The Forsaken Hero

Lord Griffon held for several hours, granting the army a chance to recover from the battle. I seized the opportunity to cast several healing spells, recovering enough of my mana by the time we broke camp to completely restore even the worst burns.

As I traced my fingers over the soft, new skin of my shoulder, I couldn’t help but sigh. As predicted, the Sunpurge refused to respond to magic, its surface glowing gently and throbbing at the softest touch. Unlike traditional scars, it left my skin perfectly smooth and whole, yet laced with a series of golden lines and markings. It was similar to a tattoo, or the slave crest for that matter.

Fortunately, it was quite literally skin deep and failed to touch my soul or hamper my movements too much. Riven claimed it would act up if I ever tried exerting myself in combat or hard manual labor, but I didn’t see that sort of thing happening. It wasn’t like I was strong enough to do that kind of thing in the first place, much less now that I was permanently afflicted.

The Sunpurge encircled my shoulder and crept down my upper bicep, igniting at the slightest brush of my sleeve. Upon seeing my discomfort, Riven slit my sleeve down the seam, freeing the area, and promised to ask Lord Griffon for a suitable garment once we returned.

As the march got underway, I took refuge from the murky monotony of the swamp by revisiting our fight in the Core Chamber. The Demons had exhibited a staggering power for their level, casting magic and using abilities on par with our own. The more I thought about it, the less sense the internal casting seemed the sole cause. Perhaps it had something to do with their proximity to the core, or that we were in their dungeon.

Even so, it was irrefutable that their internal use of mana was superior to Enusia’s common external practices. The basilisk proved that as well. Not only did it make interference almost impossible, but there was absolutely a strengthening effect. But, even with the Eyes of Fate, I was unable to properly observe their methodology and came away with only a handful of ideas.

The Sun Magic poisoning my soul took several hours to purge, but the instant I recovered, I began testing my many theories. At first, I attempted to cast spells in my soul using the same techniques for creating the magic circles further away from one’s body. I quickly discarded the idea, however, when it became clear that the soul had no discernible location and existed in a dimension of its own. While attached to my body, who could say if it really existed within?

After cycling through several failed attempts, I began to get the idea that perhaps my premise was wrong. Every time I withdrew mana for a spell, it left me with no discernable way to return it to my soul. And despite their abundant use of spells and abilities, I never once caught sight of the demon’s mana or their magic circles. What if it had never left their soul to begin with?

With that in mind, I began stimulating my mana internally, cycling it around in the same paths as when I trained. The flow was there, yet I could do no more than simply feel the magic. Anytime I managed to isolate a thread of mana, the currents of my soul swept it away, battering through any resistance I offered.

The experience reminded me of when I first discovered magic. No matter how hard I tried, my soul slipped from my grasp moments before I could cast a spell. This was similar, yet many times more difficult. Yet, the familiar sensations offered promise, hinting at results with practice.

When the walls of the city emerged from the swamp, my soul practically quivered with exhaustion. But, moments before I gave up, it happened. A small magic circle appeared in the air, summoning a fist-sized Waterball. I stared at it, stumbling to a stop in shock. A magic circle had appeared, yet it was distinctly different than the one used for casting the spell.

Magic circles fell under two major categories. The first was associated with casting the spell. A mage, whether through a chant or their abilities, crafted runes and aligned them in a magic circle, creating a spell as it resolved. The second was a natural manifestation of magic, directing, creating, or managing an effect. An example of this would be the massive magic circle that summons the Solar Flare or the circle that allows one to program the intensity of my modified light spell.

Fyren, who trudged through the mud beside me, immediately noticed. ”Did you just... in six hours?”

I brushed aside his dumbstruck tone and waved my hand, attempting once more. After so many failed spells, I hardly remembered what had worked, but my mana responded perfectly and me to weave within the flow of my soul once more. Another Waterball plopped into the mud, drawing curious looks from the passing ranks of soldiers.

”So that’s how it works,” I mumbled excitedly. It wasn’t about casting within the flow of mana but altering and compressing the currents themselves.

”Xiviyah,” Fyren prodded urgently. ”Is this for real? You’re not a demon, or a monster, for that matter!”

”The rest of this world seems to disagree with you,” I murmured distantly, casting another spell, followed by another.

The strain the first-circle spells put on my mana was essentially nonexistent, and the flexibility provided by the internal casting allowed for far greater control of the intensity and scope of the spell. The difference between casting in my soul and the chantless method paralleled the transition from chanting to chantless casting.

”This shouldn’t be possible,” he muttered, staring at me without blinking. ”But I’m glad I gambled. You were a good choice”

”Hmm?” I looked up, distracted by my success. ”What did you say?”

He chuckled and waved me off. ”Nothing. Remember our earlier discussion?”

I nodded, putting him at ease. As powerful as this knowledge seemed it would have remained a secret. Anyone suspicious would be almost entirely unable to discern what I was doing unless they possessed something similar to the Eyes of Fate, which allowed one to see both the flow of magic and into souls.

The column of soldiers continued to pass us, jolting me back to the marsh. We quickened our step to reclaim our place in the column, and Fyren asked, ”Do you think others can learn this?”

After considering it, I shook my head. ”It demands nearly perfect mastery of one’s soul, making it accessible only to the most experienced spellcasters. Even I doubt my ability to cast beyond the third or fourth circle right now. Maintaining such casting requires intense concentration, rendering management of multiple magic circles exponentially more challenging.”

”Interesting,” he remarked. ”But keep working at it. Casting spells in that manner would prove a potent trump card when the need arises. Have you decided what to call it?”

”Soul casting,” I replied without hesitation. It was straightforward, relevant, and rolled off the tongue easily. I would be the first to admit it was rather plain, but names had never been my strong suit.

As the remainder of the march flew by, I was caught between exhaustion of the journey and excitement at the discovery. In the few weeks since we left the Divine Throne, my spellcasting abilities had improved by leaps and bounds, and I felt ready to attempt casting a sixth-circle spell. The qualitative jump between the fifth and sixth defined a powerful mage, a boundary I was both eager and a little nervous to challenge.

Before I knew it, we arrived at the city’s walls, where citizens lined the streets, showering our triumphant company with cheers and joyful shouts. A casualty of the Solar Flare, my cloak was a tattered mess, revealing my race to the onlookers. The celebratory exclamations felt partly subdued, but aside from a few surprised frowns, most everyone ignored my presence.

Upon reaching the City Lord’s keep, Fyren and I joined Soltair and Trithe, who had since regained consciousness, at the front of the column. Lord Griffon offered a few words praising our efforts and dedicating the victory to the gods before dismissing the troops. The knights of the Crimson Guard assembled, pitching camp in the courtyard while the City’s army dispersed to their homes.

Afterward, Lord Griffon approached our party, smiling expectantly as he extended an invitation. ”Noble heroes, our city would like to thank you for your invaluable assistance in this raid. I shudder to think what would have happened without your magic,” he said, dipping his head gratefully toward me.

I nodded, finding myself on the gracious side of nobility for the first time. Lord Griffon’s smile tightened as Soltair stood taller, puffing out his chest ever so slightly.

”And you as well, Sun Hero. The act of vanquishing the first Demon Lord to ascend to Enusia will forever be recorded in our annals. With that in mind, it is customary in our lands to hold a banquet following any battle or war, where we celebrate the victory and remember the dead. We would be honored if you would join us.”

”Naturally,” Soltair replied confidently. ”But I must request rooms so that we may rest and bathe ourselves.”

”Of course,” Lord Griffon said, his eyes falling on my shoulder. ”And if you require further aid, I’d be happy to dispatch our finest healers to your quarters. The fact that you would suffer any injury fighting on our behalf is unacceptable.”

Soltair’s confidence wavered slightly, a slight frown creeping across his face. ”That won’t be necessary,” he replied, somewhat stiffly.

Even if it was pointless, perhaps they could do something to stop the constant ache. I tried to plead with my eyes, hoping the Lord would protest and send them anyway, but he just nodded.

”As you wish. Now, I have many things to be about, so I fear I am unable to entertain you further. These servants will show you to your rooms.”

With another polite bow, Lord Griffon twirled and left. Attendants appeared at our sides, showing us into the keep in preparation for the banquet.