The Anomaly's Path-Chapter 79: Pain Has a Purpose

We walked deeper into the jungle, the trees growing thicker around us and the canopy blocking out more and more of the morning light. The air was humid and heavy, and I could feel sweat already forming on the back of my neck.

Roran stopped in a small clearing that wasn’t anything special—just a patch of dirt surrounded by trees with a few fallen logs scattered around. But it was flat and open, which made it perfect for training.

Roran turned to face me. His wooden sword rested across his shoulders and his eyes moved over me slow, like he was looking at a piece of meat he hadn’t decided how to cook yet.

"So," he said. "You said you don’t know how to make your own art, right?"

I nodded.

"Good. That’s fine. You don’t need to know yet." He pointed the sword at me. "But you will. I am going to train you every day. I am going to push you to your limits and then past them. I am going to make you feel like dying so many times that death stops being scary."

He grinned. It was not a nice grin. I shifted my weight, trying to ignore the dull ache already blooming in my calves.

"I am going to make a schedule for you. A real one. Every day, I will push your body to its breaking point. Because creating a sword art is not just about swinging a blade. There are a hundred things that matter, and if any of them are weak, your art will be weak too."

He started counting on his fingers.

"Your rank. Your mana control. Your muscle strength. Your body’s regeneration. Your posture. Your footwork. Your reflexes. Your understanding of your own affinities. Every single things matters." He looked at me. "...And that is just the beginning."

I listened without interrupting him.

"Speaking of mana," he stopped directly in front of me, poking a finger at my chest. "I have been watching you since you first showed up in this village. You have decent control, but it’s also very bad."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Your mana is leaking from your body constantly. It is like you have a bucket full of water with holes in the bottom. You are losing energy every second of every day, and you do not even realize it. At first, I thought you were doing it on purpose. Some kind of technique I did not recognize. But then I realized the truth."

He stepped closer. "You do not know how to control your mana efficiently, do you?"

I was quiet for a moment. Then I shook my head. He was right. I had been treating mana like a fuel I could just burn, never realizing how much was evaporating before it even hit my blade.

"I thought so." He sighed. "You are a noble. You must have been taught some kind of breathing technique, right? Something to help you circulate your mana?"

"I have one," I said. "It’s called Foundation Breathing Art. It’s pretty basic and designed for people with weaker cores."

"Basic is fine. It is better than nothing. But you are not using it properly." He tapped his chest. "Your breathing technique is not just for pulling mana from the air. It is for controlling the mana inside you. If you are leaking, it means your breathing is wrong. Your circulation is wrong. Your foundation is weak."

I clenched my jaw.

"Do not look at me like that," Roran said.

"I am not insulting you. I am telling you the truth. And the truth is going to hurt. But if you want to get stronger, you need to hear it. You need more things. Your muscles need to be strong enough to handle the recoil. Your regeneration must be good to mend the tears you’re causing every time you use that lightning. And your affinities... I saw you using lightning, right? You must know the difference of an attack between using affinity or only using raw mana."

"One is more destructive," I muttered.

"Wrong," he snapped. "One is a tool; the other is a part of your soul. If you can’t feel the difference in the vibration of the air, you’re just a kid playing with matches."

Roran stepped back and his expression got harder. "Today is the first day. We train until night, until you can’t move your body anymore. Tomorrow we work on your mana and your affinities. But today? Today we break the old Leo."

The training wasn’t a fight or a duel. It was a nightmare.

"Run," Roran said. "Not on the path but run through the thorns. Push mana into your feet, but don’t let a single drop leak past your ankles. If I see even a spark of wasted energy, I’ll trip you."

I swallowed hard and started running.

I sprinted through the thick bushes and low branches, and the trees whipped across my face while thorns tore at my shirt.

I tried to push mana into my feet like he said, but it was hard to focus while running through the thick brush. Every time I stepped on a root or stumbled over a hidden rock, I felt my concentration break, and a little bit of mana leaked out of my legs.

Smack!

Roran’s wooden sword hit me right in the back of my thigh. The pain was sharp and sudden, and I almost fell.

"Control it," he yelled from behind me. "Do not let it flare up! Pull it back in."

I gritted my teeth and kept running.

He made me run for what felt like hours. Back and forth through the jungle, over roots and rocks, through mud and streams. Every time I messed up, his sword found me. My thighs were covered in red marks, and my back was sore from where he had hit me.

By the time the sun was high overhead, my lungs felt like they were full of broken glass. My mana was running low and the pool in my core felt shallow and weak. I tried to slow down but Roran wouldn’t let me.

"Stop," Roran said.

I collapsed onto my knees, gasping for air.

"Get up," he said. "We are not done."

I forced myself to stand.

He made me do these posture holds where I had to stand in awkward positions that made my muscles scream, and while I stood there he threw heavy rocks at me.

I barely got my sword up in time. The rock hit the blade and bounced off, but the impact sent a shock through my arms.

"Block them with your sword," he said. "And don’t move your feet."

He threw another rock. Then another. Then another. They came faster and faster, from different angles, and I swung my wooden sword again and again, trying to block them all.

Every rock felt like someone was hitting me with a hammer. My arms were shaking so bad I could barely hold the sword up.

"Keep going," Roran shouted. "Keep your stance. Keep your sword up."

My arms were shaking so bad I could barely hold the sword anymore. Sweat was pouring down my face, and my vision was starting to blur.

"Your mana," Roran said. "Push it into your arms. Use it to steady yourself."

I tried, but my core was almost empty. There was barely anything left.

"Keep going," he shouted. "Empty it all the way. I want you running on nothing. You do not know what you are really capable of until you have nothing left to use."

So I pushed.

I reached down into the bottom of my core and scraped out the last little bits of energy I had left. My vision started to get blurry and the green of the trees turned into gray smears that I couldn’t focus on. My muscles weren’t just tired anymore.

They were screaming at me to stop.

"Again," Roran said.

I swung the wooden katana one more time. I felt something snap inside me, like a dry well finally cracking at the bottom. My knees gave out and the world started to spin. The trees above me twisted around and the ground came up fast.

The last thing I heard was my own breathing, loud and ragged.

Then everything went dark.

_

[Roran’s POV]

I stood over the boy and watched his chest go up and down. His face was pale and covered in dirt and dried blood from the thorns, but his fingers were still wrapped around the wooden sword handle like he didn’t want to let go even though he was passed out.

He actually did it. He pushed until his core was completely empty. Not many people can do that.

"Stubborn brat," I muttered, and a small smile tugged at my mouth.

I’ve seen a lot of nobles in my life. Most of them talk about willpower and never giving up, but the second their mana runs out they quit and start making excuses. Leo was different though. There was something in him, some kind of desperation or fear of being weak that was stronger than his fear of getting hurt.

I bent down and picked him up, throwing him over my shoulder.

He was light, lighter than he should be. If he was going to survive this training he needed to eat more, so I made a mental note to tell Marta to give him bigger portions.

I started walking back toward the orphanage.

The sun was starting to go down and the shadows were getting long across the grass. The evening air felt cooler on my skin and the bugs were starting to come out.

I glanced at the back of Leo’s head. His hair was a mess and there were leaves stuck in it.

"You’ve got a long way to go, kid," I said to the quiet woods around me. "But if you don’t die in the next few days, you might actually make something of yourself."

I shifted his weight on my shoulder and kept walking. The Hound was back to work, and for the first time in years the day actually felt like it had a purpose.