The air was repeatedly torn apart by sharp cracks, like the snapping lash of a whip. The sound struck the stone walls with a dull echo and rebounded, mingling with the creak of the taut rope and the rapid breathing.

  In the center of the small training room, where the floor was laid with resilient wooden boards, Kael moved. Shifting his weight from heel to toe and turning his torso in the final fraction of a second, he absorbed the blows of a heavy metal sphere swinging on a thick rope beneath a ceiling beam.

  The sphere traced a wide arc, gathering speed, and each return was accompanied by the heavy whistle of air being sliced apart. Kael changed stances without pause, lowering his shoulder, shifting his hip, and taking the impact with his palm—not meeting it head-on, but guiding it along a tangent, distributing the inertia through his body.

  “One more time…” he thought as the next swing came in harder than the last.

  The sphere hurtled straight toward his chest, the rope pulled taut to its limit, vibrating with strain. Without retreating, Kael raised his palm, letting mana surge through his muscles and joints, and in the same instant released a short, concentrated burst.

  Gray mana burst from his palm in a sharp thrust, slamming into the metal.

  For a moment, the sphere froze just inches from his hand. But Kael’s mana did not disperse across the surface—it sank deeper, seeping into the metal itself.

  Sensing the connection, Kael shouted inwardly, “Now, Libero!”

  At that very moment, the sensation of the sphere’s weight changed. It seemed to hollow out from within, becoming many times lighter, as if its density had briefly unraveled.

  Not losing a single heartbeat, Kael stepped forward, turning his torso and driving his hip into the motion. His second palm shot forward, accelerating as though it too had shed its weight—only to grow crushingly heavy at the last instant.

  In the span of a heartbeat, Kael altered the weight of his palm twice, carefully calculating each shift to avoid injuring himself.

  A dull crack echoed through the room, and the massive sphere shot away as if it were nothing more than a ball. The rope slackened, and the metal that had seemed immovable just moments before shot toward the far wall.

  Kael tensed at once, pushing his concentration to its limit and, without blinking, fixed his gaze on the oncoming sphere, sensing not its shape but the trace of his own mana embedded in the metal.

  Inside his Mana Core, something responded.

  Libero, as if sensing his master’s intent, tensed as well, lifting its tiny paws and straining with all its might.

  “Come on! Change the weight!” Kael shouted inwardly, maintaining the connection as he tried to alter his mana inside the sphere from afar.

  He felt it inside the metal—felt the density, the cold, and his own imprint. Straining his Mana Core, he tried once more to “increase” the sphere’s weight, repeating the same technique he had used at the moment of contact.

  But the weight did not change.

  The sphere reached the end of its arc, snapped the rope taut, and swung back.

  Already halfway, Kael felt the connection beginning to weaken. His mana, embedded in the metal, was gradually dissipating.

  Kael simply stepped aside, letting the sphere pass, calmly observing it and the tightening rope.

  “For now, my mana doesn’t cling very well…” he murmured thoughtfully, and added inwardly, “It also depends on how much mana I channel into it. With brief contact, increasing or reducing the weight will only work for about ten to twenty seconds. If I pour in a lot of mana, at most a few minutes…”

  As these thoughts ran through his mind, he watched his mana almost completely drain from the sphere. At that very instant, the metal suddenly regained its former heaviness.

  Kael slowly exhaled, allowing the tension to leave his shoulders, then, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, walked over to the wall and dropped heavily onto a wooden chair. The boards beneath him creaked as they took his weight, and his muscles finally relaxed.

  He reached for the flask beside him, unscrewed the lid, and took several greedy gulps, feeling the cool water slide down his throat and gradually ease the burning in his chest.

  Closing his eyes for a moment and steadying his breathing, he muttered inwardly, “Useless. Libero’s power works only within my body—or at the moment I drive my mana into another body or object…”

  He replayed every stage of the technique in his mind, noting the exact instant of contact, the volume of mana invested, and the speed at which it evaporated, as though breaking his method down into small, gradual steps.

  Taking another sip and feeling the coolness finally quench the heat within, Kael allowed himself a faint smirk.

  “If I could constantly change the weight not only within myself, but within my enemy as well…” he murmured, imagining an enemy’s body suddenly becoming impossibly heavy or, conversely, losing all support beneath its feet.

  The thought was far too tempting.

  But he immediately shook his head, brushing it aside, and reined himself in inwardly: “No need to be greedy, Kael.”

  Over the past month, since the day his family returned to Lasthold, Kael had hardly left the training room. The days merged into a monotonous chain of exertion, where rest became nothing more than a brief pause between sessions.

  He regularly drank mana elixirs and then, settling into meditation, immersed himself in the Canon of Primordial Void, slowly and methodically tempering his mana channels. Guiding the flow through the necessary nodes and holding the image of a bottomless void in his mind, he forced the mana to circulate evenly, without surges, regulating its density and moving through a precise internal pattern.

  Finishing another cycle, he would rise to his feet and move on to practice, refining the Path of Silent Pillar. Flowing from stance to stance, he combined his movements with the power of his contracted spirit—Libero—shifting the weight of his body at the right moment, lightening a step or, on the contrary, adding heaviness to a strike. With each passing day, the transitions grew cleaner, the impulses more precise, and the strain on his channels more predictable.

  Kael gradually became more skillful, learning to sense the boundary where he could deal maximum damage without harming himself.

  But there was another exercise he returned to whenever he had a spare minute—it was exactly what he had practiced just moments ago. Kael stubbornly tried to exert control over his mana even after it had been embedded in an external object.

  He experimented relentlessly, yet the conclusion remained the same—Libero’s power did not function at a distance.

  At that moment, the door to the training room creaked softly as it opened inward. Kael turned his head, and Girren appeared in the doorway, holding a bundle of cloth from which drifted a surprisingly appetizing scent.

  Kael was about to say something, but his stomach reacted faster—traitorously growling in the silence of the room.

  Girren smiled, lifting the bundle slightly higher.

  “Lady Mira made your favorite meat and mushroom pies.”

  Kael let out a heavy sigh and replied with a smile:

  “You don’t have to be so formal with my mother. She asked you to call her Aunt, at least.”

  Girren smiled a little awkwardly as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

  “I need time to get used to it. Before, I couldn’t speak so casually to my elders.”

  Girren’s blue hair was damp and gathered into a careless bun at the nape of his neck. When he removed his warm mantle, his training clothes came into view. They still clung to his shoulders, betraying the fact that he had only just finished training himself.

  Kael shook his head and gestured to the chair beside him.

  “Thanks for going back home. Let’s eat, then we can continue sparring.”

  Girren sat down unhurriedly next to him, carefully lowering the bundle onto his knees. Untying the knot, he unfolded the thick cloth. Almost immediately, golden-brown, neatly baked pies were revealed, and the aroma grew even richer, filling the small room with the warmth of a home kitchen.

  “Still hot…” Kael murmured with satisfaction, quickly picking one up and lightly tossing it between his palms to cool it.

  The dough burned his fingers, but that only heightened the anticipation.

  Girren took one as well, holding it with unexpected care, as if before him lay not a simple treat, but something more precious. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on the pie, and a thought involuntarily flashed through his mind: “My life has changed so much… and it’s all thanks to Kael and his family…”

  The warm scent, the calm atmosphere, the simple conversation—all of it still felt unfamiliar to him.

  But Kael’s lively voice quickly brought him back to reality:

  “What are you staring at? Eat while they’re hot.”

  With that, Kael took a large bite and, without waiting to finish chewing, continued speaking with his mouth full:

  “By the way… I noticed your strength is finally starting to grow. But eventually, you’ll need to change your contracted spirit. The Violet Storm Bear isn’t bad, but you need something stronger.”

  Girren broke off the top of his pie and, blowing on the filling, said:

  “It’s fine. You said I’d be able to contract three spirits at once.”

  Kael smirked, brushing the crumbs from his fingers.

  “Yes, but to contract a second spirit, you need to become at least a Jade Mage.”

  Girren froze, then stared at him in disbelief.

  “At least? Are you making fun of me again?”

  Kael turned toward him, stopped chewing, and, looking straight into his eyes, answered firmly, “I’m completely serious.”

  Girren frowned, at a loss for words at first, then finally blurted out, still unable to believe what he’d heard: “Isn’t the rank of Jade Mage the pinnacle of magical cultivation?”

  Kael shook his head, taking another calm bite.

  “It’s too early for you to worry about that.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Girren’s brows twitched, and squeezing the pie a little harder than necessary, he exclaimed indignantly, “Then what’s the point of talking to you at all? You’re always like this! If you start something, finish it!”

  Kael smirked, leaning back in his chair as he watched his friend begin to simmer.

  “Alright, alright, just don’t cry…”

  Girren was already about to snap back sharply, but Kael, seeing he was on the verge of flaring up, continued more calmly, “The so-called Jade Mage is merely a Spiritual Mage. Above that, there are three more stages. So we still have a long way to go.”

  At those words, Girren literally froze, forgetting to chew. The pie remained pressed to his lips, and his gaze grew distant, as if he were trying to imagine those “three more stages” he had never even heard of before.

  Meanwhile, Kael calmly took a sip of water from the flask, allowing the conversation to fall silent for a moment, and added inwardly:

  “Three more stages… Three stages, if you want the Gods to be unable to reach you directly. After that, it will become more dangerous…”

  The thought flashed almost automatically, drawing another in its wake.

  “The stronger I become, the more careful I’ll have to be. At some point, I’ll need to create a Soul-Veiling Amulet, so no one can tell that something is wrong with mine…”

  Fragments of texts from the Divine Library surfaced before his mind’s eye—dry lines, diagrams, marginal notes. They described methods by which certain mages deceived Soul Form tests and concealed the true strength of their essence. Such methods were most often used by spies or criminals seeking to avoid detection.

  “The stronger my mana—the stronger my soul. And the stronger the soul, the more obvious it becomes that something about it isn’t right. The Soul-Veiling Amulet could help mask those irregularities…”

  He shook his head slightly, returning to reality, and muttered quietly, more to himself than to Girren, “But for now, to hell with it. And I won’t find the necessary materials in Lasthold anyway…”

  Girren swallowed a piece of pie, looked up, and asked with mild confusion, “What are you talking about?”

  Kael waved a hand, as if brushing away heavy thoughts, and smirked, “Just dreaming out loud.”

  After a pause, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, he added more calmly:

  “Someday, when we’re stronger, we can start exploring our world. I think there are a lot of useful things to be found on the continent.”

  Girren merely shrugged, not giving Kael’s words much thought, and said:

  “If that’s the case… I hope you’ll take me with you.”

  He had long since grown used to Kael’s peculiarities, to his sudden reflections on things that almost no one in Lasthold ever considered.

  Kael gave a short nod, but his gaze turned distant.

  “I wonder what the Human Dimension looks like now… Lasthold can’t be the only city of human mages…”

  He grimaced slightly.

  “Damn God of Knowledge and Madness…”

  As he reflected on the past, Kael began to understand more clearly that his “Master” had deliberately given him texts only about the ancient history of the Human Dimension. He knew the history of the Three Empires, remembered details of certain events from thousands of years ago, the names of rulers, and even some administrative reforms. But the reasons for their decline remained blurred.

  He knew of the ancient catastrophe that destroyed the civilization of human mages only through the legends of Lasthold, which over five hundred years had become distorted beyond recognition.

  Kael narrowed his eyes, looking toward the training sphere.

  “The founders of Lasthold fled through the mountains, fleeing from monsters and spirit beasts. But what made the spirit beasts go mad? After all, they exist in nearly every Mortal Dimension…”

  Once again, Kael failed to notice how his thoughts began to pull him deeper, spiraling into guesses, theories, and fragments of half-remembered knowledge. One question gave rise to another, which dragged a third in its wake, and gradually the world around him seemed to recede.

  He had almost stopped hearing the rope creak overhead or Girren rustle the cloth bundle.

  At that moment, a palm settled gently on his shoulder.

  The warmth of another’s hand and the gentle squeeze pulled him from his trance faster than any shout could have.

  “Let’s train,” Girren said calmly.

  Kael blinked, as if returning from far away, then gave a short nod, pushing the lingering thoughts aside and steadying his breathing.

  “One round, and we’ll call it a day.”

  Girren, rising and walking toward the center of the hall, muttered over his shoulder, “So soon? Did something happen?”

  For a moment, a dangerous glint flashed in Kael’s eyes.

  “Not yet. But it might.”

  He held a brief pause, then added more calmly, “I have an important meeting this evening.”

  Girren did not pry or press further. Over the past few weeks, he had learned that if Kael wanted to share something, he would say it himself. If not, it was better to simply accept it.

  They moved to opposite sides of the hall and took their fighting stances.

  Gray mist-like mana began to spread around Kael, trailing along the floor and subtly distorting the air near his feet. In response, lightning crackled across Girren’s body, thin arcs sliding over his shoulders and forearms before gathering in his palms.

  They gave each other a brief nod.

  In the next instant, both lunged forward—

  ? ? ?

  From outside came only muffled thuds and short bursts, their dull echoes seeping through the walls. Similar sounds drifted from other training rooms as well. Lasthold lived in its usual rhythm.

  Not far away, in a small covered pavilion, the mage overseeing the training grounds sat calmly, a sphere of fire hovering above him and gently warming the space. He let out a lazy yawn, watching as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon.

  Lasthold was still blanketed in snow, but today the air felt softer, and water had begun to drip from the rooftops, heralding the coming thaw.

  ? ? ?

  Night fell over Lasthold swiftly as if the city had been wrapped in a dark veil in a single motion. Twilight lingered on the rooftops only briefly before yielding to the cold, star-filled sky, beneath which lanterns and signboards burned all the brighter.

  In that time, Kael had finished his training, washed the sweat from his body, changed his clothes, and put his thoughts in order. Now he stood on the bustling square not far from the central tavern, where life was only just beginning to stir.

  Townspeople moved along the cobblestones—some laughing as they discussed their studies or work, some hurriedly bargaining over evening goods, others strolling slowly past the shops hand in hand in quiet romance. The air was filled with the hum of voices, the clatter of dishes, and the aroma of roasted meat drifting from the tavern’s open doors.

  Leaning against the cold stone wall, Kael idly brushed his thumb over the spatial ring on his finger and tilted his head back to gaze at the stars. Snow still lay in dense drifts along the edges of the square, but beneath his feet the dark, damp cobblestones were already exposed.

  At that moment, a tall figure in a black cloak silently leaned against the wall beside him. The fur-lined hood concealed her face, leaving only the lower half of her chin visible in the shadows.

  Kael merely turned his head slightly, and the corners of his lips twitched faintly.

  “It’s been a while.”

  His gaze slid over her figure, assessing posture, breathing, and the barely perceptible fluctuations of mana, after which he added with mild surprise:

  “Impressive… You completed the breakthrough so quickly. Even faster than Magister Duran.”

  Inwardly, he added, “She may not be a genius, but within the Mortal Dimensions, her rate of growth far surpasses that of the average mage.”

  The cloaked figure lifted her chin slightly, and from beneath the hood the familiar face of the Black Rat emerged. Satisfaction glinted in her eyes, and her lips curved into a smirk.

  “Duran didn’t have an unlimited supply of your enhanced mana elixirs,” she replied calmly. “Combined with the Canon of Magic you provided, the stagnation I had endured for so long simply vanished.”

  Kael gave a subtle nod, continuing to study her face and the overall state of her mana.

  “How do you feel?”

  The Black Rat did not resort to bravado and answered honestly:

  “I feel excellent. But I still have a lot of training ahead. Even though I broke through, I’m still noticeably weaker than Duran.”

  Kael smiled, replying without surprise:

  “Not surprising. Magister Duran spent several decades on the verge of a breakthrough. He was only a single step away. Your case is different.”

  He shifted slightly away from the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

  “You have a long road ahead to solidify the foundation of your power. A breakthrough is only the beginning. Ideally, you should stop using mana elixirs for a time.”

  The Black Rat nodded and said, “I already did. Just as you said, my tolerance to the elixir has increased greatly. After the breakthrough, it barely affects me anymore.”

  Kael answered calmly:

  “That’s for the best. If you want to continue growing as a mage, you’d be better off reinforcing your foundation for the next five years.”

  He spoke without pressure, as though stating an obvious fact. The Black Rat merely nodded, accepting his words without argument, and then a more predatory gleam flashed in her eyes.

  “The main thing is that my strength will be enough for us to pay a visit to our friend.”

  Kael responded with a short nod and, pushing off the wall, began walking unhurriedly across the square, merging into the flow of people.

  “Everything is falling into place,” he said, looking ahead. “You broke through just as the Elders finally withdrew the guards.”

  He smirked slightly.

  “Now only mages from the Brotherhood are trailing my family.”

  The Black Rat, walking behind him, drew closer and lightly clapped him on the back.

  “We’ve stumbled into another fortunate moment. My people keep saying the Vengeful Thunder Family is looking for a way to free Zeiran from prison. So it would be wiser to settle this quickly.”

  Kael let out a quiet chuckle, and not a trace of his former softness remained in his gaze.

  With a cold gleam in his eyes, he murmured, “I agree. There’s no need for them to dream of miracles…”

  ? ? ?

  At that very moment, as the Black Rat and Kael made their way toward the high-security cells, Lasthold continued its usual rhythm. Far beyond the city, a group of two dozen mages clad in red robes and armor slowly descended through a narrow mountain pass.

  Their cloaks fluttered in the cold wind, and their armor gleamed in the moonlight, reflecting off the snowy slopes.

  A bald man with a serpent’s maw tattooed across his face smiled broadly, making no attempt to hide his satisfaction. The gorge before them was gradually widening, and ahead a dark strip of plain had already come into view.

  “We did it, Elder Cornelius,” he said with obvious triumph. “We truly made it across the Central Dragon Mountains.”

  The old man standing slightly behind him was no less radiant with excitement. He held an unfurled map in his hands, its edges whipped by the wind, and with one hand he quickly added the final mark, completing the route they had taken.

  When he finished, he paused for a moment as if checking the accuracy of the lines, and then broke into a wide smile.

  “Now that we won’t have to test different routes…” he said, carefully rolling up the map. “We’ll be able to cross the Central Dragon Mountains in about a month! This is an extraordinary achievement!”

  Behind them stood the rest of the mages and researchers, tired but inspired. Some adjusted their straps, while others gazed down at the plain with undisguised anticipation.

  Each of them longed to finally step onto level ground and see something other than the endless rocks, cliffs, and snow-covered passes that had surrounded them for weeks.

  With every step, they drew closer to the exit of the gorge. The stones beneath their boots gradually gave way to more even soil, and the cold mountain wind no longer struck their faces as sharply as before.

  At last, rounding the final boulder of the narrow pass, Elder Cornelius stepped onto open ground beyond the rocks.

  He stopped.

  A wide valley opened before them, stretching into the distance in gentle undulations. A dense forest darkened not far away, its canopies shimmering in the moonlight. To the right stretched marshlands—uneven and damp, glinting in places like shattered mirrors. Everything was bathed in the cold glow of the moon and scattered stars, giving the landscape an air of calm mystery.

  Even in that dim light, it was clear—vast stretches of land lay open before them.

  Elder Cornelius slowly inhaled, as if trying to memorize the scent of the air on this side of the mountains, and looked south with excitement—toward the marshes. Then his gaze drifted unhurriedly to the left, toward the forest and farther, to the north.

  “Five hundred and seventy years ago, millions of refugees tried to cross these mountains on foot…” he murmured inwardly, feeling something rise in his chest greater than mere pride in the expedition. “Toward the cities we lost when the beastfolk invaded…”

  He narrowed his eyes, peering into the darkness of the plain as if hoping to glimpse traces of the past.

  “Is there any hope that at least some of them survived and settled here?”

  But before he could finish the thought, as his gaze moved farther north, the old man’s entire body suddenly shuddered, as if struck by lightning.

  Cornelius’s jaw slowly dropped, and his eyes widened, losing their usual composure.

  The bald man with the serpent tattoo immediately noticed the change and, stepping closer, asked anxiously, “Is something wrong, Elder?”

  But no answer followed.

  The old man merely raised his hand slowly, pointing somewhere far off, beyond the line of the forest.

  The entire group, following the direction of his finger, turned their gazes north.

  In the next moment, the same shock seized them.

  “That can’t be…” one of the mages muttered, shaking his head as if refusing to believe his own eyes.

  Far beyond the dense forest, at the very foot of the mountains, a faint but distinct light flickered. It was faint, nearly swallowed by the distance. Yet it was far too distinct to be mistaken for any natural light.

  From here, it was impossible to discern details, but the nature of the glow spoke for itself.

  “Such light…” whispered Elder Cornelius, feeling his pulse quicken. “It can only be the light of a city at night.”

  He tightened his grip on the edge of the map, awe frozen on his face.

  “The God of Blood and War has blessed us… Truly…”

  And then he added inwardly, “We’ve only just crossed the mountains, and we’ve already found a new flock for Him.”