In the small apartment, Christopher sat cross-legged on the bed, his eyes closed, his breathing slow, and his chest movements steady.
"Calm the mind... regulate the breath... sense the mana..." But he felt nothing.
Five minutes passed, then ten, then a whole hour... and still nothing.
Christopher was following the steps to the letter, step by step, but with no noticeable result.
"Am I talentless? Or did I apply the technique wrong?" He wondered in a soft voice, trying to check every detail of what he had done.
"No... no, I'm sure I applied it correctly. So, why?" Fatigue and frustration surrounded him.
It had been two months since he left the disk space. Every night, after returning from work at the tavern, he would train for five continuous hours... but to no avail.
He tried to return to the space, hoping to find an answer there, but it hadn't responded to him since that night. He couldn't even feel it.
He took a deep breath, gathered his calm, then returned to meditation again.
An hour passed... he opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Only silence... and the sound of rats rustling in the ceiling.
"Damn it..." He muttered in annoyance and got up from the bed. He felt a tingling in his feet from sitting too long.
He walked toward the worn curtains, moved them lazily, and looked outside.
The city was a mix of shadows and light, the moon illuminating some alleys, while other places were dark.
As he stared at the scene, an idea crept into his mind... a simple thought, but very logical.
"Is the mana in this area low... or completely absent?" The more he thought about it, the more logical it seemed.
He had followed the steps of the "Great Sky Refining" technique precisely. And according to it, even the worst talents could feel mana within just one week.
But he... two months had passed without making any progress. "So... does mana concentration differ from one place to another?" He contemplated the question deeply, linking it to his memories of "chi" in the cultivation novels from his previous world.
If mana followed the same principle, then sitting here was just a waste of time.
"If my intuition is right... mana isn't evenly distributed in this world."
He stared into the dark horizon behind the window glass, his voice echoing in the room.
"The mountains, forests, abandoned places far from cities... mana concentration must be higher there."
He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling his past days.
"Two whole months I spent here, applying every step precisely, sticking to the instructions of the Great Sky Refining technique, waiting for a feeling... any feeling. But nothing."
He breathed slowly, then muttered in his depths:
"If mana is like chi from the cultivation novels in my past life, then the location makes a difference."
Christopher decided to prepare to test his idea tomorrow.
The next morning, Christopher wore his worn gray coat, tucked his small coin pouch in his inner pocket, then left the apartment heading to the tavern.
The air was somewhat cold, and the sky was filled with heavy gray clouds. And although he was excited to try out his idea, Christopher didn't quicken his steps.
When he entered the tavern, he was greeted by the scent of aged liquor and toasted bread, and the loud laughter of one of the drunk patrons.
Old Hearn, the tavern owner, was sitting behind the long wooden counter, as he always did. His broad shoulders were covered with a black leather coat, his white hair neat, and his blue eyes exuding wisdom.
The old man raised his head as soon as he saw Christopher and mumbled as he filled a cup:
"Huh, why did you come early today."
Christopher smiled lightly and walked until he stood in front of him.
"Good morning, Uncle Hearn. I thought I'd beat the noise today."
"Hmmm... starting to think working at a tavern brings wisdom?"
Christopher chuckled lightly, then sat on the opposite chair. He was silent for a moment, then said as he looked at one of the old bottles on the shelf:
"You know, I've been thinking of something different these days..."
"Something different?" The old man raised a thick eyebrow. "Have you decided to become a monk or something?"
"Not to that extent." Christopher sighed, then looked at him. "But I feel I need a change of scenery... maybe a short trip, using the upcoming week."
Hearn looked at him for a while, then placed the cup on the table with a light tap and said:
"Did you say... trip?"
"Yeah. And I'd like to request a week off."
"Just like that?" The old man frowned, then leaned forward, his voice lowering slightly: "Don't tell me you got yourself in trouble."
Christopher shook his head calmly, denying.
"No trouble. Just... want to get away a little. And think."
"You're too young to need to think, and far too young to talk about trips like you're some retired old man." He said it with a smile, then continued in a more serious tone: "But you've looked pale lately. Alright, you get a week off... but on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you tell me where you're planning to go."
Christopher laughed sincerely this time. Then said as he rubbed his forehead:
"Honestly... I don't know yet. But I was looking for places I shouldn't go."
"Shouldn't?" The old man narrowed his eyes, then said in a strange tone: "Why?"
Christopher hesitated for a second, then said sincerely:
"Let's just say I'm curious, and I don't want to get lost in a dangerous place just because I was ignorant."
Hearn raised his head a bit, thinking, then said:
"Hmmm... if you're looking for places that are best avoided, three come to mind right away."
Christopher raised his eyebrows with interest as the old man continued:
"First: the Bloody Hunting Plain. The name speaks for itself, doesn't it? A decade ago, the Sacred Temple banned anyone from entering it."
"Why?"
"No one knows, but lots of rumors swirl around it... some say the land itself became dangerous. Others talk about demonic beasts. In short, a forbidden zone."
Christopher nodded and filed the information in his memory.
"And the second?"
"The Zardet Mountains... thick fog wraps the place all year round. No one knows what's inside. Caravans passing close always vanish if they get too close."
"Like the mountain swallows them?" Christopher murmured.
"Something like that. But I'm not joking, boy. That place is extremely dangerous. Even the temple doesn't dare enter."
"And the third?"
"The Forest of the Greats." Hearn said it in a hushed tone, then added: "Despite the name, it's the most natural of the three. But it's still... a forest. Savage, full of strange creatures, and its history is unclear."
He paused for a moment, then looked at Christopher sharply and said:
"So, which one are you going to?"
Christopher smiled, shaking his head he knew he'd been found out.
"Actually... I think I've decided."
"Don't tell me you're going to the Bloody Hunting Plain? I'll have to prepare your funeral."
"No, the Forest of the Greats. I just need nature... and some fresh air."
"Yeah, air filled with the scent of beasts." The old man muttered, then stood up and opened a small drawer behind him. He took out a small leather pouch and tossed it toward Christopher.
"Your pay in advance. But be careful, boy... don't overuse your intelligence. Sometimes, too much cleverness makes you careless."
Christopher caught the pouch and said with a serious smile:
"Thank you, Uncle Hearn. I'll make sure not to overuse anything... neither intelligence nor life."
The old man laughed out loud, then returned to his seat.
"Go then, boy."
Christopher left the tavern after his conversation with old Hearn.
He tightened his gray coat around him and walked with steady steps toward the city's main market.
The market, as always in the morning, was bustling with life. The sounds blended like a symphony:
"Fresh apples from the southern farms!" "Treated leather! The best for making armor!" "Healing potions, tried and guaranteed!"
The smells mixed between hot bread, spicy herbs, and the sweat of the crowded men. Christopher walked through the crowd, avoiding the vendors calling loudly for customers.
He first stopped at a vendor, a bald man with thick mustaches, sitting on an overturned wooden crate.
"I need a light and sturdy bag... enough for a week, with some basic tools."
The man raised his head, stared at him for a moment, then pointed to a black one made of goat leather:
"This one withstands the wind and isn't affected by rain. As light as cloth."
Christopher inspected it quickly. It was good. Then added:
"Also, a small tent, rope, fire-starting tools... and healing potions if available."
After a few minutes, the bag was packed with everything he needed, hanging on his left shoulder. Then, he headed to the weapons vendor in the western part of the market.
It was an old building with a thick wooden door above which hung a faded sign reading "Fire Hammer." He pushed the door with a soft creak and entered inside.
The scent of hot iron and burnt wood instantly filled his nose, followed by a wave of warmth coming from a furnace in the back corner, where a tall, bald man with hairy arms was hammering a hot steel piece.
The man raised his head briefly, looked at Christopher with one eye — the other covered by a black patch — then said in a rough voice:
"Customers don't usually come early. Looking for a weapon, or just browsing?"
"A weapon." Christopher said without hesitation. "A light sword."
The blacksmith set down his hammer, wiped his forehead with a gray cloth, then pointed to the side wall, where a set of swords were hanging.
"Try this one." He said, pointing to a sword with a narrow shiny blade and a grip wrapped in brown leather.
Christopher held the sword. It was perfectly balanced neither heavy nor light as if it was made for his hand.
"How much?"
"Twenty-eight copper coins." The blacksmith replied, then added while eyeing Christopher with an expert look: "You'll need a leather sheath too... and weekly maintenance if you want it to stay shiny."
Christopher nodded and paid without arguing. Then he left, fastening the sheath to his waist, the sword firmly inside.
He then headed to the provisions corner, where small stalls sold dried bread, cured meat, and anti-mold herb pouches.
He bought enough for a week, added a tightly sealed water flask, a light rope, and a small oil lantern.
Before leaving, he went to the market's eastern corner, where old stalls and rare item shops were gathered.
The map store was there, with a slightly slanted wooden door, and above it a faded sign that read: "Ormas Maps and Travel Tales."
Christopher opened the door and heard the sound of a small bell. The smell of old paper and dry ink greeted him, the place lit by an oil lamp swaying with the air's movement.
Behind the counter sat an old man, completely bald, with a hooked nose and thick glasses covering his eyes like magnifying lenses.
"Hello, I'm looking for a map of the Forest of the Greats."
The old man raised his glasses and stared at him as if measuring him.
"The Forest of the Greats? What drives a young man like you there?"
"Curiosity, and some fresh air." Christopher said with a small smile.
The old man didn't comment. He slowly stood up, pulled out a wooden drawer, and took out a scroll tied with a leather string.
"This is the latest edition. Updated two years ago after an explorer got lost there for a whole week."
He spread it on the table. The map was surprisingly detailed: it showed the forest and its paths, a small river cutting through it, and some unknown symbols drawn in various places.
While Christopher reviewed the map's details, he heard whispers near the door. Two customers speaking in hurried whispers:
"Did you hear? The Sacred Temple closed the eastern pass."
"Yeah, a relative of mine was traveling yesterday and was turned back at the eastern pass. They told him: 'Sacred orders,' and no one goes in or out."
"But why? No one explains anything."
Christopher felt his body stiffen for a moment. He exchanged a quick look with the shopkeeper, who said in a low voice: The Sacred Temple is really going far.
"The Sacred Temple..." he muttered to himself. An uneasy feeling swept over him, but it quickly faded when he returned to his main focus. The Forest of the Greats. Places with mana concentration. That was his goal now, not the temple.
So Christopher ignored the words and focused only on what was in front of him. He looked again at the map, then raised his eyes to the old man and said seriously: "The map is good. How much is it?"