The next morning, Amukelo and Pao came back to the library to continue the training.
Amukelo stretched his arms behind his head and exhaled slowly. "Wow," he said. "Yesterday I was completely drained. But now I feel fine."
Pao looked at him and smiled. "Right? Isn't it awesome? You can train this every day without worrying about overtraining. All your mind needs is rest. Your muscles take days to recover. But with mana… if you don't push too far, it's a daily thing."
They stepped into the same quiet corner they used yesterday and Amukelo sat down cross-legged on the cushion, already more comfortable than before. "That's actually amazing," he said. "When I trained with Padrin, I felt like dying every day."
Pao laughed, settling into place beside him. "Well, this won't break your body, but it will test your patience."
They eased into the session, breathing slow, following the same rhythm from the day before. Pao placed her hand gently between them, channeling her mana in a focused stream. The hours passed quickly.
Then a voice cut through the quiet. "Yo."
Pao flinched slightly and turned her head. Bral stood near the far shelves, holding a book under one arm. His eyes moved to Amukelo, who sat completely still, eyes closed in focus.
"What are you doing here?" Bral asked in a low voice, stepping closer.
Pao raised a finger to her lips. "Shh…"
Bral paused, frowned, then followed her gaze. He looked at Amukelo again.
"Ohh," he said, nodding slowly. "I think I get it."
But a second later, Amukelo's eyes opened.
"Damn it," he muttered.
Bral laughed. "So you are training to feel mana?"
Amukelo sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Just started yesterday."
"Cool," Bral said, tossing the book onto the table beside them. "I'm just here to check if they have anything about your sword. Still can't believe you're not doing anything to learn about it. It's your sword, after all."
Amukelo smirked. "I'm not the type to sit over books for too long."
"Obviously," Bral said. "But whatever. I'm not here to interrupt."
He gave them a short wave. "Wish me luck. If I find anything, it might help the whole group."
Amukelo nodded. "Yeah. Good luck."
With that, Bral walked off between the shelves, and Amukelo and Pao returned to their training.
But despite their efforts, the day ended much like the last. Hours passed, but Amukelo still couldn't feel it. By the time they stood to leave, Pao could see the disappointment beginning to set in again. But whenever it did his eyes sharpened with resolve.
The next day came. Same place. Same process. Same result.
By the third day, Amukelo walked to the outpost as usual. It was his turn to keep watch. He expected to find Bao finishing her shift alone — but instead, he saw her and Bral, standing near the outpost's side fence.
As Amukelo approached, he raised a brow. "You came here to spar or something?"
Bral looked over at him and shook his head. "Nah. Not today."
Then he straightened up. "We figured since you've been training your mana so hard, we'd take your shifts."
Amukelo stopped. "Wait… what?"
Bral shrugged. "You've been putting in work. Might as well give you some room to focus."
Bao stepped forward, voice firmer now. "We all agreed. Idin too. It would be better for the group if you got stronger. And it makes more sense than just hanging around the outpost doing nothing."
Amukelo frowned, unsure. "You don't have to. You all have your own stuff."
Bao rolled her eyes. "We know. And we still chose to do it."
Bral crossed his arms. "Besides, I'm already doing research for your sword. Might as well double down."
Amukelo looked between them. For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then a small smile broke across his face. "Well…" he said, voice quieter now. "Thank you. Both of you."
Bao gave him a firm nod. "Don't waste it."
"I won't." He turned and walked away, leaving the outpost behind.
One day, Idin had just taken over the shift from Bral. After the usual short exchange and a brief report, Bral had headed off toward the inn, leaving Idin to the quiet hum of routine. The soldiers were gathered in the mess hall, their voices low, some laughing over stale bread and thick porridge.
Idin sat near the center of the dining area, surrounded by the soft murmur of conversation and clinking utensils. He was speaking with a pair of younger soldiers when a sudden, violent sound tore through the outpost. For a moment, everything stopped. Then, scattered shouting broke out.
"What was that!?"
"Was that outside?"
"No — it came from the eastern side!"
"The intruder…" Idin muttered.
He shoved his chair back and sprinted out of the mess hall. A thick scent reached his nose even before he turned the final corner.
Then he saw arrived.
It was the storage room.
Its walls were scorched black, the door frame splintered and partially blown inward. Bits of charred wood littered the floor. But what stopped him cold was the soldier lying just outside the threshold, sprawled on the floor, his body twisted unnaturally.
The man's arms were badly burned, his uniform in tatters. His face was partially blackened, the skin blistered. Blood ran down from his mouth, and he was coughing violently. Every breath sounded like a struggle.
Next to him stood another soldier, frozen in place. He looked down at the injured man with wide eyes, completely still, as if his mind couldn't register what he was seeing.
Idin snapped. "What are you doing? Go for a healer!"
The soldier blinked and stammered, "Ahh… right!"
He turned and ran, finally shaken into action.
Idin dropped to his knees beside the injured man. "Hey! Stay with me," he said quickly, already reaching for the small flask attached to his belt. It was a healing potion.
He uncorked it and gently poured it between the soldier's lips. The man gagged slightly, then swallowed.
The effect was immediate, but minimal. The bleeding slowed slightly, his chest rose a little more evenly, but his breathing was still labored. It was far from enough.
"Don't you die on me here," Idin muttered. "You get out of this."
His hand moved quickly to his side pouch. He pulled out a small, glassy ball. He lifted it and smashed it against the floor. Nothing happened. He stared.
The crystal shattered, but there was no light, no magic.
"Great," he muttered.
Footsteps echoed behind him — more soldiers arriving, rushing in from their posts. Shouts filled the corridor.
"What happened!?"
"Is he alive!?"
Then a voice cut through the noise. "Move aside!"
Captain Rhan pushed his way through the group, his eyes quickly locking onto the burned man and the state of the corridor. He looked back at Idin. "What happened!?"
"I don't know," Idin said, rising to his feet. "There was some kind of explosion. When I arrived, he was already down like this. I gave him a potion, but without a proper healer…"
He glanced back at the soldier, who was barely conscious now, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"His lungs might be burned," Idin said. "He's coughing blood. It's bad. But someone already went for a healer."
Rhan took in the scene with a tight expression. "Explosion…" he muttered. "Did anyone see anything? Anyone suspicious?"
The surrounding soldiers all shook their heads.
"No one saw anything. I was right in the mess hall—"
"I just got off my patrol—"
"We only heard the sound."
Idin's eyes sharpened. "Right. The parchment."
He turned to one of the soldiers and pointed. "Hold him. Make sure he doesn't choke. Someone's already gone for the healer."
The soldier dropped to a knee and gently elevated the injured man's head, doing his best to keep him breathing.
"Let's go," Idin said, already turning.
Rhan nodded, and the two of them rushed through the outpost.
When they reached Rhan's office, both of them paused for a moment just outside the door.
The room was quiet.
They stepped inside, scanning every corner. Nothing.
No signs of struggle. No disturbed furniture. No broken glass. A wooden case sat tucked between two dusty maps — the surveyor's box, where they'd placed the lure days ago.
He opened it with a swift motion, flipping the lid up and pulling out the top layer of the tools.
Then, carefully, he pulled out the parchment.
He examined it.
"It's… the same one," he said slowly. "Nothing's missing. Nothing's stolen."
He looked up at Idin. "Even the tools… they're still sorted the same way."
Idin narrowed his eyes. "So either the intruder didn't get here in time…" he paused, "or they didn't find it."
Rhan frowned. "It wasn't hidden on purpose. We only moved it from the storage room. I didn't think it needed to be hidden. That was the point."
"But if they were looking for it…" Idin looked back at the door. "Then they failed."