After tidily dispatching the three goblins in stage 2 of the hard difficulty tutorial, Ronan had earned himself another 2 minutes of practice time. Well, it had been messy, truth be told, but one thing he could credit the system for is that it cleaned up after itself. The guts and gore dissolved back into mana along with the rest of a corpse once a monster was killed, saving him from sanitation duty.

Having developed the foundations of his mana bolt, it was time to start refining it. The first order of business was figuring out which parts of his casting method were actually doing the work.

With the system all he needed to do was think about activating the skill and it was done. That made him lean towards visualisation as the most impactful method of spellcasting. However, just because the system did things that way didn't mean it was the only way—or the best.

As a man who'd spent the majority of his career finding minor optimisations to algorithms and spreadsheet code, Ronan knew a thing or two about debugging. The answer in this instance was simple.

Split the four methods up and use them one by one.

If it worked, keep it for the next round of testing. If it didn't, throw it out. There was no need to overcomplicate something simple.

First up, his personal favourite. The vocalisation method. Ronan kept it simple. He cycled his mana until he had a large enough amount flowing through his energy channels. He raised one hand, palm facing towards the sky. "MANA BOLT!"

He didn't move his body, keep an image in his mind of the spell he wanted to create, or even attempt to guide his mana beyond sending it towards his hand. All that the mana and the world had to work with were his two words, screamed with intent.

Ronan sighed. A tingle rang through his hand, like pins and needles. His mana ticked down by 2 points. While lamenting the failure, he shook his hand until it no longer felt weird.

I'm glad that didn't work. If this universe worked on shonen-like laws of magic I'd have a second reason to punch the system in the face. And the creator of existence. While vocalising during a spell might have an impact on the final result, he had shown to an extent that it did not work as a viable spellcasting method when used alone.

The second method was similar in appearance, but very different in execution. Ronan had the highest expectations for this one compared to the other three. Or two, now, given that vocalisation had been a failure.

He held out a single hand while cycling his mana. Rather than shouting into the empty clearing, he pictured the mana bolt in his mind. Every curve of its structure, the compressed mana that formed it, the way it would be launched from his hand, and even how he wanted it to explode against his target.

Once he had the image nailed down, he kept it there for a while without attempting to direct his mana. He wanted to ensure every detail of it was as close to perfection as possible.

When he felt that the image was complete, only then did he allow his mana to break the cycle and flow towards his hand. He didn't move his body, or guide his mana beyond pushing it out of his body. The mana was a vehicle, the image held in his mind the pilot that would guide his creation.

Ronan even closed his eyes, ensuring that he couldn't do anything to jeopardise the test. The tips of his fingers tingled as the mana left them. All his focus was on holding the image of his desired mana bolt.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

A breath later, he felt his arm being blown backwards, carrying his body with it. Not the violent, ragdoll counterforce he'd experienced from his first test, but more like the kickback of a shotgun. Not that he'd fired one, but he'd hunted with his granddad back in the day. It couldn't be that different from a hunting rifle.

Opening his eyes, Ronan looked down at his arm. At the tips of his fingers, the skin was ash-grey flecked with blue sparkles. Light burning, but nothing painful or long-lasting. No wounds were really, not with the system's healing touch.

This time, the grass around him was flattened. Blown to the ground as though a small rocket had taken off from his position. His hand didn't tingle in the same way as it had when his vocalisation test failed.

In the distance there was a patch of scorched earth. Smaller than the one created by his first failed test, but still much larger than he was hoping for. Ronan estimated it was around 1.2 metres in diameter. Despite not being where he wanted to be, this was fantastic progress.

He had expected visualisation to be the best way to approach system-less magic and that seemed to hold true. However, he wouldn't let this one success blind him to the other methods still on the table.

The third test was about physical emulation of the spell. No image held in his mind, no words spoken, no direct mana manipulation. All he would do is shunt a portion of mana out of his hand while launching it at a target. He doubted it would have the accuracy or concentrated damage he was hoping for—or even work at all—but he still had to run the test.

Compared to the other two it required very little focus. He simply cycled his mana until he had split it into nine streams and returned it to one, before shunting a large chunk of it down his arm and out of his hand. As he did that internally, Ronan pulled his arm back and then whipped it forward like lightning—the same form as his first failed attempt.

Searing pain tore down his arm, bicep to wrist. A wave of blue exploded forwards in a conical wave, incinerating the grass and splitting the air. It travelled for about eight metres before dissipating. A second later, a soft peal of thunder sounded out as the air slapped together once more.

Crimson lines streaked down from the middle of his bicep to the base of his hand, dripping blood. A large amount had sprayed back onto Ronan and the grass around him. Mana was leaking out of the wounds, every point that he'd been cycling through his channels rapidly vanishing into thin air.

Cursing and shaking his arm, as if it would help the pain fade faster, Ronan stopped cycling his mana and tried to draw the dregs back into his heart. A few points were regained, but most of it was sacrificed in the name of his experimentation.

Nonetheless, despite the wounds he'd endured and the fact the 'spell' he'd cast was nothing like a mana bolt, Ronan was pleased with the outcome. While the physical aspect of casting may not work alone, it clearly had some sort of effect.

You have gained insight!

+2 [Mana III] Mastery

The mastery gains were a welcome reward, but they did little to assuage the damage he'd suffered. That was fine. The timer had almost run out and he had dozens of goblins waiting for him—the levelups they offered would see him restored and ready to experiment once more.

The first time Ronan had fought Gurz'krax, he'd looked favourably upon the goblin warrior for its honourable conduct. He had certainly been swayed by the fact that same honour allowed him to survive long enough to level-up, heal, and then beat the elite to paste. Now, as he stared down at the goblin's unmoving corpse for the dozenth or so time, he viewed the situation through a different lens.

In this new world, one where the system ruled supreme, honour was something only the strong could wield. There was no honour in weakness, or in death.

Ronan wasn't going to become a cruel man, it was simply that he now understood just how weak he was on a grand scale. He could not afford to fight with honour, especially when his enemies were boss monsters with terrifying illusion magic and lethal natural weapons.

He ended his philosophising there, as he wanted to continue his magical experimentation. He wasn't sure if he would feel the same way in another ten iterations, or a hundred. Nothing was certain in life, especially when it was infinite.

Mind and body restored, Ronan was ready to approach his fourth and final experiment. It was time to see if he could create a working mana bolt using only mana manipulation, without forming an image in his mind, moving his body, or uttering a single word. He wasn't sure how this one would go. Either it would fail from the outset, or it would work spectacularly.

There was only one way to find out.

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