Mana Training thing 2

Mana was the most common energy in the world. The invisible lifeblood that the planet itself generated to sustain life. Yet, despite its omnipresence, it had been forgotten by many… and hidden by the few who remembered.

Through centuries of human progress, mana had been left behind. While technology surged forward, the ancient art of invoking mana remained primitive, stagnant. Only a handful of known methods to awaken it still existed.

In the earliest days, people had relied solely on talent. If you could invoke mana naturally, you were gifted. If not, you would live and die without ever knowing it even existed. It was the reason humanity at large forgot about mana altogether.

Later, mana stones were discovered: natural crystals capable of helping a person perceive mana more clearly and efficiently.

And then, in recent years, an even more drastic method had been developed, a concoction made from crushed mana stones, brewed into a liquid form. Drink it, and if you possessed the dormant talent, your body could be forced to awaken.

Of course, talent was still the wall many could not cross.

"Arrgh... Don't you have this liquid concoction, old man?" Nova groaned from where he lay sprawled on the mat. His words slurred from exhaustion.

"So, I can awaken alre…"

BOOM.

A blast of air pressure, powerful enough to dent a car door, slammed into him mid-sentence.

Nova flew several meters backward, bouncing and skidding across the floor like a ragdoll. His body rolled across the mats before finally flopping to a stop.

It had been two hours since they started the so-called 'mana training thing' or more accurately, a one-sided massacre.

Nova's face, miraculously, was still untouched. He had been begging not to be strike in the face, covering and shielding his face for as hard as he can.

Thankfully, Vincent had been careful to not aim for his head or face. Leaving it still intact in the entire session.

But his body told a different story.

Every muscle throbbed with pain. His arms were battered, his legs bruised black and blue. He felt like he had been thrown down a flight of stairs. A hundred times over.

Vincent, standing a few meters away, looked as pristine as ever. Not a wrinkle on his clothes. Not a bead of sweat on his brow. He watched Nova coolly, never once lowering his guard, because until now, Nova hadn't even sensed a sliver of mana.

"Potions are rare," Vincent said in his usual flat tone, as if discussing grocery prices.

Nova coughed and forced himself upright, wobbling on shaky legs. His hands clutched his sides, trying and failing to suppress the ache in his ribs.

"Shit. You said the same thing about the mana stone. Ptui," he spat out bitterly, though it was more air than spit.

"Mana potions are rarer than mana stones," Vincent continued, unbothered. "They're made by witches. And I don't know any witches."

Nova stared at him for a long moment, processing that piece of information. "Witches? Seriously?"

Vincent nodded once, dead serious. A beat of silence passed before Nova let out a small, disbelieving laugh, half in exhaustion, half in amusement. "Great. Are there dragons and fairies too?"

"I'm not sure about dragons..." Vincent said, his voice finally softening with a faint smile. "But there are fairies. That much, I know."

Nova stared, mouth slightly open. His brain had simply given up. After a long second, he let out a dry, hollow chuckle, shaking his head. "Figures. Next you'll tell me Santa's real too."

Vincent only gave a faint, unreadable smile.

Nova, still panting, raised his hand in surrender. "Anyways, I'm beat. I can't continue." He tried to steady his breathing. "Why haven't I sensed any mana yet? Is this really one of the methods?"

"This method usually takes longer than the easier ways," Vincent replied calmly.

Nova lowered his hand, frustration clear on his face. "What if..." He hesitated, voice quieter, "what if I don't actually have talent?"

Vincent met his eyes, his gaze steady and certain. "You have talent," he said. "You just haven't found it yet. Feel it inside you. And besides..." Vincent's lips quirked slightly. "You already have the ability. You just need to be patient."

Nova exhaled a long breath, then gave a reluctant nod. "Alright then... but seriously, I'm done for today. I can't take another punch."

Vincent nodded once. "Let's stop here. We'll continue tomorrow."

…..

Over the next three days, the cycle repeated without mercy. Every morning, Nova would drag his battered body back onto the mat, and Vincent would continue their brutal training, a relentless assault designed to sharpen Nova's instincts and movements.

Despite his best efforts, Nova never managed to shift from defense to offense. He was always a step behind, always blocking, dodging, or falling under Vincent's controlled strikes.

Not once did he land a single blow of his own.

His body was pushed beyond exhaustion. The endless pain and fatigue gnawed at him, wearing down both his muscles and his mind.

Vincent, for all his ferocity, was precise in his attacks, careful not to cause lasting damage, targeting muscles in ways that would push Nova's limits without fully breaking him.

Each blow was calculated to force growth: forcing Nova to adjust, to adapt, to survive.

But no matter how much the body endures, the mind is a different battlefield.

A hundred broken bones could heal with time.

Bruises could fade.

But a wounded spirit, a broken will was far more fragile. And Nova's mind was beginning to fray under the endless grind.

After every fall, every bruise, every silent defeat, a small crack widened inside him. The fear of failure, the weight of helplessness, the doubt gnawed louder each night.

His body still stood, but his spirit was nearing its breaking point.

Yet, there was one silent mercy.

After every grueling session, Vincent would quietly sit beside Nova. Without a word, he would circulate his own mana through Nova's battered body.

He wasn't healing him not truly but it accelerated Nova's natural recovery.

The energy seeped into his muscles, mending the worst strains, soothing the worst bruises, helping his body rebuild itself faster than it should have been able to.

Without it, Nova knew he would've collapsed after the first day. He would have never stood up again.

Vincent never explained why he did it. And even if Nova's mind was battered and teetering, somewhere deep inside, he understood.

This was Vincent's way of showing he cared.

By making sure that, no matter how many times Nova fell, he could always rise again.