Scias poked at the remains of his breakfast, too distracted to eat properly.
All he could think of was yesterday's fight, even pushing aside his usual morning routine.
He'd normally be stretching his muscles now, going through one martial arts stance after another. But today was different. Today his body remained still while his mind raced.
'That cat manipulated wind somehow,' he thought, closing his eyes to better visualize the scene.
'And the bear raised earth without touching it, even conjuring it from thin air.'
He abandoned his half-eaten meal and went outside of his cave.
With deliberate movements, he mimicked the feline's gestures, sweeping his arm in an arc as it did before unleashing that devastating wind attack.
Nothing happened, of course.
His arm cut through empty air, generating nothing more powerful than a slight breeze.
"Of course it's not that easy," he muttered, frustration edging his voice.
Scias sat cross-legged on grass, forcing his breath to slow.
He needed to think clearly. His father's stories—they were always presented as entertainment, but now he wondered if they contained essential truths.
He closed his eyes, going back to his childhood in his mind, to a time when his family still lived.
He didn't like to think about that time. But this time it was different.
Fragments surfaced first: talk of ancient powers, beings who commanded elements, wars fought with forces beyond normal understanding. Nothing concrete, nothing useful.
"Think," he commanded himself, pressing his palms against his temples.
Then it came to him.
A tale his father often repeated. The one about mages who could bend reality to their will.
His father's voice echoed in his memory, "Magic comes from mana, my son. As blood flows through our bodies, mana flows through all things. Including our bodies, invisible to our eyes. Those who learn to feel it, to sense it and to channel it—they become the shapers of worlds."
Mana.
The word resonated through his consciousness. That must be what he saw—creatures channeling mana into physical manifestations of power.
Scias's eyes snapped open, a sudden jolt of understanding struck him.
"That's it," he whispered, a smile spreading across his face. "They were using mana."
His forgotten childhood dream suddenly seemed within reach.
If beasts could manipulate mana, why not humans? Why not him? For the first time in a very long time, he felt like he had something to look forward to. He felt joy and anticipation.
Scias approached his new journey to manipulate mana with the same methodical discipline that had made him a formidable military commander.
Each morning after breakfast, he settled himself on a flat stone outside his cave and closed his eyes. He started with what seemed logical—trying to sense mana within himself.
Hours passed as he sat motionless, searching for some hidden current beneath his skin.
The sun climbed high, then descended. Birds were flying overhead, chirping. Insects buzzed past his ears. A light rain fell, soaking his clothes.
Yet he felt nothing unusual, nothing magical. Just his own breathing, the beat of his heart, and growing frustration.
"Perhaps it's easier to sense mana around me," he muttered on the third day, shifting his approach.
Scias pressed his palms against ground, then against tree bark, then into flowing water.
He held stones in his cupped hands until they warmed from his body heat.
He passed his fingers through flames from his cooking fire, careful not to burn himself.
Nothing he did revealed the presence of mana.
At night, he stared up at the two moons, wondering if perhaps mana flowed only in certain places or at certain times.
Did he stumble upon the beasts during some rare convergence of power? Was there a seasonal aspect to magic? Without guidance, he was stumbling blind.
Seven days in, Scias's food reserves dwindled to nothing.
His stomach growled as he sat in meditation, disrupting his concentration.
"Time to take a break," he grumbled, and went to get his bow.
Hunting at least provided visible results.
Within hours he shot rabbit and gathered wild berries.
As he prepared his meal, he found himself oddly relieved to be doing something productive rather than chasing invisible energies.
That night, he stared into his small fire with full belly.
"Perhaps I'm overthinking this," he said to the flames.
"Maybe it's simpler than I'm making it."
The next morning, Scias returned to his regular exercise routine—the martial arts stances and moves that were second nature to him.
His body moved with fluid grace, muscle memory taking over his concious mind.
Days passed.
His attempts at sensing mana continued at lower intensity, but nothing changed.
His growing frustration felt like pressure building beneath the surface.
On the twelfth day, that pressure found release in an unexpected way.
Scias wandered downstream to bathe. Stripping off his crude garments, he stepped into the cold water.
As he ducked beneath the surface, something slippery brushed against his leg.
He erupted from the water with a startled yelp, splashing wildly—only to see a harmless water plant floating past.
"Commander of armies, frightened by seaweed," he said with a self-deprecating snort.
"If my soldiers could see me now."
The absurdity struck him and unexpected laughter came from his mouth.
Here he was, a once-powerful commander, naked in a creek, jumping at plants while trying to command magical forces he didn't understand.
His laughter echoed through the trees, startling nearby birds into flight.
For the first time since his reincarnation, Scias felt the tension truly leave his body.
Perhaps it was this release that allowed him to approach his training differently the following day.
He returned to his martial arts training with renewed spirit, no longer fixating on mana.
Instead, he simply enjoyed the familiar movements, the stretch of muscles, the flow of each stance into the next.
He practiced near a large oak tree, using it as a focal point for his imaginary opponents.
Three more days passed this way. On the fourth morning, as sweat beaded on his brow, Scias found himself fully immersed in a complex series of strikes.
His mind cleared of conscious thought as he visualized an opponent before him—not some abstract practice dummy, but a real adversary with weight and substance.
He saw in his mind's eye a clean strike landing against the tree trunk, while also keeping his focus on his body.
His palm shot forward with purpose, and something shifted within him—a strange current that flowed inside his body down his arm and out through his extended hand.
A sudden whoosh of air accompanied his strike.
The tree shuddered, and a shallow dent appeared in its trunk, bark caving inward as if struck by an actual physical force.
His palm never touched the tree.
Scias froze mid-stance, eyes widening.
He stared at his palm, then at the damaged tree bark, then back at his hand. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged. The silence stretched for several heartbeats.
Then, like a dam breaking, laughter erupted from him, a deep, genuine laughter filled with astonished joy.
He doubled over, hands on his knees, his whole body shaking with laughter and excitement.
"I did it!" he finally managed to gasp between bouts of laughter. "All this time meditating and concentrating, and it happens just like this!"
He straightened, wiping tears of joy from his eyes, and approached the tree to examine the damage.
The dent was small but it was there—evidence that he projected force without physical contact.
"So that's how you use mana," he whispered, running his fingers over the damaged bark. "Not something you chase, but something you channel while visualizing the effect."
Scias took a step back, his expression shifting from amazement to determination.
He looked at his hand with newfound respect, understanding now that the power flowed through him naturally when his mind and body worked in harmony.
"It's like breathing," he realized. "Try too hard to control it, and you only disrupt the natural rhythm."
This realization changed everything.
Scias wasn't just surviving anymore—he was discovering new potential, new purpose.
And for the first time since awakening in this world, he felt truly alive.
Scias didn't stop there.
Excitement coursed through his veins as he shifted back into his stance, eyes fixed on the dented oak.
'Again,' he commanded himself, drawing a deep breath.
He pushed forward with his palm, visualizing an invisible force extending from his hand.
Nothing happened.
He frowned, adjusted his stance, and tried once more.
Still nothing.
"What changed?" he muttered, flexing his fingers.
He closed his eyes, recalling the sensation—that peculiar current running through him like a river finding a new channel.
On his fifth attempt, he managed to recreate the feeling, sending another invisible pulse that carved a fresh dent in the bark.
Hours passed as Scias practiced relentlessly.
Each success fueled his determination, each failure sharpened his focus.
By midday, he managed to consistently produce the effect more than half the time, though the force varied wildly in strength.
"I'm actually using magic, a real magic," he whispered, staring at his palm with wonder.
Sweat dripped down his temples, but he pushed onward.
The sun began its descent when the first wave of dizziness struck him.
He staggered, blinking rapidly as the ground seemed to tilt around him.
His vision blurred at the edges, darkening like a closing tunnel.
"Just... one… more..." he gasped, raising his hand.
The world spun violently, then went black.
When his consciousness returned, it was already night.
Scias found himself laying outside in the grass. He groaned, a splitting headache pounding behind his eyes like war drums.
"Foolish," he croaked, pressing his palms against his temples. "I overdid it."
Every heartbeat sent fresh waves of pain through his skull.
Through squinted eyes, he located his waterskin and crawled toward it, each movement causing agony.
He drank deeply, then bit into some dried meat, his body demanding sustenance.
'Military training had limits for a reason,' he thought, chewing slowly. 'Magic must be the same. Exceed your limit and pay the price.'
He lay back down with arm over his eyes to block the moonlight.
Despite the pain, he felt satisfaction from the success.
Today was the day when his almost forgotten dream began to come true.
'Tomorrow,' he promised himself as exhaustion pulled him back toward unconsciousness. 'Tomorrow I start with proper discipline.'
Sleep claimed him, his dreams filled with flowing currents of invisible power and limitless potential.