The old book Maren had given me was my constant companion. I pored over its pages whenever I had a moment to myself, tracing the runes and memorizing the incantations. Yet, no matter how many hours I spent muttering spells or focusing on my breathing, nothing ever seemed to happen.
One day, my parents discovered the book. I had left it on the table by mistake while sneaking a peek during breakfast. When my mother saw it, she picked it up, her brow furrowing as she flipped through the pages. I froze, certain I’d be scolded for hiding something so important. Instead, she simply raised an eyebrow and asked, “Did Maren give you this?”
I nodded, bracing myself for the worst.
“Well, you’ll want to be careful with magic,” she said calmly, closing the book and handing it back to me. “It’s not as simple as it looks in stories.”
That was it. No yelling, no stern warnings—just a casual comment, as though I had brought home a stray cat instead of a tome on arcane arts. Later that evening, I asked my mother about it. “Why aren’t you upset about the book?” I asked, my curiosity overcoming my fear.
She smiled. “Magic’s not uncommon in this world, Ronan. Everyone knows about it, even if not everyone practices it. Maren’s likely just trying to teach you something useful.”
This was the first time I began to realize that magic wasn’t the grand, forbidden secret I’d thought it to be. It was simply another part of life in this world—commonplace to some, mysterious to others. Over the next few days, I became more curious about my parents. What Factors did they have? What were they like before I was born?
When I finally worked up the courage to ask, the answers left me both relieved and bewildered. My father, Darrick, leaned back in his chair as he answered my question. “I have the Strength Factor,” he said with a grin, flexing his arm playfully. “It makes me naturally stronger than most people. Handy for lifting heavy things or working in the fields.”
“And you, Mum?” I asked, turning to my mother.
“I have the Housekeeping Factor,” Eleonore said with a warm smile. “It’s nothing exciting, but it helps me keep the house running smoothly. Cleaning, cooking, organizing—all of it comes naturally to me.”
I swallowed hard. These weren’t exactly the awe-inspiring Factors I had been hoping for. What if I inherited one of theirs? What if I wasn’t destined for magic at all? Then came the biggest shock of all. Before I was born, my father had been a knight in the Kingdom’s Militia.
“What?!” I blurted out, my eyes wide. “You were a knight?!”
Darrick chuckled at my reaction. “Aye, I was. Served the kingdom for a good many years. Fought my fair share of battles, too.”
“You never told me!” I exclaimed, my excitement bubbling over. “Were you good? Did you fight with a sword?”
He nodded. “I was quick with a blade, even though I didn’t have the Sword Factor. That made it harder to advance, but I still reached the rank of Expert in the Human Swordsmanship style.”
“Human Swordsmanship style?” I echoed, intrigued.
“There are many sword styles in this world, Ronan,” he explained. “Human style is straightforward—practical and efficient.”
Darrick went on to explain the ranking system for magic and swordsmanship. Each discipline was divided into six tiers: Novice, Expert, and Master. These three ranks were common to all disciplines. Beyond that, the ranks diverged:
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For Magic: Archmage, Holy, and Titan.
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For Swordsmanship: Bladelord, Bladesage, and Titan.
“I was an Expert,” my father continued. “Never made it to Master. Without the Sword Factor, progressing further would’ve been nearly impossible. But I was fast and strong, and that was enough to hold my own.”
I sat in stunned silence, trying to picture my father as a knight—clad in armor, wielding a sword, fighting in battles far beyond the quiet fields of Brustel. It was difficult to imagine. But more than anything, I was struck by the idea that he had achieved so much without the aid of a Factor specifically suited to his craft.
“Why did you stop being a knight?” I asked hesitantly.
His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked older than I had ever seen him. “Because of you, Ronan,” he said simply. “When you were born, I realized I didn’t want to risk my life in battles anymore. I wanted to be here, with you and your mother. So I left the Militia and became a man of the fields.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
His words filled me with a mixture of emotions. Pride, gratitude, and a deep determination to live up to the legacy of the man sitting before me. From that day on, I began to see my father in a new light. He wasn’t just a farmer or a former knight—he was proof that hard work and determination could overcome even the greatest challenges.
If he could reach the rank of Expert without the Sword Factor, maybe there was hope for me, even if I didn’t inherit the Magic Factor. Still, the uncertainty weighed on me. What if my Factor turned out to be something mundane? What if I was destined for an ordinary life, like so many others in Brustel? No, I didn't want to think that way.
Lately I began to warm up to the idea of focusing on swordsmanship instead of magic. After all, if my father could reach Expert rank without a Sword Factor, perhaps I could forge my own path with sheer determination. Every day after chores, I would visit Old Maren to continue my sporadic attempts at magic, but more and more of my time was spent with my father, learning the fundamentals of swordplay.
Darrick’s lessons were straightforward, practical, and often grueling. “The Human style doesn’t rely on fancy flourishes or dramatic moves,” he said one afternoon as we practiced in the field behind our home. “It’s about efficiency. Every strike, every parry, every step—make it count.”
At first, my progress was slow. My arms ached after every session, and the wooden training sword felt unwieldy in my grip. But as the weeks went by, I began to notice changes. My movements grew sharper, my strikes more precise. The first time I successfully countered one of my father’s attacks, the look of pride on his face filled me with a sense of accomplishment I hadn’t felt in ages.
By the end of the month, I had officially reached the Novice tier in the Human style of swordsmanship. It was a momentous achievement, especially considering how stagnant my magic training had been. Over a year of effort with spells, and I hadn’t managed to conjure so much as a spark. Yet in just one month of sword training, I had mastered the basics of an entire style.
Curious about this disparity, I brought my concerns to Maren during one of my visits. The old mage listened patiently as I vented my frustrations.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why is magic so much harder than swordsmanship? I’ve worked just as hard—no, harder—on my magic, but I have nothing to show for it.”
Maren chuckled, her wrinkled face creasing with amusement. “Ah, Ronan, magic and swordsmanship are as different as night and day,” she explained. “Swordplay relies on the physical—your muscles, your reflexes, your stamina. With enough practice, anyone can swing a sword. But magic... Magic is a matter of the spirit. It’s about channeling the Mana that flows through this world and aligning it with your will. That requires patience, focus, and a deep connection to the world around you.”
Her words gave me a lot to think about. Perhaps I had been approaching magic the wrong way, trying to force it to work rather than letting it flow naturally. But even as I resolved to redouble my efforts, I couldn’t shake the feeling that swordsmanship came more naturally to me.
It was around this time that I began to learn more about the world beyond Brustel. Maren often spoke of the Kingdom of Aerion, the realm we called home. According to her, Aerion was one of the largest and most prosperous kingdoms on the continent, known for its skilled warriors, powerful mages, and thriving trade networks.
“The Continent is divided in three parts,” she told me one evening.
“Our home, the Kingdom of Aerion with its capital Mirion, the Commercial State of Bethrille and the Duchy of Volstr, up to north. Each part has its own unique culture and specialties and its own style of life.”
“Mirion,” I repeated, savoring the sound of the word. “Have you ever been there?”
Maren smiled wistfully. “Once, long ago. It’s a grand city, bustling with life and brimming with magic. The Royal Academy of Magic is there, as well as the Royal Guild. If you’re serious about becoming a swordsman—or a mage—you’ll likely end up in Mirion one day.”
I smiled but I also couldn’t shake the memory of the man and his ominous words about Reaper’s Peak. The name lingered in my thoughts, like a shadow at the edge of my mind. Occasionally, I would search for it in maps and charts at the market whenever I came across them, but to no avail. The name never appeared. No one in Brustel ever mentioned it, and for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I refrained from asking outright.
So I asked.
“Do you know anything about a place called Reaper’s Peak?”
Maren’s expression changed in an instant. The warmth in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something sharp and guarded. For a moment, I thought she might not answer at all.
“No,” she said at last, her tone flat. “I’ve never heard of such a place.”
I frowned, sensing her discomfort. “Are you sure? It’s just... someone mentioned it to me once. I thought it might be nearby or—”
“I said I don’t know,” she interrupted, more sharply this time. Her gaze fixed on the fire, and for a moment, she looked far older than her years.
The abruptness of her tone startled me into silence. Maren had always been patient and kind, even when I asked foolish questions or failed to grasp a lesson. This reaction was unlike her, and it only made me more curious.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, retreating into my thoughts.
After a few moments of tense quiet, Maren sighed and softened her voice. “Ronan, there are places in this world better left forgotten. Names that carry weight heavier than you can understand. If you ever come across such a place... tread carefully.”
Her words only deepened the mystery, but I knew better than to press further. I nodded quietly, my mind racing with questions.
That night, as I lay in bed staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling, I couldn’t stop thinking about Maren’s reaction. Why had she been so defensive? Did she truly not know about Reaper’s Peak, or was she hiding something? And why would the man who spoke to me mention it so ominously?