Chapter 4
The instructor arrived at the dormitory and threw Feyr into Room 24.
"……."
He imdiately locked the door and turned back toward the training ground.
The Basilisk's blood causes trendous changes to the body upon ingestion. Ordinarily, one would remain unconscious for about a day. That was why he deed any surveillance unnecessary.
As the sound of footsteps faded into the distance.
'He's gone.'
Feyr's eyes snapped open. In truth, Feyr had kept a firm grip on his consciousness the entire ti.
Did he withstand the backlash?
No—Feyr had never swallowed the Basilisk's blood to begin with. He had rely held it in his mouth, deliberately acting as though the backlash had hit him. For Feyr, who had lived his entire life as an assassin, putting on this kind of performance was as easy as breathing.
'Locked the door on his way out—I'll have at least half a day of quiet.'
Feyr imdiately crossed his legs into a ditative posture. From this point on, he needed to swallow the Spirit dicine and bring the wild surge of energy it would unleash under control.
When stabilizing the energy of an ingested Spirit dicine, the use of Mana is standard practice. Particularly with high-grade Spirit dicines, a narcotic painkiller and soone to regulate the energy are typically present—all to reduce the risk.
But right now, there was neither painkiller nor Mana.
Nothing at all—but would that make him give up?
'There is another way.'
A thod to fully absorb a Spirit dicine without any existing Mana: use the trace amounts of Mana generated during the absorption process itself to, in turn, bring the Spirit dicine's energy to heel.
It required enduring trendous agony while simultaneously wielding Mana with painstaking precision.
In truth, this was impossible without having already handled Mana before—and not just any handling, but a considerably refined level of it.
Feyr already knew how to wield Mana, and yet—
'It's still dangerous all the sa.'
It was still no simple feat.
In fact, it was little short of madness. Sothing that was only theoretically possible—one wrong step and he could be reduced to a broken wreck for the rest of his life. But this was not the mont to weigh risks.
Right now, he had neither the Mana he had built up over his past life nor his hardened body. He had to claw forward with nothing but knowledge.
Feyr swallowed the Basilisk's blood he had been holding in his mouth in a single gulp.
꿀꺽―
And in that instant—
"Kheuk!"
Pain beyond all imagination crashed over him. The sensation of every bone in his body twisting, every muscle tearing apart. It felt as though every drop of blood inside him had been drained and replaced from scratch.
'The Basilisk's blood—it's this potent?'
The pain was so severe he could barely breathe. He had known the agony would be intense, but not to this degree. He had taken Spirit dicines of a similar caliber in his past life.
At the dizzying wave of pain, Feyr bit down on his lip hard enough to split it. His clenched fists trembled violently, and the whites of his eyes flooded red.
Even through the tornt—as if every bone in his body were shattering—Feyr began to sense the flow of Mana trickling in.
'This is……'
As the Basilisk's blood reassembled his body, a grain of Mana—barely the size of a small bead—had taken shape.
And yet, the Mana itself was a touch peculiar.
A Mana purer than any he had known, yet raw, unrefined.
What was more—it had been born already imbued with an attribute.
'Blood-attribute Mana?'
But for now, there was no ti to dwell on it. Feyr imdiately set to channeling it.
Hmm―
It was a minuscule amount of Mana—and yet, when guided by Feyr's precise control, it began to slowly, gradually calm the rampaging energy of the Spirit dicine.
Only, the pace was far too slow.
Why is it this slow? Sothing felt off.
'Just a little more……!'
Grit!
Feyr ground his teeth. Just a little more, and the foundation of his revenge would be complete.
Revenge.
Thinking of nothing else, Feyr endured the pain tearing his body apart and absorbed the energy.
Roughly an hour must have passed.
"Haa…… hoo……."
The pain—worse than any torture—finally ceased.
Feyr gasped for breath, drenched in sweat.
'I succeeded.'
He had absorbed the Basilisk's blood on his own, completely. Had he lost consciousness back at the training ground, he would not have preserved even half of its effects.
'Even so……'
Sothing felt off. The result surpassed even what he had anticipated. Had the Basilisk's blood always carried these properties?
It wasn't only his bones, muscles, and blood—the fundantal capacities of his body—that had changed. His senses themselves felt distinctly unfamiliar.
His sense of sll, for instance. His hearing.
Everything felt sharper, more vivid.
He had exceeded what he knew the Basilisk's blood to be capable of.
'Well, regardless……'
In about a month's ti, the absorbed energy would spread throughout his body and its full outline would make itself unmistakably clear. A stepping stone for growth had been laid.
'Right then. The Spirit dicine is more or less sorted.'
Next: Mana cultivation.
Building rings of Mana by accumulating it around the heart, then gradually increasing their number.
Mana Rings exist across ten tiers of attainnt, from the 1st Star to the 10th Star. Because there is a clear and marked difference in power at every third tier, each grouping carries a distinct designation.
1st to 3rd Star: Sword User.
4th to 6th Star: Sword Expert.
7th to 9th Star: Sword Master.
And the last—the 10th Star—is called the [Sword God (劍神)].
'Of course, the 10th Star is treated as pure legend.'
Even the tiers beneath it are more than sufficient to place one beyond the realm of ordinary humans.
And Feyr had once reached the Master tier.
If this was a second chance—was it not worth aiming for?
Though right now he did not yet possess so much as a single ring, mountains are ultimately built from grains of dust.
Accumulate Mana little by little, and who knows.
'To that end—I start building Mana from here and now.'
Feyr began to attune himself slowly to the Mana and settled into his seat. Then he began to gauge: how much progress could he realistically achieve before the day was out?
The experience of his past life, and a body that had absorbed a Spirit dicine.
Reaching the 1st Star within half a day's ti would be entirely feasible.
Around Feyr, who sat in his ditative posture, Mana began to swirl—little by little.
***
Late evening.
When the brutal training finally ended, the trainees followed the instructors off to receive their als. Every single one of them—except for Zak.
Thud thud.
Zak walked with a small sack in hand.
As he stepped into the dormitory where only silence reigned, the only sound echoing through the corridor was the rhythm of his own footsteps.
After walking for so ti, Zak stopped and checked the number on a door.
Feyr's room.
Zak produced a master key and opened the door.
Click-
"……."
As expected, the room held nothing but Feyr, collapsed face-down and unconscious.
Zak let out a small scoff.
It was only natural he had yet to wake. The pain of the body being rebuilt—there was no chance a re child could endure it with a clear head.
He would co to his senses by tomorrow. Any further attention was unnecessary.
Zak tossed the sack inside the room and turned to leave.
And then.
The mont all signs of presence had fully vanished, Feyr raised his head.
'He's gone.'
Feyr was still awake. Once again, he had simply feigned unconsciousness.
He had already drawn more than enough attention. Any more than this, for the ti being, was unnecessary.
'Acting too exceptional from the start could invite suspicion, after all.'
Feyr picked himself up and opened the sack that Zak had tossed inside.
Inside it were a large strip of jerky and a leather pouch filled with milk. It was Zak's gift to Feyr, who had not eaten a single al the entire day.
'Sa as ever.'
Zak tended to show recognition toward those who proved their worth. Strictly limited to those with real ability—but even so, that counted for sothing. In the ruthless world of Beilhart, this much was more than enough to be called generous.
Feyr let out a quiet smirk.
'I'll hold onto the jerky for now.'
A use for it would co soon enough.
Feyr moistened only his throat with the milk. Then he assud his ditative posture once more.
'This is what matters right now.'
Feyr closed his eyes gently.
And focused on the Mana gathered around his heart.
As Mana began to circulate through his body, two rings ford at his heart spun rapidly.
Two rings—that signified a 2nd Star attainnt.
'To reach this much in half a day.'
His original goal had been the 1st Star.
He had judged that anything beyond that would be difficult to achieve in one go.
But after completing the first ring, ti had remained—so he tried—and it had worked.
'Even so.'
What was this?
Attached to the top of Feyr's Mana Rings were small granules of energy, ford in the shape of scales.
'The Basilisk's blood shouldn't carry this kind of effect.'
He had gained blood-attribute Mana on top of that—and now an inexplicable change had appeared in his Mana Rings. He had never heard of anything like this. By all rights, this should have been impossible.
'Could it be……'
If there was one anomalous factor—
Was it the Dragon Jade's influence?
That was the only explanation he could conceive of. The Dragon Jade had, after all, been an object unknown to the world from the very beginning.
'Either way—thanks to it, the efficiency of my Mana cultivation seems to have increased as well.'
At this rate, he might be able to catch up to the attainnt of his past life before reaching adulthood.
The sense of accomplishnt he felt after such a long ti—it was, truly, a welco thing.
He could even aim beyond the heights of his past life.
And when the ti ca—he would bring Beilhart to ruin, without fail.
With that, having achieved what he had set out to accomplish, Feyr sought sleep.
***
Morning broke.
On the training ground, where the mist of dawn hung thick, the trainees had already lined up in rows.
Zak turned to face them and spoke.
"Everyone crawled out, did they—you little maggots."
"Yes……."
"Speak up. Want to die?"
"N-No, sir!"
Satisfied at last by the trainees bellowing at the top of their lungs, Zak moved on to the matter at hand.
"You will complete one hundred laps of the training ground, after which basic training will comnce. Understood!"
"Yes!"
The trainees answered and sprinted off with a shout.
Every one of them ran with form that was rough and clumsy. Each one fighting desperately, in their own way, to survive.
Feyr, too, surged forward with everything he had.
With his Mana Rings having reached the 2nd Star, his basic physical capabilities were incomparable to those of the other trainees. Of course, if he channeled Mana into his legs, a hundred laps would be laughably trivial—but he had no such intention right now.
'I have to endure as much as possible on physical stamina alone, keeping my Mana in check.'
Relying on Mana for everything might seem convenient in the short term, but it would preclude reaching higher attainnt down the line.
The body, too, had to be properly tempered—only then would it one day achieve balance with Mana and allow for true growth.
Feyr suppressed his Mana and stretched his leg muscles as taut as he could. His pace slowed slightly, but it was a manageable rhythm.
'Good. This should do.'
In that mont, soone began following close behind. A single trainee, breathing in ragged bursts, giving chase.
"Heok! Heok!"
Trainee No. 38. Soone Feyr had known well since his past life.
His na was Beheli.
Brown skin, a body covered in scars.
Of foreign-tribal descent.
And one whose entire clan had been wiped out at the hands of Beilhart.
Feyr looked at Beheli. In his past life, Beheli had been considered the ace of the Lunar Eclipse Training Ground. Partly due to his talent, but his effort had been extraordinary—and his ntal fortitude ran deep. Feyr rembered that. He rembered the manner of his end, too.
'He died pointlessly in the northern tribal suppression campaign.'
Dying on a mission was nothing unusual. But Beheli had died far too pointlessly for soone of his caliber.
The reason was too cruel.
'They had given him—a man of foreign-tribal blood—an order to suppress foreign tribes.'
An order to kill his own people with his own hands.
Beheli had been unable to carry it out in the end, and was executed by Beilhart for mission failure and insubordination.
But this ti, there would be no such tragedy.
'Because I'll stop it.'
Not without reason, of course. His desire to help Beheli was not out of simple sympathy.
Beheli was a useful piece.
'There are those among the foreign tribes said to possess the power of spirits, I've heard.'
He could only hope Beheli was one of them.
Their hatred of Beilhart, and the purpose that drove them, were one and the sa as his own.
Even setting that aside, Beheli was soone who would grow into a talent capable of being trusted to guard his back.
That was why he intended to secure him in advance.
'Taking on Beilhart alone would take far too long.'
So this ti, he would not let Beheli die like that.
Then, Feyr flashed a grin at Beheli, who was chasing after him with single-minded effort.
Beheli's brow creased as he caught that expression and muttered under his breath.
"……What a strange bastard."
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