Michael was surprised at how much easier learning a new language became when Intent Speech was involved. Each time Marven or Brennar spoke a new word in Common, the meaning didn’t just translate; it jumped into his mind, anchoring itself there as if it belonged. And when Michael practiced speaking back, the intent behind his words seemed to guide his tongue toward the correct shape and tone.

  It was still work, but it was like studying with the answers half-visible on the page. And having already learned 2 languages due to his parents’ country of origin helped him.

  After a couple of hours, his brain buzzed from effort, but he pushed on, turning to Brennar.

  “Can you tell me how knights start training aura?” Michael asked, practicing the sentence in Common, then repeating it intentionally in English to reinforce the connection.

  Brennar’s expression tightened with concern.

  “Arcanist… you should not rush this. Aura training is dangerous for someone who has not spent years developing their core. Even among knights, we begin after our mana solidifies at sixteen. Your mana pool is… far larger than most. Uncontrolled power can tear the body apart if mishandled.”

  Michael lifted a hand dismissively. “I’m not asking to do anything extreme, just the basics.” He said, excited to resume his martial arts training.

  The knight hesitated, then exhaled. “Very well. But do exactly as I say.”

  Brennar stepped in front of him, posture straightening as if slipping into instructor mode.

  “In the beginning,” he explained, “aura users do only one thing: spread their mana evenly through the body. Not forcing it. Not shaping it. Just letting it flow everywhere at once.” He tapped his chest, then his limbs. “The intention is simple-make the body more durable. Stronger bones. Firmer muscles. Tougher skin.”

  Michael nodded slowly. “So it’s more about protection than strength?”

  “Mostly,” Brennar confirmed. “It may increase your power slightly, but its greatest use is when striking and when taking blows. Without aura flow, you crack your knuckles, punching armor… and rupture organs when struck by someone stronger. Aura prevents this. It reinforces what is already there.”

  Michael took a breath, closing his eyes.

  “I know,” Michael said quietly. “It’s harder to push it out to my hands and feet. And my stomach feels… a little nauseous.”

  Brennar nodded, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders.

  “That’s normal. Uneven reinforcement often upsets the stomach. Your body reacts when different parts of the body strengthen at different rates. But the fact you managed this much after only minutes is… remarkable.”

  Michael stopped immediately; the last thing he wanted was for the pizza to stage an unexpected comeback in front of the knight.

  “Ok, that’s it for today-” Michael’s words were interrupted by an assassin who had just appeared over the 8-foot-tall stone wall that surrounded the estate, coming straight for him at the training grounds.

  Brennar felt something that raised the hairs on his neck as he unsheathed his sword and ran in front of Michal, barely blocking the throwing knife as the assailant appeared before him.

  As they crashed, Michael fell backwards as the tremors from the small crater of cracked stone spider-webbed outwards. The assassin and the knight both emitted an aura; the assassin, a deep red, and the knight, a light blue. The main difference was that the assassin, who was wielding a rapier in one hand and a buckler, had his red aura starting to cover the hilt of the rapier, though not advancing to the blade.

  “Retreat, he is peak Tier Three,” said the knight with his sword trembling backwards as the enemy moved slightly towards his face

  Michael immediately opened a portal and grabbed his gun. As he was taking it out of the portal, the opponent’s aura soared, temporarily overpowering the already losing knight, and the opponent’s buckler and rapier flung the knight away as he almost immediately appeared a foot from Michael.

  Michael saw the rapier’s tip inches from skewering his head through his mask as a portal appeared in front of and behind him, just in the nick of time.

  Unable to stop his momentum, the assassin in black and dark brown went through the portal, just to find himself disoriented. As two portals sandwiched Michael, the assassin was most of the way through. Michael closed it, cutting off the left leg at the middle of the thigh and the right one just below the knee.

  The feet carried some of the momentum forward, harmlessly hitting Michael’s torso, smearing blood on him as the foe missed his step and he fell to the ground. As he flexed instinctively, the remaining muscles pulled to nothing, their contraction exposing the clean-cut bone that remained protruding.

  The red aura of the assailant dimmed as it focused on the missing appendages, slowing the bleeding. He panicked and swung his sword behind him, and he barely scratched the surface of Michael’s back.

  Not yet processing the pain, Michael pulled the trigger of the gun, which was still pointing away from the man, as a portal appeared in front of it and another portal parallel to the ground appeared on top of the amputee, delivering the bullet on course for the chest.

  The bullet pierced the assassin’s armor and met the red aura of the knight as it stopped, yet some of its energy transferred to the enemy, knocking the wind out of the panicked assassin.

  As Brennard reached Michael and the cripple, he immediately disarmed the opponent, kicking the buckler aside while piercing the other forearm holding the rapier, locking it in place.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Michael stood there, the back of his white dress shirt starting to redden and then darkening as it spread along the cut, which was visible through the tear.

  “Are you all right, Arcanist?”

  “Just a wound on my back,” Michael replied, trying to maintain his manly appearance as the adrenaline washed away and the pain started to burn and send waves of pain every time his heart beat.

  “Who are you? Who sent you?” demanded Brennard from the barely conscious man.

  But no words came from the man as he bled out from his legs, as his aura seemed to retreat, and his blood started to flow again. And he passed out.

  “He will be dead in a few minutes.” Said Brennard with anger. “He stopped his aura, allowing himself to bleed out.”

  Moments later, thanks to Michael’s portals, the staff were already treating him. They used the pure alcohol he provided, far stronger and cleaner than their own, to disinfect the wound. Antiseptic herbs were pressed into place before they wrapped his torso tightly in layers of cloth, from just under his pecks to the waist.

  God, I wish I could just walk into urgent care, he thought, teeth clenched. But the detective would hear about it instantly. Maybe once the bleeding stops, I can go to some far hospital later for stitches… it won’t look like such an emergency by then.

  “Are you sure you will be fine?” asked the king, looking at Michael, who was now wearing a red elastic shirt that would sort of hide whatever blood might poke through the bandages, and some sweatpants.

  “Yes. I have taken some medicine to alleviate the pain.” Michael assured.

  “Now, let’s get back to the topic. Was any identification found on him?” asked the king, looking at the Guard Captain.

  “None, it was just confirmed that he was at the peak of Tier Three.” Stopping for a second while placing the weapons on the table for display. “High-quality buckler and rapier seem to have traces of mana steel.”

  “Mana steel?” reacted Michael unknowingly

  “It is steel forged from ore found only in caves saturated with mana,” Julius explained. “Extremely rare. Extremely costly. Weapons made from mana steel are far more durable-and a Tier Four aura user can channel his aura through them much more efficiently. Perhaps he got them to make his training to reach Tier Four easier.”

  King Roland’s gaze shifted to the mages and then to Michael.

  “Any indication of where it might have come from?”

  Michael exhaled slowly. “I have a suspicion. I think it’s from the same background as those who ambushed Elion.”

  The king leaned forward in his seat. “Explain.”

  Michael’s eyes moved across the room. “Only a handful of people even know I exist: everyone here, the Tower Master, the Marshal, and a few guards who were present at the gate. No one else. Yet a Tier Four assassin found my residence within a day of my arrival.”

  Elion’s expression darkened. “Then those who attacked me reported you to their superiors,” he said bitterly. “And now they’re trying to remove every variable they can’t control.”

  “Cendros,” King Roland muttered, hands clasped tightly.

  “Who are they?” Michael asked.

  “Our cursed neighbors,” Elion growled. “The ones responsible for my father losing his core-”

  “Elion,” Julius snapped, “that is not something we share with outsiders.”

  Roland raised a hand, halting the argument before it could spark further.

  “Elion. Enough.”

  The king’s tone was stern but measured. “Michael is no outsider. Not after today.”

  Elion’s jaw worked, but he nodded.

  Roland continued, looking back at Michael.

  “Cendros is a nation that has coveted our lands for generations.” Saying as he pointed to the map where Michael’s unrefined Common could at least read Valoria, and to the west, right by the Ocean, he saw another landmark where the King’s finger pointed.

  “Their mages are ambitious… their knights ruthless. If they are moving against you, it is because they fear what you represent for us.”

  Michael absorbed the words in silence, the weight of them settling with the dull ache pulsing across his back. The room watched him, waiting for his reaction, expecting questions he didn’t have the clarity to form.

  A headache pressed behind his eyes.

  “Your wound should be rechecked,” Julius noted, voice cautious. “Some aura strikes leave lingering harm.”

  Michael shook his head. “I’m fine. I just-”

  He stopped, exhaling slowly.

  “I need to go. I need to rest. And… I need some space to think of my next steps.”

  Roland nodded once.

  Michael stepped through a small portal, exiting the meeting chamber with a stiffness he tried to hide. The door shut behind him.

  The room stayed quiet-until Brennar exhaled sharply.

  “Your Majesty… I must speak plainly.”

  Roland’s brow lifted. “Go on.”

  Brennar rested a hand on the table, his arm wrapped in bandages. “The gun he used, your Arcanist’s strange weapon, its first shot barely made it through the assassin’s aura because he was already weakened. A Tier Four at full strength could’ve shrugged it off.”

  Julius frowned. “So it is ineffective?”

  “Not exactly,” Brennar said, his tone calculative and worried. “Though a Tier Tree aura user can survive a volley of arrows, I cannot say the same for an entire squadron using such an artifact. A Tier Four would definitely emerge with only a few scratches, but since when can a group of untrained soldiers even dare to dream of even scratching a Tier Four that has trained for decades?”

  Everyone confirmed their thoughts on the firearm. It could pierce armor, but they thought an aura user could easily stop it.

  “But his portal…” Brennar said quietly, the memory tightening his voice. “I watched that same man who overpowered me without effort get severed as if his body offered no resistance at all. No clash. No struggle. Just… gone.”

  Brennar swallowed, the realization settling in his eyes.

  “And I’ve walked through those portals dozens of times now,” he added, voice low. “Never once knowing what they were truly capable of. If he had willed it… If he had closed one at the wrong moment… my existence could have ended just as easily.”

  Michael made it to his room, the door clicking shut behind him. The space felt too large, almost echoing-bigger than his entire apartment back home. He caught his reflection in the wavy, imperfect medieval mirror and stopped cold.

  He looked pale. Not just tired-drained. The blood loss was catching up, making his skin dull and his vision pulse at the edges.

  That… was too close.

  He lifted the hem of the red shirt slightly. The bandages had grown darker. A shiver crawled through him.

  If that blade had gone a millimeter deeper… I wouldn’t be walking right now. I’d be-

  He swallowed hard, chest tightening. Disabled. Or dead.

  The thought sat like a stone in his gut.

  And then another hit him-harder.

  I killed him.

  Not like the first time, when the terrorist pulled the trigger himself.

  This time, he had chosen to close the portal.

  Knowing he was not through.

  His hands trembled before he forced them still.

  For a moment, the weight of it pressed on him, a cold, heavy knot in his stomach.

  Then his jaw clenched.

  No.

  He hadn’t hunted anyone. He hadn’t stalked anyone.

  He came to kill Michael.

  He crossed the wall.

  He swung first.

  And whoever sent him had decided Michael didn’t deserve to live.

  Michael inhaled sharply, the pale reflection staring back at him hardening.

  This wasn’t on me.

  This is on them.

  Every last one of them.

  And somewhere in the back of his mind, a decision began to take shape.