The Blades of Arcane

Chapter 5: The Rise of the Shadow

The air in the room felt heavier than usual, like the weight of King's frustration and uncertainty was starting to seep into the walls. Change... change... change—the thought consumed him. Weeks had gone by, and his progress in mastering his aura felt like trying to climb a mountain with a broken leg. He could feel the gap between where he was and where he needed to be, but every time he tried to push forward, he hit the same invisible wall. His private lessons helped, sure, but they weren't enough. Every time he tried to apply his newfound knowledge, the demon aura seemed to resist. The dark energy felt like a beast inside him, refusing to submit. He even started paying attention in his magic classes, despite his usual disinterest, hoping that maybe the mages' methods of channeling energy could help him control his own. He was desperate, trying anything to make progress.

He had asked Aurelia for tips. She was more than just a beautiful friend; her light magic and natural talent made her someone King could turn to. She gave him suggestions, and for a moment, her insights opened new doors. He even reached out to Malachi, the prodigy mage, hoping that some of the theory behind mana control would translate into aura manipulation. Yet, despite all these efforts, the progress was frustratingly slow. And then it hit him—what if it was his demon aura that was making everything harder? Unlike regular aura, his was chaotic, almost alive. Maybe he needed to approach it differently, treat it like something that could think, or react, or fight back. That's when he turned to the past users, hoping to glean some insight from their struggles. He immersed himself in their stories, like that of Lady Elysia, the Phantom Sword, a noblewoman who turned her demon aura into a tool of vengeance, wielding specter swords that could strike from all directions. Or Zara the Silent Blade, an assassin who used her aura to amplify her deadly precision.

And then there was Kain the Berserker, a man consumed by his rage, who allowed the demon aura to flow through him unchecked. King realized he had been walking a similar path—letting the aura push him to reckless, aggressive limits. But Kain's story was a cautionary tale; he never truly controlled the aura, and in the end, it nearly destroyed him.

King's thoughts circled around one thing: he wasn't on the right path. His current approach wasn't working. He knew he had to change something, but how?

The library became his second home. He poured over ancient texts during his time at the Academy, hoping to find the missing piece of the puzzle. His frustration grew with each day, as book after book seemed to offer nothing but cryptic legends or half-truths. He thought about asking his father for guidance, but that came with risks. His father barely acknowledged him, and asking for help could make things worse—make him seem weak, useless.

But he was running out of time and options. So, he did the unthinkable. After another long day at the Academy, King marched straight to his father's study. His heart raced, the weight of years of tension between them heavy on his chest. As he entered, his father didn't even look up from his book. It was typical. King almost turned around and walked out, but something stopped him.

"Father," King's voice was steady, but there was an underlying plea.

His father glanced up, briefly meeting his eyes before returning to his book. Undeterred, King laid everything out—his struggles with the demon aura, how he felt he was hitting a wall, and how the path of the Sword Saint wasn't enough anymore. He needed to find a new way forward.

For a moment, it felt like he was talking to a stone wall. His father said nothing, showed no emotion. Then, without a word, he stood up, walked to his bookcase, and pulled out a dusty, old volume. He dropped it onto the desk with a heavy thud.

"You're not the first cursed with this chaotic energy," his father finally spoke, his voice sharp and cold. "Just the weakest."

King felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut, but he swallowed the pain and grabbed the book. He left the study, the weight of his father's words heavier than the book itself. As he passed through the house, his mother was in the living room, overseeing some of the servants. Her eyes caught sight of the book in his hand, and her face paled. King had seen that look before, but he didn't know why—maybe it was just her usual discomfort around him, or maybe it was something deeper. Alone in his room, King opened the book. It told the early history of the Ignis family—fire mages who had discovered their power in the heart of a volcano. But it was the story of the founder's brother that caught his attention.