43- Birth of a Monster.

The night sky burned.

Explosions ripped through the enemy camp as alchemical flames consumed supply wagons, siege engines, and tents. Smoke billowed into the air, turning the battlefield into a choking haze of fire and death.

Amidst the chaos, a lone figure carved a path through the enemy ranks.

Aldric Ravensbourne moved with purpose, his black armor gleaming in the firelight, his sword glowing with a ghostly blue hue.

At first, the enemy hesitated.

"What is he…?"

The enemy soldiers, once hardened killers, stood frozen in place. Their instincts screamed at them to run.

The blue hue on Aldric's blade flickered and surged, casting a faint glow against the blood-soaked battlefield. It wasn't Aura. They knew the feel of Aura—the condensed willpower of a knight, forged through relentless training and hardened conviction. Aura was the manifestation of one's soul, used by warriors to enhance their physical strength and speed.

But this wasn't Aura.

Aura was warm, a blazing fire that roared within a warrior's body, fueling them beyond human limits. But this?

This felt alien. Cold and sharp, like a blade drawn against their very souls.

"Is that… Mana? But—no… it can't be. Mana doesn't work like that."

"A mage playing with swords? On the front lines? Impossible."

Mages didn't fight like this.

They were scholars, standing behind warriors, reciting incantations while others bled for them. Their magic was structured, fragile, methodical.

But this man… this monster…

He wasn't chanting. He wasn't forming circles.

He wasn't even standing still.

Aldric moved like a storm, his blade an extension of his will, cutting through steel and flesh alike. His body blurred, accelerating beyond human limits.

"That should be Aura—but it's not."

He was enhancing himself—his speed, his reflexes, his perception. But the energy flowing through him wasn't the burning force of a knight's willpower.

It was Mana.

Pure, unshackled, and free from the constraints of traditional spellcasting.

Spellcasters were meant to remain stationary, reciting long incantations, channeling mana into powerful—but slow—spells. If a mage was caught in close combat, they were as good as dead.

But Aldric didn't speak a single word.

There was no incantation.

No chants. No grand gestures.

Just silent, seamless destruction.

And then they noticed his sword.

The edge of his blade shimmered, almost vibrating, as if reality itself was being sliced apart.

The first warrior to step forward, thinking Aldric was just a reckless noble playing at war, swung his axe.

Aldric didn't even block.

He sliced straight through the weapon.

The axe's metal head separated cleanly, sheared apart as if it were paper.

Before the Knight could even process what had happened, Aldric's blade cut across his chest. His armor—steel that should have withstood multiple blows—offered no resistance. The man fell, lifeless, his body severed in a single stroke.

That was when the enemy realized the truth.

This power was not something Aldric had stumbled upon by accident.

His mana was limited. Compared to archmages and seasoned spellcasters, he had only a fraction of what they possessed. He knew that if he fought like a normal mage, he would run out of energy far too quickly.

So he had to innovate.

Aldric had spent weeks refining his technique, drawing from his futuristic knowledge of physics, engineering, and logic.

In this world, mages relied on incantations, magical circles, and internal mana pools. They treated magic like an art, where emotions and intent dictated power.

But Aldric?

He saw magic as a system—one that could be broken down, understood, and optimized.

What if magic wasn't some mystical force, but simply another energy source that followed laws, just like physics?

Through rigorous experimentation, he discovered that mana could be manipulated like a finely tuned engine rather than an untamed force. It wasn't about willpower or faith—it was about control and efficiency.

Aldric realized early on that mana was shapeless, like water.

Mages would let it flow freely, guiding it through incantations, but they never shaped it themselves. They needed a magical circle, a framework to contain and direct it.

But why?

Water didn't need a ritual to be poured into a cup. It just needed a container.

So Aldric forced mana into the shape he wanted—not with a circle, but with his mind.

He imagined a cup, and the mana filled it.

He imagined a blade, and the mana condensed into a razor-sharp edge.

He imagined a shield, and the mana hardened like tempered steel.

Instead of letting mana flow freely, he gave it a form. A vessel.

Its strength deepens of his ability to control and malipulation of mana. As he continue to practice mana, naturally his effecienty with mana control will increase along with its strength.

Aldric didn't outright disregard magic circles and circuits. Instead, he intended to study them—how they worked, why they functioned, and their strengths and limitations. But for now, his method was simpler, more efficient, and most importantly, it worked.

And by constantly reshaping that vessel with his thoughts, he achieved what no mage had ever done—casting magic without a single word.

This was silent casting.

Such as a simple fire ball spell.

Traditional mages recited lengthy chants, calling upon the elements, shaping fire with emotion and belief. They treated it as if it were a gift from the gods.

Aldric laughed at the thought.

Fire was a chemical reaction.

And what fueled a fire? Oxygen.

So instead of using vague incantations, Aldric manipulated mana like a scientist:

More oxygen = stronger flames.

Less oxygen = the fire weakens.

Compressed flame = a concentrated explosion.

By visualizing a nozzle directing oxygen into the fire, he created focused beams of heat, like a flame thrower.

By imagining a combustion chamber, he controlled explosive bursts rather than wild, uncontrollable flames.

To everyone else, it looked like he was bending fire to his will. They named this spell Dragon's breath.

In reality, he was just applying logic.

As the battle progress.

The dim blue hue on his sword shimmered faintly, yet its pressure was unmistakable. His enemies had witnessed it firsthand—Aldric cutting through a knight as if they were completely unarmored.

A sword that cut through steel like butter.

Normal enchanted blades used raw power—brute-force mana enhancements that burned through energy inefficiently.

But Aldric?

He used efficiency.

He coated his blade in a thin layer of mana, but instead of just reinforcing it, he made the mana spin.

A fine layer of rotating mana particles ran along the blade's edge—like a chainsaw.

The high-speed rotation created friction, increasing cutting power.

By finely controlling the speed, he minimized mana consumption.

Although he wasn't using his own mana reserves, the downside was the immense strain on his control and mental strength. Overuse on prolong battle caused him to bleed profusely from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

But in exchange an effective weapon that ignored armor completely.

A sword that felt like it was slicing through air.

To counteract this weakness, he began enchanting his own body so it could better withstand the strain of mana. 

Aldric's final breakthrough was applying mana directly to himself, reinforcing his muscles and bones so that his body could endure the intense demands of his new combat style.

Knights had Aura Reinforcement—pushing their willpower into their muscles to gain superhuman strength.

Mages had Mana Veins—circulating mana inside themselves to cast spells more efficiently.

But Aldric combined both.

He coated his muscles with mana to boost his speed and reaction time, and even enhanced his brain to elevate his computational abilities.

He could also reinforced his vision by shaping mana like a night-vision lens.

He created mana platforms under his feet, allowing for double jumps and midair movement.

His movements became erratic and unpredictable, as if he had mastered the very laws of physics.

But there was one fatal flaw.

Aldric's body wasn't made for this.

This process nearly overheated his mind to catastrophic levels. Relying on his analytical instincts, he devised a method to cool his brain with mana, preventing disaster—though the strain still left him with persistent headaches.

His rapid movements tore his muscles apart. His bones screamed under the pressure. His veins strained, barely keeping up with the flow of mana.

If he fought like this for too long, his body would collapse.

But he had a solution.

He would push his body to the breaking point.

Then, using his knowledge of human physiology, he would force his mana to accelerate muscle regeneration.

By doing this method over and over, his body would rebuild itself stronger each time.

⸻

One warrior lunged at him, blade raised high.

Aldric vanished.

No—not vanished.

He had moved so fast that their eyes couldn't track him. His boots met a platform of pure mana mid-air, and in the next instant, he shot downward like a meteor, his blade carving into the attacker's skull with a sickening crunch.

Another knight swung wildly, but Aldric ducked. His movements were so eerily fluid, so unnaturally smooth, that it seemed inhuman.

He retaliated.

A single swing.

His sword—wreathed in spinning mana, cleaved through steel, flesh, and bone as if they were nothing.

And then it happened.

"Monster…" someone gasped.

From Aldric's back, eight spectral sword of pure mana materialized, floating in perfect formation.

Each one moved with intent, twisting and shifting like living creatures. Sentient swords, bound by his will.

One shot forward, impaling a knight through the chest.

Another spun in place, acting as a rotating shield, blocking incoming arrows effortlessly.

The enemy froze.

With a mere thought, Aldric sent all eight sword made of condense mana flying at once, carving through the battlefield like hungry specters, striking with the precision of a master swordsman and the relentlessness of a machine.

Each sword moved on its own, yet worked together as if they shared a single mind.

Because they did.

Aldric had forged not just weapons, but extensions of himself.

The battlefield became a scene of slaughter.

Knights who had trained their entire lives, warriors who had survived countless battles—all fell like wheat before a scythe.

The enemy's numbers plummeted.

Their formation crumbled.

Fear took root in their hearts.

Aldric stood alone amidst the chaos, his blade dripping with blood, his eight floating swords of pure mana orbiting him like sentinels of death. Each one moved with a will of its own, striking down foes with precision and lethality.

Then, a towering knight clad in aura-infused armor stepped forward, wielding a massive greatsword pulsing with raw energy. An Aura Knight.

He locked eyes with Aldric, then shifted his gaze to one of the floating mana blades. He could feel its power, its sharpness—far beyond any ordinary weapon.

The Aura Knight raised his greatsword and swung down with all his might.

Clang!

The battlefield shook as steel met pure mana.

For the first time, one of Aldric's eight sword was caught.

The Aura Knight gritted his teeth, veins bulging as he strained to keep the weapon at bay. Even for a warrior of his caliber, it took everything he had to contain a single one of Aldric's spectral weapons.

That's when Red's eyes widened in realization, stopped engaging the emeny briefly.

"Wait… that sword…"

He wasn't the only one who noticed.

Mara, Royce, Tobias, Gerrod—all of them stared in shock.

Each of Aldric's floating swords… bore the exact design of the weapons once wielded by the eight fallen men in the last battle.

The same weight. The same shape. The same craftsmanship.

One agent, a close friend of one of the fallen, voice cracked. "It's… it's them."

A shiver ran through the Agents in the battle field.

It was as if their fallen comrades… were still fighting by their side.

Tears welled in their eyes, but they held them back, clutching their sword tighter.

Pride swelled in their chests.

Aldric hadn't just conjured weapons—he had immortalized their fallen brothers-in-arms.

They were not forgotten.

They were here.

Still fighting.

And with that realization, something ignited within them.

They charged forward, their spirits burning brighter than ever before.

Aldric's mana sword whirled back into action, slicing through the battlefield like the ghosts of the fallen.

The enemy watched in horror.

Mara, panting from her own fight, wiped the sweat from her brow and turned to Red.

"You seeing this?" she muttered.

Red shook his head. "Hell, no human should be able to do that."

Royce swallowed hard. "That's… not normal."

Tobias whispered, "What the hell are we even following…?"

Yet despite their shock, they knew one thing:

They were on the right side of history.

And now, standing amid the carnage, his blade still humming with the residual glow of spinning mana, Aldric turned to face them, Eyes glow in blue in the dark sent shivers down their spine. 

Mara had always known Aldric was different.

He had the mind of a strategist. The discipline of a warrior. The ambition of a ruler. Having just one of this traits is already outstanding enough.

But this?

This was something beyond what any of them had expected.

Mara clenched her fists.

Because of the promises he had made to them.

A better future. A cause worth fighting for.

Back then, she had assumed he was just a noble trying to prove himself. That their young lord had a temporary enlightenment and thats all.

But now…

Now she saw it.

Aldric Ravensbourne wasn't just another lord.

And if she didn't keep up—if none of them did—they would be left behind.

Aldric shout at his allies. "What the hell are you all doing!?" Aldric cough up blood as he yelled orders. "The enemy is in front of us!"

Mara and the other snapped out of their daze and continue to engaged the enemy.

Seeing Aldric cough up blood, knowing that this new power does not come without a risk. She rush toward Aldric, supporting him move to the wall. 

Red and Royces covered for Mara and Aldric to take a breather.

Aldric leaning on a wall coughing blood, exhausted, dragging his beaten body. He cannot afford to show weakness, he must deter the enemy and lower their moral as much as possible only then they can lower the casualties.

⸻

Commander Orwin POV

He watched in stunned disbelief as Aldric butchered his men.

It was impossible.

Mages didn't fight like that. They were meant to be fragile. They needed to chant, to gather their power, to unleash devastating attacks from a distance.

But Aldric wasn't keeping his distance.

He was in their faces.

"Someone—kill him!" Orwin roared.

A squad of his best warriors surged forward. Knights clad in aura in heavy armor, weapons glinting in the firelight.

Best they could do is block his mana swords.

The first knight's sword clashed against Aldric's blade—and snapped in half.

Aldric twisted, his next strike carving cleanly through the knight's plated chest as if he were wearing cloth.

A second warrior tried to flank him, bringing down a hammer meant to crush bones. Aldric dodged effortlessly, sidestepping just enough to let the blow miss. His counterattack was instant.

His sword hummed, glowing with eerie blue light—then it severed the knight's leg at the knee.

The man collapsed, screaming, as Aldric moved onto the next.

Orwin could only stare as Aldric walked up before him, unchallenged.

⸻

The battle ended in a massacre.

House Velthorn's forces were annihilated. Their commanders lay dead. Their banners burned.

As dawn broke, Aldric stood at the edge of the battlefield, his body streaked with blood from both enemy wounds and the toll of overusing his muscles and mana manipulation. He gazed silently at the carnage, his blade still humming with residual mana and catching the first light of the rising sun.

Red walked behind him assisting him, with his arm in should.

Red stated "Young master, Its over you can rest now."

Behind him, Mara, Royce, Tobias, and Gerrod watched in silence.

Finally, Gerrod exhaled, "You didn't need to fight to this extent."

Aldric turned slightly, dismissing the concern. "Casualty report," he ordered.

Gerrod's face remained unreadable, though he knew Aldric's deep care for his men. "Minimal, sir. We'll have a proper report ready once the battlefield is cleared," he said, hoping to buy Aldric some much-needed rest.

The surrounding soldiers exchanged knowing glances.

Aldric sighed, aware of their silent plea. Reluctantly, he decided to rest.

Aldric, his body battered and barely able to stand, rasped, "Help me get to camp—I need to recuperate. In the meantime, clean up the battlefield as quickly as possible and order the men to keep moving. We're heading straight into Velthorn territory."

Mara exhaled sharply. "We just fought an intense battle—our men need rest."

A low murmur of agreement spread among the others.

Aldric's voice hardened despite his pain. "We must finish this while they remain unaware that their main army has been annihilated. We can't afford to lose this opportunity while their guard is down."

Aldric added, "I know you all fought bravely and are exhausted, but we still have the element of surprise—they won't see us coming. We'll use their methods against them. Red, Mara, Royce, Gerrod, and Tobias, each of you will lead your team. Disguise yourselves as merchants, traveling mercenaries, or ordinary adventurers. Under the cover of night, open the gate and fire the signal flare. When that flare goes off, the rest of our men, along with Gustov's army and myself, will lead the cavalry. You must hold your ground until we arrive."

Upon hearing the plan, Marquis Gustov expressed reluctance yet agreed with Aldric's reasoning. He believed it was the best time to act, though he hesitated, fearing that if the battle dragged on, they would be at a disadvantage. Ultimately, the success of this mission would be determine by how swiftly they could seize control of the gate.

And just like that, with a quick preparation an army has been quickly form and marched toward Velthorn.