Stepping forward, I asked Aron to stand in front of . The mana around churned, swirling in restless waves. I strained my eyes, activating both mana and elental vision. These skills were already wearing down, draining a hefty amount of mana from my core. If not for the fact that I had a significantly large mana pool, I would have been in trouble.
"When I signal, you start," I instructed.
Aron nodded silently, understanding my command, and I closed my eyes to prepare.
I didn't need the skills to sense raw mana, but there was always a delay in activating them again. This ant I couldn't afford to waste any more ti.
Let's go over the basics again.
Mana is the fuel for spells, and the purer it is, the more potent it becos. Drawing raw mana requires both skill and determination. I lacked the forr but compensated with my heritage, which made more adept at sensing and channeling mana than most humans.
Elents, on the other hand, are the branches that allow a spell to manifest itself. While they're essential for shaping mana into forms, mana alone, even without an elent, can still be used as a weapon—albeit a weaker one.
However, there's another critical thing about mana, especially raw mana. It has no will of its own until the wielder imbues it with intention. Healers will mana to nd, while battle mages will it to destroy.
I had willed raw mana once before, using it to fuel Blaze's flight across hundreds—if not nearly a thousand—kiloters of open sea. It not only propelled us but canceled his fatigue as well. That experience gave an idea of what I needed to do now.
Raising a finger, I brought it near the scarred side of Aron's face. The mana around rushed forward, and I absorbed it into my body. Normally, I'd let it settle in my core to replenish my reserves, but that would take too long. This ti, I needed to pass it through as a conduit.
I opened my eyes, welcoming the azure glow of the mana world, and gestured to Aron.
His expression was unclear, but I could see his mana core ignite like a roaring fla. Then, as if soone had flipped a switch, his mana veins radiated a soft glow, spreading light throughout his entire body.
However, this flow wasn't ordinary. Azure tendrils of fire coiled around his veins, writhing like a living creature battling for control.
I recognized that fire. It was similar to the azure flas left inside by the Soul Tracker, though slightly different. These flas had a will—a purpose to reinforce the body. The ones inside , on the other hand, were rely markers, tracking for their owner. The origin of these flas was divine, likely from the gods themselves.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I focused on Aron.
The coiling flas enveloped his body, amplifying the mana flow but also straining his core. This rapid depletion caused the atmosphere around us to shift. The winds swirled violently, as if whispering to him. There was sothing else—sothing I couldn't quite identify yet.
Then, the curse stirred.
The onyx tentacles of infection convulsed in pain, recoiling from the divine fire. They shot forward, clashing with the flas in a fierce stalemate.
What a powerful curse, I thought grimly. To withstand divine power is no small feat.
I reached out, touching the scar. Channeling the raw mana, I let it flow through into Aron's body. It was the sa technique I'd used to recharge Blaze. Absorb atmospheric mana, compress it, and direct it.
As the mana surged through to Aron, the curse reacted violently. It flailed as if attacked from behind, its movents growing erratic. Then, a tendril of white energy—born from the divine flas—wrapped around the curse.
I deactivated my mana vision, watching the results unfold.
It was as if ti itself rewound. The scarred tissue, the corrupted veins, and the mangled skin all began to repair themselves, layer by layer.
Aron's pained expression softened, replaced by shock as his face transford.
The hideous scar was gone.
Standing before was no longer the broken prince. His unmarred face was striking, his noble features more pronounced than ever. But the transformation didn't end there.
His skin, once pale, began to shimr. A silvery layer ford over his body, starting as pure energy before materializing into sothing akin to armor. The gleaming plates gripped his arms tightly, resembling a knight's armor. A flowing cape unfurled from his shoulders, and atop his head, a charred, archaic crown appeared.
His crimson eyes burned brighter, and his blood-red hair shifted to a silvery-grey hue. The change wasn't dull—it radiated power.
This… this is his Archon Form, I realized in awe.
But my awe was short-lived.
A sharp tug pulled at my core, subtle at first but growing stronger. I blinked, glancing at Aron, who was staring at himself in stunned silence. His trembling hand brushed the spot where his scar had once been. Slowly, a hesitant smile broke across his face.
"Y-you did it… You did it!" he exclaid, his voice filled with disbelief and joy.
But before I could respond, the tug beca a vacuum.
An unbearable wave of pain followed as my mana was drained entirely within seconds.
It was as if my phoenix-born bones had turned to brittle chalk, fragile and ready to crumble under the weight of agony. My veins burned as if molten iron coursed through them, each heartbeat a sharp, relentless hamring against my chest. I felt like I had lost liters of blood, my strength draining rapidly, leaving cold and trembling. Thousands of invisible needles pierced my heart, each one sending searing jolts of pain through my body. My vision blurred, the world around spinning in and out of focus. Every breath I took felt like a battle I was losing.
I caught a glimpse of Aron's pale, alard expression before darkness swallowed whole.
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