As Weak as a What?

I saw no reason to sit around after Urda's explanation, so I left shortly after asking the undead alchemist a few more questions; but only after he thrust a basic alchemy set and a copy of the recipe into my arms.

With self-affirmations to attend the same class tomorrow, I returned to the guest floor to retreat to my 'room' for a meal and to find some way to pass the time.

The entryway leading into my room was more like a gate on the terrace to the right of the entrance to the 74th floor. Entering that gate brought me through a walkway that wound through a garden lawn of flowers and vegetables in various stages of growth. All overlooked by a veritable mansion that sat within its own walled-off lot.

Inside was a space big enough for a well-sized family. A great foyer led to an expansive great room and connected kitchen doused in wood floors and stone furnishings. The upper floors held the bedrooms and offices for the tenants while the lower floor was advertised as an 'entertainment space' that I had no particular interest in at the moment. Whatever forms of entertainment there was in this world was a far cry from what I was used to, I presumed.

Besides, magic was far more entertaining.

So I quickly made and devoured a quick meal before splitting my time between writing and practicing something I'd hardly been touching as of late: mana manipulation.

For hours, I took hold of the energy with my mind and willed the gaseous liquid around in circles before me. Passing it through the brush and trees in my backyard, causing them to sway and smoke as if they'd been struck in a violent lightning storm. Like my Umbral Hand, I also practiced grabbing various things around the house with mana and using it as a sort of telepathy. Something that I still found considerably difficult in direct sunlight.

From my experimentation, I learned that mana was unsurprisingly volatile. I found it far too easy to apply too much pressure on the 'skin' of dense mana and wound up breaking dozens of pens, cups, plates, and other common household items.

My solitary training session ended alongside the bell. At which time, classes had ended for the day and my vassals had emerged onto the guest floor shortly thereafter.

Each of them paused at the door after seeing me throwing mana about the place with wild abandon, sweat beading off my face as I stared at their faces filled with both reluctance and hope.

So much so that I almost felt happy as I guided them to sit at the dining table to give them the good news.

"I amended the training schedule for our stay at the Tower," I explained. "Each of us has studies that we need to devote ourselves to while we're here. So from now on, training will be done on our own time; individually. We're to focus on three things. First is body conditioning; or in other words, strength and endurance training. The second is to continue developing new spells and gaining proficiency in known ones. And the third is flight training."

"Flight training?" Jaimess leaned his wrinkled brows closer.

"I'm sure it doesn't need explaining, but we need to learn how to fly. And in more ways than one." I declared, pulling out a few tomes and distributing them to each of them. "Here are my ideas for flying with elemental manipulation. Feel free to expand upon them or come up with your own ideas for both manipulation and your magical affinities."

"Understood." Toril excitedly nodded as he flipped through the first few pages.

"On top of that." I continued. "I'm toying with the idea of training the students while we were here. We'll need troops for the guild, and training some of them here would drastically save on training time."

"That is true." Jaimess nodded, stroking his chin. "I assume you want us to teach them your elemental theories and fusion?"

"Exactly." I nodded. "In truth, I only told them to train because they're loyal to my Grandfather; by extension to me. But I realized that if they're trained now, they can, at the very least, be used as training instructors later down the line. They too have their studies, however, so I figure it'd be best to hold the sessions on the weekend. Or you can have the students decide themselves." I shrugged. "Your choice, Toril. I entrust this task to you."

"Understood." Toril quickly bowed.

I could only smile at the change in attitude my vassals were now showing me. A long slow process it was, I could finally relish in not being called such obnoxious titles by those closest to me; while in our own company, at least.

Though I dared not call it out, lest they relapsed.

"I've been curious." I continued after a short moment. "I mean, I understand Toril's case, but why are you so infamous here, Jaimess."

"I have an unlikeable face, I suppose." He meekly shrugged.

"True." I nodded with a contemplative frown. Causing a mocking laugh from Toril and a shocked outburst from Jaimess. "You seem… unapproachable. Somewhat intimidating to some, but that can be a good thing." Jaimess only squinted at me with eyes flooded with both confusion and despair that only compounded once I dismissed the matter entirely. "Anyway, how were your classes?"

"Reasonably well." Toril sighed. "I spent most of the day fighting the undead. Though the wooden axe you made for me broke. And I was since given a training weapon."

"My classes are… interesting." Jonet vaguely stated and said nothing thereafter.

"My first day went well." Jaimess eventually came back to his normal self with a heavy sigh. "Though I had a similar experience to Toril."

"Good." I nodded. "In recognition of my goals, my father and great-grandfather decided that we're to receive extensive training while we're here. He seemed all too eager to train me and allow me to add to your schedules. So, I assume now is the best time to ask for proper weapons."

After all, every royal needed their own fancy arms.

Our small talk continued while the rest of them ate until we eventually parted ways for the evening. I for one, migrated to my room to lounge our laze about until sundown. When I excitedly took on my Wraith Form and ascended through the floor to my Grandfather's office.

"Are you ready?" His voice echoed out to me as soon as I entered the space. I resumed my physical form as I approached him, silently nodding. And he in turn beckoned me to stand beside him on the balcony behind his desk where we looked down on the vast, western coast.

Due to its structure, the Mortal Plane allowed for unbridled views of literally planetary distances from the right elevation; I was certain. From here, the expanse of colossal blackwood trees appeared to be nothing more than a thicket of shrubs growing alongside a steep coast. Beyond which were churning, semi-frozen waters and the blue seas beyond them. Reflecting the only bit of blue-green light that appeared in the grayed-out night.

After a few moments of silent awe, I felt a hammer land on my back. Bowing my chest forward with enough force to vacate the air from my lungs and topple me over the rails.

Clenching my teeth, I immediately flooded my body with shadow mana and took on the Wraith Form, then floated back up to the balcony with an all-too-visible scowl.

Ignoring me, he took on the same form and sped past me, calling over his shoulder for me to follow him on a descent towards the lake.

In that moment, I flew faster than I ever have before; in this life, the senses of vertigo, adrenaline, and unbridled freedom were things that I'd been unknowingly longing to experience again. Thus I was unsurprised when I found myself disappointed after settling my real form on the shores of Corvus Lake.

Disappointment or not, however, Grandpa Lich began without pause or delay. "I'm sure you have many questions, Amun. Most of them shall be answered during our class time. But for now, comes combat training." He paused as his shadow darkened and spread alongside him. From it, emerged a few creatures that I'd only read about in books and stories; and a human, of course, all made of the same solid, shadowy, necromantic energy as the spider that carried us across Deap Ridge.

"We're to start with a strength test. One quite simple in nature." Grandpa gestured to the line of creatures beside him. "You are to try and knock each undead on its ass. Starting with the human. Followed by the dwarf; lighter, yet just as strong as an athletic human. The hobgoblin comes next." He pointed to a grotesque, bipedal creature just as tall as the human down the line from itself. Albeit hunched forward with a rat-like head on its shoulders with long arms, and comically large hands and feet.

"Hobgoblins are commonly said to have the strength of a weak adult or a strong teenager." He continued by pointing to a dwarf-sized, hunchbacked human. "They are followed in strength by the gnome, comparable to an athletic teenager. And finally, the goblin. With its slightly above child-like strength.

As you may have noticed." He continued. "We both are Shadow Necromancers. That is to say, our necromantic energy uses the darkness as a conduit to enter the physical world. As such, those we personally kill and resurrect resemble our doppelgangers, yet they retain their constitution and abilities after death. Now." He stepped aside to make space for the human undead. "Strike them down."

I settled into my stance before the human with a deep breath. It was a man in his thirties or so, donned in light armor and idly standing with his hands on his knees to bring his gentle smile to face level.

I allowed the full weight of my feelings to come forth and spur my foot into the ground, prompting the changes in motion and exchanges of energy in my body that resulted in my fist reaching out towards the undead man's chin.

The resulting impact was much the same as striking any other chin. Though, I surely felt more of the force that was exchanged. As his head or facial expression didn't' even budge or change from the strike.

Moving on, I repeated the process with the hobgoblin; whose face rocked to the side a bit but was otherwise unaffected by my assault. Neither was the gnome, who'd been forced a single step back after I put my all into a punch once again. So naturally, I was more than frustrated when the last undead standing before me was the goblin; a rat-like creature much like its evolved variant, albeit just shorter than myself.

"As I figured." My grandfather grunted as the goblin was sprawled over the snow. "You're as weak as a goblin. Though that's to be expected. Certainly, nothing to be ashamed of." He quickly reassured me with bared palms. "All elves are physically weaker than humans. In exchange, they are magically gifted beyond comparison. Furthermore." He grinned. "You are the sole elf who has a way to grow stronger over time."

'How do you know that?' I internally chuckled before asking. "How so?"

"With Death Magic." He grimly smiled. "The method is to steal the life force of another and take it for yourself."

"Like a… Leech Hand." I nodded in understanding.

"Aye." He grinned. "And a fitting name. A bit misleading, though. But I digress." He shrugged. "The next step of your Leech Hand is False Life."

"False Life," I repeated as the gears in my mind began to churn. "I imagine this… False Life can be used in two ways." I pondered aloud. "I can drain vitality and use it to heal myself, or I can drain stamina or strength and use it to empower myself. But, is that energy added permanently to my body, or is it stockpiled within?" I wondered aloud just as much as I asked my Grandfather.

And much to my delight, he answered.

"That is up to you." He grunted. "Though, I will tell you that it has risks. Think of your body like a barrel of fermenting ale. Too much yeast; or false life, produces too much gas; or energy. Causing the barrel that is your body to burst at the seams."

'That's a horrible analogy.' I internally scoffed.

"Your training will consist of strengthening your body until you can permanently hold enough strength to defeat a hobgoblin or preferably, a human. To do that, your body must grow accustomed to pain and suffering. It must be broken, heal, and be broken again so that your bones and musculature can naturally strengthen over time. You must teeter on deaths precipice, Amun. For that, is how our sorcery blossoms."

"I'm ready." I nodded resolutely.

"We shall see." He grunted out a chuckle before recalling his undead and stepping before me. "Now, draw your weapon and inflict a killing blow onto me. And don't hold back." He added with another laugh. "You couldn't kill me if you tried."

I couldn't let such words go unchallenged, and so I pulled mana from my well and allowed it to flow through the entirety of my affinity core, then guided the resulting mass of void energy in my hand and rose a single brow towards my grandfather. "Is that a challenge?"

"Ahhh." His grin faded in an instant as his head hung. "I retract said statement."

I couldn't help but grin as I canceled the spell and relaxed my posture.

"Now then." Grandpa cleared his throat. "Attack me. With your weapons." He pointed. "And don't hold back."

I only nodded as I reached toward a nearby tree and pulled my wooden spear out of my Shadow Pocket.

And my Grandpa immediately broke into a peal of mocking laughter. "What the hell is that!" He pointed.

"It's not as if I could go out and buy my own!" I immediately spat back. "I even asked my Father, who claimed weapon smiths were frothing at the mouths to give me their creations, but I have yet to see any." I scoffed. Then looked intently into my grandfather's eyes. "My vassals and I need real weapons sooner rather than later, Grandpa. We need time- we need years to get used to fighting with the real thing. Besides." I shrugged, looked away a bit as I muttered. "I'm sure I read that royalty was supposed to have nice weapons."

"Oh, did you now?" Grandpa Lich burst out in laughter. "With intelligence comes both hubris and presumptuousness. You, Amun, are unmatched in all three! Wahahahaha!

"But you make fine points, as always." He sighed himself down to a calmer demeanor. Then reached into a shadow cast by a nearby tree and tossed me a pair of unremarkable daggers. "Now, quit stalling and kill me. If you can."

After gripping each dagger in hand, I lunged forth and he immediately swung a hook towards my left side faster than I thought possible. I scrambled at the last second, bringing the blade in my right hand in between my ribs and his oncoming fist. I soon after felt the wet resistance of flesh being sliced under my hand, but nonetheless felt an eruption of pain bloom over my left side just before the world turned.

And turned and turned, further blurring the grayed-out, snowy environment around me until I realized I came to a rest.

Seeing the towering, menacing form of my grandfather on approach, I tried to best to crawl to my feet; only to feel and hear a symphony of cracks, creaks, and phlegmy coughs ring throughout my body.

Grandpa Lich waltzed within striking range as I was still struggling to an upright position. And without a sound or grimace, he withdrew the bloodless blade from his knuckles and threw it in the snow before me. Leaving a wedge-shaped hole between his center knuckles that leaked not a trace of blood leaking from his wound. Only necromantic energy flowed from his fist like the smoke of ashen shadows. Pouring into the air like vaporized blood.

With the pain pushed away to the back of my mind, I managed to reach for the knife at my feet and use all my strength to bring the point of the blade up towards his chin.

Grandpa Lich simply stood in place as if he didn't see the incoming attack and consequently shuddered in place as the hilt of the dagger came to a rest on the underside of his jaw.

Even with a blade sticking through his skull, Grandpa Lich's face curled in a foul, sadistic grin.

"Good." He cackled as he pulled the blade from his face and handed it to me. "Now that I know you have the will kill me, we can begin. But first." He took my hand with his free arm and made me palm his comparatively massive face. "Heal yourself."

Struggling to nod, I pulled a handful of mana from my well and guided it through my core to be attributed to death magic, then guided the sinister energy to my hand, resting against my grandfather's head.

Like the floodgates were opened, energy began pouring back into my hand and I immediately began willing it to heal me. I imaged the energy spreading through my body, towards the countless fractures and bruises within to be mended to their prime state. And the resulting process was excruciating.

It was like time had been turned backward and I'd been forced to experience the beating I was just given in reverse. Bones twisted and pivoted back into place within seconds, producing stomach-turning cracks that echoed across the lake's surface until my body was left a spasming, but healthy mess; sprawled out across the snow.

Then, Grandpa Lich swung.

And I scrambled. Tried to kick off the snow or at least block the incoming hammer fist.

Again, my Grandfather punched through my blade and compressed my stomach over my spine. Causing a concoction of blood and body fluids to spew from my mouth like dragons' breath as my body contoured around his arm.

Fighting against the pain, I swung my free hand out at his face, scarring and slashing his cheeks until he retracted his arm and swept the back of his hand across my face.

Within a second, the stinging of my nose, the tears welling in my eyes, and the taste of iron spreading through my lips all disappeared as my consciousness seemed to slip from my body. As if I were watching a movie while half-asleep, I watched at a mental distance as the snow fell around me and my Grandfather's fist repeatedly pulled away and fell towards my already bruised and broken face. Each time, my consciousness slipped further and further away from my body until the distant rain seemed to stop.

At which time, I once again felt my hand be pulled to a lumpy, leathery surface of skin and I struggled to activate the Leech Hand.

Then, I endured the painful process of on-the-spot healing.

I fought back as best I could throughout the following rounds, but each time my Grandfather's mammoth-sized fists made contact with my body, I found it instantly impossible; if not improbable to move to attack or defend myself in time. With the passing of the hour, I managed to stab and cut him all over. His hands and arms were heavily scarred, gaping holes were present in his armpits and his ribs and stomach were covered in pits and marks. between his ribs and in the stomach. Yet each time he was injured, he shrugged it off and caved in a few more of my bones with no remorse. Sending my frail body flying across the snow each and every time.

Sometimes I'd wind up 'killing' him. Most times I wouldn't. Each time, however, he'd simply grin or laugh or give some other credit to my performance before taking hold of my hand and ordering me to heal myself.

Then he'd reengage with added effort.

It only took a few rounds after that for it to turn into a one-sided beating. For my body to start caving around the large, heavy hands attached to my grandfather's wildly swinging arms.

He didn't explain himself after the initial briefing, and I didn't complain. I knew, deep down that his words were true. That I had to get this privileged body used to pain and hardship as much as possible. For if Telin was true to his word, and if the monsters on the other side were truly as formidable as the books made them seem, there was a lot of pain and hardship in store for me, I was sure.

And so we fought. I'd heal and we'd fight some more. Over and over again, until midnight passed on Corvus Tower.

"That was the last round for the night." He smirked after I'd healed myself once again. "Now, we begin your training in Lesser Necromancy."

"Lesser… Necromancy?" I slowly repeated.

"Aye." He nodded with the same smirk as before. "Now open your Shadow Pocket and allow me inside."