason you’re here, by the way? I mean, I don’t really know much about the man who left this place to me."
"Ah yes, Javier… One always prone to holding back information unless he deemed it absolutely vital. A good habit and a bad one, depending on the circumstance. It becomes a trained response. One that may keep a man alive longer, but often at the cost of deeper connections. I fear, for Javier, that ship had sailed long ago—after a deeply disappointing friendship that ended in an ugly betrayal."
The golem—Fu, apparently—gave a thoughtful pause, his expression gentle yet firm.
"I would caution you not to develop extremes in any particular direction of your growth. For one cannot know the paths they will miss if they never wander off the trail. But… I digress."
He looked at me again, the glow in his cobalt eyes dimming slightly, reflective.
"Would you care to tell me a bit about yourself? What has brought you here? My reasoning tells me your story is far from simple. And your mannerisms… they are markedly different from others in this world. Not that I am a paragon of social activity."
I noticed he had not answered the question.
I shrugged. “Got killed. Walking down a path. A sign fell on me.”
There was a pause. I kept going. “Ended up in a dungeon. Fought my way out. Got jumped by some adventurers outside of it. Then I woke up here.”
"Ah, yes. That is rather cliché," Fu said, entirely unbothered. "And… not the first time I’ve heard of such occurrences."
His tone shifted, becoming slightly more serious.
"Not to contradict myself, but I would strongly recommend keeping the truth of your origin to yourself. While not unheard of, off-worlders are uncommon. And unfortunately, those who arrive here from other worlds tend to possess talents or abilities that make them very… desirable to those in power. They are often treated as tools. Or worse—enslaved."
He leaned forward ever so slightly, his voice calm and even.
"I doubt we’ll be able to disguise your unique mannerisms. But we can make you strong enough that trying to use or contain you becomes far too expensive to be worthwhile. Even then… the best battle is the one you win before it begins—by making the war not worth the cost."
He straightened his back with that same smooth, deliberate grace.
"Now then, to stop talking and start practicing—there’s a box of training balls in the cabinet over there. Would you retrieve them, please? We will begin shortly."
He paused, then added, with what almost felt like a smile in his voice.
"For simplicity, you may refer to me as Shibafu. Or just Fu, if you prefer. My memory tells me off-worlders tend to enjoy nicknames."
I nodded and made my way over to the cabinet. Inside was a basket filled with training balls—each made of different materials, increasing in density and weight. One was straw, bound in leather. Another was smooth, light wood. Then came darker woods, metal, and stones. All varied in size, weight, and hardness.
When I returned, Fu had already resumed his seated posture on the ground, legs crossed, the basket now in front of him. He reached inside and pulled out the straw ball wrapped in leather.
"For simplicity’s sake, we will focus on one task at a time," Fu said calmly. "I will call it out exactly five seconds before throwing the ball at you. Should you fail to complete the task more than ten times, a more painful method will be required—using a different ball. Do not worry about permanent damage. I am an apt healer, and you will be going to bed in perfect health tonight."
There was a pause, then he added, almost cheerfully, "However, let me warn you in advance—my healing process is… rather painful."
"Can we try something a little bit slower—" I started to ask, but he ignored me completely.
"Condensed water," he said instead.
Three seconds passed. Four. Five.
WHACK.
It felt like I’d just taken a fastball to the ribs from a pitcher on the Yankees—or maybe the Astros. The heat on that ball was unreal.
“Son of a B—!”
"Consolidate fire," he called.
Five seconds later—WHACK.
“GAAHHH!”
I was on the floor for a solid three minutes trying to remember how to breathe. Somehow, despite his calm and measured tone, I was starting to suspect that Fu might actually be a sadist. A very polite one.
Eventually, I managed to start catching up. It was brutal, but I finally got into a rhythm. The moment I showed consistency, he paused. His head tilted slightly, and he gave what I think was meant to be encouragement.
"I know, young one, that this is hard," Fu said with infuriating serenity, "but I am throwing balls at you—balls you will recover from. The ones others throw in this world will be knives. Blades. Pure destructive mana."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone darkening ever so subtly.
"And they will come at you with increasing speed, intensity, and cruelty. They will want to control you… or kill you, so that others cannot benefit from you."
The training continued well into the evening, at which point Fu—as I was calling him by now—said it was time to give my body a rest. He added that he would perform some healing on me before I went off to make dinner.
Walking over, Fu instructed me to lie on my back and spread my arms and legs as much as I could. He also told me to try not to clench, as doing so actually slowed the healing process—which was already a very painful experience.
Apparently, understatement is a normal thing here. The moment he began, it was like being injured in the exact same spot all over again. The only consolation was that it was mercifully brief. In less than thirty seconds, I was back on my feet without a single bruise in sight. The downside? I was absolutely ravenous again.
Between using so much mana and the extremely high cost of healing—which, according to Fu, pulled energy from me rather than him (a result of him being a golem without cores)—I ended up prepping three steaks and a truly massive amount of rice.
And for dessert (because after the day I had, I was absolutely getting dessert), I went with a version of strawberries and cream. That... was kind of a mistake.
The problem was the strawberries—at least, the ones I picked earlier in the week. Yes, I had kept up with my gardening. But these weren’t normal strawberries; they were Dreamlace strawberries, the kind with energy and wakefulness properties. I couldn’t fall asleep for three hours after eating them. It was almost worth it with how ridiculously tasty they were.
When I woke up before sunrise, I was ravenous again.
Heading into the pantry, I grabbed enough food to hold me over until lunch, but I noticed that things were starting to run low. I’d been here for over twenty days now, and while the pantry had been stuffed full when I first arrived, I’d been burning through food quickly—especially during the last five days of training with Fu.
On the third day, after another round of painful healing, I finally asked him why it hurt so much more than when I used restoration or healing pills. After all, I’d had a chance to try one of the Flame Heart Chilis from the garden, and aside from their deep flavor that made omelets amazing, they were effective as healing items. But they didn’t cause pain—at least, not the healing part. Even though they worked more slowly than what Fu was doing, they didn’t feel like getting run over by a magical truck.
Fu then explained that he wasn’t doing basic healing—he was doing reconstruction.
"Much like when you exercise, injuries cause the tearing of tissues that grow back stronger,” Fu explained. “But in the process I’m using to heal you, the reconstruction causes the tissues to be torn and regenerated repeatedly at an accelerated rate. It is the equivalent of undergoing an extensive period of physical exertion, followed by rapid recovery—and then repeating that cycle several times in mere moments. So, in a sense, you are not simply being healed, but rapidly improving your constitution and physicality."
He paused, his tone still calm and composed. “I did not mean to deceive you. It is simply the process of healing I have access to. And foremost, I am a trainer—and a teacher.”
“Since we started three days ago, your physical condition has improved dramatically.”
I had noticed I was getting more and more ripped every day, but I’d been mentally chalking it up to mana burning through every ounce of energy my body could produce—especially any lingering stores of fat from before I’d started channeling mana. But thinking about it now, with my distinct lack of physical activity the last couple of weeks, my increased muscle mass and strength didn’t line up with simple fat loss.
Sure, I’d bulked up quite a bit during the first few days back on Earth, but I had assumed that was just part of the system syncing up with me or something. It hit me then that I’d been treating a lot of what was happening a little too casually.
With that realization settling in, I decided it was time to have a real conversation with Fu before I left to head into the city.
And I needed to do that fairly soon, as my supplies were starting to run low. I could only imagine how difficult shopping would’ve been without a personal storage space. On that note, I felt like my prayers had been answered—possibly.
Although I had loaded a bunch of stuff into my personal storage back home on Earth, I couldn’t take most of it out. The main exception, thankfully, was food. I just wish I had added more of it before leaving.
As an example, I could bring out things like spices and even condiments, but they always came out disguised—as if they were from this world. So, no convenient squeeze bottles. Everything showed up in mason jars or tiny clay containers. But hey, still better than dry sandwiches.
Things I couldn’t bring out were basically anything overly processed, which seemed like a contradiction since technically almost everything is processed. Still, the storage space refused to give up the hashbrowns, toaster strudels, cereal, any of the knickknacks, books, or clothes I had stashed.
That said, having a massive amount of seasonings to work with—and quite a few condiments—made my meals way more exciting. Honestly, I’d lucked out to an absurd degree that the house even had cayenne pepper, black pepper, and a few other spices that would’ve been extremelyout of place in an early-development society, even if they had magic.
The only exception was the outfit I had been wearing when I first arrived—and all of it was basically ruined. The only thing still worth keeping were the shoes.
Those were some expensive, awesome sneakers. And doubly so, considering they had survived and proven themselves in the dungeon.
Deciding I needed to learn to protect myself as soon as possible—if for no other reason than just to get to the city—I hunkered down with Fu and told him we needed to start working on mana blocking. He looked like he felt I was rushing, but I explained the situation with the dwindling food stores and the more-than-significant restlessness that had built up from being cooped up for nearly a month.
He paused, thoughtful, and then a slow look of realization spread across his face. That alone told me everything I needed to know, but he explained himself anyway.
“Please forgive me, young one. I have been remiss.”
He dipped his head slightly, a gesture of genuine humility.
“I neglected to consider that while your body and mind are adapting and growing, you are still human—and a young man at that. Isolation and repetition, while valuable for training, can quickly turn into a burden without balance. You require not just sustenance and discipline, but stimulation, variety, and yes, meaningful company. These are not luxuries—they are necessities for a mind to remain strong.”
Fu straightened his back and folded his arms across his chest in that familiar “wise old mentor” posture that seemed to come so naturally to him.
“Very well. If we are to prepare you for travel, then we must refine your ability to defend yourself. Mana blocking, particularly against directed intent, is not simply a reaction—it must become a reflex, ingrained so deeply that your body performs it before your conscious mind registers the threat.”
He turned toward the wooden rack of training tools and gestured for me to follow him.
“To begin, we will simulate intent-based mana waves. These will come with fluctuating intensity. You will not block all of them—especially not right away—but the goal is to train your subconscious to respond to danger as a matter of instinct.”
I didn’t bother to argue. He was already pulling out a set of wooden rods, each had a brass cap with a dull crystal embedded that pulsed faintly with blue light. He handed me one and nodded.
“Each of these rods will emit a pulse. Your task is to create a thin, flexible barrier around your core—not a wall, but a veil. Think of it like turning your skin into a fabric that mana passes over, rather than through.”
He paused, examining me with those thoughtful cobalt-blue eyes. “Now, before I permit you to leave for the city, we must address a few things.”
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Here we go.
“One: you must demonstrate a passable ability to block mana at least seventy percent of the time during simulated attacks. That is non-negotiable.”
I nodded, already expecting that.
“Two: you must prepare an emergency ration kit—both in your personal storage and physically on your person. Food, basic medical items, mana crystal, flint, and one defensive item you’ve personally imbued.”
That made sense. I was already mentally going through the pantry and what i could crape together in the crafting area.
“Three: you must memorize three local noble family emblems and their reputations. You are not yet ready to interact with their kind casually.”
That one sounded oddly specific.
“Four: you must learn one non-magical self-defense that will allow you to disengage and flee. Not everything can or should be solved with magic.”
He held up a hand before I could interrupt.
“And finally—five: you must take a gift.”
“A gift?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. For someone you will meet. I do not know who. But it is tradition in this land to offer something small yet meaningful when arriving in a new place—especially if you are seeking information or assistance. Be it a seed, a stone, a crafted charm—it should carry intention. And you will certainly find yourself in need of help as you wander the city… or perhaps even before. There are always traveling merchants on the roads.”
I blinked. That… actually made a lot of sense.
Fu gave me a small, warm smile. “Prepare well, and I will release you with a clear conscience. Fail any of these tasks, and I will hurl lightning bolts at you until your sense of responsibility is properly restored.”
He was joking.
Probably.
Getting back to what I was going to tell him—I had already learned one type of defense while in the dungeon.
“Tell me about this defense technique?” he asked.
“Well, it’s something I got from the system before I got out of the dungeon.” Pulling up my system messages, I read aloud the description:
Level 1 in Lethal Kickboxing.
"A specialized combat skill involving rapid, deadly strikes using the fists, legs, and feet. Unlocks powerful techniques and improved mobility in close combat."
“I haven’t really had a chance to use it though. Almost all the combat I’ve had has either been arranged... or happened before I even got the technique—when I was still fighting goblins.”
Fu fell into a thoughtful silence, doing that classic beard-stroking gesture you always see the wise masters do.
It didn’t quite fit though—he was made in the image of someone clean-shaven. Or chiseled. Literally.
Then, with a sudden spark of realization—and, I swear, a glint of barely concealed glee—he spoke with the calm excitement of a very polite sadist.
“We will have to test this style of fighting. Get onto the mat and defend yourself. Should you remain standing for more than a minute, we will consider it adequate—until you return for additional and more thorough fighting instruction.”
It started with a jab.
I wasn’t even fully on the mat when Fu’s stone fist shot out faster than any statue should’ve been able to move. I barely dodged it, stumbling backward with all the grace of a baby deer on ice.
"Good," Fu said casually, resetting his stance. "Again."
This time I stepped in first, testing my footing and launching a low kick toward what should’ve been a vulnerable joint. It was not. It was like kicking a brick wall covered in a polite smile.
When I made contact with Fu’s leg, I involuntarily let out that non-scream—buried deep in your throat—the kind you hear in action movies when the bad guy gets kicked in the crotch and the sound cuts out, but you know he’s internally screaming at an octave only dogs can hear.
Over the next ten minutes, it was an absolute blur. Fu didn’t just hit hard—he moved with precision, striking and withdrawing like a master who’d done this a thousand times. And I was the poor fool who signed up for the thousand-and-first.
“Your stance is sloppy,” he said, as I tried to pivot. Thud. I ended up on my back. “Your footwork is better, but you commit too early.” Whack. There went my shoulder. “You are fast... for a mortal.” Boom. Chest impact. I rolled to my side, wheezing.
But somewhere between dodging and flailing and getting slammed into the mat for the sixth—or maybe the ninth—time, something clicked. I wasn’t thinking anymore. I wasn’t trying to remember techniques. I was doing them.
I blocked a palm strike.
I ducked under a hook.
I swept his leg—and it kinda -almost worked.
“Better,” Fu said, brushing nonexistent dust from his arm. “Again.”
Another round. And another. Sweat poured down my face. My arms were jelly. But I was still standing.
Then, just as I started feeling the rhythm, Fu stopped.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His eyes locked onto mine, and in that half a moment something shifted in the air.
It was sudden—a pressure, like the air thickened with humidity. Then it hit me.
A wave of force, invisible but undeniable, crashed into me like a truck. My body screamed in every direction. It wasn’t pain. It was worse. My balance disappeared. My mind went blank. And I hit the mat before I even realized I’d fallen like a Marinette with its strings cut.
“That,” Fu said, voice calm and absolute, “was an aura pulse. A simple one.”
I blinked up at the ceiling, heart still racing.
Fu stepped over me, his cobalt eyes glowing faintly. “You will not always be struck by fists. Or fire. Or blades. Sometimes, you will be struck by intent. That was why you must learn to block—not just the physical, but the intent of another. The will. The killing edge.”
He held out a hand. I took it, still breathing hard.
“Tomorrow,” he said with a faint smile, “you will learn to push back.”
For the rest of the day,” Fu said, helping me steady myself, “let us focus on teaching you to create a paper wall to defend yourself.”
I blinked. “A what now?”
“A paper wall,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “A simple mana shield. It will not stop a weapon. It will not stop a spell. It may not even stop a thrown pinecone.” He paused thoughtfully. “But it will train your mind and body to respond instantly—to shape and project mana into a barrier, however weak. After all strength will come after instinctual mastery”
“So... training wheels?”
“Training wheels with the noble purpose of getting you slightly less destroyed.”
He guided me to the center of the mat again, gesturing for me to sit cross-legged. I did, rubbing my neck and wiping sweat from my eyes. I was already sore, but I was also beginning to understand that every moment here was a chance to build something permanent. I wasn’t just training for no purpose—I was laying the foundation of what I could become and to truly live free.
“Close your eyes,” Fu said. “Take a breath. Draw your mana to the surface of your skin—just beneath it. Think of it as mist just under a pane of glass. Now shape that mist into a flat surface before you. Thin, flexible, simple. Like... paper.”
I focused. Mana gathered. My breathing slowed. I imagined a smooth sheet, hanging in the air, flickering in the light.
“Good. Now hold it.”
Fu’s hand suddenly lashed out—and I felt a tap against my forehead.
“Ow!”
“You lost focus.”
“You smacked me in the head!”
“Indeed. Try again.”
The rest of the day became a cycle of quiet focus, flickering shields, and Fu testing my defense with increasing subtlety—and frequency. Sometimes it was a poke. Sometimes it was a spark of mana. Once, it was a surprisingly fast flick to my ear.
Each time, I had to reform the wall. Faster. Cleaner. Thinner. Stronger.
By sunset, I could raise a mana sheet in less than half a second. It wouldn't stop anything serious, but for the first time, I had a true defense—however simple.
Fu nodded with approval as the day ended.
"You’ll need additional training to focus through real pain and injury—but for now, you're ready to begin the real shield. Still... the paper wall will do."
"After one more day of training, I finally managed to keep the so-called 'paper shield' up—which, for the record, is the dumbest name for something that’s supposed to keep me alive. Maintaining it meant surviving a barrage of wooden and metal balls launched at me like I owed someone money. I even got a leg and an arm broken at one point. That was fun. Luckily, Fu wasn’t a complete psychopath; he didn’t expect me to just stand there and eat the damage. As long as I could dodge and maneuver while keeping the shield active, it counted as progress. He said it would help me later when I had to start pouring real mana into the thing. Oh—and it wasn’t just a forward-facing shield either. No, of course not. I had to wrap it around my entire body, because apparently, attacks can come from 'any direction.' Which is training code for, 'We’re going to find creative new ways to hit you until you cry.'"
“Now, young one, remember: you do not have the luxury of allowing your paper wall to break. If it breaks, you die. If you place your shield too far from your body, it may give the illusion that you’ll have time to dodge once it shatters—or some other foolish notion. You will not have time. If the shield breaks, you will die.
You must internalize this truth. There can be no allowance for weakness. At some point, you will be required to protect another, and if you permit flawed thinking to persist, you will fail them. That is unacceptable.
This 'paper wall' must become your aura—an extension of yourself. It must remain active at all times, even in your sleep. It must become a constant mental exercise, as natural to you as breathing.
Once you’ve mastered that, we will begin filtering mana through your aura.”
What I thought would be just one or two more days turned into five. The last two, however, were blissfully different. Two days before my departure, Fu did something I had never seen him do—he left the dojo and had me follow him into the crafting area. There, he explained that it was time for me to begin working on gifts and to start practicing a required skill set: crafting with runes.
I started picking out a couple of different metals and woods to try and familiarize myself with them, and Fu had a pleased expression on his face. He made the comment, "It is good that you are curious and understand that the base material upon which you craft will have a significant impact. This is a treat. I hope you will continue, as it separates the moderately talented from the truly gifted."
However, he quickly added, "Due to the lack of time available to you before you must depart—if for no other reason than your mental health—as being in one location for too long can feel akin to a prison, even if you are there by choice, we must keep our focus narrow for now."
He continued, "Due to the lack of time, we will have to utilize a method of training—" He paused, and I kid you not, ground his teeth so hard that actual dust from the stone fell from his mouth. "We will be utilizing what is referred to as a skill book."
He fixed me with a hard stare. "Let me be clear: I detest the idea of using skill books, for it robs you of opportunities to create insights of your own. And it is inevitable that gaps in your knowledge will appear. Should you not start from scratch with me when you return, you will be significantly less capable than you otherwise might be."
He folded his arms behind his back and added, "We must begin with rune crafting and the knowledge of runes and their applications."
Pulling out a blue book from behind his back, with black writing on the front, the label simply said Skill in a script so expressive and definite that there was no mistaking it for a normal book. There was a presence of mana around the book that gave off a physical pressure so intense I was shocked I hadn’t noticed it earlier. Under the word Skill, it said, Runes, Crafting and Basic to Complex Methodologies.
Fu continued speaking after presenting the book. "Although I detest the use—and the cheat aspect—of skill books, when used properly, such as in this particular case, they prove to be a very useful tool. If not exorbitantly expensive, and unfortunately, also a one-time-use item."
He held the book out toward me and explained, "To activate it, you must open it, cut your hand, put your blood on the first page, and say the words, 'I agree.'"
I knew what he was getting at from the first time I’d gone through this pony ride. Looking up sharply, I locked eyes with Fu and asked the question that was most important to me in that moment:
"Is it gonna hurt like I’m being tortured to death, leaving me a puddle on the ground and helpless for a certain amount of time?"
With an extreme glee in his eyes, Fu gave the most understated response I had ever heard:
"Just a bit."
Contrary to my expectations, the process wasn’t nearly as horrible as the first time. That’s not to say it was, in any way, less horrible—just differently horrible. The good news was that the recovery time was much faster, and by the time I was on my feet again, I had an absolutely clear understanding of rune crafting and how to apply it across different materials.
Before I could even get too excited, the best and worst thing happened at the same time.
Fu pulled out two more skill books.
The first, in his right hand, was titled Crafting: An Understanding of Materials and Properties, Manipulations, and Combinations.
The second, in his left, read Steady Hand: The Ability to Manipulate Tools, Expressively Draw, and Duplicate Imagery on Different Mediums, Materials, and Other Placement Techniques.
Seeing the skill books got me so excited that even though I was still shaking from the expected pain that was going to happen, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
Before I could start using the next skill book, Fu wanted me to understand the cost and ramifications of using skill books like these.
"Now understand," he began, "that these are extremely rare and extremely expensive. A normal person will not have access to such things."
He paused, then asked a question that kind of caught me off guard.
"Are you rich in your other life?"
I told him as honestly as I could, "Well... I kinda am and kinda not. It’s mainly my sister who’s rich, but we’re not like 'buy a country' rich. Just moderately wealthy—and she's still a penny pincher."
Fu nodded thoughtfully and continued with the reason for his question.
"I see. As a comparison, you would be considered common in this world. That being said, what do you believe the expected cost of one of these books would be?"
Thinking it over, I said, "Probably a really big pile of gold."
He shook his head slightly. "I see the disconnection. Just one of these books would cause a war. And wars are expensive. Not only in monetary ways, but in lives, in property, and in the futures of nations."
He gave me a hard look. "Imagine the country you lived in back on your world. Imagine if they went to total war with another nation. Could you picture them doing it for a book?"
I got the point he was trying to make. This was not just an expensive item. It was nearly priceless—and I had already used one and was about to use two more.
"I don’t mean to pressure you," he said more gently, "or make you feel as if you are unworthy of using these. But the fact that you have them—and have used them—makes you yourself all the more valuable. Should others discover your knowledge and power, the cost to control you will ever increase, making it all the more important for you to become able to defend yourself if you wish to live free."
He gave me a firm nod. "And at some point, there is a diminishing return. For kings do not allow challenges to their power—and your existence will become a challenge if discovered."
He stepped back and gestured toward the books.
"Let us continue."
Well, that conversation sobered me up quite a bit, but despite his words, I was not going to allow myself to not relish the experience. I would have plenty of time to contemplate and ponder the ramifications of my new life on the way to the closest city.
Using the skill books went exactly as expected, and after taking about a 30-minute break between uses, I finally hunkered down and started working on the first thing everybody dreams about at least once in their life—the ability to fly.
Now, I wasn’t expecting to slap a rune on me and just willy-nilly become Superman floating through the clouds. I was, however, totally going to do that unique thing that's almost cliché in most cultivation novels. That’s right—I was gonna make a flying sword.
Or at least, that’s what I started thinking I was gonna do… until I realized, with the information now crammed into my head, that it was a no-go.
Kinda.
See, I could make the rune, and I could even power the rune and place the rune on a sword. But then I’d have to add about two dozen other runes to maintain control of it, and even then, actual flight time would be measured in minutes rather than hours.
Still, I knew at some point I was going to need to fly, even if it only gave me the ability to stay in the air for ten seconds.
Rethinking my first project, I dove into the library of knowledge I'd basically downloaded into my brain. I chose an example pattern provided in the rune library: something you put on a belt behind your back that, in an emergency situation, you could slap your hand onto, charge with mana, and blast yourself into the air.
You could charge it with enough mana to keep flying for hours—if you could keep pumping mana into it. The downside was that it only held about five minutes' worth of stored mana on its own, and that was with intentionally limiting its lifespan. Realistically, you could only use the thing about ten times before it would refuse to hold a charge and shatter.
Still, I decided to make five of them.
Normally, I wouldn't have been able to pull something like that off because it was insanely mana-intensive. But I had something that other people probably didn't have—or at least, I didn't think they did.
I had a garden full of mana-rich plants that were practically vomiting mana in super-dense waves now that I could actually sense it.
Part of the training Fu had me doing after lunch and before we continued combat and aura training (a.k.a. "the paper wall") was to go out into the garden and part-meditate, part-mana-absorb, and part-mana-battery-create via distillation.
He wanted me to continually create different materials from the mana in the air, which I could then store and use as "batteries" during training so I wouldn’t burn out.
He had me doing this for two hours every day from the first day I woke him up.
As a result, I had a huge amount of mana material in my inventory.
To put it into perspective: before I left my house back on Earth, my storage space had been less than 5% full even after stuffing it with all the junk I think could cram in.
Since starting this training—and especially collecting mana materials—my personal storage was now close to 25% full.
And most of it was mana materials.
Going out to the garden, I sat down and did some more meditating—this time mainly focusing on creating mana materials. I stayed there for about 30 minutes before heading back inside and grabbing some of the cheapest metal and wood I could find from the supply stores.
Rethinking it, I decided to stick with bronze since it was still a very commonly used metal and would give the project a little more durability than my initial plan.
Using a technique with mana described in the vast libraries now crammed into my head, I created a blade of air about the size of a cheese knife. It sliced through the metal perfectly, creating a polished edge. I made about six cuts, each piece a little more than an eighth of an inch thick—or about 3.18 millimeters, give or take.
It’s not like I had a ruler. I just eyeballed it. I did the same thing with a super dense, deep brown wood—cutting it at about double the thickness of the metal. For both the metal and the wood, I made an extra slice of each just for practice, even though I had a different idea in mind for the wooden pieces.
On the first metal piece, I definitely overdid it. I was a hairsbreadth away from shattering it by overcharging it. Apparently, thanks to my training, my natural mana density had increased a lot more than I realized—causing me to seriously overestimate how much mana to use.
For the bronze metal plates, I used a chiseling technique that required slow, deliberate, thin slices to be carved out, trying to maintain the proper thickness of the inlay. The inlay, as it turned out, would be filled with a mana material. For obvious reasons, the library in my head emphasized that I should use the most heavily condensed mana material I could for the best results.
For the first piece, I did a super detailed job—just to prove I could. On all the others, it really wasn’t necessary, since this wasn’t a precision rune or item I was crafting. It was the kind of thing you could make in about ten minutes and sell for a quick gold or so, according to the library. I had my suspicions, though, that the library was severely outdated and didn’t reflect the current cost of things.
On the wooden plates, I created a kind of cheat item from another listed example in the library. It was a short-term, personal shield—or aura barrier—that would last for about a minute after activation. It could be used either in one long burst or in little spurts to block incoming attacks, and it was supposedly good even against attacks that could normally crush an aura master.
After that, I moved on to making a bunch of other little knickknacks as gifts. I made a few of each to build up a small stockpile of items I could sell or hand out without looking too flashy, while also giving myself a little more practice. Most of them were simple things made from plain old pinewood—although, to be fair, it was significantly better pinewood than anything you could find on Earth, coming from very old trees. These included things like small charms that could provide thirty seconds of invisibility.
I decided to create at least three of the following, and I made close to ten of the easy-to-make items.
First, I made what I was calling the flashlight rune. It would last for a pretty lengthy amount of time, but not indefinitely. It might work for two days of constant use or weeks of minor use if you could recharge it; otherwise, you got about three hours of strong, directed light.
The next thing I made—and what I thought would be absolutely essential—were healing runes. I ended up making at least twenty of them. They could heal a deep gash, a broken bone, or even a muscle tear. Because of the way they were made, they couldn’t be recharged; they required the special chili with healing properties from my garden to recreate. I figured I’d rather have too many than too few.
Next, I created what I was deciding between calling an adrenaline boost rune or a berserker rune. It would give no more than three minutes of absolute adrenaline-fueled strength, combined with extreme focus. The catch? After those three minutes, there would be a thirty-second taper-off, and then... the hammer would drop. Fatigue would hit like a freight train. You wouldn't want to do anything but sit down and take a three-day nap.
Along the same lines, I made a strength rune. Honestly, I thought it was a little bit silly, but I figured why not? It would triple your strength for a short period... but you couldn’t move very fast while using it. Worse, when the effect ended, you wouldn't feel tired, but you would feel like you needed to drink an entire lake. Like, drink a gallon of water in one sitting thirsty.
Thinking ahead, I created a create water rune. Okay, it wasn’t just creating water—it would create a thick bowl of ice that would quickly fill with super-refreshing water, with a side effect of a minor endorphin boost. Very practical if you needed a fast way to recover. So… I ended up making close to fifty of them before I came to my senses.
I also made simple mana flare runes, and they could be used three times before wearing out. They were meant for signaling, distraction, or just lighting up an area in a flash if needed.
Fu wanted me to craft a blade for myself so I wouldn’t be defenseless... but I pulled out three of the rewards I'd gotten from those murder-happy adventurers by the pond:
I turned them over in my hands, feeling a weird tangle of emotions. A little bit of satisfaction, a little bit of guilt, and a whole lot of practical, "Well, they did try to kill me, so thanks for the donation."
The sword was rough but sturdy, clearly built more for practical violence than flair.
It would do—at least until I either made something better or, knowing my luck, somehow stumbled across something ridiculous like a flying sword or a living blade.
The other two items were just as intriguing. One was a thin, tactical-looking breastplate—almost like something you'd expect to see in modern military gear, lightweight but clearly reinforced with some kind of mana-infused alloy. Definitely not medieval. It hugged close to the body, offering more mobility than protection, but it felt surprisingly solid.
Then there was the third item, and honestly, the one I was most excited to test out: a dagger. Not just any dagger, either—this thing looked like a fantasy version of a Ka-Bar, all practical edges and aggressive lines. When I used Inspect, a name floated into view:
Dagger of the Leading Edge
- Allows the user to see weak points in all forms
- Self-repairs
- Boosts agility by 50% while in combat
- “Get the point across.”
I couldn’t help but smirk at the tagline. Cheesy, yes. But I was absolutely going to be quoting that out loud the first time I used it in a real fight.
And speaking of a fight, it was still so strange to wrap my head around the fact that fighting was just... normal here. Back home, the idea of getting into a fistfight was practically negligible—at least in the part of the country I lived. Here, though? Here, conflict was woven into everyday life. If you wanted to make any real progress, you had to expect to fight—whether it was people trying to rob or kill you, beasts and monsters trying to eat you, or even weird things wanting to absorb your mana or do who knows what else. And somehow... somehow I was excited.
Over the last day, I had spent every moment meticulously preparing for my trip and stacking my personal space and a super raggedy travel pack with supplies.
Fu hovered nearby, offering occasional advice, most of it falling into the very cheerful category of, "Remember: if you get careless, you'll die."
Cheery guy, that Fu.
Still... as I strapped my makeshift kit together and looked out toward the distant mountains on the horizon, I felt something rising in me.
Excitement.
Nerves.
Maybe even a tiny bit of hope.
Definitely a large amount of hunger.
I was ready to go.
The last thing I did—before the last last thing I did—was stuff a few materials into my pack so I could work on runes while camping, raid the garden for anything that had ripened overnight, and finally look back at Shibafu.
“Are you gonna be okay on your own? Maybe you wanna come with me? I’m sure I could use some guidance on the way there, and what better time to train than while traveling? You could explain all the stuff I still need to know...” I trailed off hopefully.
Fu gave me a sad, nervous look, as if the idea of leaving the house wasn’t terrifying, but was definitely high on his anxiety-inducing activities list. His words gave another excuse, but his eyes told the real story.
“This is an important step for you to begin creating a place for yourself in this world," he said. "And although my presence would be helpful, it would also become a handicap if you can’t learn to make your own way. I will accompany you later—on a different journey—and then teach you all the things you screwed up while you were out on your own."
He smiled warmly. "I’m glad you’re seeing this as an exciting opportunity rather than the fearful challenge most young pupils would."
He paused and added seriously, "Give others you meet the benefit of the doubt—but alwaysverify their intentions. Most importantly, you don’t have to be the nice guy. You need to be the guy who gets where you're trying to go—preferably uninjured and without a trail of bodies behind you."
He waved his hand like he was brushing away an annoying bug. "Don’t be afraid to travel off the path and start exploring. Those with ki sensitivity or the ability to sense mana are often drawn in unexpected directions to find hidden treasures—or deadly challenges. Both are equally rewarding. And keep practicing your Inspect. You may find treasures along the side of the road no one else bothered to check."
I started walking then, feeling the strange combination of excitement and nervous energy bubble up inside me. And just like any overly worried mother would, Fu kept shouting "One more thing!" statements after me until I was almost out of sight.