Chapter 5: The Hunger for Power
Muriel tried to perform the spinning attack of the Drunken Sword Style, but his legs gave out. He fell to the ground with a thud.
"Too weak," he grunted out between his teeth. "Too weak yet."
A week had passed since his meeting with Irene. His body was stronger, but not strong enough.
He stood up, with an awkward limp in his stride, gathered up his walking stick made from the wood and proceeded. The morning sun was on his back scalding hot.
His memory flashed upon him-from his other life-and he saw himself training in a small room, harrying with the self-same move.
"You're too weak for this technique," his old teacher had said. "Your body can't handle it."
Now, in this new life, the same problem stopped him: his body was holding him back.
Muriel looked down at his hands, all cut up from cleaning weapons. His arms were a lot stronger now, but they still looked thin.
"Mana," he whispered. That was what he needed. It was the key to true power, Irene had said.
He approached the border of the training ground, where other children were struggling over bread.
"You're getting better," one said. The voice was a mercenary and gave him work.
"Not better enough," Muriel replied.
The merc looks him up and down. "You train harder than anyone I've seen. But there is something missing.
"I know what's missing," Muriel said. "I need mana."
The mercenary's eyes widened. "Mana? That's dangerous talk, boy."
"Why?" Muriel asked.
"Because all the mana crystals are in the hands of the nobles," the mercenary explained. "They kill anyone who tries to steal them."
Muriel didn't answer. He was already thinking of how to find a crystal.
"Listen," said the mercenary. "Clean your weapons. Survive. For someone like you, that's plenty.
But Muriel knew that wasn't enough, not for him.
He went back to his training, but his mind was elsewhere, as he remembered more and more from his past life.
He had also once attempted to learn Shadowless Blade during that life, and his then-body was no stronger than his current body was.
"Never again," he vowed to himself. "This time, weakness will not hold me back."
He finished the trainings and went to clean weapons while he overheard the mercenaries speaking.
They spoke of abandoned buildings in places where battles had taken place, where mana crystals might still be hidden.
"The old temple is full of bodies, dead bodies," one mercenary said. "Nobody goes there anymore."
"It is cursed," one replied. "Lights at night are strange, people disappear.
Muriel cleaned the weapons and remembered every word they said.
That night, he did not go to his place of hiding but watched the old temple from a distance.
It was a tall and broken building, parts of whose walls had fallen down.
He saw strange lights, as the mercenaries were talking about, including some blue and green lights floating around the temple.
"Mana," he thought. "It must be mana."
His body was tired from training, but his mind was sharp; he needed a plan to get into the temple.
The healing potion Irene had given him was still in his pocket; he might be needing it soon.
"Tomorrow," he decided. "Tomorrow I'll go into the temple."
He returned to his shelter and lay down, having his wooden stick by his side in case the animal attacked him.
Sleep came slowly. He thought about his past life, about all the techniques he couldn't master.
"This time will be different," he whispered in the darkness. "This time I'll become truly strong."
As night wore on, it became cold, but Muriel felt nothing. His head was filled with all his plans and dreams of power.
Tomorrow, he would risk everything for the chance to be stronger. The thought put a smile on his face.
In his past life, he had been so cautious. Too cautious-that's why he never reached the highest level.
"No more being careful," he thought, falling asleep. "No more being weak."
The moon was breaking through the stairs, shining its light upon his slender body and the determined look on his face.
Tomorrow would change everything: he was ready to risk his life for the sake of power. The healing potion glowed softly in his pocket, a small, blue star in the darkness.
Muriel closed his eyes, indulging in fancies of mana and power: soon he would be strong enough to master any technique.
He would become that weak boy in the slums, out of whom everyone would come to fear and respect.
All he needed was mana. And tomorrow, he would find it.