Chương 78: The Spell Was Manual Labor

Sieghart followed Ronan upstairs the next morning expecting to enter a training yard filled with targets, enchanted obstacles, and perhaps several books explaining the basics of self-combat magic. Instead, Ronan led him through the guild's main hall, crossed the street, and walked toward the commercial district without explaining anything. Sieghart maintained Phantom Image as they moved through the city.

His crimson hair appeared dark brown, his green eyes became gray, and the most recognizable features inherited from House Emberhart remained concealed. Ronan carried the two wooden practice blades from the previous morning. However, he showed no sign of intending to use them, and they remained hanging from his belt while they walked. Sieghart tolerated the silence for almost ten minutes.

"Where is the training yard?"

"We aren't using one."

"Then where are we going?"

"To work." Sieghart waited for the punchline. Ronan continued walking with the same relaxed expression he wore whenever he knew something irritating and intended to reveal it slowly. They eventually reached a warehouse beside one of Seraphina's artificial canals. Several cargo boats floated near the loading area while workers moved crates onto enchanted platforms. Blue mana lines glowed beneath those platforms, reducing the weight of whatever was placed upon them.

Workers pushed entire stacks of cargo with relatively little effort. Ronan spoke briefly with the warehouse supervisor before pointing toward a row of wooden boxes stacked beside the wall.

"Move those inside." Sieghart looked at the boxes, then at Ronan.

"With magic?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because carrying a box with sand won't train your body." Sieghart stared at him for several seconds before approaching the nearest crate. It was small enough for an adult to carry comfortably, but wide enough to become awkward in his shorter arms. He crouched, placed both hands beneath it, and lifted. The weight immediately strained his back and shoulders. Protection reduced some discomfort, although the spell could not make the crate lighter or provide his muscles with additional strength.

Sieghart carried it through the warehouse while Ronan walked beside him doing absolutely nothing useful. The tracker offered occasional instructions about posture, but he never touched the cargo.

"Keep your back straight."

"I know."

"Then do it."

"The crate is blocking my view."

"That shouldn't affect your spine." Ronan appeared completely unconcerned about that particular problem. Sieghart placed the crate in the location indicated by the supervisor and returned for another one. Ronan immediately pointed toward the next box without allowing him to rest. The process continued until Sieghart had moved twelve crates. His arms shook slightly by the end, and his shirt clung to his back despite the cool air flowing through the warehouse.

The work was not dangerous, but his Strength and Endurance remained low. One year spent training underground had done nothing to prepare him for repeatedly lifting heavy objects. When the final box reached its proper place, Sieghart expected Ronan to begin explaining how the exercise connected with magic. Instead, the tracker handed him a broom.

"Now clean the warehouse." Sieghart looked at the wide floor covered in dust, wood fragments, and scraps left by unpacked cargo.

"I can do that with Wind Magic."

"You can, but you won't."

"Why?"

"Because you would spread half the dust into the cargo and the other half into everyone's lungs."

"I can control it."

"Use the broom." Sieghart tightened his grip around the handle. The temperature near him increased slightly, causing Ronan to step away before the irritation became physically uncomfortable. Using a broom felt particularly insulting after spending years learning magic capable of destroying monsters. However, he had agreed to follow the training as long as Ronan's instructions remained reasonable. Cleaning a warehouse was technically reasonable.

It was also stupid, slow, and suspiciously convenient for the warehouse owner. Sieghart swept the floor while Ronan sat on an empty crate. The tracker occasionally criticized his movements, claiming that he relied too heavily on his arms instead of rotating through his shoulders and waist. Those corrections sounded more relevant to weapon training than cleaning. Sieghart silently followed them while remembering every complaint for future retaliation.

Once the floor was clean, Ronan led him to another building and made him carry sacks of dried herbs from a wagon into a storage room. The sacks were lighter than the earlier crates, but the distance was longer. By the sixth trip, Sieghart's legs had started aching along with his arms. After that came a delivery job. Ronan handed him a leather bag containing sealed letters, receipts, and small packages. The addresses were spread across several districts of Seraphina. Sieghart examined the list.

"There are seventeen deliveries."

"Eighteen. The last one is written on the back."

"You want me to walk across the entire city?"

"Not the entire city." Ronan pointed toward the northern district.

"Nothing beyond the second canal." Sieghart considered using Frozen Floor and Wind Magic to cross the streets faster. The technique would reduce travel time considerably, assuming he ignored the accidents caused by covering crowded roads in ice. Ronan seemed to read the idea from his expression.

"No movement spells."

"Breeze would be enough."

"No."

"Then what magic am I allowed to use?"

"Preferably none that make the work easier for you. If you get hurt, just heal yourself."

"That doesn't make me faster." This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Exactly." Sieghart began the deliveries while wondering whether Mira had accidentally assigned him to the guild's least competent instructor. The route forced him to cross bridges, climb several long staircases, and navigate narrow streets packed with merchants, vehicles, and pedestrians. Ronan followed from a distance, allowing Sieghart to choose his own route. Whenever the child made an inefficient decision, the tracker waited until afterward to point it out.

By noon, Sieghart had completed only eleven deliveries. His feet hurt, his legs felt heavy, and his patience had almost reached its limit. They stopped near a small public square where Ronan purchased two meat pies from a street vendor. He handed one to Sieghart before sitting beneath a tree. Sieghart accepted the food because refusing out of pride would only make the afternoon worse. He finished half the pie before speaking again.

"Are these real guild jobs?"

"Yes."

"Is Lunar Arc being paid?"

"Yes."

"Am I being paid?"

"Perhaps, if you stop complaining and grunting.." Ronan ate another bite without showing any guilt.

"You're also receiving lunch." Sieghart looked at the half-eaten pie.

"This doesn't cover twelve crates, an entire warehouse, six sacks, and eighteen deliveries."

"You forgot the valuable life experience."

"I can pay people for life experience when I take over the world."

"That joke is getting less funny every time you say it."

"You started it." Ronan finished eating before Sieghart could demand a portion of the guild's payment. They resumed the deliveries and spent another two hours crossing the city. The final package belonged to an old enchanter who lived above a shop near the eastern canal. The man offered Sieghart a copper coin for carrying it upstairs. Sieghart accepted immediately and showed the coin to Ronan after leaving the building.

"My first payment today."

"Try not to spend it all in one place."

"I'm adding the rest to your debt."

"What debt?"

"The money you're stealing from my labor." Ronan laughed and continued walking. They returned to the guild during the late afternoon. Sieghart expected the lesson to end, but Ronan led him behind the headquarters and pointed toward several empty barrels. The barrels needed to be washed, moved, and stacked beneath a covered section beside the outer wall. Sieghart completed the task without speaking because his anger had advanced beyond complaining.

When the final barrel reached the stack, he sat on the ground and glared at his instructor. Ronan remained standing nearby, looking irritatingly fresh despite walking almost as far throughout the day. Sieghart wiped sweat from his forehead.

"What was the point of all that?"

"Training."

"You didn't teach me anything."

"I corrected your posture, breathing, balance, and movement throughout the entire day." Sieghart waited for a more satisfying explanation. Ronan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

"I'm making you do the same things I did when I started learning self-combat magic."

"You carried boxes?"

"Boxes, stones, water, lumber, wounded people, and anything else my teacher could find. If you work hard, you might learn the first spell within a few months." Sieghart stared at him in disbelief.

"How am I supposed to learn a spell without hearing a single instruction about using mana?" Ronan released a tired sigh. He had apparently expected the question, although that did not make him more enthusiastic about answering it.

"People learn in different ways and at different speeds. That becomes even more important when the magic involves their bodies."

"That explains nothing."

"You learned Fire Magic by understanding anger. You learned Water Magic by creating the correct state of mind. Neither spell required someone to describe every movement of your mana."

"Self-combat magic isn't elemental."

"No, which is why you first need to understand your body without magic." Ronan pointed toward Sieghart's legs.

"You compensate for weak defenses with Protection. You compensate for low speed with Wind Magic. Whenever your body struggles, your first response is to make a spell solve the problem."

"That is the purpose of magic."

"The purpose of self-combat magic is to make your body perform better. You can't reinforce movements you don't understand." Sieghart glanced toward his aching arms. Carrying boxes had forced him to notice how his shoulders, back, and legs worked together. Every time his posture became inefficient, the weight had shifted toward weaker muscles and exhausted them faster. Ronan's corrections had reduced that strain, even if Sieghart disliked admitting it.

The deliveries had also revealed weaknesses in his balance and endurance. He relied heavily upon one leg when climbing, turned too sharply when changing direction, and wasted energy by maintaining the same pace on every street. Ronan had apparently spent the day observing those details.

"You could have explained that this morning."

"You would have spent the entire day thinking about mana instead of paying attention to your body." Sieghart went silent. Ronan was probably correct, which made the situation considerably more annoying.

"Tomorrow, the training begins for real."

"What was today?"

"Preparation." Sieghart looked toward the empty barrels, the dirt on his clothes, and the blisters beginning to form across his hands.

"If that was preparation, your definition of training concerns me."

"It should." Ronan walked back inside the guild while Sieghart remained seated for several more minutes. His body felt heavier than after most magical training sessions, although his mind remained relatively clear. He eventually returned to the basement, ate a large meal, and fell asleep before attempting to create a Mana Sword even once. The next morning, someone knocked on his door again. Sieghart opened it and found Ronan carrying four dark bands.

Two were sized for wrists, while the larger pair appeared designed for ankles. Each band was made from a flexible gray material engraved with several tiny runes. Sieghart sensed stored mana moving through those markings.

"What are those?"

"Training bands." Ronan handed him the smaller pair. They felt heavier than their size suggested, as though thin pieces of metal had been concealed beneath the surface. Sieghart fastened one around each wrist. The weight immediately pulled his arms downward, forcing him to adjust his posture. The ankle bands were even heavier. Walking remained possible, but every step required noticeably more effort than before. Sieghart examined the runes.

"Are they enchanted to increase weight?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Not enough to hurt you today."

"Today?"

"They'll become heavier with every passing day." Sieghart looked at Ronan.

"A cursed item…" The tracker smiled.

"You're going to repeat yesterday's work while wearing them."

"You said the real training would begin."

"It has."

"This is the same thing with extra weight."

"Exactly." Sieghart attempted to remove one wristband. The buckle refused to move, and the runes glowed briefly beneath his fingers. Ronan watched without offering assistance.

"They unlock after the daily training is complete."

"You locked them?" Sieghart pulled harder, but the band remained firmly attached. He considered freezing the buckle or cutting through it with Wind Blade. Ronan noticed where his gaze had settled.

"Destroying guild property comes out of your savings." Sieghart stopped. The tracker led him upstairs and handed him another delivery list. This one contained twenty addresses. Sieghart looked at the paper, then at the bands dragging against his wrists and ankles.

"You have lost your mind."

"No. I learned this way, and now you will too." Ronan tapped one of the runes around Sieghart's wrist.

"The weight will keep increasing. Eventually, your body won't be able to complete the work through physical effort alone."

"And then?"

"You'll have to reinforce the correct movements with mana."

"You haven't taught me how."

"That's the useful part. When your body reaches its limit, it will become very clear where the mana needs to go." Sieghart frowned. Pouring mana blindly into his limbs risked damaging muscles, tendons, or bones, exactly as Mira had warned. Ronan had apparently created a situation where Sieghart would be forced to sense those limits gradually. The bands would increase the burden each day, allowing his body to adapt while making inefficient movements increasingly obvious. It was logical. It was controlled.

It was still completely insane.

"You'll learn self-combat magic now whether you like it or not," Ronan said. Sieghart stared at him and seriously wondered whether this moron had finally lost the last functional part of his mind. Unfortunately, Ronan's previous lesson had worked. That fact made refusing much harder than the weights ever could.