Amber Blade

Riven sat cross-legged, eyes closed, both hands resting on the handle of his scythe. Alright, let's do this, he thought, summoning his amber mana. He guided the energy toward his hands and attempted to push it into the weapon. He didn't expect much on his first try, maybe a faint flicker of energy at best. But to his shock, the mana understood his intent immediately, surging forward and coating the entire weapon in an amber glow.

"Damn, kid. I knew you'd pick this up fast, but this… this is something else," Roman muttered from nearby, his voice laced with both awe and concern.

The triumph was short-lived. The amber energy didn't just settle around the weapon—it kept pouring in, filling the blade with more and more mana. The glow intensified, pulsing with an almost frantic energy. Even with his eyes closed, Riven could see the light seeping through his eyelids.

"Kid! Stop the flow of mana!" Roman's tone sharpened with urgency.

A spike of panic shot through Riven. He tried to pull back, to wrestle the mana under control—but it refused to obey. It just kept gushing out, heedless of his commands. His mind raced. This has happened before. Back when he fought Zephyr, when he'd attempted to circulate all of his amber mana through his body. It had overwhelmed him then, just like now.

The weapon vibrated in his hands, producing a low hum that grew louder with every passing second. Riven's eyes snapped open. The scythe was shrouded in thick amber energy, its form barely visible beneath the radiant glow. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, as if the weapon had already shattered, yet somehow remained whole. Those fractures weren't empty—they oozed an amber liquid, as though the mana itself was holding the broken pieces together.

By now, half of Riven's amber mana had been devoured by the weapon.

Roman stepped closer, crouching down to inspect it. His eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Now that is fascinating," he murmured. "Normally, the weapon should have been reduced to dust, but your mana is holding it together. No… it's more than that." He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "It's as if the weapon and your mana have fused into some unholy amalgamation."

Riven barely heard him over the pounding of his heart. The scythe wouldn't stop. His mana kept flowing into it, feeding the growing energy.

"I—I can't control it," he stammered. "It's pulling everything in."

The moment the words left his mouth, the drain suddenly slowed, as if something had shifted. Yet, even with the reduced flow, the weapon's power only continued to grow, its glow reaching an almost blinding intensity.

Roman didn't move. He just watched, eyes locked on the weapon, studying every detail.

A minute passed as both of them stared at the weapon. By now, it had grown nearly half its original size, thousands of tiny fragments of metal and wood suspended in an amber liquid, all encased within a scythe-shaped shell of glowing energy. Then, without warning, the light vanished, and the drain on Riven's mana eased to a mere trickle.

They watched in silence as the liquid solidified into something rigid, while the amber coating remained—less intense but still present, pulsing faintly.

"Fascinating," Roman murmured, turning to Riven with an exaggerated expression. "It's sustaining itself using the ambient mana and only siphoning a small amount from you to maintain its shape and power."

"I don't know what happened," Riven admitted, his voice low. He could feel Roman's scrutiny, his mentor's gaze sharp with suspicion. "I've never done anything like this before."

Roman studied him for a beat, then smiled—brief, knowing. "I believe you, kid. This right here is a colossal waste of mana. And yet… it's utterly fascinating."

He got to his feet, raising his own scythe, which pulsed with a dark violet glow. "Come. Let's see if it's truly a colossal waste or just a regular one." He strode toward the sandpit.

Riven understood what was being asked of him, but his fingers hesitated, hovering above the weapon's newly transformed form. After what just happened, should he even use his amber mana again?

"Kid." Roman's voice carried a weight of certainty. "You won't get anywhere if you don't take risks. Now pick up that weapon and get over here."

Riven exhaled slowly. He's right. I came here for a reason. And besides, when had he ever shied away from a little danger? Being an adventurer and taking risks went hand in hand.

Confidence reignited, he grasped the weapon and stood, surprised by how effortlessly he could wield it despite its increased size. It had grown by fifty percent, yet the amber material seemed almost weightless. The weapon radiated something deeper than just power—an edge, a presence—but he ignored the uneasy feeling creeping at the back of his mind and stepped into the pit, falling into a natural wide stance.

Roman's figure flickered. One moment he was standing across from him, the next he was gone.

Riven's instincts screamed—then steel flashed.

Roman materialized barely a foot away, his scythe already swinging in a vicious arc, aimed to bisect Riven at the waist.

Riven barely had time to react. His body locked up under the sheer pressure of the attack. He couldn't move—but the amber mana could.

It surged to life, engulfing his body, snapping him out of his frozen state and flooding him with raw, unrelenting aggression.

Riven's eyes flashed amber. His body twisted on instinct, bringing the scythe up just in time to intercept Roman's strike. The blades clashed, and with a violent twist, Riven redirected Roman's momentum, spinning him midair.

Roman, however, was unfazed. He twisted his body, maintaining a firm grip on his scythe, and yanked it towards himself.

Riven held on, but the difference in strength was undeniable. Roman ripped the weapon from his grasp.

Riven's scythe clattered to the ground as Roman landed a few feet away, smirking. "Not bad." He was about to say more when—

The scythe moved.

It lifted from the ground and, without warning, shot toward Riven.

His hands reacted before his mind could catch up. He caught the weapon mid-air, his grip firm as he instinctively sank back into his stance.

What the hell is going on? Riven thought, staring at the weapon.

He didn't have time to dwell on it.

Roman lunged forward once more, his scythe now radiating an even darker violet energy, humming with ominous power.

Adrenaline flooded Riven's veins, but something else pulsed alongside it—that same unnatural surge from the amber mana. His body responded before he could question it. He twisted, arching backward, before swinging his weapon in a devastating horizontal slash.

As if in agreement, the amber substance flared—and the blade grew.

Tripling in size in an instant, it howled toward Roman with deadly force.

Roman's eyes flickered. Instead of dodging, he brought his own weapon down in a sharp hooking motion, meeting Riven's attack head-on.

The blades collided.

A shockwave erupted from the impact, a blinding light bursting outward as raw energy ripped through the air.

Both fighters were sent hurtling backward.

Riven crashed into the stone wall, the breath torn from his lungs. His fingers went slack, and his weapon slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Riven's eyes flickered open, and the aftermath of their duel came into focus. The ground where they had stood was now a shallow crater, half a foot deep, the sand completely stripped away. To his right lay his weapon—broken. The amber material was disintegrating, evaporating into thin air, leaving behind the scattered remnants of the once-intact scythe.

A sound reached him, muffled and distant over the relentless ringing in his ears. Blinking, he barely made out Roman's voice.

"Well done, kid. That weapon of yours held up against Rank 2 empowered attacks without a hitch."

Riven turned his head, squinting at the older man as he approached. Roman dusted himself off, his pants coated in the fine remnants of displaced sand.

"Why do you keep throwing me around?" Riven groaned, his voice edged with irritation. "You could've gone easy on me."

His vision still swam, struggling to lock onto Roman's figure. Damn it, at this rate, I'll have a dozen concussions before I'm done here. He tilted his head down, trying to focus on his own hands. The effort was pointless.

Before Roman could respond, the training room door swung open with a sharp creak. A man stepped inside—tall, pale-skinned, and dressed in the crisp uniform of a bartender. His neatly pressed attire spoke of elegance, but his expression told another story: tight-lipped and wary, a stark contrast to his otherwise composed appearance.

"Sir," the man said, voice clipped, "we've got a problem. The noble kind."

The moment the words left his mouth, the levity in Roman's posture vanished. His face hardened, all traces of amusement wiped clean.

"Alright," he said simply, striding toward the door. Just before stepping through, he glanced back over his shoulder, meeting Riven's gaze. "Training's over. Use the back exit."

Riven opened his mouth to protest, but something in Roman's tone made him hesitate. There was no room for argument.

With a heavy sigh, he let himself collapse onto the sand, exhaustion pressing down on him like a lead weight. He'll probably be too busy to notice if I rest for a bit.

A soft meow was his only reply. Luna, his ever-loyal companion, landed lightly on his chest and curled up, already settling in for another nap.