Forge of Fate

Trading, Kalem quickly learned, was a battlefield of a different sort. The clinking of coins replaced the clash of steel, and sharp-eyed merchants with their barbed words were as dangerous as any sword-wielding opponent. Every deal was a skirmish of wits, every market a test of endurance. And yet, for all its challenges, this life gave Kalem a unique kind of training that no sparring session or manual could replicate.

The roads he traveled were as treacherous as the deals he struck. Bandits lurked in dense forests, ready to pounce on vulnerable travelers. Weather turned against him at a moment's notice—rains flooded paths, and biting winds chilled him to the bone. His pack, heavy with goods, tested his stamina as he trudged up steep mountain trails or through muddy lowlands.

One morning, Kalem entered a bustling market town nestled at the edge of a river. Merchants shouted over one another, hawking their wares, and customers haggled with determined fervor. Kalem joined the fray, setting up a makeshift stall to sell his trinkets and repaired tools.

A seasoned trader, clad in fine robes, approached Kalem's stall with a dismissive glance at his wares.

"Your prices are too high for such crude work," the man sneered, holding up a polished yet simple dagger Kalem had forged.

Kalem smiled calmly, meeting the merchant's gaze. "It's not crude—it's durable. Feel the balance in your hand. Perfect for defending yourself on the road."

The merchant hesitated, testing the dagger's weight. Kalem pressed his advantage, emphasizing the craftsmanship and value of the piece. After a tense back-and-forth, the man relented, handing over a few coins with a begrudging nod.

Each negotiation like this sharpened Kalem's focus and quick thinking. He began to see parallels between haggling and combat: anticipating moves, adjusting tactics, and striking at the right moment.

Not all challenges could be solved with words. One evening, as Kalem trudged through a shadowy forest, the silence was shattered by a low, menacing voice.

"Drop the pack and leave, or you'll regret it."

Three bandits emerged from the underbrush, their weapons glinting in the dim light. Kalem's heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. He scanned the area, noting the uneven terrain and a fallen tree nearby that could serve as cover.

Without a word, Kalem swung his pack off his shoulders, pretending to comply. As the nearest bandit approached, Kalem lunged, grabbing a sturdy hammer from his pack. He swung low, catching the man off guard and sending him sprawling.

The other two charged, but Kalem used the terrain to his advantage, maneuvering around the fallen tree to force them into awkward positions. One misstep led to another, and soon Kalem had disarmed the second bandit with a calculated strike. The third, realizing the fight wasn't worth the trouble, fled into the woods.

Kalem leaned against the fallen tree, panting and nursing a sprained wrist. Though victorious, the encounter left him shaken.

Later that night, Kalem sat by his campfire, rubbing his wrist and reflecting on the ambush. Despite the chaos, he had remained calm and efficient, conserving his energy while exploiting his surroundings.

The realization struck him like a spark igniting dry wood: the principles of battle aura were already present in his actions. Quick reactions, efficient energy use, and heightened awareness—all were elements of the control he sought to master.

Inspired, Kalem closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He imagined the hum of energy within him, the same way he felt it during moments of heightened awareness in combat. At first, there was only silence, but then, faintly, he felt it—a subtle vibration in his muscles, like a whisper of mana coursing through his body.

The sensation was fleeting, but it filled Kalem with hope. For the first time, he believed that battle aura was within his reach.

The days that followed tested Kalem's newfound resolve. His wrist healed slowly, but the road offered no respite. He faced rainstorms that turned paths into rivers of mud, dealt with stubborn merchants who tried to shortchange him, and endured lonely stretches of wilderness where the only sound was the crunch of his boots on gravel.

But with each challenge, Kalem grew stronger. He practiced his breathing exercises nightly, sometimes by the flickering light of a campfire, other times under the cold, watchful gaze of the moon. He experimented with small bursts of mana, attempting to channel it into his movements. Though his progress was slow, each success, no matter how minor, fueled his determination.

One evening, after a grueling day of travel, Kalem found himself standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast, rolling valley. The setting sun bathed the landscape in hues of gold and crimson. As he gazed at the horizon, he felt a strange calm wash over him—a sense of balance and clarity that he couldn't quite explain.

Kalem breathed deeply, focusing inward. For a brief moment, he felt the hum of mana again, stronger this time. It coursed through him like a gentle wave, filling him with a sense of connection to the world around him.

"This is only the beginning," Kalem whispered to himself, a determined smile spreading across his face.

By the time Kalem reached the outskirts of the Asterisk Valley, he had grown more confident in his ability to control mana, though he knew he was far from mastery. The valley stretched out before him, a lush expanse dotted with villages and towns, its heart hidden by jagged mountains.

Rumors of Warsaw, a kingdom famed for its rich mineral deposits and skilled miners, had drawn him here. He saw it as the perfect opportunity to combine his goals: learning about rare ores and honing his battle aura through physical labor.

Adjusting his pack, Kalem set off toward the distant town lights, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him. He was no longer the defeated warrior of Velina's Grand Tourney. He was a traveler, a trader, and a student of the unknown, forging his path one step at a time.