"Here it goes, kid."
The blade's whistle had his muscles coil up. Welf's greatsword blurred into a silver line, deadly by the weight alone. But the boy was faster. Sidestep, riposte, CLANG!
The blacksmith pushed back, his next swing wide.
"Too slow," Konrad ducked, closing in.
"It's my warmup," Welf's voice was steady despite the strain.
The boy couldn't match his strength, but didn't have to. His speed dictated the pace.
"Warm up faster," he yelled, going for a stab, "make it fun."
Sure, he never had famed instructors, but he'd spar with every caravan guard passing Haiten.
It's been twelve years since he got his first wooden sword. He spent more of his life swinging it than not, and could've beaten them all up by now. But the tribesman was of a different build.
The boy had to consider every strike.
Deflect or sidestep? Choose wrong, and his arms would snap. He didn't need his sister's bullshit powers; Welf tempered himself in combat.
Sparring with him was much better than running around the farmlands.
It has been two weeks, and his feet were full of blisters.
"You're wide open," the blacksmith warned, swinging.
"What'chu gonna do about it?" Konrad danced around, stabbing low. Welf stopped him in the last moment. Aim high, and he got pushed back again.
"Ballsy from someone we rescued twice," the redhead laughed.
He didn't break a sweat while the boy struggled to keep up.
"That was my," he paused to breathe, "first time seeing dungeon spawns."
His attack missed, and Welf's greatsword came too close.
He got faster? How long could he evade?
"We're yet to find the entrance to that," the blacksmith's tone remained casual. Even mid-strike, he talked like they were sipping tea at a table. His sword spun like a tornado.
"Sorry... About," Konrad felt sluggish. But he had an ace. "That!"
His stab went off course, letting Welf exploit it.
The greatsword came straight down; even a glancing hit would've been too dangerous.
Yet the reforged blade was still there, shimmering in its path, and—
The heavy swing passed through the image he created in a split second.
Konrad's real weapon grazed the blacksmith's throat, and he froze.
"Nice," he surrendered, "didn't even notice it. You okay, though?"
Nope. It was a pyrrhic victory, Konrad's legs buckling.
His body could keep going, but the dizziness still got to him. He was halfway through the captain's deadline, and he was stuck.
"He's running on fumes," Lily noted, walking up to them.
"He'd do better as a sword for hire than a wizard." Zoltan was less enthusiastic, clearing his throat. "One spell's enough to burn through his reserves, no matter what."
And this was only light magic, the 'cheapest' someone could use.
"He's fast, though," Welf steadied the stumbling boy. "You can't pull a trick this smooth."
The illusionist crossed his arms.
"I'm a wizard, not a thug," he scoffed. "If I had to grab a sword and use such underhanded tactics to survive, I'd rather die."
"You make a living by scamming," Konrad noted, recovering fast.
That earned him a glare. If Zoltan was any good with the other elements, he might've struck him with lightning or a fireball. For now, all he'd do was make excuses.
"I'm not doing it for myself, but for the people of Eytjangard."
"Now, meow, play nice, children," Lily stepped up.
She wore her more modest outfit, and Konrad couldn't decide if he loved or hated it.
Her smooth skin was always a treat to see, but also distracting. He'd be stuck counting her freckles and adjusting his pants. He'd have no way to win a duel, doing that.
"It's odd, though," she noted, her eyes glowing while looking at the boy. "Why do you still have so little mana? You weren't slacking, right, Konny boy?"
"No," Zoltan rubbed his forehead, "he's a persistent prick, I've got to say."
It had to be the biggest praise he had heard so far.
"Then why?" Lily pondered, turning her discerning eyes on the others.
That sparked Konrad's jealousy, something he still had no control over.
Why did he feel that pull towards her? Other than the fact that she was gorgeous, of course. He remembered nothing about his love life from before, but this was somehow familiar.
"You have like a barrel's worth of mana," she pointed at the illusionist. "And Welf has about a pint, though he's clueless—"
"Hey, don't I put runes on my swords?" The blacksmith scoffed. "You said they work fine."
"Yeah, hammering a rune isn't exactly magic, big boy." She shot a glance at her brother, turning back to Konrad. "You can't activate it. But he uses spells every day, and still no improvement."
Konrad felt it, too. He got enough practice in that he got the hang of his mana reserves.
But they were nonexistent.
Why? Was this what Lu meant by not being too easy?
The one advantage it gave him was the quick recovery rate. His body soaked up mana like a sponge, but a tiny one at that. It was like trying to fight thirst with a shot glass.
"What if we had him eat a crystal?" Welf offered.
And he told him how a shaman's head exploded.
"No," the girl shook her head. "Even in the best case scenario, it'd overflow."
Yeah, and Konrad didn't want to know what the worst-case scenario was.
"I'm not saying he has no talent," Zoltan added, scratching his temple. "He can cast his spells faster than I do, and he's only been doing it for two weeks. But why bother if he taps right out?"
Why indeed. It was like someone gave him a handicap.
His control was way beyond his level, but his mana was a serious bottleneck he couldn't overcome. One or two light illusion spells, and he needed to rest.
What would've happened if he tried other elements?
"Hmm, it feels like someone's messing with you on purpose," Lily noted, tapping a finger to her blood-red lips. "And I have a hunch who that is. What a sore loser."
Whatever she was on about, Konrad had a suspicion, too, but how would she know about Lu?
"Oh well, I'll give that stuck-up goodie-two-shoes a visit," she chirped anyway. Whatever she meant. The description didn't fit his guardian at all. But then who? "You know what to do, Welf."
And with that, her eyes rolled back into her head, and the girl collapsed.
It was so abrupt that even the boy had no chance to catch her.
"Great, she did it again," Welf grumbled, picking her up without any urgency. "And I wanted to clear that minor dungeon with her."
"W-what?" The boy grabbed her wrist to check for a pulse. "Did this happen before?"
Her heart was beating, her breathing steady. And yet, she turned into a ragdoll from one moment to the next. Her brother sighed, carrying her in his arms.
"Less often these days," he rasped.
"Is she all right, though?" Zoltan was wringing his hands, too.
"She's fine," the blacksmith confirmed. "I don't know what this is, but she said she visits the higher planes at times like these." The way he rolled his eyes, it was clear he didn't buy it.
The higher planes? Did that have something to do with angels?!