Chapter 833: Julian’s alone with his thought
Afternoon settled quietly over the Duchy of Astran.
After the morning’s feast, the Count and his family had decided to remain for two more days. The Duke had pestered them relentlessly, insisting that such a short visit was an insult to the bond between their houses, and eventually the Count had laughed and conceded.
The decision was made over the last of the wine, when both men were already more than a little wasted from drink. Not long after, their respective wives guided the two laughing, slightly unsteady lords back to their chambers, leaving the main halls of the castle noticeably quieter.
Elara excused herself as well, citing the need to rest after the morning’s exertion. She offered Julian a small, almost shy nod before departing, the earlier conversation in the garden still clearly lingering in her thoughts.
Now, in the privacy of his own room, Julian sat cross-legged on the floor.
His eyes were closed in deep concentration. Around him, red-hot mana swirled in slow patterns, as if the energy itself possessed a will of its own. The temperature in the room had climbed steadily over the past hour. Sweat beaded across his forehead and trailed down the line of his neck, soaking into the collar of his loose training robe. The air shimmered faintly with heat. Every so often a soft crackle of energy would spark near his shoulders before being drawn back into the flow.
Swoosh.
In a single, controlled motion, the swirling mana dissipated. The oppressive heat began to ease. Julian exhaled slowly and opened his eyes.
“I am stuck at mid-level Arch Mage,” he whispered to himself.
As he grew more familiar with Kraven’s body, the limitations became impossible to ignore. Kraven possessed no exceptional talent for mana cultivation… at least not when measured against Julian’s original self.
His veins were serviceable, his core stable, but the natural affinity and the speed of absorption were simply average. Of course, it was not entirely fair to blame the body. Julian was operating with only twenty percent of his original soul anchored here. The remaining eighty percent still rested in his true form, preserved and waiting far away. Under those conditions, even reaching mid-level Arch Mage had been an achievement.
His thoughts drifted back to the mana exchanges with Olivia.
He could not help but feel a sense of surprise when he recalled them. Two sessions. That was all it had taken to push him from early Arch Mage to the middle stage in the span of a few months.
The purity of her mana, the way it had intertwined with his own, the strange catalytic effect it produced… it had been far more effective than any conventional cultivation method available in this world.
And now that he had hit a wall, that same method remained the most reliable path forward. Forcing a breakthrough through sheer will alone would be inefficient and potentially damaging to the already weak vessel he had. Olivia’s mana was still the cleanest and most potent resource he had access to.
Julian leaned back slightly.
Then, almost against his will, his thoughts turned to Elara.
The few encounters and conversations they had shared, left a clearer impression than he had expected. He respected her. That much was undeniable. The fire she had shown in the duel, the quiet honesty in the garden and the way she carried her ambitions without apology… all of it had earned a place in his heart. Affection had even begun to form. But love?
He chuckled under his breath.
Far from it.
If a handful of conversations and a single intense duel were enough to produce love, then the word itself would lose all meaning. Love, in his experience, was something heavier, slower, and far more dangerous. It was not a spark. It was a chain that bound itself around the ribs and refused to loosen.
Still, he could not ignore the fact that she returned to his thoughts more often than he preferred. The image of her standing in the garden, flushed and determined, promising to hold him to his word after the war… it lingered. And perhaps that lingering was the very reason he had chosen not to pursue her more aggressively.
Corrupt. Claim or bend her path toward his own convenience.
As someone whose long life had often revolved around seduction, conquest, and corruption, the greatest act of respect he could offer someone was the decision to let them go.
To allow them the space to bee whatever they were meant to bee, without his shadow falling across their road.
Julian closed his eyes again, this time without circulating mana. The room had cooled. The sweat on his skin had begun to dry.
When he opened his eyes once more, a mischievous smile had settled across his face.
But that restraint only extends to her.
Not to her mother.
The thought settled in his mind. Elara had earned a rare measure of distance from him. He would wait. He would watch. He would even keep the promise he had spoken in the garden.
The Countess, however, occupied an entirely different category.
Julian’s smile deepened slightly. He remembered the way she had looked at him in the courtyard — the thinly veiled hostility. She did not bother to hide her distrust. In her eyes, he remained a threat to her daughter and possibly a problem that she would desperately try to get rid of.
That kind of open disgust was… interesting.
And women like that, in his experience, were rarely as unbreakable as they believed.
Julian exhaled slowly, the mischievous curve of his mouth never quite fading. He had no immediate plans. The Countess was not a priority, not while larger pieces still demanded the majority of his attention. But the seed of the thought had been planted, and once planted, it rarely withered on its own.
Elara would be left free.
Her mother, however… remained an open question.
He pushed himself up from the floor, rolling his shoulders as the last of the strain faded from his muscles. The room still carried a faint residual warmth, and the scent of heated air clung to the fabric of his robe.
Reviews
All reviews (0)