CHAPTER 185: CHAPTER 185: EXPERIMENTATION

In the weeks that followed, Mordred adopted an almost monastic discipline. Every day, at dawn, he would go to his cell-laboratory to begin his methodical experiments. He had established a protocol of impressive scientific rigor: each trial was timed, each environmental condition noted, each result analyzed from every angle.

His data chart was enriched daily with increasingly precise information. He had developed a personal scale to measure the intensity of injected mana, based on his physical sensations and observed reactions. Each explosion was studied: direction of debris, intensity of the blast, color of emitted light, duration of instability preceding the explosion.

Some days were more fruitful than others. He sometimes managed to maintain a stable rune for a few precious seconds before it dissipated naturally – these moments represented true victories that he celebrated discreetly. Other times, explosions followed one another with discouraging regularity, covering the walls with new scars of charred stone.

Mordred gradually developed physical resistance to the blasts. His reflexes sharpened, allowing him to anticipate the warning signs of an imminent explosion. He learned to protect himself effectively, minimizing injuries while continuing his observations until the last moment.

Each evening, religiously, Livia would join him in his improvised laboratory. She brought with her fresh water to clean his wounds, improvised bandages to treat the most serious cuts, and above all her comforting presence that lightened the weight of his daily failures.

These moments of shared intimacy gradually became the highlight of their respective days. They rarely spoke of their growing feelings, but their complicity deepened naturally. Sometimes their hands would brush when Livia tended to a wound; sometimes their gazes would meet and linger longer than necessary. But neither dared to completely cross the invisible boundary that still separated them, fearing to break the fragile magic of these suspended moments.

Livia had gotten into the habit of carefully examining Mordred’s notes, sometimes proposing new perspectives or correlations he hadn’t noticed. Her outside perspective proved valuable, allowing him to step back from his growing obsession.

- "Have you noticed that your most spectacular failures always happen late in the day?" she observed one evening, leafing through his notebooks.

Mordred looked up from his calculations, intrigued.

- "Now that you mention it..." He quickly scanned his data. "You’re right. My most violent explosions occur when I’m tired."

- "Maybe fatigue affects your ability to precisely dose the mana?" Livia suggested. "Like an archer whose hand trembles after hours of training."

A week passed thus, punctuated by a routine of experiments, failures, analyses, and restarts. Mordred accumulated an impressive sum of data, but the definitive solution continued to elude him with frustrating consistency. Each approach seemed promising at first, then revealed its limits as trials progressed.

He tried using physical supports to stabilize the runes, carving the symbols into stone before infusing them with mana. The results were mixed: some runes seemed more stable, but others exploded with redoubled violence, as if the physical constraint amplified the energetic instability.

He experimented with different speeds of mana injection, from ultra-slow flow that took several minutes to complete a rune, to instantaneous injection that invariably produced explosions. He discovered that each rune possessed its own optimal rhythm, but these rhythms varied according to parameters he couldn’t clearly identify.

Some evenings, exhaustion and frustration overwhelmed him completely. He would sometimes sit in silence, contemplating his countless notes that seemed to lead nowhere. In these moments of discouragement, Livia’s presence became vital. She didn’t always speak comforting words – sometimes she simply sat near him, silently sharing his burden.

One particularly difficult evening, after a series of failures that had left his cell in a more advanced state of devastation than usual, Mordred literally collapsed against the cold stone wall. His clothes were torn by shrapnel, his hands trembled with fatigue, and his eyes burned from excessive concentration.

- "I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not chasing a chimera," he admitted in a voice broken by exhaustion. "Maybe this magic isn’t meant to be understood according to rational criteria."

Livia settled beside him, gently placing her hand on his in a gesture of comfort that had become natural between them.

- "You know what I think?" she said softly, her voice carrying reassuring conviction. "I think you’re closer to the goal than you imagine. All these failures aren’t a waste of time, they’re eliminations. You’re progressively eliminating all the wrong approaches, which mechanically brings you closer to the right one."

Mordred turned to her with a look filled with gratitude and an affection he no longer really tried to hide.

- "How do you manage to keep faith in me when I’m starting to doubt myself?" he asked.

Livia smiled, her eyes shining with a tenderness that warmed Mordred’s heart more effectively than a brazier.

- "Because I know you," she answered simply. "I know that when you decide to solve a problem, you never give up. And also..." She hesitated for a moment, blushing slightly. "I have confidence in you. More than you imagine."

That night, they remained sitting side by side long after the prison’s usual silence had settled. Neither seemed eager to break this peaceful intimacy that contrasted so strongly with the agitation of daily experiments.

- "Livia," Mordred finally murmured, his voice barely audible in the growing darkness.

- "Yes?" she replied, turning her head slightly toward him.

- "Thank you. For everything. I don’t know if I would have held on without... without your presence."

She imperceptibly squeezed his hand, a simple gesture but heavy with meaning.

- "You don’t need to thank me," she whispered. "It’s... it’s natural to want to take care of people who matter to us."

At dawn the next day, Mordred woke with a strange sensation, as if something had changed during his sleep. He headed to his cell-laboratory with renewed energy, carrying an intuition he couldn’t yet formulate clearly.

Observing his notes under the morning light filtering through the bars, a new correlation suddenly appeared to him. He had noticed that his most stable runes had been created in moments of inner calm, when his mind was peaceful rather than tense with forced concentration.

- "What if the problem isn’t technical but emotional?" he wondered aloud.

This revolutionary thought opened entirely new perspectives. Perhaps rune magic didn’t respond only to the quantity of mana injected, but also to the state of mind of the mage creating them. Perhaps the balance he sought wasn’t only energetic, but also psychic.

Galvanized by this hypothesis, Mordred began to envision his experiments from a completely different angle. Instead of focusing solely on quantitative aspects, he would also explore the qualitative dimensions of runic magic.

The solution remained elusive, but for the first time in weeks, Mordred felt he was on the right track. And with Livia by his side, sharing his doubts as well as his hopes, he knew he would have the strength to persevere to the end of this obsessive quest.

The fragile balance he sought in his runes perhaps found its echo in the equally delicate balance of his nascent feelings. Two intertwined mysteries he would have to solve simultaneously, with patience, rigor, and perhaps a touch of that impalpable magic that only love can bring.

The underground room was plunged in total silence, broken only by the slow, controlled rhythm of Mordred’s breathing. He stood upright, eyes closed, perfectly still. The air around him vibrated slightly, as if charged with silent anticipation.

He had temporarily left behind his research on runes. His mind was saturated by his repeated failures, and he knew he needed to regain his concentration elsewhere. Returning to basics, to the pure and simple mastery of his sword art, was the best way to restore order to his mind.

Slowly, Mordred placed his right hand on the hilt of Narukami, his black katana. The cold, reassuring contact of steel instantly calmed him. He slowly drew the blade, letting its perfect edge slide from the scabbard with a discrete, almost melodious metallic whistle.

- "Let’s begin," he murmured to himself.

He slowly assumed position, feet slightly apart, his weight perfectly balanced on both legs. His mind became limpid, clear as the water of a peaceful lake, leaving room only for absolute concentration.

He began with simple movements, slow and controlled strikes to warm each muscle fiber of his body. Each gesture was executed with absolute precision, his sword tracing perfect arcs in the air. Gradually, his movements accelerated, progressively passing from a slow rhythm to a sustained speed, then rapid, soon reaching an almost hypnotic fluidity.

Satisfied with his warm-up, Mordred breathed deeply, his mind sharpening even further, ready to push his limits.

He murmured slowly, focused:

- "First form: Shidensen, the immediate lightning."

Instantly, Mordred almost literally disappeared on the spot. In a flash of pure speed, his body shot forward, his blade cutting through the air before him. A single attack, incredibly fast, capable of surprising even the most vigilant enemy. He repeated the Shidensen several times, each execution always more precise, faster, constantly seeking to eliminate the slightest unnecessary movement.

Then, without interruption, he moved to the next form:

- "Second form: Narukami, divine thunder."

This time, pure speed combined with a series of consecutive strikes, forming a lightning-fast and devastating chain attack. Mordred spun in the air with terrifying agility, each blow accompanied by a sharp, almost electric metallic whistle, Narukami tracing arcs of white light in the penumbra.

Narukami demanded perfect control, absolute coordination between speed and precision. The slightest error risked breaking the fluidity of the technique, considerably reducing its effectiveness. Mordred knew this requirement perfectly, and his mind, disciplined to the extreme, immediately corrected each imperfection felt in his movements.

Finally, he moved to the ultimate form, the most demanding of the three:

- "Third form: Kosen, the invisible flash."

Kosen was an instantaneous strike technique that transcended ordinary speed to reach an almost supernatural level of rapidity. The very idea of Kosen was to make the blade invisible to the naked eye, striking before the adversary was even aware of the attack.

Mordred concentrated his mana throughout his body, his muscles tensed to the extreme, ready to release in one perfect strike. A heartbeat, a held breath... then, in a fraction of a second, his blade sliced through the air before him with frightening speed. So fast that an ordinary observer would have perceived only a blurred and indefinable movement, almost imperceptible.

However, Mordred knew that mastering these three forms individually was far from sufficient. He wanted more: to combine the three techniques in a fluid and perfect sequence, also integrating his mana wings to reach a superior level, unequaled mobility and power.

He breathed slowly, clearly visualizing the mana wings that immediately sprang from his back, two large extensions of pure energy crackling slightly in the cold air. Mordred resumed position, determined to push his art even further.

He began slowly, first chaining Shidensen and Narukami with his mana wings, leaping into the air to gain incredible vertical and horizontal speed. The combination was complex, each movement having to be perfectly synchronized with his wings so that his aerial speed harmoniously complemented his terrestrial strikes.

His analytical mind noted each flaw immediately. Too slow here. Too predictable there. The strike angle not precise enough... Each error was instantly corrected in the next attempt, his body progressively becoming more precise, more efficient.

He then tried to integrate Kosen into the combination. This integration proved much more arduous. Kosen required perfect immobility before the strike, intense concentration, an explosive release of energy in one precise instant. Chaining Kosen after the constant speed of Shidensen and Narukami proved extremely difficult. Each attempt slightly lacked perfection, exact balance, that fraction of a second of precise timing necessary for flawless execution.

Frustrated, Mordred paused, his body covered in sweat, breathing deeply to calm his seething mind.

He murmured to himself, analytical, his mind desperately seeking the solution to this complex problem:

- "Each form has its own requirement for timing and quantity of mana. For Shidensen, I must release mana quickly but constantly. Narukami requires sustained and regular control throughout the sequence. But Kosen... Kosen necessitates total relaxation, then brutal and instantaneous release."

He reflected intensely aloud, his thoughts articulating slowly but precisely:

- "Perhaps I should simply modify my approach slightly. Rather than mechanically chaining each form, perhaps I should envision them as a single complex technique. Harmonize the three mana releases into a single fluid energetic curve..."

Mordred resumed position, slowly closing his eyes, deeply concentrating his inner energy, clearly imagining the fluidity of this complex combination in his mind.

He tried once more. This time, he attempted to harmonize each form not separately, but as three aspects of the same unified movement. Shidensen flowed naturally toward Narukami, then toward Kosen, his mana wings accompanying each transition, each strike, each movement.

This attempt was better, more fluid, closer to the sought ideal. But it remained still imperfect. Mordred knew he was still missing something, an infinitesimal but essential detail, an absolute harmony that still eluded him.

He sighed, slightly frustrated but still determined, humbly recognizing the immense difficulty of the task he had set himself.

- "Not yet perfect... but closer than before," he murmured slowly to himself, satisfied despite everything with his progress.