Arthur sat on the floor of the silent library, his eyes glued to the pages of The Art of Herbology. He had skimmed past sections on common mosses and flower types, his disappointment still a sour taste in his mouth. But then, he found it. The chapter on the plant from the cover.
The book called it 'Silver-Vein Leaf'.
The text was dense, but Arthur forced himself to focus. It described the plant's properties in detail. It wasn't a potent healing herb, nor a component for powerful poisons. Its primary property was something far stranger. It was a natural mana sedative.
According to the ancient text, when crushed and applied to the skin, or brewed into a simple tea, the essence of the Silver-Vein Leaf could calm and stabilize agitated or volatile mana within a cultivator's body. It spoke of how practitioners of chaotic arts, like fire or lightning, used it to reduce the risk of backlash during training, allowing for finer control over otherwise untamable energies.
Arthur's eyes widened. He sat bolt upright, the book held tightly in his hands.
Volatile mana. Uncontrollable energy.
He thought of his own training over the past month. The Thunder Punishing Fist. He remembered the frustration, the way the lightning mana felt like a wild beast in his channels, refusing to be tamed. He could barely form a spark without immense concentration, and the effort left his mana pathways aching.
The book was practically giving him the answer.
A slow smile spread across his face. He had been looking at things all wrong. He had seen the Eldermoor Forest as just a place filled with monsters, a proving ground where one fought beasts to get their cores. He never once thought to look at the plants, the rocks, the streams.
He now realized the entire forest was a massive, untapped apothecary, a treasure trove of resources hiding in plain sight.
Ezriel's library wasn't just a collection of boring theory. It was a key. A key to unlocking the true potential of the world around him.
Exiting the library was the same as exiting the space in the coin. The moment he willed it, he was out of the space, returning to his room.
His frustration was gone, replaced by a surge of purpose. He needed to test this.
He stood up, tucked the precious scrolls and his new sword into the coin's space, and left his room. In the main hall, his father was waiting, as if he knew Arthur would be heading out. He wasn't repairing nets; he was just standing there, his broad shoulders slumped slightly.
"Going out?" Garron asked, his voice quiet.
"Yeah," Arthur replied, his voice steady. "Just some training in the forest. Need to get stronger before the trip to the capital."
Garron nodded slowly. He walked over and placed a heavy hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I know you do. And I'm proud of you, boy. More than you know." He paused, his gaze filled with a complex mix of pride and deep-seated fear. "Just… be careful out there, Arthur. The capital… the people there… they're not like the folks in Eldermoor. They smile to your face while holding a knife behind their back. We learned that the hard way."
He was talking about what happened years ago, about the powerful families who had stood by and watched as Arthur's fate was ripped away.
"You've earned this chance," Garron continued, his grip tightening slightly. "Don't let anyone take anything from you ever again. But don't be reckless. Power is a tool, not a shield for everything. Your mind, your instincts… trust them first."
Arthur met his father's worried gaze. He saw the years of quiet pain and resilience reflected there. "I will, Dad," Arthur said, his own voice now laced with a new maturity. "I won't let what happened before happen again. I promise."
Garron finally smiled, a genuine, if tired, smile. "Alright. Go on then. Be safe. Don't go too deep into those woods."
Arthur moved quickly through the city outskirts and into the familiar woods. This time, his focus was different. He wasn't just looking for threats; he was scanning the foliage, the base of trees, the damp earth near streams. He pushed deeper, his memory guiding him back towards the area where he had fought the Dire Wolf weeks ago.
After nearly an hour of searching, he found it.
Growing in a small, shaded patch at the base of a large, moss-covered boulder, was a cluster of plants with silver-veined leaves and tiny, bell-shaped blue flowers. It was exactly like the illustration in the book.
He knelt down, a sense of triumph washing over him. He carefully harvested a half-dozen leaves, making sure not to damage the roots, just as the book had instructed.
He then found a secluded clearing, far from any main paths. He sat down, took out two flat rocks, and placed the leaves between them. He began to grind, crushing the leaves until they formed a moist, dark green paste. A cool, herbal scent filled the air.
His heart began to beat faster. This was the moment of truth.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he took the paste and smeared it across the back of his right hand and knuckles. A strange, cooling sensation spread through his skin, seeping deep into his muscles and bone. It wasn't just a surface cold; he could feel it interacting with the mana channels in his arm, soothing them.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward. He began to circulate his mana, guiding it towards his right fist, preparing the initial sequence for the Thunder Punishing Fist.
Before, this part had been a struggle, like trying to force a raging river through a narrow pipe. His mana would resist, feeling chaotic and wild.
But now… now it was different.
The chaotic lightning-natured mana still felt powerful, but it was no longer a raging beast. The cooling sensation from the paste seemed to guide it, to calm its wild edges. It flowed smoothly, willingly, into the pathways the scroll described. He felt none of the usual strain, none of the aching pain in his mana channels.
He opened his eyes and looked at his hand.
With a final push of his will, he activated the first form.
There was no deafening explosion, no wild, uncontrolled discharge.
Instead, a stable, crackling ball of brilliant blue lightning, the size of his fist, materialized around his knuckles. It hummed with a contained, terrifying power, arcs of electricity dancing over its surface, illuminating the dark clearing with their intense light. It was larger, denser, and infinitely more potent than any mere spark he had managed to create before.
He had done it. He held a piece of the storm in the palm of his hand.