63rd of Season of Earth, 56th year of the 32nd imperial era

Newt enjoyed the discussion but the time Blackfist had for him came to an end an hour before sundown.

"I have prior arrangements," the townlord tactfully kicked him out, but Newt didn't mind. He had so many things to consider.

A book in his hands, Newt returned to his lodgings, where he shared a rushed meal with Dahlia, much to the woman's displeasure. Not that Newt noticed her pouting. He was too absorbed in devouring his meal so he could go to his room and read.

Blackfist's writing proved fascinating right from the start, capturing Newt's attention and making him consider how he wrote and drew. Apparently, the quality of scribed seals depended on how perfectly they were scribed. Even minute details, such as line thickness, mattered. That, in turn, meant that the meandering beds Newt had designed for the lava river were less efficient than they could have been.

Each of his creations was unique, some slightly wider than they should have been, slowing the flow of mana, some were narrower, forcing the mana to gush through them, lessening the seals' effect.

The problems were minor, imperceptible to Newt, but knowing they existed and that the larger the error, the bigger the issue, irritated him. Especially since his two dozen earliest attempts varied wildly.

Halfway through the manual, Newt closed his eyes and went to look at the lava flows.

"What are you looking at?" Magmin glided over to Newt, looking at the lava flows with interest, but finding nothing. Then he started floating on the hot air, swimming circles around Newt's head.

"I found someone to discuss this type of sculpting with, and he gave me pointers." Newt tried to will the horribly drawn line into shape, but it was impossible. He was in the second realm, and shapes comprising the foundations his power stood on were immutable.

"Newts like making doodles in the sand?" At first, Newt thought Magmin was mocking him, but the snake seemed to observe the river of lava with great interest.

Maybe he's just making wrong assumptions based on what he sees?

To make matters worse, Newt then went to the second layer of his second realm, the most malleable portion of it, and experimented with fire runes, in essence making doodles on the ground.

Blackfist listed several suggested channel widths with which Newt should experiment, based on the volume of lava flow when he wasn't using additional resources to expand his realm.

"They will be less effective when you are drawing mana, but you can allow your combat readiness to drop five percent while in a secure, secluded location."

The advice was sound, and Newt got to work. He followed Blackfist's advice, and by digging and filling holes with lava, he found the flow rate, then he practiced those specific seals in locations where lava wouldn't fill them. Newt would finish one, then inspect its interior, looking for inconsistencies. The walls were supposed to be perfectly smooth and after a dozen attempts; they were getting there.

Magmin flew in circles around Newt, observing what he was doing with interest. The volcano's black sand turned to liquid rock as Newt's will touched it. It flowed, sinking and forming depressions before turning solid.

The process Blackfist had suggested was much simpler than Newt's brute forcing, and the edges were much smoother and easier to control than they once were. The ability to change something from solid to liquid at will in his realm never occurred to him, and Magmin seemed just as intrigued. But it made sense. If they could shape trees of rock and fire, why not make the rock liquid?

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Blackfist insisted it shouldn't be used as a permanent fixture, since the change sapped trace amounts of mana, but as a building tool, liquid rock was fascinating. Newt also received a warning about using the liquid rock for drilling deep holes, as it used more time and mana than regular digging did.

As days passed, Newt stuck to his room, leaving only to grab his meals, before returning to his work. Blackfist, or Dandelion, as the man signed his book, was on point, every word relating to the current task or idea without getting sidetracked, which in turn helped Newt focus.

While he only worked on one patch, practicing seals over and over, Newt could see how magnificent his realm would one day be. From the top of the volcano, an endless expanse of liquid fire would glow against the black landscape, making it look like a giant scripture of his own person, of his soul and purpose. Perhaps it wasn't the path Blackfist was talking about, but the imagined scene inspired Newt to work harder and to create the most magnificent self possible.

Amidst all the work, the day of the tournament dawned, and Newt had only mastered half the detailed glyphs from Dandelion's manual. The result was excellent, considering how slow his start was, but practice gave birth to quicker learning of new seals. And yet Newt wasn't satisfied. Especially since the book offered hundreds of seals scribed without extensive details, merely to make Newt aware of them. That section, titled self-practice, contained the seal, its name, and a short description. Newt was to infer everything else based on Dandelion's drawing.

That would take moons of hard work, while Newt's first match was due in under two hours. Reluctantly, Newt abandoned his realm and went out. Tickle and Giggle was often empty in the morning hours, and the morning of the tournament was no exception.

"Good luck," the bald bouncer said as he opened the door for Newt.

"Thanks." Newt smiled and stepped out into the densest throng he had ever seen.

Everyone was heading for the town square, which was repurposed into six boxes with wooden walls and several tiers of stands. The more important guests watched from the keep's wall, which allowed the full view of the venue.

Newt had seen the finalized list the day before; over a hundred eligible participants had signed up, with elimination matches taking place once per day, while a handful of lucky winners skipped the first day's bouts.

Blackfist's brother summarized the rules for everyone to hear. The man had dressed smartly and held his head high, beaming with self-importance, while Blackfist himself kept out of sight. Newt scanned the walls, his mindcore still unable to make out auras across such a distance, but found no trace of the townlord.

What he did notice was an unusual number of awakened in the audience. Most had weaker presence than Stronggrow, and none matched Blackfist, but Newt could tell a large number of seniors had come to escort their children and younger cousins.

An applause echoed as the speech ended, with a few of the most enthusiastic spectators whistling, and the referees called the combatants to their boxed little rings.

Newt's ring was number four, his opponent a blonde man, around twenty-five-years-old, much weaker than Newt. Spending a while in a town crawling with awakened allowed Newt's mindcore to develop finesse in reading others, and he estimated the blonde's realm around middling layers of the first realm.

The tournament used real weapons, and while injuries would be unavoidable, the rules forbade the targeting of the head, neck, and chest.

"Ready?" the referee asked and gave the mark when both participants nodded.

The blonde charged at Newt, and while Newt lacked battle experience, he wasn't quite as clueless. He met the charge head on, swinging a single salamandra's fang at the incoming long sword.

Steel clashed, and a very shocked blonde, half-a-head taller and much bulkier than Newt, staggered back. With another sweep, Newt sent the sword clattering against the square's cobblestones and pointed his blade towards the blonde's chest.

"The winner, Newstar Salamandra."

Just as the shout died, the referee declared the results in the next box over. "The winner, Hardstone Blackfist."

Newt looked back at the crowd. Some younger-looking people were in the second realm, and they were the true contenders for the first place prize, his real competition. He considered watching their matches, but decided against it.

He had better things to do, like have breakfast and continue working on the seals. If his matches remained as easy, he just might finish with the well-described seals before the tournament ran its course.

Newt pushed his way out of the crowd, some giving him appraising looks, others cheering his name, and went to the army of food vendors which besieged the event like a saurian onslaught.

He found a stall-owner whose crescents he liked and bought a sack of pastries filled with minced hopper meat, vegetables, and herbs.

Newt was about to pop one into his mouth when he smiled.

I started winning tournament matches before breakfast.

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