Chapter Five: The Green Forest

Ragna stood at the edge of the Combat Drill building, his gaze drifting lazily over the training grounds. The air was thick with the sound of clashing weapons and grunts of exertion, but the spectacle before him felt like nothing more than a dull hum in the background of his thoughts. A spar between two seasoned warriors was underway, their swords flashing through the air with precision and skill, yet Ragna's attention wavered. His tired eyes barely registered the fluid movements of the combatants; a dull ache pulsed in his skull as he struggled to stay awake. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the scene, filtering through the open windows and casting long, creeping shadows across the floor. The sunlight only added to Ragna's weariness, its warmth like a lullaby, coaxing him deeper into a haze of disinterest. His body, a vessel far younger than the warrior he once was, felt stiff. The movement drills he'd spent the day on felt repetitive, lacking the spark of challenge he'd once thrived on. Every muscle, every bone, every instinct still remembered the battle skills of his past life—the strategies, the reflexes, the timing. But they were distant memories, flickering like half-formed dreams. In this new form, his body wasn't yet ready to fully channel the power he once commanded.

His thoughts wandered back to the morning when he'd woken up with a slight sense of unease. His mother had been quiet—more distant than usual. She hadn't spoken much, just a brief, curt mention that she couldn't accompany him to practice today. Her duties as the Earl of Kattegat had called her away, pressing matters that required her attention. Ragna had no choice but to attend the training on his own, accompanied by Aksel, his stepfather. But Aksel had disappeared, as he often did, leaving Ragna to his own devices. A slight frown tugged at the corners of Ragna's mouth as he scanned the area for any sign of Aksel. He thought about extending his mental senses, probing the minds around him, searching for his stepfather's presence. But the idea felt wrong somehow—too intrusive. Aksel would find him when the time was right. Ragna pushed the thought aside and returned his focus to the sparring.

Just then, a sharp movement caught his attention. One of the warriors—a tall woman with broad shoulders—executed a fluid, near-perfect strike. In a single, fluid motion, she disarmed her opponent, sending the weapon flying through the air. The moment hung in the balance as the warrior caught the weapon mid-flight, her eyes cold and focused, before swinging it with deadly intent to point both blades at her opponent's throat. Ragna's mind snapped back to attention, the brief flicker of interest sharpening his senses. The quiet air was pierced by the sound of the warriors' training swords clashing, and a collective cheer erupted from the onlookers. The warrior had won—her triumph clear and undeniable. Ragna's colleagues clapped and shouted in approval, their voices filling the room with energy and excitement. For a moment, it almost felt like the old fire, the thrill of battle, but it passed too quickly.

Ragna's gaze lingered on the victor, his eyes narrowing slightly. The cheers of the others felt distant, like the echo of a world he no longer quite belonged to.

"Wasn't that amazing?" Torvi, the black-haired girl from yesterday, asked with a spark of enthusiasm in her eyes as she glanced at Ragna. Her voice was bright, filled with excitement, but Ragna simply nodded, not feeling the rush of adrenaline she seemed to. To him, the fight was just another display of skill—competence without substance. Beside him, Anders from last night shifted, his eyes still reflecting the awe of the duel. If anyone were to ask Ragna whether he had friends, he would have said no. But if Torvi and Anders were asked, they would undoubtedly answer that Ragna was their friend.

Despite that, Ragna couldn't help but distance himself from them. They were children, to him. Not just in age, but in spirit. His mind, and his soul—both older than theirs, worn down by the weight of time in ways they couldn't even begin to understand. His body, however, was that of a youth, as youthful as the others around him. But that discrepancy felt like a rift that separated him from them, leaving him stuck in a limbo between the worlds of children and adults. Norse society didn't recognize the concept of adolescence; if you were fifteen, you were an adult, with all the responsibilities and expectations that came with it.

Yet, despite his maturity, people still treated him like a child. Even his mother. She knew who he was—what he truly was—but still, she looked at him through the lens of a child. It was as if his vessel was the cage that held him back from being seen for who he really was. Ragna sighed inwardly. It wasn't just the kids who made him feel out of place; the adults did too. He struggled with socializing, whether it was the elders who treated him like a mere child or the children who couldn't understand the depth of his existence. He was trying, truly, but it was harder than anyone could imagine.

The door to the sparring room swung open with a loud creak, and Aksel entered, his presence filling the room with a sense of warmth that felt out of place among the steely warriors. He smiled at Ragna, his expression light and inviting, and waved at the children who were scattered around the drill mats, still buzzing from the previous fight. Aksel's demeanor was always a strange contrast to the raw violence they practiced. For someone so embedded in a world of warriors who reveled in the art of death, Aksel had the heart of a healer—too kind for his own good.

Aksel moved toward the younger warriors, patting them on the back with a gentle smile. "Boys and girls," he began, his voice calm but firm, "you've seen what an ordinary fight is like. Now, I want you to watch again." He nodded toward the two female warriors, who had stepped back into their positions. They nodded in turn, drawing their weapons with practiced ease and settling into their battle stances.

And then, it hit Ragna. That unmistakable, otherworldly presence, an energy so familiar, so potent, that it sent a shiver down his spine. The Essence. He could feel it awakening within the two warriors like a force of nature, an invisible tide rising, filling the air with raw, primal power. The speed of their movements was so swift that Ragna almost missed them. His eyes struggled to track the rapid shifts, and with a deep breath, he let his internal senses flare out, reaching into the ether to keep pace with their motions.

The two females danced around each other, their movements graceful, fluid—almost ethereal. But this time, Ragna wasn't simply observing the choreography of their fight; he was watching the interplay of Essence—the delicate balance of physical strength and magical energy. The brown-haired warrior, who had won the earlier duel, exuded a raw physicality that spoke of natural strength and endurance. Her strikes were powerful, her movements quick and forceful. But there was a flaw—a crack in the smoothness of her control. Her Essence was wild, untamed, leaking out with every strike and movement, too eager, too sloppy. It was the Essence of power, but not mastery.

The dark-haired warrior, on the other hand, was a study in precision. She wasn't as physically strong as her opponent, but where she lacked in brute strength, she made up for in flawless control of her Essence. Every movement was deliberate, each strike purposeful, conserving energy with surgical precision. She didn't waste a drop of Essence. It flowed with her, an extension of her very will, and in the end, it overwhelmed her opponent. The brown-haired warrior faltered, her control faltering as her opponent's precise strikes closed in on her.

Ragna's mind raced as he calculated the outcome before it even fully unfolded. He could already tell the dark-haired warrior would win, and sure enough, as the final clash came, it was the darker-haired woman who stood victorious. The children around Ragna murmured, some in awe, others in confusion. They'd been unable to keep up with the speed of the fight, their mortal eyes too slow to track the sheer power and grace unfolding before them.

Ragna, however, saw more than just the end of a fight. He saw the delicate art of balance—the dance between raw strength and controlled mastery. For all his detachment, a part of him couldn't help but admire the warrior's grace. Even though he was more than capable of winning a battle, it was a beauty he rarely saw in his own life, a beauty he had lost long ago.

The children's muttering filled the room, but it was the flicker in Ragna's eyes that said everything. He wasn't just watching; he was feeling it, deeply. The presence of Essence, the old spark of battle, was alive within him again.

"Alright, settle down! Settle down!" Aksel called, his booming voice cutting through the murmurs of the children. Slowly, the chatter died, and all eyes turned to him. Ragna leaned back slightly, arms crossed, observing the man with curiosity. Aksel's demeanor shifted as he raised a finger. A soft, white glow emanated from its tip, pulsing faintly like the rhythm of a heartbeat.

Ragna tensed. He didn't need his internal senses to recognize the energy radiating from Aksel—it was unmistakably Essence. The other children, however, only gawked, their untrained senses unable to perceive its depth.

"Leader Ingstad, what is that light?" Torvi asked, her wide eyes fixed on the glowing finger.

"That, little Torvi, is what we call Óðr in the Old Norse tongue. But in the common tongue, which we use in this modern age, we call it Essence," Aksel explained, lowering his hand and letting the light fade. His voice carried a practiced patience, the kind a teacher uses when introducing a concept he knows will astound his students.

Essence, Ragna mused. So, they can use it directly.

This was new. In his former world, Essence was never wielded directly—it was far too potent, far too raw. Instead, it had to be broken down into its most basic form: Mana. Only cultivators who had reached the pinnacle of the Immortal Stage could even dream of handling Essence in its pure state. For these Vikings to wield it so freely meant one of two things: either the laws of this world were different, or the Essence they used wasn't as pure as what he once knew.

Ragna's sharp eyes zeroed in on Aksel's glowing finger, analyzing the energy's flow. Yes… diluted. That was the key. The Essence here had been weakened, stripped of its destructive potential to a manageable state. But how? And why? His mind raced with questions, even as Aksel continued to address the group.

"But I thought Essence was gone from the world," Ragna blurted out, his tone sharper than he intended.

Aksel smiled at him, the kind of smile that seemed to say, You're asking the right questions. "Now that," Aksel said, "is the perfect follow-up question. And it's one we intend to answer today."

He paced slowly, letting the weight of his words settle on the group. "Normally, we'd wait a year before revealing the truth about Essence to you young warriors. But Earl Ingstad," he paused, looking directly at Ragna, "has decided it's time you learned early. And who am I to deny her wisdom?"

Ragna's lips twitched. Of course, this was his mother's doing. Yet, instead of singling him out, she had chosen to share this revelation with everyone. A small but appreciated gesture.

Aksel stopped pacing and faced the group. "World Essence is indeed gone. The gods saw fit to take it from us long ago. Without it, humanity would have been defenseless against the monstrosities lurking beyond our borders. But the gods are not cruel." He paused for effect, unbuttoning his shirt.

The children gasped as he revealed a black, leaf-shaped tattoo etched into his chest. The Rune shimmered faintly, as if alive, its lines intricate and ancient.

"What is that?" Anders whispered, awe evident in his voice.

"This," Aksel said, tapping the mark, "is what we call a Divine Blessing. It is the gift left to us by the gods—a bridge, if you will, between us and Essence. These Blessings allow us to wield Essence without relying on the World Essence."

Ragna's eyes narrowed as he studied the Rune. He knew immediately what it was. Not just a mark, but a Rune. A system of power, unlike anything he had seen in his previous life.

And then it hit him.

This world… it didn't cultivate using Mana. It didn't even cultivate directly with Essence. It used the power of words—symbols—imbued with divine authority. A system fundamentally different from the one he knew. Every universe in the Material Plane had its own unique path to power, shaped by the being who created it. And this world, it seemed, was built around Runes.

Ragna's mind spun with possibilities. The existence of Divine Blessings meant there was a mechanism—something, or someone—that had ensured humanity's survival after the loss of World Essence. But how had the gods managed to tether their creations to Essence without corrupting their bodies? And why had World Essence vanished in the first place?

"Does everyone have a Divine Blessing?" Torvi asked, breaking Ragna's train of thought.

"Not everyone," Aksel admitted. "Only those who dedicate their lives to the warrior's path are chosen to receive one. The gods grant them sparingly, to ensure they are not misused. But for those of us who carry these Blessings, they are both a gift and a responsibility."

The children leaned forward, captivated by his words. But Ragna remained still, his mind working furiously. This revelation changed everything. The world's power structure, its limitations, its potential—all of it was shaped by this Rune-based cultivation. He had to learn more.

As Aksel continued explaining the process of receiving a Divine Blessing, Ragna found his gaze drifting back to the Rune on Aksel's chest. The mark pulsed faintly, a testament to the divine power it contained. For the first time in years, Ragna felt a spark of something he hadn't experienced since his rebirth in this world.

****

"So, what did you think of it?" Aksel asked Ragna. They were on horseback, riding toward the forest just outside the village. Having passed through the gates moments ago, the boy's sharp mind lingered on his first real lesson about cultivation.

"It was wonderful," Ragna said earnestly. "I can't wait to start cultivating… but…" He hesitated, his youthful voice trailing off. "Wait. How can I use Essence if I didn't awaken my Psychic energy with the gods' blessing? Isn't the blessing what allows someone to awaken Psychic energy and use Essence?"

Aksel turned slightly in the saddle, surprised yet again by the boy's perceptiveness.

"Yes, you're right," Aksel said. "The gods' blessing awakens our Psychic energy and forms the core we need to cultivate Essence. Without it, your Psychic energy will remain… incomplete."

"Then… what about me?" Ragna asked, his voice quieter now.

Aksel nodded gravely. "If you want to use Essence, you'll need the gods' blessing during the coming-of-age ceremony. Until then, you'll only be able to use your Psychic energy for minor things—it's not strong enough for combat."

Ragna fell silent, lost in thought. He knew Aksel was right. His Psychic energy was weak and barely functional compared to the sheer mental force Aksel had demonstrated. At best, he could pull small objects toward him or nudge them a few inches. What use was that? As they rode deeper into the forest, Aksel's thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Bestla the night before. He still wasn't sure what to make of what she'd told him.

_

Aksel had been in the training hall, sharpening his sword, when Bestla appeared. Her expression was calm, but her presence carried an unusual weight.

"We need to talk," she said simply.

Aksel set the blade aside and gestured for her to continue.

"It's about Ragna," she began, her tone steady yet quiet. "There's something you should know."

Aksel raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Ragna's already awakened his Psychic energy."

Aksel froze, his hand tightening instinctively around the hilt of his sword. "That's impossible," he said. "He hasn't received the gods' blessing. How could he—"

"I don't know how," Bestla interrupted, her voice firm. "But he's different, Aksel. He awakened on his own."

Aksel leaned back, stunned. "Does Ragna know?"

"No," Bestla said. "And I want it to stay that way for now. What he's done is… unprecedented. If anyone outside the village finds out, there will be consequences. That's why I need you to train him. Guide him. Help him control his Psychic energy without drawing attention to it."

Aksel frowned. "It's too risky, Bestla. If Ragna is this powerful, training him could bring as much trouble as it does progress."

Bestla met his gaze, unwavering. "I trust you, Aksel. And I trust Ragna. He has the potential to change everything—for better or worse. That's why he needs someone like you."

After a long pause, Aksel nodded. "I'll do what I can."

_

They arrived at a clearing near a lake, the sound of a cascading waterfall filling the air. The sunlight reflected off the water's surface, creating shimmering patterns that danced across the trees.

"This place…" Ragna said, his voice filled with awe.

"Your mother and I used to train here when we were young," Aksel said as they dismounted.

"Really?"

Aksel nodded, looking out over the lake with a faint smile. "The water here has special properties. It's said to strengthen one's Psychic energy and clear the mind. Even drinking it can help you focus."

Ragna looked at the lake, a flicker of excitement sparking in his chest.

"So why are we here?" he asked as he led his horse to a nearby tree.

Aksel turned to him, his expression serious. "Because you're going to receive special training."

Ragna blinked. "Special training?"

"Yes. Your Psychic energy must be incredibly strong for you to have awakened it on your own," Aksel said. "But according to your mother, your control is… lacking."

Ragna scowled. He hated hearing that, even though he knew it was true.

"Don't take it personally," Aksel said, smirking. "Raw talent is important, but control is what separates the strong from the weak. If you can master your energy, you'll be able to use it in ways you can't even imagine."

Ragna looked out over the lake again, his determination hardening. "Alright," he said. "What's first? Just so you know, my Psychic energy manipulation is excellent," he added with confidence.

Of course, it was. Ragna was older than most things in this village and had far more experience when it came to cultivation. If anyone should have perfect Mental Force manipulation, it would be him—or so he thought.

"Okay, then. Use your Psychic energy," Aksel said, gesturing toward the scattered leaves along the lakebank. "Pick up any of those leaves. Your Psychic strength should be enough, right?"

Ragna narrowed his eyes at Aksel, wondering what he was up to. Still, he extended his hand, focusing his Psychic energy on the leaves. Invisible force rippled from him, attempting to wrap around several leaves. But before he could lift them, another force manifested and snuffed out his Psychic energy entirely, sending it rebounding back into him.

The rebound should have hurt, or at least left him disoriented, but Ragna felt nothing. That meant Aksel had been gentle when he interfered. Even so, Ragna's clear blue eyes widened in shock.

"How—"

"That's because the intensity of your Psychic energy projection is very weak," Aksel said, cutting him off. "It's why I could neutralize it so easily."

"So… it's weak?" Ragna muttered, disbelief heavy in his voice. But how could that be? He possessed an extraordinarily powerful soul, which directly impacted the strength of his mind. How could his Mental Force be too weak after everything he had endured?

"It's not weak," Aksel said firmly.

"But you just wiped mine out like it was nothing," Ragna countered, his tone edged with frustration.

"Trust me, it's not weak," Aksel repeated. "I was able to sense the full intensity of your Psychic energy. Its strength is off the charts."

"Then how were you able to stop me from picking up some stupid leaves?" Ragna exclaimed, kicking the leaves aside in frustration.

"I suspect it has to do with you," Aksel said, watching Ragna closely.

"Me? How is that possible?" Ragna exclaimed, taken aback.

"I think you've made it a habit of suppressing your Psychic energy to the point where you've conditioned yourself to only let out the bare minimum," Aksel explained. "You didn't want to reveal your abilities, so it makes sense that you forced your mind to only project in weak bursts."

Ragna fell silent, his expression pensive. That… made sense. He had worked hard to ensure his Mental Force was subtle and unnoticeable whenever he used it. Over time, it had become second nature, so much so that he'd never even questioned it. It just felt natural.

"Which is why we're here," Aksel said, his tone more encouraging. "Not only are you going to practice projecting your Psychic energy at full intensity, but we're also going to strengthen it further."

Ragna looked at Aksel, the doubt in his eyes slowly giving way to renewed determination. "Is that okay with you?" Aksel asked.

"Yes. I'm all in," Ragna said, resolve sharpening his voice.