Under Master Elden's watchful eye, my grasp of magic deepened, and I dabbled in the art of mana manipulation, a skill I had been refining since my arrival in this world. Breathing exercises, culled from ancient wisdom, became my daily ritual, each inhale and exhale imbued with purpose.
My body became a canvas upon which I noted the effects of my newfound techniques. The impact of breathwork on my mana circulation and inner chemistry fascinated me. Wim Hof breathing, a relic from my past, boosted my immune system and tweaked my autonomic nervous system, elements unknown to this world. Equal breathing and physiological sighs became my allies, enhancing my magical prowess with every controlled breath.
Post-magic mastery, yoga nidra slipped into my routine, enhancing my learning outcomes, or so I hoped. With each passing day, the secrets of calisthenics unknown to this world found their way into my training, honing my physical strength to unparalleled levels.
Then came the sessions with the knights' captain. Pull-ups became a showcase of my superior knowledge, a fusion of techniques that astounded the knights.
"61... 62... 63..." I counted, my muscles aching with each repetition.
"What's your aim, young master?" the knights' captain inquired, genuine curiosity in his eyes.
"Pushing boundaries," I replied, my voice unshaken despite the strain. "It's how you grow stronger."
Our sparring sessions were fierce, blades clashing and dance steps synchronized. At the tender age of seven, I could outmaneuver multiple knights, a feat that stirred both awe and apprehension.
"Kagh... ugh..." The knights fell, their swords dropping with defeated clinks.
My swordplay was poetry in motion, my moves entrancing, rendering the enemy powerless. Yet, my mastery extended beyond physical combat. Elemental magic became my realm, spells crafted with finesse. But my true prowess lay in chantless magic, a rare skill I had mastered through sheer willpower.
The knights' captain watched, admiration and a touch of fear flickering in his eyes. "Our young master is a prodigy," he murmured, his heart swelling with pride and a hint of trepidation. "A force to be reckoned with."
Knights captain POV
The young master's determination never ceased to amaze me. As I observed his sparring session, my eyes widened in astonishment. His swordplay was not just skillful; it was artistry in motion, a dance that left seasoned knights baffled.
I watched as he effortlessly parried the strikes of two knights, his movements fluid and precise. "Kagh... ugh..." The knights faltered, their swords clattering to the ground, defeated by the young master's prowess.
He moved with grace, his every step calculated, every swing of his sword purposeful. His eyes glinted with focus, and his lips curved into a confident smile. Despite his age, he handled the sword as if it were an extension of his own body.
The young master's chantless magic was another spectacle to behold. With a mere flick of his wrist, he conjured flames that danced and flickered, controlled with an ease that left us all spellbound. The air around him crackled with energy, his mastery of the elements evident in the way he manipulated fire and water, earth and air, as effortlessly as if he were breathing.
I marveled at his abilities, a mixture of pride and apprehension swelling within me. "Our young master is a prodigy," I whispered to myself, acknowledging the undeniable truth. He was not just a force to be reckoned with; he was a living legend in the making.
----
The following days I visited the of the town obviously disguised.
I've been doing this for a few days.
The library's dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows as I immersed myself in ancient texts, their pages fragile with age. One night, I found myself engrossed in a worn volume, its secrets whispering through the air.
Beside me, an elderly scholar, his eyes tired yet sharp, murmured, "Young one, deciphering those runes takes patience. What knowledge are you seeking?"
"I seek the truth of this world," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
A young mage, her robes adorned with intricate symbols, approached. "Truth? Knowledge in these pages often leads to more questions than answers," she said, her eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and caution.
"But knowledge is power," I countered, my eyes scanning the pages.
A grizzled adventurer, his scars telling tales of battles fought, joined the conversation. "Power, eh? Be careful, lad. Some secrets are best left buried."
Ignoring his warning, I pressed on, my finger tracing the lines of an ancient prophecy. "Listen to this," I said, excitement bubbling within me. "It speaks of a chosen one, destined to shape the fate of our world."
The scholar raised an eyebrow. "Chosen one? A cliché in most tales. What makes this prophecy different?"
I paused, considering my words. "It hints at a cosmic event, one that could either bring salvation or doom. The conversations in these pages paint a picture of imminent change."
The mage leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. "Change? The kind that alters the course of history?"
I nodded. "Exactly. The threads of destiny are being woven anew, and I intend to understand their pattern."
The adventurer grunted, a mixture of admiration and skepticism in his voice. "Ambitious, aren't you? Just don't forget, lad, the more you know, the greater the burden."
As their conversations faded into the hushed tones of the library, I continued my exploration, my mind buzzing with newfound insights. Does the chosen one mean a reincarnated being like me? I would have to look into it more.