"Mana & Foundational Cultivation by Master Kaelen Thorne"
Hmm
On the first page, it's written ' The Crucible Path – Tempering the Vessel, Forging the Core'
'Forget pretty philosophies whispered in cushioned academies, whelp.
Magic isn't a gift; it's a wildfire.
Mana is the fundamental and foundational element present in the world. Every being possess it in their body. whether it's plant or animal.
And to control that mana? with what?
Your body? Kindling. Your mind? Tinder. To channel it without becoming ash, you must become stone.
Iron first.
Then something better.
This is Body Tempering – the only foundation worth a damn.
Skip it, and the first true surge of mana you try to hold will cook you from the inside out like a roasten chicken. It's not strength for battle; it's resilience for survival.
"What an eccentric way to tell," Astrael murmured.
The Stages of the Body tempering are divided into 6 stages:
Iron Body:
Grunt work.
Lift rocks heavier than sense. Stand under waterfalls cold enough to freeze thought. Let weighted staves beat you until your flesh remembers the pattern of bruises and hardens. Your bones thicken like old oak.
You stop flinching at a punch; you learn to absorb it. But inside? Raw, soft. Touch ambient mana? It burns. Feels like molten lead in your veins. Expect foul sweats, dark sludge weeping from your pores – the body purging its weakness. This is the price.
Margin Note, Astrael:, "Like the branding... but slower. Purposeful agony. Can elixirs accelerate without shattering?"
Copper Body:
Introduce the elements. Not to command, but to endure.
Sit in sandstorms that scour flesh to leather. Walk controlled fire-lanes feel the heat bake your marrow, skin cracking then sealing, taking on a ruddy sheen.
The jolts aren't lethal, just instructive.
Adapt. You start feeling the world's energy – not as power, but as pressure, heat. Trace wisps of ambient mana seep in now, stitching torn muscle faster.
A hint of resonance.
Margin Note, Astrael: "Resonance... ?"
Silver Body:
Now the alchemy turns inward.
Swallow brews that taste of poison and iron.
Herbs that twist the gut, minerals that scrape the soul.
Purge the deep filth – the marrow-sludge, the sluggish blood.
Tendons become steel cords. You move faster than sight should allow.
Now, you can guide the trickle of mana you absorb. Not spells. Reinforce a fist for one shattering blow.
Sharpen sight for a crucial moment. Often needs crude runes scratched onto the skin – temporary channels screaming with power.
Efficiency is life. Waste is a slow death.
Margin Note, Astrael: "Runes as temporary meridians? Crude scaffolding... but effective. Starlight is too precise for such brutality. Or is it?"
Golden Body:
The vessel coheres.
Blades skitter off your hide like pebbles. Y
our guts can take a mule's kick.
You train by leaping off cliffs, wrestling young rock-wyrms.
Mana isn't just endured; you cycle wisps through muscle, fueling bursts that crack stone. Under threat, a faint, golden shimmer might cling to you – raw aura bleeding out.
A sign the vessel nears readiness. Also a beacon. Predators sense potential.
Margin Note, Astrael: "Golden shimmer... like the Golden Buddha." A smudged drawing of a figure with a hazy outline.
Diamond Body:
Beyond toughness. Lesser magics slide off you. Frost arrows shatter before piercing. Weak fire sputters against your skin.
You learn to vibrate your flesh – shatter incoming force, disrupt crude spells.
Your bones feel crystalline, unyielding. Absorbing mana becomes efficient, fueling exertion for days.
You are becoming a conduit.
(Margin Note, Astrael: "Vibration... counter-resonance?")
Platinum Body:
The pinnacle of flesh-forging.
You radiate a cool, silvery light. Walk through mundane fire unscathed. Stop a charging destrier with a palm.
More crucially, your body is now a channel. Ready to safely pull in the world's raw breath without bursting.
This is the true threshold.
The anvil is set. Now comes the forging of the core.
"Bullshit, it didn't explain how to achieve it only the description in a poetic way" Astrael complained.
Contn...
'The body is the fortress.
Foundation Establishment builds the siege engine inside.
This is the shaping of your inner world – Meridians, Soul, Perception, Core.
Fail here, and you crumble from within, a ruin haunted by the power you couldn't hold.
Its divided into Meridian Awakening, Soul Forge, Mana/Aura Sensing, Mana/Aura Core Formation.
Meridian Awakening:
Your body has hidden rivers, clogged with the muck of mortality.
Meridians. Awakening them feels like shoving red-hot wires through your nerves.
Methods? Focused agony: breath-control that feels like suffocation, meditation, visualizing roots of fire burning through muck, or the brutal kindness of an elder forcing purified mana crystals against your skin to burn the channels open.
Twelve primary rivers first. Block one? Expect mana stagnation – rotting limbs, agonizing spasms, or wild surges that turn your hand to ash.
Soul Forge:
Mana eats weak minds.
Your soul – that spark of you – needs tempering harder than any steel. This isn't enlightenment; it's ordeal.
Survive hallucinogenic Spirit Moss that shows you your deepest fears. Sit in a Haunt-wood grove and let the whispers try to unravel you.
Confront the darkness inside. You hammer your spirit on the anvil of terror and pain until it coalesces into a Soul Flame – bright, focused, resilient.
A weak flame snuffs out, leaving a hollow shell ripe for possession or madness. A strong flame commands the mana, resists mental assaults, and later, lets you walk the spirit paths or bind beasts without losing yourself.
Mana/Aura Sensing:
Raw perception. Stop feeling the hum; start seeing the currents.
Taste the iron-sharp tang of earth mana deep below.
Feel the cool, flowing weight of water mana in the air before rain.
Sense the crackling potential of storm mana gathering on the horizon.
Track the unique 'scent' of another cultivator's aura.
Essential.
Find a ley line.
Spot a hidden ward.
Know your enemy's strength before they strike.
Train blindfolded in wild places.
Focus until the world shimmers with layered energies.
Mana/Aura Core Formation:
The culmination. The deadly gamble.
You draw the world's breath – vast amounts of raw mana – through your screaming meridians. Your Soul Flame becomes the crucible.
You compress, purify, fuse. In your Heart, you crystallize a Mana Core.
This is your reactor. Your reservoir.
Your absolute command center.
Its quality – purity, density, stability – dictates your entire future.
Fail? The core implodes, sucking your soul into oblivion, or detonates, taking half the mountainside with it.
Succeed? Power surges. Your unique aura manifests visibly for the first time – perhaps a cloak of shimmering silver, a corona of heat, or shadows that cling.
You are no longer just surviving mana. You are beginning to command it.
....
Remember, aspirant: A rushed foundation crumbles.
Impure core? It cracks under pressure. Weak soul? You become the puppet of the very power you sought. This path is transmutation. Mortal limits are shattered on the anvil of will. Succeed, and you step onto the true path. Fail? Well, the desert needs fertilizer too.
- Master Kaelen Thorne, The Grumpy Gaffer
"I didn't understand a single bit, just like my college subjects," Astrael muttered, scratching his head until his raven hair stood in chaotic tufts.
"Why do cultivation manuals read like furniture assembly instructions missing half the pictograms? 'Channel the astral tides through your diamond meridians'—might as well tell me to assemble an interdimensional wardrobe with moonbeams and existential dread."
He flopped onto the chair, groaning like a dying mana-beast.
'But from my memories, I remember that in 1 year, there will be a talent awakening for me. The thought should've sparked excitement. Instead, cold dread pooled in his gut like spoiled elixir.'
"Oh, joy," he drawled, throwing an arm over his eyes. "The Grand Reveal. The day the universe points at you and declares, 'Behold! This one shall be a mighty hero... or perhaps an exceptionally efficient floor scrubber!'"
Because that was the Eldorian special.
Every snot-nosed brat hitting the ripe old age of thirteen got paraded before the Awakening Stone.
One touch, a flash of light, and bam! Your destiny served up on a platter – Legendary Archmage, Master Blacksmith, or... Plover Herder, Class C.
It measured potential, they said. Astrael called it cosmic roulette with worse odds.
'And coincidentally, most heirs of every house will awaken their talent this year and the princes and princesses too.'
Astrael sat bolt upright, eyes wide with dawning horror.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." His voice climbed an octave. "The heirs? The royals? All in the same batch? This isn't an awakening ceremony; it's a high-society gala for preening peacocks armed with cosmic potential!"
He could already picture it
He looked down at Pebble, who blinked one lazy, stony eye. "What d'you think, Pebs? Can we weaponize sheer, unadulterated 'what in the blazes just happened?' energy?"
Pebble rumbled, a sound like distant rockslides.
Astrael took it as agreement.
"Hmm..there's a page in between"
"What's this"
"The Ten Hegemony Supreme Foundation"
The title glared up at him in jagged, blood-rust ink that seemed to pulse.
"Oho? Sounds fancy. And suspiciously like something sold by a back-alley mystic promising 'Cosmic Gains in Ten Days!' "Astrael snorted, already preparing his best skeptical squint. He read aloud, voice dripping with sarcasm:
"Forget Diamond Bodies and Platinum Vessels. Child's play. The True Path begins not with enduring mana, but with DOMINATING IT. Cultivate not a Core, but a COSMOS WITHIN."
"Right, right," Astrael muttered, tapping the page.
"Step one...