"Now, for your training," Augustus said, tapping his cane lightly against the floor. "We can start with you showing me your runes."
Oliver raised a brow in confusion. "But I'm a mortal. I don't have a mana core. What use is there in looking at my runes?"
"You know nothing of the world, boy," Augustus snorted, shaking his head. "I had a dear friend once, one who was also called a mere mortal. He mastered the sword and transcended those so-called restrictions."
A melancholic expression flickered across his face as he continued, "Unfortunately, there's only so much mastering the sword can do. He certainly became powerful… but his lifespan... was still that of a mortal.. Mortals wither away far too quickly."
Oliver lowered his gaze, understanding the weight behind the words. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said quietly with a low bow.
"No need to be," Augustus replied, waving a dismissive hand. "Now, show me your runes."
Runes were a caster's identity, in essence—physically, they are unique markings that display a person's strengths and capabilities in physical form.
Even mortals possessed them, though the sections tied to mana core levels and spell techniques would remain blank.
Normally, an individual could simply call out their runes, and an ethereal interface would appear before them, these were only visible to the individual.
Or they could reveal them physically, as the runes also manifested on one's back in black ink when summoned, in order to show them to other people.
Oliver nodded, pulling off his shirt before lying down on the couch, stomach against the cushions. He took a deep breath and willed his runes into existence.
In the next instant, faint black symbols shimmered to life across his back, forming intricate lines of text written in glowing black ink.
Augustus leaned closer, eyes narrowing as he read:
Name: Oliver
Age: 14
Core Rank: Mortal
Skills: Swordmaster — Advanced Mastery
Augustus raised his brows at the last part, his lips curling slightly in intrigue. "So you've already mastered the sword to such an extent, huh?" he murmured.
He studied the boy in silence for a moment. To reach advanced mastery at fourteen… what kind of life has this child lived? Must have been a harsh one.
To the majority, it was well known that training in weapon mastery was almost twice as hard as trying to saturate your as a caster.
And, casters were always far stronger than a weapon master of the same rank, hence the one sided stereotype.
Weapon mastery was divided into five stages
Basic Mastery
Intermediate mastery
Advanced Mastery
Perfect Mastery
Transcendent Mastery
Any higher than that, was the saint stage, where casters mastered their weapon's aura. But Augustus himself had no business speaking of such matters, least of all Oliver.
"Alright, you can get up," Augustus said finally.
Oliver rose, pulling his shirt back over his head and turning to face the old man.
"It seems you're quite the sword genius," Augustus remarked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Save for your lack of a mana core, that is. But what I'm going to teach you doesn't require one. It should be quite easy for you to grasp. Well not easy, but given enough time, it should be possible for you to master."
If he knew what the old man was calling easy, Oliver might have pulverised the old man's non-existent hair follicles.
By the time he finally realises what was being asked of him by old man Augustus, it would be far too late.
Right now though, he was nothing but a naïve young boy with no knowledge of the world.
Oliver nodded once, standing quietly, and waiting for further instruction.
Augustus stood and paced toward the far end of the chamber — his hands clasped behind his back
He turned sharply to face Oliver. "Good. Now that I've seen your runes, it's time we start working on your foundation. You may not have a mana core… but that doesn't mean you are without power."
"Well yeah, that's why I chose to become a swordsman."
"I am not talking about your skills as a swordsman, boy. I am talking about about something far greater than time itself." Augustus' carefree and calm demeanour shifted to something more serious.
Oliver furrowed his brow. "What do you mean by that?"
Augustus gestured for him to come closer. "Sit. And listen carefully. What I am about to tell you, is a great, ancient technique known only to a select group of individuals."
Oliver obeyed, crossing his legs on the floor, his gaze steady but curious.
"There are two kinds of energy in this world," Augustus began, his voice slow and measured. "Mana — which flows through the world, the rivers, and the air. It is what casters use to shape reality. Everyone knows this."
Augustus paused dramatically as if to let Oliver stew, "And then, there is Essence, the root of existence itself — the energy that resides in every living being, even mortals. The swordmasters of old who could split mountains? They were not manipulating mana. They were wielding Essence."
Oliver's eyes widened in awe at the prospect of the existence of such a profound energy. "Essence…"
Augustus nodded. "It's purer than mana, though harder to harness. Unlike mana, it cannot be gathered from outside sources. It must be drawn from within, from your body, mind, and soul in perfect harmony."
He knelt beside Oliver, his old joints creaking slightly, and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Now, close your eyes. I want you to breathe. Slowly. Feel the air enter your lungs, the weight of your body on the ground. Don't reach for anything… simply exist."
Oliver did as told. The world around him dimmed. For a long moment, all he could hear was the faint hum of his own heartbeat.
"Good," Augustus murmured. "Now… beneath that rhythm, there is something else — a flicker. A subtle vibration that resonates through your very being. That is your Essence. Focus on it."
"Now," he said, his voice like gravel dragged through stone, "Let everything go, and try to feel it."
Oliver blinked. "Feel what exactly?"
"The Essence," Augustus said simply. "The thread that weaves through all things. The force that gives birth to mana, to life, to thought itself."
Oliver hesitated. "But… I thought mana was the foundation of power?"
"Mana," Augustus snorted, "is but a ripple on the surface. Essence is the ocean beneath." He motioned with his staff, a faint trail of blue mist spiralling around its tip. "Now quiet your thoughts, and listen. Not with your ears, not with your mind. With your being."
Oliver slowly sat cross-legged on the wooden floor. The air around him was thick and heavy; faint motes of light shimmered like dust caught in sunlight. He closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath, then letting it out. Again. And again.
For several minutes, there was only silence, the kind that stretched and swallowed sound itself.
He focused on his heartbeat, on the faint hum of the world around him. His mind reached out, seeking something, anything, that might answer his call.
But there was nothing. No warmth. No current. Just emptiness.
He furrowed his brows, forcing himself to try harder, to grasp at whatever invisible thing Augustus spoke of. His breathing grew ragged. His hands trembled slightly. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple.
Still, nothing came.
Minutes turned to nearly half an hour before he opened his eyes, defeated. "I… I don't feel anything," he admitted, his voice low, almost ashamed. "Despite trying my best, it's like reaching into air that isn't there."
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then—
"Pffft—HAHAHAH!" Augustus suddenly burst out laughing, the sound echoing harshly through the cabin.
Oliver flinched, irritation flashing across his face. Was this old man messing with him!? he didn't know how much of the old man's rumblings were true, but maybe he had believed his claims a bit too easily.
After all, as widely read as Oliver was, how come he hadn't heard of this 'essence'. He began to question if this mysterious even existed.
"If it were that easy, boy," Augustus wheezed between laughs, "the whole damn world would be wielding Essence! You think it's something you just grab because I told you to? Hah! Oh, this takes me back…" He wiped a tear from his eye, chuckling to himself.
Oliver glared. "So this was just some kind of joke?"
"No joke," Augustus said, straightening slightly. "A lesson. You mortals are always in such a hurry, thinking power is something to be taken in a single breath."
Oliver snorted in derision, "Can you even use this, 'essence' old man?" Oliver asked seriously.
He sighed, the laughter fading. "I didn't even know about Essence until someone told me. And still, I couldn't sense it for a hundred years. A hundred! There were days I thought it was a lie meant to torment me."
Oliver's expression softened slightly, confusion mixing with disbelief. "A hundred years?"
"Yes," Augustus said, looking distant. "Until one day, in the midst of battle — when death itself clawed at my throat — I felt it. A spark. A whisper. After that, it took another century before I could properly wield it. And even now, I can't begin claim mastery, I can barely wield a sliver of it."
Oliver frowned. "But I don't have hundreds of years to learn some mystical force that may as well not exist. I need to get strong, fast." He declared.
The old man chuckled, his grin sharp and knowing. "Then you'll just have to do what no one else has done — learn faster."
"That's not helpful," Oliver muttered.
"Neither is giving up," Augustus shot back. "Essence doesn't reveal itself to those who chase it. It comes to those who endure. Who survive long enough to be worthy of it."
He rested a hand on his sword-staff's hilt, his tone softening just a little. "Mortals… burn brighter because they burn faster. That's your gift, and your curse. Trying to learn to wield essence, for your kind, will be a race against your own lifespan."
Augustus cocked his head, watching Oliver closely. "Why are you in such a hurry to get more powerful anyway?" he asked.
Oliver's jaw tightened. The faintest glint of rage flashed in his eyes. "For revenge," he said, the word tasting like iron. Almost immediately he shook his head, as if surprised that he had spoken it aloud.
"Revenge?" Augustus repeated, probing him to say more. Oliver said nothing more, it was obvious he would rather not speak of the topic, what little he had said was nothing more than a slip of the tongue.
"Hmm." The old man studied him, then shrugged. "No matter." He paused, and the grin that followed was not wholly warm. "Maybe I simply need to beat you to the brink of death. Then perhaps you'll feel the thread that holds the world together a little bit quicker, after all, It was on the brink of death that I too learned to feel essence. Bahahahahahaha!!!"
He laughed, long and loud, but there was no mockery in it. It rang like a bell struck in deep water. Oliver heard it and felt, with an odd certainty, that Augustus was not joking.
Augustus' eyes sharpened; the playful curl of his mouth dropped away. "If it's revenge that drives you," he said quietly, "then you already have a beginning. Anger can be a fire, if you learn to use it instead of letting it burn you. But, be careful with channelling whatever emotion drives you, or, it might drive you to madness."
The warning sounded almost eery, in the way he said it, by Oliver could see that Augustus meant every word he had said.
Oliver looked down at his hands, the faint calluses from training still visible. He clenched them. "So what do I do now?"
Augustus grinned, wicked and amused. "Now? You train. You break your limits until your body remembers what your soul has forgotten. And when you're too tired to move, you keep going."
He tapped the end of his staff against the ground. "Stand up, boy. You've failed your first lesson. That means you're ready for the second."
Oliver sighed, rising to his feet. "And what's the second lesson?"
A faint, almost mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Augustus's mouth. "Pain," he said simply. "Lots of it."
Oliver's hands curled into fists at his sides. He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
"But," Augustus rose, staff tapping the floor once. "Not today though," he said. "Today you will rest. Tomorrow, we begin."