gnoring Svend, he tried to sit on the stone floor.
Svend sat down in front of him and said:
"First, since we don't know whether you have a core or not, we have to start with the basics.
Follow my lead," he ordered, crossing his legs and closing his eyes.
He obeyed—there weren't many options available anyway.
"Within everyone's body, there are mana channels. They help guide the mana and slowly form a core near the chest.
Now then, where does mana come from?
It's everywhere—in the air, in the water, in the earth. Every living thing carries mana," he explained in a calm voice.
"Simple, right?"
He opened one eye, curious at how calm the other seemed, and asked seriously:
"And then?"
"This is where it gets hard.
You have to become one with everything around you.
The air, the moisture—absolutely everything. You must merge with the atmosphere itself."
"And... how do you even do that?"
"Your consciousness is a vital part of your soul.
I don't know the full process, since I don't have a core yet. But most people understand how it works.
So creating one isn't impossible."
Svend leaned toward him slightly.
"Now focus. Close your eyes and picture your surroundings—the walls, the tiny dust particles floating in the air... everything.
If you want to form a core, you have to start by becoming one with your environment.
Of course, if you already have one, this won't take long. In that case, it'll be as easy as breathing.
Now try it."
He nodded and slowly closed his eyes. He felt a little nervous about the experience, but also hopeful that a core might already exist inside him—that he wouldn't have to start from nothing.
A full minute passed with no sensation.
His senses sharpened, yes, but he still couldn't fully grasp his surroundings.
Until suddenly... he felt it.
His consciousness—his mind—sensed something else.
The bodies lying across the cell. Every single one of them.
Then something more: the faint breathing of those still unconscious, followed by the soft thump of their heartbeats.
It was a comforting feeling. But what came next filled him even more.
In his chest—or just beneath it—something warm began to stir.
It spread through his entire body. A euphoric sensation that made him forget his wounds, from which a faint white steam now rose.
"So this is mana."
He couldn't help but smile a little. He felt satisfied and at peace.
With every passing minute of meditation, as his awareness expanded, his body continued to heal.
Eventually, he opened his eyes and looked over at the other boy, whose face was now covered in sweat and tinged slightly green.
"You okay?" he asked, noticing how pale he looked.
A few minutes passed in silence before Svend opened his eyes—now dimmer—and said:
"...Yeah. It's just that I'm really not good at this.
At first, it was quick and easy, but then I hit a wall. I lost focus, so I have to start over again.
But I'm not far off, so don't worry about me."
"Who's worried about you?" he replied, feigning surprise.
Svend gave a faint smile before adding:
"But really, I'm fine. What about you? Do you have a core?"
He sighed and answered:
"I think so."
And before the other could say anything else, he cut in, staring straight into his eyes.
"But Svend...
Don't let the things you can't do defeat you. And don't go around saying something's not your thing.
Sure, everyone has their own talents—but...I don't think there's any greater talent than persistence.
Because no matter how many times you fail in the pursuit of what you want—whether in this world or another—you have to keep trying, again and again.Just... try not to trip over the same stone every time."
He gave him a light pat on the shoulder with a smile.
The other boy stared wide-eyed, not really knowing what to say.
But he was no longer paying attention.
"We need to res—"
He didn't finish. Faint footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Immediately, he tensed and shot Svend a sharp look.
He was confident that, with his help, they could handle a couple of goblins.
But if he hadn't fully recovered, he wasn't sure he could defend himself when hundreds—or even thousands—came for them.
They dropped to the floor and pretended to be unconscious.
The goblins who arrived dragged two bodies out of the cells.
He had no idea where they were taking them—or what they would do to them—but he didn't want to find out.
Then more came.
One of the bodies they tried to take suddenly sat up and screamed in desperation:
"NO!! Kill me! Please! Don't take me!
Someone hold me here!
I know you're faking! Please, don't let them take me! Please!!"
They took him anyway, as he broke down into sobs and gut-wrenching screams.
He could only listen to the pleading, chest tight.
He bit his lip, holding back the urge to do something reckless.
And then a question arose in his mind:
What would he have done if they'd taken Svend?
Or one of his siblings instead?
Would he have let them go... just to be fed on?
He didn't know.
But... if he were stronger—much stronger—so strong that thousands of goblins would mean nothing to him...
Then maybe, just maybe, he could protect the ones he truly cared about.
A few minutes after the footsteps faded, he sat back on the stone and looked at Svend.
"Let's keep recovering," he whispered.
Svend was already sitting upright again.