The Ruthless Magic Swordsman

Eastern Border — War Camp, Three Days After the Titan's Fall

The battlefield smoldered still—scarred earth, broken siege engines, the ashes of the dead thick in the air.

But no Ascendrian assault came. Not yet.

They were regrouping—so was Achilles.

Inside a reinforced tent, stripped of his usual command attire, Achilles sat cross-legged—eyes closed, breaths sharp, body still trembling from overexertion.

The System displayed cold diagnostics:

>>> Mana Reserves: 18% (Recovering)

>>> Aura Control: 23% Stability

>>> Swordsmanship Efficiency: Below Combat Standard

>>> Recommendation: Intensive Aura Reinforcement

Kael lingered nearby, arms crossed:

> "You should be in a medic's tent."

"Instead, you're… what? Meditating?"

"Trying to force aura without a master? It could cripple you."

Achilles' voice, rough but certain:

> "I don't have time for tradition."

"I rewrite frameworks—this body included."

"If I can hack a firewall, I can learn aura."

---

⚔ The Struggle of Control

Achilles focused inward—

Feeling the erratic pulse of aura beneath his skin—a raw, aggressive force unlike controlled magic.

It resisted him—slipping through his grip, spiking in dangerous bursts.

Pain laced through his limbs with every failed attempt.

The System provided cold feedback:

>>> Attempted Aura Circulation: 5% Success

>>> Energy Spill: High

>>> Internal Strain: Climbing

But Achilles endured—trial after trial—refusing to accept failure.

Kael watched in disbelief as, hour by hour, Achilles' aura flow—while rough, unstable—began stabilizing.

---

⚔ Blood in the Process

The process wasn't elegant.

His hands bled from strain.

Veins along his arms bruised under backlash.

His blade, at first, flickered uselessly with incomplete energy.

But each repetition—each failure—rewrote his understanding.

Kael couldn't stay silent:

> "Most train for years to wield aura like that…"

"You're collapsing your body just to rush it—"

Achilles' eyes snapped open—cold, unwavering:

> "I don't have years."

"The border holds by days, maybe hours."

"The next fight—It's either I master this, or I die."

---

⚔ The Blade Evolves

On the fourth day, as dusk painted the sky crimson—

Achilles stood, gripping his sword, aura finally humming along the edge—not perfect, but potent.

The System confirmed incremental progress:

>>> Aura Channeling: 51% Stability

>>> Blade Enhancement: Active

>>> Combat Readiness: Moderate

Kael, now reluctantly impressed, nodded:

> "Not flawless… but enough to survive."

Achilles tested the blade—swinging through reinforced dummies, each strike carving deeper, faster, deadlier than before.

His voice remained flat, resolute:

> "Enough to rewrite the battlefield again."

"Next time—there will be no more Titan to break this line."

---

🌑 The Calm Before Storm

Scouts returned with troubling news:

Ascendria's armies regrouping.

New siege weapons.

Whispers of demon mercenaries crossing borders.

And worse… forbidden magic circles resurfacing.

But Achilles, now armed with fledgling aura control, stood at the ramparts—watching the enemy gather.

His exhaustion simmered beneath the surface—but his resolve remained absolute:

> "They escalate but we will adapt and we will evolve."