Aziel stared, speechless, at the space where leaves had danced moments before.
The summoned arm, stick still in hand, remained motionless, like a statue in the dimly lit cave.
Precision. It was beyond precision; it was an art form.
The way the arm moved, calculated, swift, and lethal, hinted at a lifetime dedicated to the blade.
"Trust it," Blackie urged, voice steady. "Don't try to micro-manage every swing. Let your body lead, and the arm will follow. Trust in its skill."
Trust. It was a strange notion, trusting a disembodied arm.
Yet, as he moved, a sense of exhilaration surged through him.
This wasn't just practice; it felt real, vital. The thrill of battle, a phantom echo of conflict, ignited his senses.
He wasn't just directing an arm; he was in it, a participant in a deadly dance.
He tossed another handful of leaves, scattering them wide and fast.
Aziel shifted, swayed, feigned attacks, his body a conductor of motion.
He didn't consciously tell the arm to cut this leaf or that. He simply moved, his intent to intercept, to destroy.
The summoned arm became a blur, a whirlwind of motion around him. It danced, weaved, and sliced through the cascading leaves with an almost sentient efficiency.
It was like watching a master swordsman at work, each movement economical, devastatingly effective. He could feel the wind displace as the arm cut through the air, a subtle pressure on his skin as the stick whistled past his ear.
When the last leaf fluttered to the cavern floor, neatly halved, Aziel stood panting, a wide, disbelieving grin plastered across his face. Joy bubbled up inside him, a potent cocktail of accomplishment and sheer exhilaration.
He felt different. Transformed.
It wasn't just the arm's skill; it was the feeling of it, the profound sense of mastery resonating within him.
Amazing, he thought, a grin stretching across his face.
The raw, visceral thrill still thrummed in his veins.
He glanced at the summoned arm, still in his grip.
The straight stick in its grasp looked worn after being used like a blade to slice the leaves.
Thinking back, even that was already incredible enough.
Then, a new thought sparked in his mind, igniting a fresh wave of excitement.
What if he had another arm? In his left hand? An arm with another skill, another fighting style?
A vivid image flashed in his mind: dual-wielding, two arms moving in perfect synchronicity, a whirlwind of blades, a symphony of destruction.
He saw himself weaving intricate patterns of attack and defense, combining the strengths of different fighting styles, becoming an unstoppable force.
Agility doubled. Offense multiplied. Defense impenetrable.
The possibilities were dizzying.
He imagined a flurry of blows, a dance of death so complex, so rapid, no opponent could hope to keep up.
He could become a whirlwind of limbs, a one-man army.
Then, a more practical question surfaced, deflating his soaring imagination slightly.
How many arms could I summon?
His gaze drifted to the discarded human arm on the cave floor, then his mind conjured the image of the colossal limb he'd summoned earlier.
An unsettling realization dawned.
Other than the arm he had collected from the Crazy Beast he had killed earlier, the other 2 arms—the human one & the gigantic metal one—must have been collected before he lost his memories.
Which meant, he might have collected more. Many more arms.
Hidden away somewhere within him, a silent arsenal of skills and potential, waiting to be unleashed.
The thought hung in the air. Aziel felt a rush of excitement as he fantasized the possibilities of that.
"Blackie, you said... you said these arms are from creatures I've killed?" Aziel asked, his voice a low rumble in the quiet cave.
The black ring shimmered faintly in the dim light. "Correct, Aziel. Every creature you killed, you can collect one of their arm."
Aziel shifted, a knot forming in his stomach. "And the giant metal arm... and this human one... I collected those before I lost my memory?"
"Indeed."
"So, how many are there? How many arms have I... collected?" He didn't like the sound of that word, collected.
It felt predatory, brutal.
Blackie remained silent for a moment, a pause that stretched the tension in the cave. "Quite a lot"
A wave of unease washed over Aziel.
Quite a lot? What did that even mean? Dozens? Hundreds?
The thought was overwhelming, disturbing.
He pictured a vast, unseen collection of limbs, a grotesque arsenal residing within him.
He pushed the image away, focusing on Blackie's next words.
"But right now, you can only use these three arms. You sealed away all the others before you lost your memory, worried they might make you remember something about your past. Well, you just need to kill and collect more arms after this if you want to use more," Blackie added.
Aziel was not too keen about Blackie's suggestion.
"By the way, power has a price, Aziel," Blackie continued, the tone shifting to something more instructional. "Magic needs fuel. For most magic users, that fuel is Mana, drawn from their Mana Pool."
Blackie paused, allowing the information to sink in. "The more magic power you use, the more Mana it needs. A mage's magical capacity is limited by the size of their Mana Pool. The same principle also applies to stronger magic power. That's why magic users need to be good at managing the Mana in their pool."
Aziel listened intently, nodding slowly.
It made sense. Power wasn't limitless; it had constraints, rules.
Blackie continued. "And that's the system for those who use Mana. But, Aziel, you are not like other magic users," the ring's voice took on a different inflection.
Aziel frowned. "What do you mean?"
Blackie posed a question in return. "Think back to when you first tried to use magic, back in the forest when we were running from that Crazy Beast. Did you notice anything... missing?"
Aziel racked his memory, recalling the frantic moments, the surge of adrenaline, the desperate need to defend himself.
He'd focused on the idea of magic, of power, of something to stop the Crazy Beast.
Then it struck him. "Wait... yeah. I was... I was kinda expecting fire, or wind, something elemental, right? But then... the arm just appeared." He gestured to the human arm still lying on the cave floor.
"Exactly," Blackie stated, the ring's tone firm. "You instinctively reached for magic, but elemental magic didn't come. That's because your power doesn't draw on Mana, Aziel."
Aziel's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "It doesn't use Mana? Then... what does it use?"
"Your magic is fueled by Miasma."