Roland's premier Meat shop
Periun city, Kettlia Region
Ashtarium Nation
North American Continent
October 6th, 2019
Jack stumbled through the air and landed hard, gravity slamming him down as his backside smacked the training mat. He groaned, rolling onto his side.
It had been a few days since his training shifted from meditation to something far more brutal—practical combat.
After watching Jack struggle to sit still and focus for hours at a time, Nico had eventually raised a suggestion: "Maybe he's the kind who learns better by moving."
Jack had agreed instantly.
Big mistake.
Now Jacien had taken over his training sessions, and the result was... well, Jack getting the absolute crap beaten out of him on a regular basis.
He winced as he pushed himself up, rubbing his sore backside. His muscles screamed in protest from the accumulated bruises. He'd thought meditation was exhausting, but this—this was a whole new level of pain. Still, strangely enough, he preferred it. At least here, his body was moving. At least here, he could feel progress.
He looked over at Jacien, who was standing calmly at the center of the mat, not a single hair out of place. Jack couldn't help but feel a flicker of amazement. The man who had spent years pretending to be a humble butcher—who had smiled at his mother and shared stories over soup—was now moving like a battle-hardened predator.
"You're learning the fundamentals of Battle Arts," Jacien said. "These are not just punches and kicks. They're combat techniques refined through martial discipline, Ability Factor mastery, and the deliberate manipulation of energy. Their purpose is simple—direct engagement. You combine stamina, vitality, and mana to express violence with precision."
He cracked his neck. "What I've shown you so far? That's just mundane martial technique. Skills any Mundane could learn with enough practice. But as a Body Cultivator, I've gone far beyond that."
Jack nodded slowly, absorbing every word. "Nico said he's a Mage—a magic cultivator. But you called yourself a Mana Artist. What's the difference?"
Jacien gave a faint smile. "Good question."
He gestured toward Nico. "As a Mage, Nico practices Magic. That means he casts spells using Mana, invoking structured formulas, channeling concepts. It's intellectual, symbolic. He treats Mana as a language—something to be written and spoken."
"And you?"
"I follow the path of Body Cultivation," Jacien said. "I train and refine my body as the medium. My Mana flows through flesh and bone, not scrolls or circles. I use Mana Arts. These aren't spells—they're movements, breath patterns, intention made muscle. I live the formula, not write it."
Jack blinked. "But aren't Mana Arts just another kind of Magic?"
Jacien shook his head. "Not at all. Magic is the art of understanding and commanding reality through abstract representation. Mages treat Mana as a scriptable force—bound by logic, symbols, and external truths. They pull from the world: divine laws, elemental archetypes, cosmic equations."
"Mana Arts," he continued, "are different. They're the physical and spiritual embodiment of Mana. It's not about scripting—it's about channeling. The formulas we use aren't written. They're engraved into the soul through repetition, breathwork, and intent. The muscles remember what the mind doesn't."
Jack scratched the back of his neck. "I still don't really get it."
Jacien sighed, then turned to Nico. "Let's just show him."
Nico shrugged. "Fine by me."
"I'll be on offense," Jacien said. "You defend."
Jack quickly stepped back, eyes locked on the two men. He could already feel the shift in energy.
Jacien exhaled—and his fingers began to change. They elongated, twisting into sharp silver-white claws that shimmered with an ethereal, almost living sheen. They looked both biological and supernatural, a strange fusion of muscle and myth.
Jack's breath caught. He could feel the power radiating from those claws.
"This," Jacien said, lifting his hand, "is a basic Mana Art—one any trained Mana Artist can learn. It's called Crescent Fang Slash."
He channeled Mana through his claws, and Jack watched intently as the technique came to life. The Mystic Formula manifested—not a scroll or incantation, but a metaphysical construct born from within Jacien's body. It was a matrix of soul, breath, and will.
A rotating mandala-like circle shimmered into existence around his hand, etched with glowing silver inscriptions. Lines of geometric design and flowing sigils moved in perfect synchronicity, forming an intricate array of motion and meaning.
Then, with a flash of light, the array receded into the claws—leaving behind only faint shimmering trails of energy.
A low hum filled the air.
And then Jacien flicked his fingers.
Five crescent-shaped blades of condensed Mana shot forward, each arc slicing through the air with deadly precision.
Nico didn't flinch. In one fluid motion, a flurry of black feathers burst from behind his back, spreading out like a fan of smoke and shadow. The feathers floated for a heartbeat, then glowed with luminous light—each one acting as a node in a greater spell matrix.
The energy surged between them, forming a radiant shield of light just as the slashes reached him.
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM.
The impact echoed through the chamber, but Nico stood unharmed. The feathers disintegrated in flashes of light, their purpose fulfilled.
Jack's jaw dropped. He wasn't sure which was more awe-inspiring: the elegance of the Mana Art or the effortless counterspell.
Jacien lowered his hand. "That's the difference between a spellcaster… and a Mana Artist."
"And that," Nico added, brushing dust from his coat, "is only the beginning."
"Wow! I can't wait to learn how to do that," Jack said, eyes gleaming with excitement as he looked between Nico and Jacien.
But instead of encouragement, the two men exchanged a glance—a subtle, wordless moment that immediately set off alarm bells in Jack's mind.
He caught it instantly. Their silence spoke volumes.
"What?" Jack asked, his voice sharp with suspicion. "What is it?"
Nico exhaled. "Unfortunately… the path of Magic or Body Cultivation isn't available to you."
Jack blinked. "Wait—what? Why not? I thought being Manaborn meant I could use Mana. Doesn't that mean I can train like you?"
"You can use Mana," Nico said gently. "You can tap into its applications—the Nine Levels we discussed—but only through the framework of your Ability Factor. That's the key difference. When you awakened, it wasn't just your soul core that activated. You awakened your Ability Factor at the same time... and it became the foundation of your path."
"So... I chose the wrong path?" Jack asked, brows furrowed.
"Not wrong," Jacien said, stepping in. "Just… different. Most Ascendants build their cultivation on their soul core first—then develop their Magic or Body arts depending on their affinity. But you? You built your foundation on your Ability Factor instead. That changes everything."
"We call people like you Factor Path Cultivators," Nico explained. "Ascendants who shape their entire cultivation journey around their Ability Factor. Instead of casting spells or refining your body to wield Mana externally, your power evolves from within—from the growth and mastery of your unique Factor."
Jack was quiet for a moment, letting it sink in.
"So I can't learn Mana Arts like Jacien… or spells like you?"
"You can't replicate them," Jacien said. "But that doesn't mean you're limited. You just have to forge your own path. Your Ability Factor—your Zone Drive—is your cultivation method. You'll learn to shape Mana through it, evolve it, expand its techniques, and eventually reach heights that even Mages and Artists can't touch."
Nico gave a small nod. "It's not about what path you can't walk. It's about realizing that your path is unique. And with proper training, it can be just as powerful—maybe even more."
Jack let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "So I'm a Factor Path Cultivator…"
"Cultivators like you are called Factorist," Jacien said.
"So I'm a Factorist?" Jack asked.
Nico nodded. "That's right. Mages shape Mana with thought and ritual. Mana Artists channel it through muscle and form. But Factorists… they internalize it. Your power is your path."
Jacien added, "And while it may be rare, the Factorist path isn't weak. It's just more dangerous—less structure, fewer teachers. But with the right guidance, you'll evolve your Ability Factor far beyond its initial state. Which is where battle arts come in to play. While training you to infuse Mana consciously, at the same time we're going to help you form the foundation of your own specific battle art, which will be based on your ability factor. What do you think?"
"I can't wait to form my own special moves," Jack said, forgetting about the fact that he couldn't use Magic or Mana arts.
****
Days had passed, and Jack's life had fallen into a new rhythm—a strange but welcome balance between chaos and calm. By night, he trained under Nico and Jacien, his body aching from combat drills and precision exercises. His afternoons were filled with study sessions, quiet moments with his friends, and the occasional stolen hour with Carrie. They went on small, heartfelt dates—nothing extravagant, just walks, casual lunches, or picnic outings when time allowed. And yet, every shared moment carried its own kind of magic.
Now, Jack lay on a bench in the park where he used to hang out with Mark, Sarah, and Eli. It was one of those lazy afternoons in early fall, the kind where the sun was just warm enough and the breeze just light enough to blur the edges of time. He wasn't alone. Carrie was there too—stretched out across from him on the other side of the bench's table, their heads close, their bodies lying in opposite directions. The remains of their picnic were still scattered across the grass nearby, long forgotten.
The world bustled quietly around them—joggers, distant laughter, the rustle of leaves—but Jack was somewhere else. Eyes closed, he drifted inward, deep into the well of thought and instinct where power brewed and ideas took shape.
He'd been making steady progress. His Infusion skill had grown more refined, and with it, his Flow Control had reached a level of fluid precision. The more he sparred with Jacien, the more he meditated with Nico, the more his mind, body, and soul began to harmonize. The triad of self was syncing, learning to move together. And with that harmony came something new: potential.
Jack had started thinking seriously about crafting his Battle Art—a personalized expression of combat, forged through the lens of his Ability Factor. Nico's advice echoed in his mind:"Think not just about what your ability does, but how it applies. Shape it to your instincts. Your experiences. Your will."
So Jack began digging. He replayed every fight—every scramble against gangs, every desperate moment where instinct had taken over. He saw the gaps in his technique, the missed opportunities, and the recurring theme beneath all of it.
Space.
His Ability Factor was about space—its manipulation, control, distortion. But what was space? He thought deeper:Mass. Position. Motion. Space wasn't just emptiness—it was the canvas on which reality painted cause and effect.
He remembered the way he always needed to create distance when overwhelmed. To retreat. To stall. To breathe. But what if he didn't need to run?
What if instead... he stopped them?
No—not just them.
Jack's thoughts sharpened.
What if I stop the world in place? Freeze the battlefield for a moment... and then strike.
The idea pulsed in his chest like a heartbeat of power waiting to be born. His Battle Art wouldn't be about running. It would be about commanding the battlefield through spatial authority. Locking enemies in place, severing their momentum, and turning that stillness into an opening—his opening.
Across from him, Carrie opened one eye and smiled, watching him quietly. She could sense it—something moving beneath his stillness. The way his brow creased ever so slightly, the way his breath slowed. Jack was thinking. Deeply.
He didn't notice her gaze. Not yet.
He was on the verge of something.
"What are you thinking about?" Carrie asked, her voice soft but teasing.
Jack blinked his eyes open and turned toward her with a smile. "I was just thinking… how grateful I am. That I get to be here—with you."
Carrie narrowed her eyes, though the curve of her lips didn't falter. "Mhm. You're sweet, but I have a feeling you were thinking about something else."
Shit, Jack thought. He had to remind himself—Carrie wasn't just beautiful. She was sharp. Always had been. Reading him like a book since the day they met. So he did the only thing he could think of.
He leaned in and kissed her—slow, steady, warm. Her breath hitched for a moment, then she leaned into him, one hand sliding along his arm, the other brushing his cheek as she deepened the kiss. It was soft at first—then hungrier. Hungrier than he expected. Something primal stirred in him, a heat that built fast and strong.
Jack's hand moved instinctively to her waist, pulling her closer across the bench, his heartbeat thudding hard in his chest. And then—He pulled back, reluctantly, exhaling slowly. His forehead rested against hers.
"Okay," he murmured, smiling against her lips. "Maybe I was thinking about something else."
Carrie smirked, her breath still warm against him. "Thought so."
He laughed under his breath and looked around—remembering, suddenly, that they were still very much in public.
"Any more of that," he said, "and we'll end up banned from this park."
Carrie laughed, a melodic sound that made something in Jack's chest flutter. "Tempting, but we do have a test to pass, don't we?"
"Right. Academic honor. Civil decency. Got it."
They both settled back onto the bench, their fingers intertwined now, hearts still racing but minds slowly returning to the world around them.