Leon’s gaze shifted from the depleted pile of skill stones to the collection of technique scrolls still resting on the earthen table. The parchnts were rolled and tied with various colored threads—so faded with age, others vibrant and new. Unlike the crystalline solidity of skill stones, these scrolls seed almost fragile, their surfaces covered in intricate runic writing that glowed faintly in the gathering darkness.
The evening air had cooled considerably, carrying with it the scent of grass and earth. A gentle breeze rustled the parchnts, making them whisper against each other like gossiping spirits.
Seraphine approached the table, her fingers hovering over one of the scrolls before she pulled her hand back. Her purple hair caught the starlight as she tilted her head in thought, and Leon noticed the slight furrow of her brow—the expression she wore when calculating strategies.
"Leon," she said slowly, her voice asured and deliberate. "I’ve been thinking about these technique scrolls."
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. The predatory anticipation he’d felt monts ago shifted into curiosity.
"I could learn them myself," Seraphine continued, picking up one of the scrolls and turning it over in her hands. The parchnt crinkled softly under her touch. "But that would be... inefficient."
Where is she going with this? Leon wondered, watching her expression carefully.
"Your training speed is much faster than mine," she said, eting his eyes directly. There was no jealousy in her tone, just practical acknowledgnt of reality. "What takes months to master, you accomplish in weeks. And your ntal capacity..." She gestured at the empty space where forty-seven skill stones had once been. "You just absorbed forty-seven skills without even showing discomfort. Most people would either die or be seriously hurt with the ntal toll after learning 5 or 6."
Leon remained silent, allowing her to reach her point.
"So here’s what I propose," Seraphine said, setting the scroll back down, her fingers trailing across the other parchnts. "You learn all of these techniques first. Once your mastery increases—and knowing you, it will increase rapidly—you can write new scrolls for based on your understanding. That way, I’ll receive the techniques refined by your experience rather than struggling through the basics myself."
She paused, then added with a slight smile, "Besides, if I learned them myself, it would take much longer before I could share them with others. This way is better for both of us."
Leon considered her words, his mind processing the logic. The cool night air brushed against his skin as he thought through the implications.
She’s right, he realized. With my learning speed and combat experience, I can master these techniques quickly and then create better versions for her to learn. It’s the most efficient approach.
"Agreed," he said. "I’ll learn them all and transcribe improved versions for you once I’ve mastered them."
Relief and satisfaction flickered across Seraphine’s face. She stepped back from the table, gesturing toward the scrolls with an almost theatrical flourish. "Then they’re all yours. Don’t hold back."
Leon approached the table, his eyes scanning the collection with renewed focus. The scrolls were organized roughly by type—combat techniques, movent thods, defensive forms, and specialized applications. So were bound with red thread, while others were bound with blue, green, or gold. The color coding seed arbitrary, likely based on the previous owners’ preferences rather than a standardized system.
He picked up the first scroll, feeling the texture of aged parchnt beneath his fingers. The material was surprisingly sturdy despite its apparent fragility, infused with mana that had preserved it through years of storage. The thread binding it was rough against his palm as he worked it loose.
So I tear it to activate the knowledge transfer, Leon thought, recalling the chanism Seraphine had explained earlier.
He gripped the scroll firmly and tore it down the middle.
The response was imdiate and dramatic. The parchnt didn’t simply rip—it disintegrated, the fibers separating into countless motes of golden light that swirled upward like disturbed fireflies. The runic writing lifted off the surface, each character becoming a separate point of luminescence that danced in the air before converging toward his forehead.
The mont the light entered his mind, Leon felt the technique implant itself into his consciousness.
It wasn’t like the clean, simple transfer of skill stones. This was more imrsive, more experiential. He found himself standing in a ntal simulation, his body moving through the forms of the technique automatically. His muscles rembered movents he’d never made, his mana circulated through patterns he’d never practiced. His mind understood applications he’d never considered.
The technique was called "Phantom Strike"—a combat thod that involved creating afterimages through precise timing and mana control. In the ntal space, Leon practiced it repeatedly, his simulated body moving faster and faster until the movents beca second nature. He could feel the technique settling into his muscle mory, becoming as familiar as breathing.
When he opened his eyes, Seraphine was watching him with fascination.
"How long was I...?" Leon started to ask.
"About thirty seconds," she replied. "But your expression kept changing. What was it like?"
"Simulation," Leon said, flexing his fingers as if testing the new muscle mory. "The technique plays out in your mind until you’ve reached apprentice-level mastery. Efficient."
And considerably more thorough than skill stones, he noted internally. Skills provide the knowledge and activation thod, but techniques offer the experience gained through practice.
He reached for the next scroll without hesitation.
The second technique was "Iron Guard Stance"—a defensive form that distributed impact force across the entire body rather than concentrating it at the point of contact. The scroll crumbled into bronze-colored light that carried the scent of heated tal. In the ntal simulation, Leon took hits from imaginary opponents, feeling how the stance redirected energy, how his footing had to adjust, how his breathing synchronized with the force absorption.
Thirty seconds later, he erged with apprentice mastery.
The third scroll contained "Flowing River Steps"—a movent technique that emphasized continuous motion and the conservation of montum. Silver-blue light swirled into his consciousness, and suddenly he was gliding through the ntal training space, each step flowing seamlessly into the next, never stopping, never losing speed. The technique taught him to move like water—adaptable, persistent, impossible to pin down.
Leon’s hands moved with chanical efficiency now, tearing scroll after scroll. Each one released its stored knowledge in a burst of colored light—gold, silver, crimson, erald, violet. The lights painted patterns in the darkness, drawing Seraphine’s eye as she watched the systematic dismantling of their technique collection.
"Crimson Fang Slash"—an uncommon-ranked sword technique that channeled fire mana through blade strikes to create explosive cutting power. The simulation was intense, showing him exactly how to ti the mana release with the sword’s swing for maximum effect.
"Shadow Veil Movent"—another uncommon-ranked technique for moving silently and erasing one’s presence. The ntal training had him practicing absolute stillness and controlled breathing until he could move without disturbing even the air around him.
"Thunder Palm"—a striking technique that delivered electrical shocks through physical contact. Uncommon rank, focused on precision rather than raw power.
The scrolls continued to disintegrate under his touch, each one adding layers of experience and understanding to his already formidable combat repertoire. So techniques were simple and straightforward—basic strikes, standard defensive forms, common footwork patterns. Others were more nuanced, requiring intricate timing or complex mana manipulation.
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