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Chapter 22 - Chapter 22 - Excursion to the Slug Forest [2]

The problem arose when I attempted to seek out blood mana. Technically, it exists, but it is so scarce in the environment that it is nearly impossible to gather without a direct source. I considered using actual blood, but... I am not a lunatic. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps someday.

A pattern began to emerge in my experiments: inhaling any type of mana, except for light and lightning, caused an unbearable itch all over my body. It wasn't just annoying—it was as if thousands of needles were scratching me from the inside out. And worse, not even the mana control I had trained was able to block that sensation. I could only endure it, shake my fingers, and take deep breaths, hoping it would pass.

But dark mana... ah, that was different. Inhaling that type of energy was like stepping into a bathtub filled with warm water at just the right temperature. An invisible embrace, enveloping, dense, but not suffocating. It was pleasurable. Relaxing. And addictive. I soon realized that I was seeking that state before going to sleep. I called it the "breath of darkness" It was the only one I used during my nightly meditations, to quiet my mind and relax my body. I never thought that such a feared element could become part of my rest routine.

When using light mana, I discovered something I never would have imagined: I could see other people's magic — active spells floating in space, like luminous threads intertwined with fluorescent ink. Each spell had a distinct color, as if it carried its own visual signature. It was beautiful, even mesmerizing. The world seemed like a hidden stage for magical shows that I was only now beginning to see. I was fascinated, of course... until I realized that seeing too much can also be dangerous.

But it was the cloak of darkness that showed me something even more disturbing.

Sometimes, when I wrapped myself in it and plunged deep into that state of dense stillness, I saw shapes. Translucent, misshapen creatures floating in the space around me. They didn't seem to notice my presence—or maybe they just ignored it. They were vaguely humanoid, with limbs that were too long, eyes that weren't in the right place, and movements that followed no logic. I think they were ghosts. Or something worse. A fragment of another layer of reality, perhaps?

I didn't mention this to anyone. Who would believe me?

The most absurd thing is that all this comes from a simple inhalation of mana — the "breath" A single breath gave me about thirty units of mixed mana, but the physical effect... it was as if I had used a body strengthening spell equivalent to seven hundred units of pure mana. This is completely insane. No known calculation of alchemy or arcanism explains this kind of multiplication of efficiency.

I can only think of one explanation: the breath affects the body from the inside out. Perhaps with the soul. Perhaps with something even more primitive.

And to think that all this is done with direct effort, without a mana core...

Ah, if only I had one of those. If I had a core, I could store and shape that energy instead of just dissipating it through my body. I could maintain a cloak for hours. I could see the whole world through light and talk to the dead through darkness. I could... be feared. Or revered.

But for now, I'm just a simpleton. A simpleton who breathes things he shouldn't and sees things no one else can see.

And it was time to do something useful with that.

I stretched at length, listening to each vertebra in my spine creak like old wood settling. After so much time hunched over parchments and inks, I crawled out from behind the table like a nocturnal animal emerging from its burrow. It was high time to stretch my legs and give some practical meaning to my afternoon. My destination? The village blacksmith's shop.

I had left some ideas with the blacksmith, and now it was time to discuss what he could do with them.

When I arrived, the heat of the place enveloped me immediately—the smell of burnt iron, oil, and old sweat was almost comforting. The forge was alive, breathing embers. I found the blacksmith bent over an anvil, his muscles tensed under the soot like bowstrings.

I explained what I wanted: a thin, slightly curved sword, sharp on one side only, with a layered structure. He raised an eyebrow. Curious. I continued, simplifying as much as possible:

"The central layer needs to be light and malleable, so that the sword does not break on impact. The outer layers, harder and more rigid, prevent deformation and form the blade itself. A balance of strength and flexibility"

He was silent for a second. Then he said, with the solemnity of someone hearing the revelation of a sacred recipe:

"Not another word"

And he continued acting as if I had activated some kind of ancient spell.

He picked up a metal ingot, handled it reverently, and placed it on a base carved with runes. He poured mana over them with precision—a bluish energy that snaked between the lines—and in an instant, the metal glowed red-hot, as if the very heart of a star had been lit there.

It was then that he noticed I was still there, standing like a statue, admiring the process. He stared at me with a serious, almost religious look. And then, without a word, he pushed me out the door.

Literally.

The door slammed behind me with a metallic clang.

Apparently, he liked the idea.

Two days passed. Enough time for the initial enthusiasm to give way to doubt. Was what I had described really feasible in this world? Or did the limitations here make my ideas as useful as poetry in battle? I decided to find out for myself.

I walked to the now familiar forge. As I pushed open the heavy dark wooden door, I was immediately enveloped by the heat and smell of burning coal, molten iron, and sweat. But above all, something caught my attention in an almost aggressive way.

There, on a stone bench, lay a blade without a guard or hilt—naked, raw, and absurdly beautiful. It was a katana. There was no other name for it. Thin, slightly curved, with a single edge, its surface oscillated between the deep black of ebony and a metallic silver, and under the light of the forge, it glowed with a discreet purple sheen, as if it had been forged under the sky of an eclipse.

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