The Giant Turtle Awakens
On the way back, nothing particularly noteworthy happened. I got a bit bored and toed some of the junkies sprawled along the roadside. Wouldn't it be nice to drag a couple off and put them to some use? Even these rotten addicts were mages, after all. They could make for damn good materials. But I couldn't act on the thought. These guys were practically the property of the sword gang. They squeezed out their mana every day just to buy more drugs—like aphids farming a gang's honeydew. Killing them offhandedly would send those sword maniacs into a frenzy for sure.
Up ahead, the sign for Ebron's Doll Workshop came into view. My nest, built over ten hard years. Excluding the slum's core, it was the sturdiest building around. The struggles I'd endured to claim it... Just remembering those sword thugs waving blades and threatening me still made my heart race.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The sight of the workshop crammed with dolls instantly soothed my frayed nerves. First things first, I headed to the reception counter. A monkey-like doll lay slumped there. I poked it with a finger. Still intact. I channeled mana into it right then. The doll straightened its crumpled form and sprang up, kicking off from its spot. Perched on the counter, it stared blankly toward the entrance—my receptionist doll, minding the shop in my stead. I'd gotten blackout drunk last night and forgotten about it.
I circled the place, checking for malfunctions. A week away, anything could glitch. Fortunately, everything was pristine. Hah, of course—dolls I made myself. Perfect as always. Leaving it be, I descended to the underground workshop. Time to patch up the dolls smashed during the exam. It was a duel-format test—brutal for someone like me who only knew how to blow up dolls for offense. Out of thirty matches that week, I won just twice, burning through my entire stock. After they were gone, I just rolled around yelling surrender. Combat's not my forte, damn it. This time, luck was really against me. I'd prayed it wouldn't be duels, and boom—duels. Next chance, I'd pass for sure.
From inside my robe, beneath the steel corset, I pulled out the space pouch. This tiny thing held expansion magic for about a hundred dolls—my treasures, maybe more precious than my entire fortune. A stroke of fate had gifted it to me. No business in the slums. If anyone spotted it, blood would flow that day. That's why I always kept it stashed tight in the corset. I upended it, and exam-wrecked dolls spilled out in a heap. The carnage made me sigh. Aigoo, it hurts every damn exam. Tormenting my babies like this.
I sifted the wreckage, prioritizing salvageable parts. Mana Hearts were key—if intact, I could rebuild bodies around them. But only three still pulsed. The rest were toast. Tons with hearts sliced clean—sword bitch's handiwork. She'd hacked my dolls mercilessly, no mercy for another craftsman's work. I'd underestimated her at first, thinking girl, easy mark, but she flipped out the second the duel started, shredding everything. She ruined my exam. I set the three aside and incinerated the rest. Mana-dead wood chunks, worthless. Recycling would've just yielded junk—better torched. Watching them burn as firewood tugged at me. Sniff, sorry, kids. Daddy's sending you off like this. Next time, tougher bodies, I swear.
I unpacked my beetle dolls too. Started with hundreds; now just ten post-exam. That sword bitch again. I'd clustered fifty for a multi-blast spell, and she swatted the explosions aside like flies. Damn sword maniacs—brutes who only fight with blades!
Grousing, I mana-lifted materials from around the workshop onto the workbench. Today: consolidate gains. Upgrade the wrecks into something better. I fondled the wood first—saturated in mana, practically liquefied between my fingers. Mm, perfect. Irritation cleared; crafting demanded focus. No stray thoughts—channel the material's essence fully. I shoved emotions aside, awakening the tree in my chest. Seedling leaves leaked mana, forming a steady rhythm. It flowed through my fingers, etching eerie patterns on the mana-soaked wood. I carved along them. The patterns pulsed like breaths.
How much practice for Magical Breathing to mature like this? Endless doll-making, whittling, chasing the old man's "life grain" day and night. In that bone-grinding grind, I grasped it—and my unique magic evolved. Or rather, newfound insight. Mana followed life and power grains, infusing faint life into the doll. Wood mana sucked into the patterns. I processed dozens this way. While patterns drank, I extracted Mana Hearts from the wrecked three—withered treelets on death's door. Critical condition. Transplant now.
I propped prime-patterned woods beneath each heart. Patterns thrummed, resonating. Wood and heart intertwined, swapping mana. Hearts drew power, reviving. Good boys. I guided fusion subtly—overcontrol turns them to scrap. Like mages, Mana Hearts must rise themselves. They perked up, seeping into wood. New doll cores born. Now craft fitting bodies.
Inspecting infused woods, I rummaged compatible materials. Instincts awakened, hearts showed stronger tastes. One roared feral, cycling mana fiercely. Another armored tight. The last scattered lazily. I named them First, Second, Third. Common with unique magic bonds—experience bred preferences, death-rebirth amplified it. Right, Daddy'll dress you perfect.
Imagining forms, I shaped bodies. First needed beastly wildness—panther? No, too tame. Burrower? Ospreys? Nah. Its ferocity unprecedented. Needed continent's toughest. Greatest I'd seen? Turtle! Twenty years back, flying ship fleeing rumors. We crash-landed, hid; mages played dead. Curious newbie me peeked at the tremors. Saw it—and understood terror. Mountains crushed underfoot, lakes mere puddles. It bulldozed seaward. I blacked out ten days.
Turtles: indomitable wanderers of land and sea. Shells defying ocean horrors, savagery rivaling dragons. Living disasters. Perfect for First. But solo? Lacking. What if Second armors it? Brilliant! Third bridges, second heart. Link three into one nucleus—true turtle doll! Inspiration flashed; harmony clicked. Thrilling. Add shelter in Third's core? Mobile workshop! Why no prior epiphany? Chain: more hearts? Fuse traits for perfection.
I carved relentlessly, piling wood, embedding rares. Days blurred, no food or sleep. Then—realization. Failure. At the brink. Hearts held individuality—like mages' wholeness. Body done, linked via Magical Breathing: success! But colossal flow homogenized them. They ejected. Should've foreseen. Regret: lost cool, excitement warped insight. Failure stays failure. Mage life's littered them. This, just one.
Calming, deep breaths. Hearts dyed by broadest flow—Third's. Temporary power boost, fades. Exhausted slump. Workshop-filling turtle, pilotless. My masterpiece. Near-exhausted materials: mountain-back, crusher-feet, mist-sucking maw. Turtle traits etched fine. Shame to scrap. Right heart, it'd live. But fused; only they fit. Now ornate statue.
Sudden chest thrum. Tree's pulse dove inward. Seedling quaking excitedly, leaves weaving vast spell: Magical Breathing, self-cast. Epiphany—not head, heart-tree's revelation. Mana Hearts stem from my tree. Roots trace back. Thus, it holds all potentials.
Hand to chest—tree straining free. Yes: I become the Mana Heart. No doll surpasses original. "I'll become the turtle," I whispered, linking tree to turtle grain. Pressure surged. Turtle mana rampaged, shredding me—bones shattering, veins bursting, body ballooning. Roots stabbed flesh, supplanting bone and muscle. Stabilized. Cracked but holdable. Roots gorged turtle mana; seedling refined, recirculated. Beautiful cycle. I melted as heart.
Fusion complete. Dual sensations: human flesh, doll bulk. Focused turtle. Leg up—one step. Floor cratered. Overwhelming mass—my pursuit. Shuddered in ecstasy. Seedling too, thrilled. Massive mana influx; doubled growth. Potent Magical Breathing deepened bond. Merging neared.
But limit. Instinct screamed: further, lose self to doll part. Deeper insight tantalized, unreachable—mage agony. Grateful for path glimpsed. Soothed tree, withdrew naturally. Body: cracked mosaic, brittle. Two months bedrest. No outings.
Exhaustion and fulfillment warred. I collapsed on turtle-back. Out cold as it hit floor.