Mages often fell into one of two classifications. First, the specialists learned and mastered a single or several closely related skills. Simon's family were perfect examples of these, an entire lineage dedicated to bringing up the crafting skills to their peak. Another might be Master Barlow, who brought her dueling skills to their pinnacle.

But I was not one of these. I was a generalist who was learning multiple unconnected talents to have as few weak points as possible. Consequently, I had few strengths, but this was not as big a disadvantage as it might seem. It led me to conclusions I doubted most apprentices would have reached quite yet.

The classes, and the skills taught in each, were not nearly as separate as the masters liked to imply. On its face, Enchanting seemed useful only for crafters, but it required a focused mind and honed will that a duelist might find critical in battle. As Master Barlow drilled into our heads, many lost their cool and grew distracted, with disastrous results. And Forging taught control over mana which would help any mage create spells faster and more effectively, a broadly applicable talent.

And this led me to conclude that, though I might fall behind in each skill, combining synergistic abilities might make up for the difference. Today, I would put that theory to the rest.

Simon had continued to speak with me about his experiments and had, in passing, mentioned something that piqued my interest. Many potions worked more effectively on magical creatures because their bodies could channel mana more naturally than humans. Our flesh and blood did not play well with the energy, and this limited their effects.

But what if you could get around that? This was a problem faced by many mages in the past. And the potion Simon created was my solution.

Known as an Arcane Blood Elixir, it used several expensive resources, most notably fresh blood from a magical creature of comparable power to the intended user. Thanks to my hunting, I managed to acquire these reagents, or the gold to purchase them, and with Simon's help, now had the potion in my hands.

And though the cost was a metaphorical gut punch, it paled in comparison to the possible benefits. Each imbibement drastically increased the user's sensitivity to mana, letting them absorb and channel it at an accelerated pace. The author intended to use it as a training resource, speeding growth, but I had other ideas. If it increased my ability to absorb mana, would it strengthen other potions?

Considering the potion provided by Duke Estton, that was my hope. That creation flooded my channels with massive amounts of Aether mana, stretching them to the point of straining. At the same time, a secondary effect triggered, which healed the damage, essentially the same process I used now but much faster.

If I were right, those combined would give me a massive jump in durability, possibly even letting me cope with Mist-grade mana for a time. Not nearly enough for the drop of Ocean mana still sealed in my core, but sufficient for the immediate future.

Besides those two, I had sprung for a blood cleanser and a regeneration potion, built for weak but long-term healing over an entire day. If this experiment went wrong, I would immediately drink both in succession, purging the damaging effects and beginning the process of repairing my body. This was a last resort and would waste a potion I could not hope to replace on my own, but it was preferable to death.

It was the best I could do without waiting months longer. With more gold or better connections, I could hire a master alchemist to craft my potions. I could look into additional resources to smooth the process or tutor me on safer methods. But then again, if those were available, I would not be taking such a risk.

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained as the saying goes. I grabbed the glowing red potion and drank it down, immediately gagging. The primary ingredient came through, tasting sharply metallic. But that disgust did not last long as its effects took root in my body.

It was as if I had only ever breathed with one lung and could now use both for the first time. Every inhale flooded my channels with mana, which poured into my core and visibly swelled my reserves. Only a few faint wisps left on the exhale, a level of efficiency I could only dream of reaching. I could not help the laugh that escaped me as I dropped into Origin Breathing, feeling my strength grow a minute fraction with each repetition. If I could create more of these potions, I could reach Haze within-

I shook my head, pushing aside the euphoria threatening to swallow me whole. It felt exhilarating and addictive, but that was the problem. I had a job to do and limited time to do it. Later, I could see if Simon was serious about his offer, but maintaining focus was critical for now.

The second potion, clear as water and thin as air, practically flowed down my throat, settling into my stomach. The taste was almost nonexistent, with only the slightest hint of floral notes as I finished. It was positively pleasant by comparison, but any enjoyment vanished in seconds.

I doubted it was ever an enjoyable experience, considering it involved damaging and healing injuries repeatedly. And I was no stranger to discomfort or pain after months of training. My muscles often ached, and I had accumulated hundreds of bruises so far, some remaining even after my usual healing potion worked its magic. The herbal treatments brought their unpleasant sensations, ones that I had learned to mostly ignore.

And all of that combined paled in comparison to the agony I felt. It was a drop compared with an ocean that threatened to drown me.

Mana surged down every channel in my body, far more than seemed possible. It slammed into the walls, tearing through remaining impurities without stopping, and ripped through my flesh. Instantly, the vessels tore wide open, but just as quickly, an ethereal blue light followed. It filled in the weeping wounds, sealing them as they appeared and leaving the flesh untouched and whole.

Individually, these tears likely would be painful though not debilitating. But replicated dozens of times over, all across my body, and repeating every few seconds was indescribable. My muscles seized, and my jaw slammed shut, catching the edge of my tongue and filling my mouth with the sharp tang of blood, reminiscent of the potion that had brought such agony.

If I could scream, I would have, but that was impossible. Some tiny part of my brain wondered if anyone would hear, considering the potent sound-proofing enchantments built into the walls of each room.

With a force of will driven more by an innate drive for survival more than anything conscious, my left hand forced itself open, grabbing the blood cleanser hard. It was a miracle that it did not shatter in my grip, and I pulled it closer, ready to pull the cork out and end my torment early.

But that same tiny part of my mind that remained focus howled, reminding me of what lay before me if I gave up so quickly. It screamed of the fear I felt, watching life drain from the man I might become. It conjured images of blood pooling under my body and an invader with unknown motives who might turn my home into ashes underfoot.

And it reminded me of the mage I could become if I weathered this suffering. Of how far I could go if I only gritted my teeth and carried on a bit longer.

I could not drop the cleanser if I wanted to, but my hand fell, landing on my thigh. My mind turned inward, morbid curiosity driving me to watch the process in action. Seeing my flesh rip open and heal over and over was unsettling in a way difficult to vocalize.

After a few minutes of watching, trying to glean whatever I could through the fog of pain, I opened my eyes. And that same little scrap of consciousness noticed that the air looked hazy as if a mist had filled the air. There was a faint but noticeable cloud of green mana hovering around my body, the familiar tinge of Aether gathering.

That's right. Mana was rushing through my channels and out into the air around me. Working more on a hunch and an instinct derived from hundreds of hours of repetition, I dropped into Origin Breathing, pulling in some of this mana. It was Aether, after all, pulled from a ley line but kept at low-density so that it did not kill me instantly.

The power surged into my core, and I held it there, feeling my reserves swell and expand by the moment. As I exhaled, almost nothing was lost, and I would have smiled if I could move my mouth. Instead, I inhaled through my nose again, thanking the Founders and whatever gods above that I did not get autumn allergies.

Another wave crashed into me, breaking my focus and sending my thoughts scattering. I could not say how long it took me to regain my mental footing and begin breathing normally again. It could have been seconds, minutes, or an hour. I did not dwell on it, trying to remain focused and pushing aside those worries for later.

And there I sat, maintaining a delicate balance that threatened to overwhelm me with each repetition. My body broke down and repaired itself as some tiny part of my mind kept breathing and pulling, gathering as much energy as possible before it fled into the air.

It was a perfect storm of training, luck, and desperation that drove me forward. If Girem had not drilled focus into my mind for ten years, I would have faltered. If my time with Sig had not taught me to ignore a small fraction of the pain, I would have failed. And if Origin Breathing were not almost unconscious, it would be impossible to maintain.

The torrent did not slow so much as stop abruptly, its effects ending as suddenly as they started. My entire body protested as tensed muscles relaxed for the first time in what must have been over an hour. I felt wetness on my face and realized I had begun crying at some point, leaving trails down my cheeks and neck.

Thoughts came slowly, and my mind felt sluggish and muddled like cotton had filled my head. I had never been intoxicated but had to wonder if this was how it felt. Nearly every part of me wanted nothing more than to sleep, but I knew I could not yet. There were too many potions and toxic byproducts still in my body, and they could cause severe damage if left unchecked.

Numbed hands fumbled, trying to remove the corked from the blood cleanser, but my right hand slipped on the slick glass. I looked down and realized it was stained crimson, with the skin sliced open by my fingernails at some point. The dull throbbing was almost soothing than my earlier ordeal, and I barely felt it as the bottle popped open on my second attempt.

Down the potion went, and a few seconds later, it came right back up. But it carried with it a horrendous inky mess of impurities driven from my mana vessels, toxins, and stomach bile. The mixture splattered on my pristine wooden floor, and the stench was even worse than the sight.

I dry heaved for several minutes and, when it subsided, wiped my mouth off before drinking the other potion. There was little conscious thought behind the move other than, "My body hurts, and this will help it feel better." As it settled into my upset stomach, I pushed off the ground with wobbly legs, glancing at the mess on my floor before deciding it could wait until tomorrow.

In the end, I barely remembered the walk from the main room to my bed. The last sensation I felt was darkness filling my vision and carrying me into unconsciousness.