Chapter 11: Meditation - Strange Information

Because of how volatile Sigurd's magic became while performing the body tempering technique, they gave him a three-metre private room in each direction.

While standing on a black mat, he held Mammon and closed his eyes again.

'It feels so comforting to perform this technique. Like my body is being cleansed and wrapped in a warm veil of magic.'

"Phew.... let's aim for ten cycles. I don't want to overdo it, but I want to see my limit."

Sigurd held Mammon out and pointed to the wall ahead while he felt the churning of his emerald flame bubbling in his abdomen.

This time, the mediation started sooner; no longer forced to speak the chant, he felt it tracing his existence as his body danced.

'Why does this sword give me information, knowledge that should be secret... How did I know about the stones of sin?'

'Before performing my first cycle, I knew nothing, only that there were seven powerful witches the church sought to destroy.'

Sigurd pondered, dancing as he felt the strange emerald flames and tiny orb of ice forming on his body, slowly tempering his muscles before entering and wrapping around his bones; like a fine ribbon, it tore apart the weak and inferior parts, burning, freezing and discarding them. Then reborn was a new, stronger flesh, tendon or bone.

'Only Mammon can tell me? Maybe Medea also knows, but how does a sword know?'

As he completed his first cycle, he felt his magic recovering; covered in sweat, he felt each step becoming harder. The first cycle was like jogging a short 200-metre lap, then the second felt like a 400-metre sprint, with hurdles added.

'Each cycle means the difficulty and fatigue I endure increases exponentially.'

However, Sigurd persevered through his fourth cycle, when he felt an odd sense of fulfilment when finishing—the feeling was like eating a delicious meal after a long training day, then taking a hot bath.

'If I continue, will I gain rewards? Rosa mentioned little Eva was capable of twenty cycles!'

His thirst for strength increased as he continued into his fifth cycle and by the seventh cycle. Sigurd's body was sweaty, and his muscles felt tender, feeling weak like he had just been born. His bones ached like he had run a hundred miles.

'I am so close, just three more!'

Crack!

Sigurd's palm trembled before his fingers broke; the bones, like his muscles, seemed to undergo a mysterious change as the flames seeped through his meat, now burning his bones as if the green flames sank their sharp teeth into them.

"Ugh!?"

It was the first moment of intense pain Sigurd suffered; his hand holding Mammon lost all power as it swayed and rolled, almost leaving his powerless hand, but he endured, biting his tongue while focusing on nothing but the movement of his magic and the source of its power.

No matter how unbearable it felt.

'I can do better... This isn't my limit!'

Like a cry for help, his soul screamed as Sigurd tried to rely on his strength forged over the past decade, and with it, a dark gluttonous force erupted like a volcano, allowing him to continue until the tenth cycle, no matter how much pain he needed to endure.

His body collapsed onto the ground as the powerful, dark winds ripped through his room before settling.

"Ha.... haa... ha...."

He didn't achieve some profound realisation, nor did his body become the pinnacle of mankind... However, he felt if he compared the speed of his blade to that of the day before, he might be half a second faster, the strike a few pounds heavier and his reaction a moment quicker.

'I need to practise more; this isn't a sprint, but a marathon I must perform daily, slowly using my magic to empower my weak human body.'

"It's amazing; after exhausting my magic, it seems the amount in my abdomen increased a little, maybe half a cup extra if measured in liquid..." Sigurd whispered, while closing his eyes feeling his body recovering from the intense cycles.

He opened his eyes for the first time only to find the entire room's walls, ceiling and floor covered in sword marks, all writing the same word in his kingdom's language.

"Avarice."

Not in the sense of greed... But written in a way that seems to scold Sigurd, calling him "Greedy" instead.

Sigurd didn't feel ashamed but felt that the words etched into the entire room made him realise that his state of mind when performing this tempering was more important than he imagined.

"That's enough for today; I should return and speak with Medea to learn more about myself, magic and witches."

Then, as if knowing he had finished, the doors clicked and opened loudly; on the other side were Eva and her mother.

Both of them looked at the room, now bright from the external light, revealing a beautiful golden altar at the end of the room, untouched, but their eyes examining the words written also failed to surprise them, which made Sigurd feel uncomfortable.

"You were a little eager today, Apprentice Sigurd. May I ask how many cycles you forced your immature body to endure?" Rosa smiled gently, stepping forward with a towel as she dabbed the thick, sticky sweat from his body and helped him stand.

"Ten cycles... I know it was reckless, but I wanted to do better."

"Mmm, I can understand because of those girls all fawning and the records of others I mentioned. Sorry, Apprentice Sigurd. I didn't think you were such a competitive boy."

"It was my mistake... However, now I see why her eminence chose you."

Rosa didn't chastise or blame him for the damage to the walls as she waved her hand.

The traces of his shame soon vanished while Eva watched with her curious eyes while her mother helped Sigurd leave the room and recover the feeling in his bones and muscles.

'Now my hands hurt so much, so how am I supposed to train tomorrow with Medea...' He thought helplessly as Rosa led him towards the bathes.

"Mmm... it seems you've realised something; I recommend you indulge in a long soak here. Our most skilled apothecaries and herbalists selected the most effective herbs and minerals to heal wounds and muscle pain, which fill the baths."

"Huh? I can't disturb you."

"Of course you can." Rosa's smile seemed challenging; her proud chest made him look away as Eva coughed and stood before her mother.

"Mother, isn't it against etiquette for us to intrude? We should allow the male apprentice to enjoy himself. It would be impolite to remove his robe in our presence."

"Eh? Eva, why do you say things your heart doesn't mean?"

"Mother!" Eva seemed embarrassed and shyly tapped her mother's arm.

"Silly daughter, it's not like you don't have the desire to see him naked. Look at your naughty eyes."

"Mother!" Eva's face turned red before looking at Sigurd and noticing he wasn't looking at them.

Instead, it seemed his body hurt too much to care about who saw him or what happened as he stripped his apprentice armour, tossed it aside and climbed into the bath, filled with over a dozen fellow apprentices.

"See, he doesn't mind. I think the pain is far too much for him to care about little things like us seeing him naked. Silly girl, join him, or those vultures will try to sink in their claws!"

Meanwhile, Sigurd's mind was miles away from the youthful Elven lady's bodies displayed in the water.

He reflected on himself and the information he gained from ten cycles from Mammon...