There is still smoke rising from the hole I burned into the forge floor.
A perfect, clean puncture. The kind only obsession and months of charcoal-stained fingers can make.
I should be celebrating. Laughing. Pumping my fists. Screaming victory into the stars like a lunatic fresh from a boss fight. And to be fair... I do. Just a little. A fist raised. A grin I can't hide. One glorious second of triumph… before reality walks in and kicks me in the spine.
I sink to the ground, legs folded beneath me, and let my gaze drift up to the ceiling... not looking for answers.
Because the truth hits me, not like thunder, not like divine insight, but like tripping face first into my own idiocy, gift-wrapped in irony and stamped "Return to Sender."
Just like with magic, I've been treating Martial Arts like a puzzle to solve, when really, they're a door that only opens if you kick it with enough conviction.
Trying to crack them like they're a locked menu option. Like the right sequence of squats and sword swings will somehow trigger a "ding" and unlock the skill.
I've approached them like a game. Like YGGDRASIL.
Like a fool.
It's the same pattern. I study Red Oak's fighters, watch Carter weave "Ability Boost" into his rhythm like it's second nature. I copy his stances, mirror his flow. I even track the pulse of his aura using [Control], feel the way his life force flares when he moves.
And then I try to replicate it, precisely. I know the key is different, but I have to try to understand and instead, I end up understanding only after I stumble into figuring out how to use magic. What a mess.
Let's try this again...
With control. With logic. With structure.
Like it's just another spell diagram to sketch on the floor.
But Martial Arts… they don't work that way.
They don't care how much you know.
They care about how much you want.
I let out a long, theatrical sigh and stare at the ceiling like it has the answers written in invisible ink. My back finds the familiar cold of the anvil behind me, and my brain, as usual, refuses to sit still.
The books Tina brings make it so clear in hindsight.
Structure. Flow. Intent.
That's what magic demands.
But Martial Arts?
They're not a system. They're a statement.
They don't begin with logic. They begin with will.
I've spent so long trying to control what's inside me: mana, ki, life force. As if I'm conducting a symphony that only responds to precise baton movements.
But Martial Arts don't want a conductor. They want a voice.
A command.
Not the technical kind. The personal kind.
The kind that doesn't ask for permission.
The kind that dares it to say no.
So I do what I always do when I need clarity.
I step into stance.
Feet shoulder-width apart. One forward, one anchored. Knees loose. Back straight. Center of gravity low.
This isn't kata.
This is memory.
Training under the ash tree. Sparring with Carter. Watching Red Oak's twins mock each other mid-duel while still landing perfect shots.
And in every one of those moments, what stands out isn't form or flow.
So I exhale.
Clear my mind.
Let go of theory, of pressure, of my internal systems analyst screaming about focus thresholds and energy pathways.
Instead, I reach inward. Not to guide, not to balance, but to act.
To use.
The life force inside me stirs. Familiar. Heavy. Like coals under ash.
It doesn't respond to thought. It responds to decision.
I don't speak aloud, not at first. I just focus.
I want to move. I want to strike. I want to be more.
And then...
A breath.
A pulse.
I choose.
"Ability Boost."
This time, the name isn't a guess. It isn't a test. It's a declaration.
And the world answers.
It hits like a second heartbeat exploding in my chest. A rush, not violent, not overwhelming, but clean. Purposeful.
My muscles don't bulge. My eyes don't glow.
But everything feels sharper.
The air seems lighter. My weight shifts like it's made of breath. My skin buzzes, not with mana, not with Ki, but with something realer.
Power.
Mine.
I look at my hand, curling my fingers into a fist.
This is different from the magic I've coaxed into reality in sparks and sigils.
This isn't built on circles and patterns.
It's built on resolve.
"I'm such a goddamn idiot," I mutter, letting the words fall out with a half-laugh, half-growl. "Years of training, meditating, reverse-engineering the metaphysics of a hostile RPG... and the secret was: try meaning it."
If I keep going like this, I'll end up using the power of friendship against Ainz... and now that I've said it out loud, why does it actually feel possible? No. Focus. Moving on.
I pace once around the forge, still humming with energy.
"Note to self," I add dryly. "Next time you want to unlock a skill, maybe don't treat it like a Sudoku puzzle."
Then I stop, square my shoulders, and take a deeper stance.
No hesitation this time.
"Ability Boost."
It flares again, easier this time. Like something has clicked into place.
Like it has always been waiting.
I'm not imagining it: my steps are faster. My breath more stable. Even the pain in my arms fades into the background. It's still there, but it no longer matters.
I stand in the soot-stained forge, eyes half-closed, as the final pulse of "Ability Boost" shimmers out through my limbs like the last ring of a distant bell. Gentle. Fading.
And I smile.
Not because I've become powerful.
But because I've finally understood how.
Now that I've figured this out... training is only going to get worse from here. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. Damn it.
I close my eyes and replay everything I've done up to this point. Then I notice something. I think about it for a while... okay, way too long.
Just as I'm lost in thought, the usual voice cuts through the haze. Tina, of course. My personal wake-up call with legs and absolutely no appreciation for dramatic internal monologues.
"Lucien! Are you still alive? It's getting dark and I need to go home... Get over here and open the door!"
Knock knock.
Oh right... I locked the door. Oops. I open it slowly and am met with a very annoyed Tina.
"Hey... sorry. Didn't sleep much. I think I nodded off."
She doesn't answer. That's bad.
"Sooo..."
"Here," she says curtly, shoving the books into my hands.
"Thanks..." I reply, genuinely surprised.
"Don't mention it. I'm taking them back tomorrow, so study while you can. Who knows when you'll see them again."
She sticks her tongue out and marches off.
Only then do I realize it's completely dark. How much time has passed?
I turn, and spot Sofia leaning against the forge wall, arms crossed, staring at me.
Not a great look.
"Oi, Lucy... dinner's ready."
"Thanks, Mom... I'm coming."
Yeah... that look is not good. Not even a little. I'm pretty sure I miscalculated something... big time.
"Erob and I were waiting for you..." she says with that tone... the dangerous one. Where have I heard it before? Oh right... the day I forgot my girlfriend's birthd...
Ah... it's my mother's birthday today... Yeah, I'm dead. Officially doomed. Send flowers.