Chapter 7: The Cost of Power

The first rays of dawn slipped through the wooden shutters, painting streaks of pale light across the ceiling. Sylvie blinked groggily, her limbs still heavy with exhaustion.

Mana recovery was slow.

She sat up, rubbing her temples. She had gone to sleep with only 2/10 mana remaining, and now…

[Tinkerer's Blessing] (Proficiency: 2/10)

Current mana: 8/10

It had recovered some, but not completely. That meant it likely regenerated gradually over time, maybe linked to rest or natural energy cycles.

Not fast enough.

Sylvie sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. If she wanted to use her ability properly, she needed a way to restore mana more quickly—otherwise, she'd be useless after just a few repairs.

She pulled on her boots and slipped outside before anyone else had woken up. The crisp morning air sent a chill through her, but she welcomed it. This was her chance to experiment before Sylas or her mother started watching her too closely.

The storage shed was her destination again. Inside, the cluttered space felt oddly familiar now—her own little workshop in a world that didn't know what to do with someone like her.

She rummaged through the pile of discarded tools until she found a rusty pair of shears, their blades fused by corrosion. Perfect.

Settling onto the floor, she inhaled deeply and reached for the warmth inside her. It responded instantly, pooling in her chest and flowing into her fingertips.

The rust peeled away in flakes, dissolving like dust in the air. The metal gleamed beneath her touch, edges sharpening, the joints restoring their movement as if time itself had been rewound.

The effect was seamless.

The drain was not.

A fresh wave of fatigue hit her, not as strong as before but noticeable. She willed herself to check her status.

Current mana: 6/10

Sylvie frowned. That took two points? She hadn't expected it to cost that much. The repairs had been small, but the mana drain wasn't negligible.

It meant one thing—if she wanted to use this skill without collapsing, she had to get better .

The next hour was spent experimenting.

She tried different repairs—dulling a knife's edge and then sharpening it again, breaking a wooden splinter and mending it, bending a metal nail and forcing it back into place. Each use of [Tinkerer's Blessing] drained a different amount of mana.

Minor fixes—removing rust, smoothing imperfections—cost 1 mana point at most.

Larger restorations, like sharpening or straightening metal, took 2 to 3 points.

Completely restoring a broken object? She hadn't dared push that far yet.

By the time she had finished, her mana had dropped to 1/10, leaving her lightheaded and weak. She clenched her fists, frustration bubbling up.

This isn't enough.

She had knowledge, she had the skill—but none of it mattered if her body couldn't keep up.

A sudden knock at the shed door made her flinch.

"Sylvie?"

Sylas.

She hastily kicked the repaired shears under a pile of wood and tried to make her breathing steady. "Yeah?"

The door creaked open, and Sylas peered in, eyes narrowed. "You've been acting weird."

Sylvie crossed her arms. "And?"

"And I want to know what you're up to." He stepped inside, his sharp gaze sweeping over the mess she'd made. "You're sneaking off in the mornings, barely lifting a bucket of water, and now you're holed up in here?"

Sylvie swallowed. "I just like fixing things."

"You've never liked fixing things." He took a step closer, eyes flicking to her trembling hands. "You're exhausted. What are you really doing?"

Sylvie clenched her jaw. She didn't want to lie to him, but she wasn't ready to tell the truth either.

"…I don't know."

It wasn't a complete lie.

Sylas frowned but didn't press further. "Whatever it is, don't push yourself too hard. You look like you're going to fall over."

Sylvie blinked. Was he…worried?

Before she could respond, he turned and left, leaving her alone in the dim shed.

Her heart pounded.

She couldn't keep this hidden forever. If Sylas was already suspicious, it was only a matter of time before he or her mother started asking questions.

And in a world where magic was treated seriously, she wasn't sure what they would think of her ability.

She had to be more careful.

By midday, Sylvie was struggling to keep up. The exhaustion from her mana use hadn't faded, and her body was paying the price.

As she tried to carry a basket of vegetables from the garden, her vision swam. The weight was too much—her limbs felt like they were moving through thick mud.

She barely made it to the kitchen before she stumbled.

Her mother caught her just in time. "Sylvie!"

The concern in her voice sent a pang of guilt through Sylvie's chest.

Her mother pressed a hand to her forehead. "You're pale. Are you feeling sick?"

"I'm fine," Sylvie muttered.

Her mother didn't look convinced. "You're still recovering from mana sickness. You shouldn't be pushing yourself."

Sylvie forced herself to nod, biting her tongue.

She doesn't know the real reason I'm tired.

Her mother made her sit, placing a bowl of warm broth in front of her. "Eat. Rest. No more running around today."

Sylvie didn't argue.

As she sipped the broth, she mulled over everything she had learned.

Her mana recovery was slow. The cost of her repairs was high. Overusing [Tinkerer's Blessing] left her weak and vulnerable.

But if she trained, if she improved, she could overcome those limitations.

She had to.

She wasn't just Sylvie anymore—she was someone who had knowledge no one else in this world had. If she wanted to carve out a future that would do the original owner of this body justice….

She needed to master this ability.

She would train smarter. Find ways to recover mana. Improve her efficiency.

Because one thing was clear—power always came with a cost.

And Sylvie was willing to pay it.