Chapter 26 — What Control Costs

  Cycle 22,841 of the Dragon Era — Day 139

  A few days passed after that.

  Training became routine—constant, monitored, relentless. I was never alone anymore, not truly. Wherever I went, at least one pair of eyes followed. Not suspicion. Observation.

  My physical training continued as well—strikes, conditioning, endurance—kept sharp alongside mana control.

  In those days, I grew closer to the pack.

  Not through words—but through presence. Shared silence. Shared exhaustion. Shared effort.

  My mana control improved steadily. Slowly—but undeniably. I didn’t stop when night fell. When the clearing quieted and the others rested, I continued—grinding through failure, headaches, trembling focus.

  By then, all the necessary thread was finished.

  Even. Stable. Coiled carefully around a stick.

  What remained was the hardest part.

  The cloth itself.

  Threads had to be arranged vertically first—held in place, tension maintained without wavering. Then the horizontal layers had to be woven through them, one by one, aligned perfectly.

  This wasn’t shaping.

  This was structure.

  It demanded patience more than power. Consistency more than strength.

  As for the corrupted core—

  The seal held.

  Perfectly.

  I still dreamed of the familiar voice sometimes—twisted, close, echoing just beyond understanding—but I no longer believed the second core was the source of those nightmares.

  Twenty days had passed since I came to this world.

  And I was no longer the same ordinary human being.

  I had mana channels now.

  And a core.

  …Two cores.

  And I could do something I had never imagined was possible.

  Mana control.

  The next step was cloth-making.

  I tried.

  And tried again.

  And failed.

  No matter how hard I focused, something always went wrong. Sometimes the vertical threads lost alignment. Sometimes the horizontal weave collapsed. Sometimes both unraveled at once.

  There was no rhythm.

  No stability.

  Just effort—followed by failure.

  I kept at it anyway, long after my focus should have given out, until the hunting group finally returned.

  Guilt crept in when I saw them.

  Lately, I’d been relying on them for food. Too much.

  When I mentioned it, the pack shut the thought down immediately.

  That’s what a pack does, they told me.

  When one of its members is injured, the others provide.

  I didn’t need to worry.

  Not now.

  “Focus on training,” they said.

  “Get better.”

  Someday, when I could stand on my own again—

  I would hunt with them.

  And repay everything.

  With that in mind—and the pack watching—I kept practicing.

  Again.

  And again.

  Until something finally changed.

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  A structure began to hold.

  Not perfectly—but consistently.

  Threads stayed where I guided them.

  Tension didn’t collapse immediately.

  And then—

  A piece of cloth formed.

  Small.

  No larger than my palm.

  But it was real.

  It held its shape.

  It was a beginning.

  With that done, I moved on to cooking.

  But today, Cira introduced another test.

  “Whatever you do,” she said calmly,

  “you will not use your hands.”

  Instead, I had to rely entirely on mana control.

  Ingredients lifted from the ground.

  Washed.

  Chopped.

  Mixed.

  Not by force—but by guiding the mana within them, the same way I did with fibers.

  At first, it felt strange.

  Then… easier.

  Much easier.

  Compared to maintaining structure in cloth—aligning threads, holding tension—this was simple.

  The more I practiced weaving,

  the more control everything else demanded felt natural.

  And as I cooked, watching herbs and ingredients move exactly where I willed them—

  I realized something quietly important.

  This wasn’t just training.

  It was teaching me how to live with mana.

  The farm was growing well now.

  The plants hadn’t borne fruit or berries yet, but they were larger—healthier. Alive.

  Each day, I watered them using mana control, guiding thin streams of water from the river little by little, careful not to disturb the soil.

  I couldn’t wait for the day I could exert mana directly into water and irrigate the field that way.

  Another day drew to a close.

  And I made a decision.

  Tonight, I would finish the cloth.

  No matter what.

  Mana exertion training was coming next—and I was done waiting.

  I wanted strength.

  Not abstract strength.

  Not distant power.

  The kind that lets you stand in front of danger.

  The kind that lets you protect your friends.

  Your pack.

  So when night fell, I kept going.

  Thread over thread.

  Correction after correction.

  Focus stretched thin—but unbroken.

  At some point, without me realizing it, the darkness lightened.

  Morning rays filtered through the trees.

  I looked up.

  And froze.

  It was done.

  A piece of cloth lay before me.

  Not perfect.

  Not as refined as Cira’s work.

  But unmistakably real.

  Something I had made.

  I knew it wouldn’t earn approval yet—but that didn’t matter. My hands—my control—had learned the movements. The rhythm.

  From here on out, I would only improve.

  Sleep didn’t come.

  It simply… refused.

  Even the pack stopped trying to stop me.

  By afternoon, I finished another piece.

  This one was better.

  More even. More stable.

  And sometime after that—without warning—

  My body finally gave in.

  Exhaustion claimed me before I could resist.

  It couldn’t be helped.

  My mind and body had both reached their limit.

  In the late afternoon, I woke beneath the shade of the giant tree.

  Flint, Raze, and Sera were sprawled across me, fast asleep—warm, heavy, peaceful. For a moment, I didn’t move. I just lay there, listening to the forest breathe.

  It was quiet.

  Safe.

  The pack had eaten earlier—leftover prey from yesterday, kept frozen overnight. Icelan had even brought back a Gnarlhog that had wandered too close to the territory.

  After washing and completing my physical training, I waited.

  Cira’s evaluation.

  She examined the cloth I had made in silence.

  “This is manageable,” she said at last.

  Relief flickered—briefly.

  “But,” she continued, “I want to see cloth large enough to make a shirt.”

  So that was it.

  My task had advanced.

  I wasn’t just making cloth anymore.

  I was making clothing.

  The process began again.

  Focus.

  Maintain the vertical threads.

  Weave the horizontal layers.

  Correct. Adjust. Repeat.

  This time, I used far more vertical threads. The structure was larger, heavier, harder to keep stable.

  It took another full night.

  By morning, I had two finished pieces—large enough to form both sides of a shirt.

  Only one step remained.

  Sewing.

  Compared to weaving with mana, this part was simple. Careful work with steady hands. The pieces came together faster than I expected.

  And then—

  It was done.

  A shirt.

  Not borrowed.

  Not gifted.

  Created by me.

  Cira watched the entire process without interrupting.

  When I finished, she nodded once.

  “You pass.”

  The tension I’d been holding finally released. Strength drained from my body all at once, and I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  I had done it.

  But before I could celebrate, sleep claimed me.

  Again.

  When I woke, it was already afternoon.

  The first thing I noticed wasn’t the light filtering through the leaves—

  It was the smell.

  Warm. Familiar. Spiced.

  I sat up slowly.

  Cira, Lyra, and Varya were cooking.

  Not for the first time.

  The fire was steady. Ingredients floated, turned, mixed with practiced control. Their movements weren’t experimental anymore — they were confident. Copied from me once… refined into something smoother.

  And they were waiting.

  Fenn noticed my eyes open and huffed softly.

  “About time you woke up.”

  Borin shifted his weight, tail flicking once.

  “Good work,” he said. “You passed your test.”

  Lyra stepped closer, ears tilted forward just slightly.

  “You earned a meal cooked by me,” she said.

  I exhaled, tension I hadn’t noticed leaving my chest.

  “…Thank you,” I said honestly.

  I stood.

  “I’ll be right back,” I added. “Just going to the stream — brush my teeth.”

  Cira paused.

  “…You do that every day,” she said. “Why?”

  I frowned.

  “What do you mean why? To stay clean.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Why do that when mana can clean you?”

  I stopped.

  “…It can?”

  Cira nodded, as if this was obvious.

  “Mud. Oil. Residue. Bacteria. Mana can remove all of it.”

  I stared at her.

  “That’s… news to me.”

  She gave a faint, amused exhale.

  “I can teach you,” she said. “But not now.”

  Her gaze shifted back to the fire.

  “Return quickly. Teaching it properly will take time.”

  “After we eat.”

  I didn’t argue.

  Some habits from Earth were harder to let go of.

  But as I jogged toward the stream, one thought stuck with me—

  If even cleanliness could be replaced by control…

  Just how much of my old world would eventually become unnecessary?

  The meal was delicious.

  Perfectly cooked. Balanced. Familiar.

  It surprised me—not because they had cooked, but because this was only their second time doing it, and it was already on the same level as mine. Maybe even better in some places.

  That thought lingered as I ate.

  This wasn’t just practice anymore.

  They were learning too.

  And now—

  It was my turn again.

  Mana exertion.

  The thing I had been waiting for since the day I learned mana even existed. The step beyond control. Beyond restraint.

  I felt restless just thinking about it.

  Excited.

  I couldn’t wait.

  true mana exertion and what it actually costs to wield power in this world. This arc is a turning point for Yuu’s growth, so I hope you look forward to what’s coming next.

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