A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Francis ground his teeth together in annoyance, but on that front, he could not deny that Dominus was right. It was a zone he'd neglected. The power of the magic. He puzzled on it, his calmer, more calculating self taking over for a while, as his madness still continued to rave on the surface.

He'd never attempted to increase the strength of his magic, other than increasing the size, and the speed, what did it even mean to make it stronger? What did a stronger spell look like? What was more suited to combat?

Speed… That definitely seemed an area of improvement. More important than size.

He brought up his hands again, and attempted to form swords. They came out half-formed – he could not manipulate the steel as he'd wanted to. He had no understanding of the structure of it. It tainted his magic. The best he was able to do was form iron spikes – steel swords were beyond him.

Yet these iron spikes gathered in the air anyway, even as Francis reflected on a sudden limitation that he'd grasped from his magic. He'd assumed that more mana would simply mean more results, that he could overcome any boundary – but here he was, unable to make swords, for his mind had no experience of the forge to draw from.

His flock of needles set off like a barrage of angry birds. He'd let them sit in the air for a second, before casting another spell behind them – a great gust of angry wind, cast with the force of his down swung arm.

Dominus merely continued to walk in the face of the attack. The spikes neared him, and then they passed him. Only Lombard and Tolsey were able to see him twist his body to avoid them, his movements so impossibly fast.

'But this isn't the strength of the Sixth Boundary, is it?' Lombard wondered as he watched. He was sure it wasn't. In fact, he was sure a man of the Fourth Boundary could have performed the same feat.

"Your little spikes are no different than a storm of arrows. What good is your magic, if you only increase your volume? Against a man that is your better, numbers do not suffice. You will not chisel through granite with wood, no matter how many stakes you make throw at it," Dominus said, finding himself lecturing.

It was an odd thing – in the past he'd hated the idea of taking a student, and now - even though he had not taught his apprentice directly in a short while – he found that teaching had become more of a habit now. A different way of looking at the world. Even in the midst of what ought to have been deadly combat, he could see nothing but wasted potential.

Again, Dominus' words caught Francis at a blind spot. Matters of combat were not things that he'd considered. Power was all he was concerned with. To conjure fire – that was power. To raise up terrible monsters, like Hobgoblins and Konbreakers – that was power. He'd assumed that merely adding to that power, merely growing more magic, that such a thing would make his combat prowess stronger.

Dominus' words interrupted his thoughts. "You are not trained in combat," he pointed out. "You were foolish to expect that mere power would be enough to level your hand at any task you sought to perform. And perhaps it might have, if you were stronger.

But that is the trouble with your sought of power – you either hand yourself a crushing victory, as everything arrives frighteningly easy, or you're as weak as a newborn, for you have no grasp of the fundamentals, and no means to improve."

Francis was halfway in his mind, yet he raged on the surface. "DO NOT SPEAK DOWN TO ME! NOT TO ME! YOU WILL NOT! I HAVE THE POWER TO CRUSH YOU ALL AT ONCE! I DO!"

"Then why don't you?" Dominus asked. "All this conniving and planning. If you'd merely picked up a sword and swung it, you could have seen progress. You could have forged these occult ideas of yours together with the blade. You would have been a sight to behold."

"NGGHHH!" Another storm of ice, as Francis found himself pressed into a corner, and he relied once again on what he knew. This storm was directed at the unprotected villagers, who watched on with haggard eyes.

They saw the storm of icicles approaching them, but they did not have the energy to resist it. They were mere observers in their own bodies now – there was no energy to do anything else. They waited upon the finale of the grand show, for the end to a story that was no longer theirs.

They did not even close their eyes as death approached. They'd lived enough lifetimes in that single night, that even the fairest amongst them did not flinch from death.

But Dominus was in front of them a moment later. What he did to the icicles was almost art. He left them as a stream of powdered crystals, harmlessly drifting down, as they reflected what little light the darkened world shone in their direction.

A magnificent feat, and for Dominus, it was easy. He sighed.

"Your planning, it seems, was stronger," he noted. "These monsters, the clones, this blackened dome. It all had a strength to it. But the boy managed to defeat it all, long before me. There's no danger left in you, is there mage? Or do you have a way of suddenly mastering combat, mm?"

Francis' eyes went towards the frozen ball of divine energy, as it paused outside the body of the boy. Only half of it was out. He didn't know what had happened to the rest. He didn't know why the show had paused.

"You're right…" Francis realized, breathlessly, in a sudden moment of lucidity. "That is what I am chasing… Universal power. Why should I be satisfied with merely being good at one thing? Mathematics – to merely be good at that… Quite commendable. The sciences? That would be excellent… To be the very best at both, that's only natural.

But see, why stop there? When there is power to be obtained, why not grasp it all? Why not be the very best at all of it?"

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