It was the third day on the caravan, which moved along in a monotonous calm, interrupted only by the constant sound of worn wheels striking the uneven ground.
Fungi had been working for hours without rest. Since the previous night, he had been immersed in practice without even pausing for a decent meal. The air in his room had grown stifling, thick with humidity and faintly redolent of stagnant water.
His progress was modest but steady.
His experience on the Soul Path had given him a great advantage in shaping the structure of the Marine Serpent spell, yet working with water was… different.
If a person's soul were fragile and unstable by nature, then water was a formless, chaotic liquid with no will of its own. Applying too much pressure would cause it to burst into a disastrous spray of droplets; too little pressure, and it would lose cohesion and collapse.
It was like trying to manipulate a trembling soul on the verge of shattering at any moment.
Finding a middle ground simply wasn't enough. To make it truly lethal, he needed to generate just the right pressure to keep the serpent stable without it collapsing upon impact.
Too slow, and it would be useless. Too fast, and it would dissipate without causing harm.
The obvious solution was to summon more water—increase the volume to withstand the pressure and thereby gain power. But that would also make control more difficult.
Fungi wasn't aiming for a slow, heavy attack.
He sought something stealthy, quick, and efficient. An attack that could change shape at the last moment, adapting with the fluidity of water itself.
That's why he was using the minimum amount of water that his gourd could hold. If he could make something lethal out of so little, then mastering water would only be a matter of time.
The trial-and-error process was exhausting.
Sometimes the marine serpent held firm and attacked, but it would explode upon impact with the practice dummy—something that didn't happen with the original spell.
Still, he wasn't frustrated.
He knew that once he managed to stabilize the base structure of the spell using the minimum resources, he'd have a solid foundation. From there, everything else would be a matter of refinement.
After all, a sorcerer isn't defined by the number of spells he knows, but by his ability to adapt them to his own needs.
His best result so far had been slightly denting one of the plates on the dummy's armor. It wasn't much, but it wasn't bad for barely three days of training on an alien path.
With a subtle smile of satisfaction, he reclined on his bed and closed his eyes.
He had spent the entire night awake. He forced himself to clear his mind, relax, and get a few hours of sleep…
But his rest didn't last long.
A knock at the door interrupted the silence of his room.
"Master Fungi, do you have a moment to talk?"
The unmistakable voice of Huo-Huo resonated, calm and firm.
Fungi sighed with a weary grimace, opened his eyes, and slowly got up to answer the door.
Huo-Huo, with his usual serene expression, extended his hand in greeting. Fungi shook it unhurriedly.
"Good morning, Master Fungi. As you know, our agreement with the caravan's owner states that every time we require your services, you will be paid with an item from the shop."
Fungi nodded slightly.
"However, the situation we are about to face in a few hours will be a constant marathon of attrition. It would be very costly to maintain a continuous flow of healing…"
Fungi kept his expression calm. He knew what was coming.
"...But I'm not here to ask you to lower your price."
Huo-Huo produced a small notebook from his robe and extended it towards Fungi.
For the first time in days, Fungi's eyes opened with genuine interest.
Huo-Huo smiled with satisfaction.
"There is no better payment than what one truly needs. Here's the deal: we offer you the reading of a fragment of a water master's legacy in exchange for your support during the upcoming campaign."
He paused briefly before adding calmly:
"If you wish for more parts of the legacy, you simply need to provide better service. Work more; earn more."
"Are you interested in the pact?"
Fungi remained silent for a few moments, examining the notebook intently.
He hadn't expected this.
Caravans usually carried items of great value, but a master's legacy was an entirely different matter.
He doubted that the cantankerous old merchant even possessed a complete legacy, but that he had even a fragment was already worth considering.
This changed everything.
Huo-Huo interrupted his thoughts with a pat on the shoulder.
"Come on, man, we don't have all day. The journey to the commercial camp will be hectic."
Fungi opened his mouth to reply, but Huo-Huo had already turned and walked away.
The decision was made.
In an instant, Fungi's fatigue dissipated. He closed the door and immersed himself in the notebook's reading with a smile.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the wagon…
Han-Lee sat, watching Huo-Huo with a curious expression.
When Huo-Huo reclined in his chair, Han-Lee smirked mockingly.
"Is that your brilliant plan? To give water to someone who already provides water? Pfft. And they called me crazy for trying to cut ghosts."
Huo-Huo, unflustered, only smiled proudly before replying:
"An archer might not specialize in swordsmanship, but that doesn't mean one can't learn."
Han-Lee grimaced in disgust.
"I know, idiot—it was just a joke. Oh, of course I know what you had in mind."
Huo-Huo answered in a teasing tone:
"Then learn to make better jokes."
Han-Lee looked away, annoyed, making small gestures of discontent. Then he calmed down and lowered his voice.
"Hey, did you really trust paying an advance for a legacy to a stranger? I'd be afraid to hand something like that over to anyone."
Huo-Huo kept his face impassive and glanced toward Fungi's room.
"A master may dominate a specific art, but over time he always seeks to venture into another. The journey from master to great master is the complete mastery of every facet of his path."
"Facilitating his progress in exchange for temporary help is a smart investment."
"Any sorcerer would pay to strengthen himself. And making your team stronger is ensuring your own survival."
Han-Lee fell silent for a moment before letting out a soft sigh.
"I suppose you're right."
And that was the end of their conversation.
Huo-Huo stood and went off to give orders to the slaves, while Han-Lee set about organizing the mercenaries.
Arriving in the room, the remaining six mercenaries—who had been chatting casually—were interrupted by Han-Lee, who raised his voice so that all could hear his orders.
His plan was simple:
They would position themselves on the roof of the caravan. There were five compartments:
The owner's compartment.
The mercenaries' compartment.
Two for goods.
One for slaves.
Their formation would be arranged around the roof.
At the two ends, close-combat fighters would prevent enemy hordes from piling up on the sides.
In the center, the control sorcerers would support the extremes and ease their task.
And at the midpoint, the two archers and the other two fighters would move freely to protect everyone.
The slaves, temporarily armed, would remain inside the caravan, serving as a barrier against beasts attempting to attack from below.
As for Fungi, who had been considered the last to be assigned, his role was to keep everyone in good condition during the journey.
The trip would be at maximum speed, which meant that even a dead beast could become a lethal projectile—so they had to be vigilant to avoid injury from its impact.
Everyone was preparing for the coming marathon.
Only Fungi remained calm.
Inside his room, Fungi had barely paid attention to the commotion outside.
He was engrossed in reading the notebook that Huo-Huo had handed him.
It wasn't a complete legacy, nor even advanced teaching, but it held something even more valuable: personal experience.
The author of the notebook had not been a great master or a genius. He was a man who, throughout his life, perfected his water mastery through trial and error.
His writings were filled with reflections on the nature of water, its malleability, and its strength. He explained how pressure could be both a weapon and a risk, and how poor control could cause a spell to fail at the worst possible moment.
Fungi read attentively, absorbing every line.
Some things he already knew; others confirmed his own theories, and a few were details he had never considered before.
But what intrigued him most was the author's perspective.
He did not see water as a mere resource. He viewed it as an extension of his own will—a thread that, with patience, could be woven into something lethal.
Water should not obey the sorcerer. The sorcerer must learn to flow with the water.
Fungi smiled subtly.
"Interesting."
He liked that approach.
If he could fully comprehend it, perhaps he could apply the same logic to mastering the Soul Path.
After all, the soul was also a constant flow—a malleable existence that could strengthen or break with the slightest change.
He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment.
The journey was not yet over.
But he had already begun to obtain what he truly desired.