He Can Do That #1
Sweat-soaked and exhausted, the mages gathered in front of the Iron Tower. Rachel, having run her heart out, hurried to the kitchen to prepare the meal. She had become an indispensable presence there, so her training intensity was a notch lighter.
Another piece of good news: the ingredients had finally arrived.
"But what do we do? Some of you have to join the subjugation war."
"Can't we just pack a few and grill 'em on the way?"
"That's a method! What do you think, Tower Master?"
"Sure, we can keep layering fresh spells on them as we go. From now on, anyone I call out, pack your bags and come forward. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
A thunderous roar echoed back. Before he knew it, Lawrence was shouting along with them at full volume. Is adaptation really that scary? he wondered.
Lawrence pondered who would go with them.
At least one of the elders will come...
Surprisingly, the tower had two elders. They formed unofficial factions: the upper-body-focused ranged group and the lower-body-focused close-range group. The Tower Master always emphasized balance between upper and lower body, but there was still a slight bias either way.
"Hmm, one elder needs to come with me. Who's going?"
"I'll go. Aren't the knights coming this time too? Gotta show those bastards the greatness of battle mages!"
"Good. Lindman, no complaints?"
"None, sir. It's a shame, but Duncan and I already agreed on this."
Duncan Richmond. Patriarch of the Richmond family, a fallen noble. He had pinned his hopes on Iron Magic to revive his house. Now, he was the last survivor of that fallen line.
He led the lower-body close-range faction. His philosophy: a man's power lies in his legs, and battle is won with lower-body strength. It wasn't wrong. Lawrence fully recognized the importance of the lower body himself.
"Alright, simple enough. Everyone training under Duncan joins. If you want to switch, swap with someone under Lindman."
"Yes, sir!"
"Can't hand this glory to the upper-body freaks."
"What'd you say? You duck-ass, weak-legged punks—"
How to describe this? Watching grown men bicker like children made a sigh escape naturally. But it wasn't boring, so Lawrence watched from afar like someone enjoying a fire across the river.
Then, the two factions, mid-spat, suddenly turned their fire on Lawrence.
"Little bro! You think upper body matters more, or lower?"
"Lower body, obviously! Gotta have solid legs to hold your center!"
"Useless without upper-body function! The body's perfection is in the torso!"
Lawrence, who had been quietly observing, let out a deep sigh and spoke up. Sorry, but he had no intention of joining either side.
"I think both are important. No upper without lower, no lower without upper. So stop fighting."
"Hah, well said. You dare fight in front of me?"
"N-no, that's not what we—!"
The Tower Master feigned outrage! In the end, everyone but Lawrence got extra training before departure.
#2
Their destination: Oberon, the city of revelry, said to be built by fairies. The Tower Master led the pack-laden mages, map in hand, toward Oberon. The Iron Mages planned sparring and training right after arrival—no skipping even a single day, per the Tower Master's creed.
"Time to teach the kid some martial arts, don't you think?"
"Yeah. From what I saw in the spar, his basics are solid."
"Thought I was watching a monster. True blood of a great house?"
"Don't box him in with 'great house' labels. The kid suffered plenty before coming here."
The mages vaguely knew. Lawrence's mana use was exceptionally unique—alien, even. No 7th Circle grand mage could shorten incantations to under a second. Higher circles only lengthened them. Visualizing and manifesting vast nature wasn't easy.
But Lawrence... he was different on a profound level. Too alien to chalk up to noble blood.
"Sorry. So the rumors are true? The young master has no Mana Road..."
"That's why he chose the Iron Tower, maybe."
"I'll teach him well."
Duncan said it with renewed resolve. He was excited to see how much Lawrence would grow. Teaching someone had become one of his greatest joys lately.
The Tower Master patted Duncan's shoulder. "You've been through a lot, knowingly or not. Take good care of him."
"...Understood."
Over fifty now. Holed up in the mountains lifting iron and brawling, but age brought wisdom. He could peer into others' pains, sketch their lives in broad strokes.
Duncan watched Lawrence train with the mages, then strode over.
"Kid! Over here! Time for footwork!"
"Oh, yes, sir!"
Despite his noble birth, Lawrence was polite and eager, giving the mages no reason to dislike him.
Duncan pulled aside the brute-force training Lawrence and said, "Time to learn real martial arts."
"Yeah... I figured I couldn't just charge blindly forever."
"Civilian and martial both. That's Iron Mages. We gotta master martial arts too—especially these legs! Lower-body footwork is key!"
He slapped his thigh with a sharp crack! and ranted. Lawrence's eyes sparkled. Until now, he'd mimicked Leila's style—effective enough. What martial arts did Iron Mages use?
Learn a bunch, mix and match.
His eyes were phenomenal. His first implant, the divine artifact granting absolute combat edge: Dragon Eye. With it, he'd master footwork in a flash.
"Show me, and I'll practice."
"Mm!"
He already grasped the frame. Humans unconsciously reveal what they've learned. Fighting forced him to scrutinize the mages' moves, uncovering patterns. Evasion over penetration. Survive to finish incantation, then land the fatal blow.
Duncan demonstrated, infusing that resolve. Light, quick direction changes.
Secures space for incantation, explosive acceleration post-cast.
It explained why Iron Mages wore heavy armor, their evolution. Humans aim easiest: close, straight line. Duncan's footwork obeyed that ruthlessly.
Whoosh! His straight-line speed rivaled knight Leila's. Practical, yet risky—heavily deduced.
"How's that, Lawrence? Master this, and you'll never miss. Your magic's special."
"Mm... I get the principle. Pretty dangerous, though."
"Huh? You see it in one go?"
Ehey.
Duncan laughed heartily, as if joking. Mimicking footwork was easy; grasping principles and origins, hard. Original intent, trial-and-error evolution, refinements through countless counters—understood at a glance?
Lord Icaller, your footwork's evolved a lot.
Lawrence thought. He'd glimpsed Icaller's style via memories. Barely footwork—just insane leg power to dive in and blast magic.
"Lemme try."
"Mm. Go on."
Bridging past and present with his knowledge. Lawrence closed his eyes, overlaying Icaller and Duncan.
Further evolution here would boost Iron Mages' combat power.
Hoo—
Deep breath. Lawrence moved, imagining foes. Dodge attacks, secure space—that was core.
He perfectly mimicked Duncan's form. No—optimized for himself. With Warrior's Movement knowledge, he showcased ideal motion.
Weakness: counter-vulnerable. Compensate there.
Add a bit more upper-body twist here?
Possible only for Lawrence. Invested in motion over pure incantation focus.
Duncan stared blankly, muttering, "This crazy..."
"Ooooh! Kid! What the hell was that?!"
"Just... practiced footwork?"
"That's practice? Elder—no, brother—doesn't that look improved enough to use?!"
Senior mages, who'd been half-assing training while peeking, rushed over. Awed by Lawrence's footwork: clean, no waste, punctuated by upper-body flair.
"You... learn from the Tower Master privately?"
"No. First time today. But I could mimic what you seniors used in spars."
"..."
What kind of monster? All gaped at Lawrence.
Talent. Overwhelming talent right here.
Monster. If he had a Mana Road...
With early systematic training, prime conditions—that talent would bloom gloriously. Far beyond them.
"Hey, blockheads. Can you dodge attacks, incante, and run?"
"...No?"
"Then why wear armor?"
They shook their heads. Obvious. Incant while focusing, legs in constant motion, eyes tracking spell coords and attacks, torso weaving—easy to say.
Why armor? Duncan eyed them pitifully, lower-body zealot scorning.
Battle mages, my ass.
"He can do that."
"..."
"Dodges attacks, slams near-silent-cast magic. Counters at close range? Rare."
Lawrence's genius hit home again. Monster, through and through.
Lawrence soaked in their envious stares. As he opened his mouth—
A shout from outside camp: "Nobody move!"
Bandits, out of nowhere.