Chapter 28 - Unfamiliar weight (18 Jan 25)

Harold volunteered for the hauling crew because no one would argue with him.Also, because if he was going to break something, it might as well be his pride.The trees near the treeline were monsters. Not quite redwoods, but close enough to make the comparison uncomfortable. Thick trunks with dense grain. When they came down, they didn't fall so much as settle into the earth as they belonged there. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and fresh resin, a sharp note that seemed to linger in the nose, making the sheer size of these trees feel even more imposing.The station was set up a short distance back. Bark-stripping frames. Not enough wedges. Crude levers. Some crude stone hammers. The kind of setup that worked only because enough people were willing to suffer through it, and they did. Part of his work every day was to make a hefty dose of a regenerative potion to heal people at this workplace. Yet, the evidence of yesterday's efforts were stark—fresh bandages on exhausted workers and dwindling stacks of potion ingredients, a chilling reminder of the human toll and the urgent race against resource shortages.Harold stood in front of one of the felled trunks, staring at it.Right, he thought. No point pretending.He surged mana before he even bent down.Not a trickle. A real push.The mana answered easily. That wasn't the problem. He had more of it now than he'd ever had before, from personal perks and the settlement ones, and he already had some very high-tier ones. They stacked quietly, feeding him a deep reservoir that responded the moment he reached for it. However, like any reservoir, it had limits—an unseen gauge within him that, once depleted, required time and rest to replenish. The danger wasn't in running out of mana completely, but in overextending himself beyond what his body could handle.The problem was control; even with that perk, it was difficult. He lifted the log, and the mana wanted to move. He needed to still it and sink it.The log came up grudgingly, muscles screaming under the load. He held it there, mana reinforcing his frame, and immediately felt it start to slip. The mana didn't want to listen to him, it wasn't something you could command without a will of iron.The mana wanted to move. It always wanted to move.Potion work had trained him to let it. To guide it through motion. To heat and circulate. Even when reinforcing an ingredient, the flow never stopped. Smooth, even, and constant.This was different.Soldiers didn't circulate mana. They sank it. They drove it into muscle and bone and held it there through will. Just stubborn pressure. It was more an exercise in will than it was in control. There was no elegance in it.Harold took a step and nearly dropped the log as the mana surged out of place."Easy," one of his escorts said, already close.Hale's idea. Two bodyguards. Even inside the settlement. They were both better at this than he was. It was endlessly infuriating."I am being easy," Harold said through clenched teeth. "The mana is not cooperating."The second guard snorted. "You're letting it slosh. Don't let it.""That's not a technical term.""It is if it gets the point across," he said pointedly.Harold stopped, let the mana drain out, and carefully let the log slam down before he crushed his foot. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind as it hit the ground with a thud. In that brief moment, a sense of vulnerability crept in, a whisper of unease about revealing weakness in front of the others. The thought of letting others see him falter gnawed at him for just a second.He straightened slowly, rubbing his shoulder. "This is very different than making potions."The first guard raised an eyebrow at the other. "I thought these Lords types were infallible.""We are," Harold gritted out. "Keep it up, and I'll make sure you have the worst watch tonight.""Well," the guard said, "I'll still be better than you at mana reinforcement."Harold sighed and bent again. "You suck."This time, he surged the mana, then immediately tried to narrow it. His body couldn't handle how much mana he could put into it yet. He pictured it settling into his legs first and anchoring him, then his back. Then he lifted.The log lifted. Barely, but it stayed.The second guard said with a nod, "Better." Then, he leaned in closer and added, "When you lift, become the anchor.""That is deeply unhelpful," Harold muttered.He took a step. The mana wobbled. He corrected, teeth clenched, refusing to let it slide.Another step.By the time he reached the stripping station, his vision had narrowed, and sweat dripped down his back. His lungs burned with each breath, a fiery reminder of his body's limits. Trembling calves threatened to buckle under the strain, each step a battle against his own fatigue. The exhaustion was a physical weight, pressing down on him, reducing the world around him to blurred edges and the pounding rhythm of his heartbeat.He lowered the log into place and staggered back, breathing hard.His hands were shaking from exhaustion."That," he said, pointing at the log, "is profoundly irritating."The first guard smiled faintly. "You'll get it.""I better," Harold replied. "These trees aren't getting any smaller."He wiped his hands on his trousers and looked back toward the treeline.Last time, he never learned this school of mana control. There had been no point. The system hadn't allowed him to sink mana into his body the way soldiers could. Gravesend hadn't let him.This time was different.The most powerful Lords from the last cycle had eventually taken the field themselves. Not as symbols. As weapons. They turned battles that should have been losses into narrow victories. Lords were the only real counter to other Lords, and most of the non-human ones learned this far earlier than humanity ever did.That gap had mattered.How do you kill someone who can move like the wind and cut through anything? Then do it again and again and again.Harold turned back to the next log and tried to center himself. Mana work had always calmed him. It was one of the few things he'd taken real pride in. That it wasn't coming naturally now irritated him more than the weight ever could.He reached for the mana again—A hand pressed flat against his chest."Stop," the bodyguard said.Harold blinked. "What?"The man didn't move his hand. His voice stayed even."Why do you fight?" he asked. "What motivates you. What makes you get up and keep going?"Harold stared at him, caught completely off guard. A flicker of panic crept in. "What kind of question is that?" he said. "Why are you asking me this now?"The soldier stepped back.Then, in one smooth motion, he turned, drew his sword, and struck. The sword shone and sang as it cut through the air with a whistle Harold hadn't heard before. A sharp crack resonated through the clearing as the blade bit into the log, sending a shiver up Harold's spine. The scent of fresh-split sap filled the air, and the vibration of the strike seemed to echo in Harold's ribs, amplifying the power and precision of the cut.Steel flashed. The blade cut cleanly through the log Harold had been struggling with, splitting it with a crack that echoed through the clearing. The top half slid free and hit the ground with a heavy thud.The soldier stood there a moment, breathing hard, sword lowered."I fight to protect my family," he said. "They're why I'm still standing. They're having a rough time here. No comforts. No certainty. Back home, I was normal. Nothing special, here, I'm a bodyguard for a half-baked Lord still learning what everyone has to learn to even finish basic training."He glanced at Harold. "I don't control my mana well either. Not like you do with potions. But I can use it for a few strikes when it counts."He sheathed the blade."Our instructors drilled this into us," he continued. Mana answers will. Not calm. Not technique. Will. You let what drives you fill the space, and you take ownership of it."He tapped his chest once."It might feel like it has a mind of its own. But it's still yours."The soldier met Harold's eyes."So I'll ask again," he said. "What kind of man are you?"Silence stretched."Do you give up?" the soldier finished. "Or do you fight?"Harold looked down at the split log.Then he inhaled slowly and let the mana rise again.This time, he didn't try to quiet it.He let the rush fill his ears. Let the noise of it drown out everything else. He let it flow through his body and didn't stop it, didn't shape it, didn't guide it.For a moment, he was back in his chamber.Hanging from the ceiling.Manacles cut into his wrists, his blood dripping steadily onto the stone floor below. His body was a map of wounds, old and new, some still open, others swollen and purple. His face was ruined with scars and bruising, one eye nearly swollen shut. Breathing hurt. Seeing hurt. Existing hurt.Before him stood his tormenter.The man smiled as he always did and asked the same question, calm and almost bored. His tunic had blood dried onto it, and he knew it was his."Are you ready to go back to work?"The mana faltered.It felt his fear. His pain. The exhaustion that went deeper than bone. The helpless, screaming thought that kept repeating itself.Why won't it stop?I didn't do anything wrong.Please. Just let it stop.The cutter lifted a pair of pliers and waved them slowly in front of Harold's face, savoring the moment. He asked again."Are you ready to go back to work?"And Harold remembered.Not the pain.The choice he made at that moment.His will hardened.Steel, forged in years of madness, in survival measured one breath at a time. Compared to that, this moment was nothing. He smiled then, a broken thing, pain twisting his face into something almost joyful.The mana slammed into him.And this time, it stayed.He forced it deeper. Into the muscle. Into bone. Deeper still, into the cells he knew made up his body. He treated himself like an ingredient, the way he always had. Reinforce and stabilize, then..Enhance.He partitioned his mind with practiced ease, shunting the memories aside, locking the madness away behind walls he had built long ago. Another part of him took over, maintaining the flow as he would during a brew.Blood ran freely from his nose now. His eyes burned, bloodshot and unfocused.He bent. Lifted the log and moved.Each step was deliberate. Heavy. The world narrowed to weight and balance and keeping the mana still. He reached the station, rolled the log off his shoulder, and let it crash to the ground beside the others.The sound echoed.The soldiers nearby stared at him, stunned."My lord…" one of them said carefully. "Are you alright?"Harold released the mana.It retreated all at once. From muscle. From bone. From everywhere.The world tilted as the overload of mana took its toll. Blood spilled from his mouth, his nose burning under the strain of too much mana, the internal pressure building to an unbearable degree. He braced himself on his knees, recognizing that until he released the excess energy, the dizziness would continue. Slowly, using steady breaths, he fought to regain control and ease the spinning sensation.Slowly, he straightened.Harold took a moment, his eyes lingering on the log he had just moved. With a resolute gesture, he wiped the blood from his nose onto the surface of the log, marking it as a testament to his struggle and triumph. "I know what kind of man I am," Harold said quietly. He looked at the soldier who had stopped him earlier."Thank you, but you're on night watch and my bodyguard forever now."