Chapter 8: What He Was Not Taught
Aurelion learned early that there were things he was not supposed to learn.
Aura was one of them.
Magic was easy to talk about. Tutors loved explaining it. Books were full of diagrams and careful steps. Circles, flow, control. Everything had a name and a place.
Aura did not.
Whenever he asked about it, the answer was always the same.
"You are gifted in magic.So, Please focus on that."
Sometimes it was said kindly. Sometimes firmly. Sometimes with a warning hidden inside the tone.
In this world, people believed talent balanced itself. If someone had magic, aura would not come easily. If someone had aura, magic would resist them.
Aurelion listened. He nodded. He did not argue.
He also did not stop watching.
His father trained every morning.
Not in public. But in his own private training ground.
Early, when the palace was quiet and night was still out.
Aurelion discovered this by accident. He had woken up early, wandered out of his room, and followed a sound that felt out of place.
Steel cutting air.
A sonorous beat, one which had melody.
Consistent.
"What a lovely sound."
He stood behind a pillar and watched.
Then, he saw.
His father, Emperor Aurex was there.
Aurex moved with a sword in his hand, repeating the same sequence again and again. No magic circles. No light. No sound beyond breath and footwork.
There was something else, though.
The ground did not crack. The air did not felt heavy or strong.
Instead it felt smoother.
Aurelion could feel it, even without understanding it fully.
His father finished one set, rested, then began again. The movements did not change. Only the precision did.
Aurelion did not interrupt. He did not step forward.
He watched until the training ended, then slipped away before he could be noticed.
That became routine.
He watched from balconies. From hallways. From behind doors that were not fully closed.
No one saw him. Most assumed he was just wandering.
His interest increased day by day.
Aura was different from magic. He could tell that much. Magic came from inside, but it moved outward through thought. Aura stayed closer to the body.
Muscle. Breath. Balance.
It did not respond to imagination the way mana did.
And had nothing to do with Mystic Heart, the source of mana and magic circles in this world.
In theory, anyone with enough training should be able to achieve aura but in reality only 1 in 100 people actually awakened Aura.
Aurelion went back to his Webnovel era and thought "Dude, I’m so OP in mana, maybe I can use more plot armour."
So, he went on to pursue aura too.
The first time he tried was in a small practice room that no one used anymore.
The space was plain. Stone floor. Bare walls. A rack of wooden practice swords meant for children older than him.
He picked one up.
It felt light. Almost too light.
He stood the way he had seen his father stand. Feet apart. Knees slightly bent. Back straight.
He tried thinking about aura.
Nothing happened.
He stopped.
Then he remembered something important.
When using magic, thinking helped.
When watching his father, thinking seemed absent.
So he stopped trying to guide it.
He breathed.
Slowly.
He paid attention to how his feet pressed into the ground. How the sword rested in his hand. How his shoulders felt when he relaxed them.
The warmth came quietly.
Low in his body. Not sharp. Not strong.
Just present.
He almost lost it by reacting.
He steadied himself and moved the sword.
Once.
The movement felt heavier than it should have.
He stopped.
He tried again.
The warmth followed.
That was enough.
He did not push further that day.
Over the next weeks, he returned to the room whenever he could. Always alone. Always careful.
He copied what he had seen that night.
Short sessions. Rest afterward. No strain.
Aura did not resist him.
It settled.
One morning, while practicing footwork, he realized something had changed.
The warmth did not fade when he stopped moving.
It stayed.
Stable.
He moved again.
The aura followed without breaking.
He lowered the sword and stood still.
"I see," he said quietly.
By the standards of this world, he had crossed into the first rank.
A rank one aura swordsman.
At five years old.
With no instructor.
He did not smile.
He did not celebrate.
Simply said.
"So, I, really am a Broken Character."
He put the sword back and left the room.
Later that day, he attended his magic lesson as usual. He drew mana lines cleanly. Answered questions. Listened.
No one noticed anything different.
That night, lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling.
Aura and magic.
Both answered him.
That was not something this world expected.
And he decided, right then, to keep it to himself.
For now.
[To be Continued]