The Convergent Path (Reincarnation/LitRPG)

Chapter 15 - Core



The first time Fin Aodh gathered mana, it came as a whisper, a trickle so faint he nearly missed it, like the hesitant patter of rain against a drought-cracked plain. It had taken weeks of grueling meditation, hours spent wrestling with a patience he hadn't yet forged, and a stubborn refusal to let the energy slip through his grasp. When it finally settled, sinking into his pathways rather than evaporating into the ether, he'd felt a spark of triumph, and a certainty that this was merely the first step on a road stretching far beyond the horizon.

Three years had passed since that fragile beginning.

Now, at ten years old, he stood transformed. The slender frame of his youth had hardened under the relentless rhythm of sword drills, lean muscle coiling beneath his skin where softness once lingered. His mind, too, had sharpened, honed not just by books and lectures, but by the visceral lessons of experience. He had tasted the raw, electric fury of Lightning, felt its crackling hunger surge through his veins. He had molded the molten steadiness of Fusion, bending it into a lattice strong enough to cage a storm. And he had danced with the elusive grace of Transfer, coaxing its subtle currents into harmony with the chaos of its kin. These elements were no longer strangers, they were his, woven into a foundation no cultivator in the kingdom of Mercia had dared to attempt.

And now, he teetered on the edge of the final precipice.

The manor hummed with the quiet of midday as Fin crossed its stone corridors, his boots whispering against floors worn smooth by the constant travel of people. He found his mother in her study, perched by a tall window where sunlight spilled golden across an open tome. Cahira looked up as he entered, her dark hair catching the light like polished obsidian, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, a rare crack in her composed facade.

"You're close," she said, her voice soft but certain, as if she could sense the mana thrumming beneath his skin.

Fin nodded, easing into the chair across from her, its leather creaking under his weight. "I can feel it. My core, it's almost ready."

Cahira closed the book with a deliberate snap, her sharp, calculating eyes locking onto his, the same eyes that had guided him since the day he first drew breath in this world. "Once it's complete, the System will awaken fully," she said, her tone shifting to the measured cadence of a mentor. "But don't expect it to shower you with power unearned."

"I know," Fin replied, meeting her gaze. "I have to prove myself."

She tilted her head, a flicker of approval softening her features. "Good. Then you also know your choices will shape it. The System watches, always watches, offering skills drawn from your actions. Wield a sword with mastery, and it might grant you a blade technique. Experiment with mana in ways no one's dared, and it could unveil something unseen in Aetherys's long history."

Fin leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his mind already racing. "And I can refuse what it offers?"

"Yes." Cahira's voice grew firm, a thread of caution weaving through it. "You're limited, ten active skills, five passives. Choose wisely. Too many rush to accept the first gifts dangled before them, drunk on excitement, only to find their slots clogged with mediocrity they can't discard."

Her expression darkened, shadows pooling in the lines of her face. "Skills carry ranks—Common, Uncommon, Rare, Epic, Legendary. The higher the rank, the greater the power, the deeper the complexity. Most cultivators die dreaming of a single Legendary skill, let alone wielding one."

Fin absorbed her words, the weight of them settling like stones in his chest. But a spark ignited in his thoughts, a question he couldn't resist voicing. "What if a skill doesn't fit those ranks?"

Cahira arched a brow, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "What do you mean?"

He straightened, his voice steady with conviction. "If the System tailors skills to action, what happens if I create something new, something no one's ever done? A skill that defies its categories?"

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For a moment, silence hung between them, thick as the mana in the air. Then Cahira chuckled, a low, warm sound that broke the tension. "I don't know if the System's rigid enough to account for that, or flexible enough to bend. But if anyone could force it to decide, it'd be you."

Fin smirked, a glint of defiance in his eyes. "Then I'll carve my own path."

She sighed, amusement dancing across her face before softening into something gentler. "Just don't charge ahead blind, Fin." Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "I'm proud of you."

The words struck him like a warm wind, stirring a quiet glow in his chest. He held her gaze a moment longer, then dipped his head in thanks, rising to leave. Pride was a rare gift from Cahira, and he wouldn't let it distract him from the task ahead.

Night cloaked the estate by the time Fin returned to his chamber, the air heavy with stillness and the scent of impending rain. He crossed the threshold, the familiar hum of the attunement array greeting him as he stepped onto its blackstone surface. The silver veins inlaid beneath his feet pulsed faintly, resonating with the mana coiled within him. He settled into its center, legs folding beneath him, and drew a deep breath, letting the world fade until only the rhythm of his heartbeat remained.

He turned inward, descending into the landscape of his soul, a realm of light and shadow where mana surged like rivers through a storm-ravaged plain. The energy he'd gathered over three years roared in response, pressing against the edges of his dantian with a force that made his bones ache. Lightning crackled, a jagged web of white fire threading through his pathways, its raw power straining to break free. Fusion glowed steady, a molten silver-blue that anchored the storm, its warmth radiating through his core. Transfer flowed between them, a cool, shimmering current stitching chaos into order. This was it, the final condensation, the moment where raw potential would crystallize into permanence.

He guided the elements with a precision honed by years of trial, his will a blade cutting through the tumult. Lightning surged, its electric tendrils snapping against the Fusion lattice, testing its strength. He nudged it back, letting it twine with the steady glow of Fusion, the two forces melding like steel folded in a forge. Transfer wove through them, a silver thread that softened their edges, binding them into a seamless whole. The energy compressed, folding inward, each layer denser than the last, Lightning's fury tempered, Fusion's solidity refined, Transfer's grace threading it all together.

Sweat beaded on his brow, his breath growing ragged as the mana tightened, a pressure building in his dantian that threatened to crack his ribs. He pushed harder, drawing the elements inward, condensing them into a sphere no larger than a walnut. A flicker of doubt crept in, what if it wasn't enough? What if the balance faltered now, after all this time? But he crushed it, focusing on the rhythm of the energies, the song they sang as they merged.

Then, a final pull, a sharp contraction of power that stole the air from his lungs.

Stillness.

The storm within him settled, no longer a raging tempest but a controlled inferno, a core burning steady and bright at the heart of his being. It pulsed once, twice, a heartbeat of mana that echoed through his pathways, sending arcs of blue-white dancing across his fingertips. Fin opened his eyes, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. The chamber swam into focus, its runes flaring briefly as if acknowledging his triumph. He had done it. He had crossed the threshold.

And now, the System would…

A voice cut through his mind, sharp and ancient, a timbre that sent shivers racing down his spine.

"You've done well, little Earthling."

Fin stiffened, his breath catching. This wasn't the System's mechanical chime. This was something older, something vast, a presence that pressed against his soul with the weight of stars. Recognition flared unbidden, a name surfacing from the depths of his memory like a stone rising from a still pool.

Kailos.

"The System is watching more closely now," the voice continued, its tone laced with an amusement that felt both mocking and proud.

Fin's pulse quickened, his hands clenching into fists. Watching more closely? The words hung in the silence, heavy with implication, but before he could form a reply, before he could demand answers, the presence vanished, leaving a void that rang in his ears. The stillness that followed was deafening, a vacuum where questions churned unanswered.

Why now? Why interfere at this moment, after years of silence? What did Kailos know that he didn't? And what did it mean for the System to watch him, not just observe, but scrutinize?

Then, at last…

Ding.

The familiar chime of the System rang through his mind, crisp and clear, but it felt like an afterthought, overshadowed by Kailos's cryptic warning. Fin rose, his legs unsteady as he crossed to the window, pushing it open to let the night air flood in.

Rain pattered against the sill, cool against his skin, and he leaned into it.

Questions burned brighter than the mana in his veins. What game was Kailos playing? Was the System a tool, or a judge? And what price would he pay for the power he'd just claimed?

He exhaled, the sound lost in the rising wind. One truth anchored him amidst the uncertainty: his journey had only just begun.


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