Leaving the City

Back in the quiet solitude of his room at the inn, William unfurled the scroll containing the Swiftfoot technique. He was eager to dive into his magical training, and this skill seemed like the perfect starting point.

As Gorn had said, speed and agility were crucial assets for any aspiring Battlemage, useful for both offense and defense. 'If I can master this,' William thought, 'I'll be able to dodge attacks, close the distance on my enemies, and even escape dangerous situations.'

He carefully read through the instructions, his brow furrowed in concentration. The scroll detailed a complex process involving a specific breathing pattern, precise mana manipulation, and the drawing of intricate runes in the air. It wasn't as simple as just willing himself to move faster; it required a delicate interplay of mind and body, a harmonious flow of magical energy.

William took a deep breath and began to practice. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his back straight, and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He inhaled slowly, counting each second, then exhaled just as deliberately, following the rhythm described in the scroll.

Once he felt his breathing was steady and controlled, he moved on to the next step: mana manipulation. He visualized his mana channels, the pathways through which his magical energy flowed, and tried to direct the flow to his legs and feet, as instructed.

It was like trying to guide a wild river, the energy surging and ebbing unpredictably. He gritted his teeth in concentration, trying to maintain focus.

Finally, he attempted to draw the runes. With a trembling finger, he traced the intricate symbols in the air, his movements slow and clumsy. The runes flickered into existence, faint and unstable, before dissipating into nothingness. He tried again and again, his frustration growing with each failed attempt.

Hours passed, and William remained stubbornly dedicated to his practice. He repeated the breathing exercises, the mana manipulation techniques, and the rune drawings, tirelessly striving for even the slightest hint of progress.

But the skill remained elusive. His runes were still weak and unstable, his mana control erratic, and his movements felt no faster than usual.

By nightfall, exhaustion was creeping in, and discouragement began to weigh on him. He slumped against the wall, his head in his hands. 'Why is this so difficult?' he thought, a wave of self-doubt washing over him. 'Am I not cut out for this after all?'

Just as his spirits were sinking, a knock came at the door. "William, you in there, lad?" Gorn's familiar voice called out.

"Come in," William replied, his voice muffled.

Gorn entered the room, carrying a tray with a steaming mug and a plate of bread and cheese. He took one look at William's dejected expression and chuckled. "Having a bit of trouble, are we?"

William sighed. "It's this Swiftfoot skill. I've been practicing all day, and I'm not making any progress."

Gorn placed the tray on the table and sat down beside William. "Ah, that's perfectly normal, lad. Learning new skills takes time and patience. Don't get discouraged just because you haven't mastered it in a day."

He took a sip from his mug. "Let me see you try it."

William hesitated, feeling self-conscious, but he performed the sequence of breathing, mana manipulation, and rune drawing.

Gorn watched intently, his eyes narrowed in concentration. When William finished, he nodded slowly. "Not bad, lad. Your breathing is decent, and your mana control is showing some promise. But your runes are still a bit shaky."

He pointed to the air where William had drawn the runes. "See how they flicker and fade? That's because your mana flow isn't consistent. You need to focus on maintaining a steady stream of energy as you draw."

Gorn then demonstrated the rune drawing, his finger moving with fluid grace. The runes he created glowed brightly, pulsating with power. "Try to visualize the flow of mana as you draw," he explained. "Imagine it like ink flowing from your fingertip, forming the runes in the air."

William nodded, absorbing Gorn's advice. He tried again, focusing on maintaining a steady mana flow as he drew the runes. This time, they were more stable, lasting a few seconds longer before fading.

"That's better," Gorn encouraged. "Keep practicing, lad. You'll get there."

The next morning, William woke with a renewed sense of purpose. Despite the challenges he faced with the Swiftfoot skill, he was determined to master it. He spent the early hours practicing the breathing techniques and mana manipulation, his focus sharpened by the prospect of the journey ahead.

After a quick breakfast, he met Gorn in the common room of the inn. "Ready for the day, lad?" Gorn asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"As I'll ever be," William replied, trying to project an air of confidence.

They left the inn and headed towards the Adventurers' Guild. The guild hall was a hive of activity, with adventurers of all sorts coming and going. William, still somewhat intimidated by the seasoned mercenaries and mages, stuck close to Gorn as they navigated through the bustling crowd.

Gorn led him to a table where Aella, Borin, and Kael were already seated, their gear laid out on the table before them. They were checking their weapons and supplies, ensuring they were fully prepared for the journey ahead.

"Ah, there you are," Aella said, nodding to William and Gorn. "Ready to head out?"

"Just about," Gorn replied. "We just need to confirm a few details with the Guild Master."

They approached the Guild Master's desk, where a stern-looking woman with a sharp gaze was reviewing a stack of parchments. Gorn presented her with the contract for the Willow Creek mission, and she quickly verified the details.

"Everything seems to be in order," she said, stamping the contract with the guild's seal. "I wish you all the best in your endeavor. The corruption in Willow Creek is a serious matter, and the villagers will be grateful for your assistance."

"We'll do our best, Guild Master," Gorn assured her.

With the formalities completed, they returned to their table to gather their belongings. William felt a flutter of nerves as he realized that they were about to depart.