"Mana concentration?"
Damien’s gaze flicked toward the air, as if trying to grasp the unseen threads of power that Arctic was talking about. He had many questions spiraling through his mind—about the room, the formations, and now, the supposed density of mana—but he chose not to ask. Instinct told him that all would reveal itself in due ti.
Instead of entertaining Arctic’s excitent, he walked forward with steady steps, his boots echoing lightly against the smooth white floor.
He had barely made it twenty steps when suddenly—
Rrrrumble...
A low, resonant hum vibrated through the ground. The pristine white chamber quaked ever so slightly, as if sothing ancient had stirred awake beneath the surface.
Damien paused, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Now we’re getting sowhere," he murmured.
From a distance—no more than a hundred ters away—a towering structure slowly rose from the floor. There was no grinding, no chanical sound. It ascended silently, almost reverently, as if the chamber itself had acknowledged Damien’s presence.
It was a pillar—massive, crystalline, and nearly translucent. At first glance, it appeared to be carved from a single monolithic shard of diamond. The way it refracted the ambient light sent prismatic colors dancing across the walls. Yet, it wasn’t the gleaming exterior that caught Damien’s attention.
No.
It was the rune.
Directly at the center of the pillar, embedded in the diamond-like surface, a single ancient rune pulsed with intense, concentrated light. The glow was rhythmic—almost alive—as if it were breathing, powering not only the pillar but the very room itself.
Damien stopped in his tracks, stunned.
He simply stood there, staring.
The rune... it wasn’t like anything he had ever seen before. Complex, geotric, layered—it gave off a weight, a pressure, as though it were holding back a slumbering beast.
He stared for a long while, the silence wrapping around him like a cocoon.
It was only when Arctic floated up beside him and spoke that the spell was broken.
"Yeah, I was also shocked the first ti I saw it," the genie said, arms crossed smugly over his round belly. "That runic treasure right there? The Blue Hamr kid was hiding it pretty deep. Who would’ve thought that buried beneath his training chamber, of all places, would be sothing like this?"
Arctic chuckled, clearly mistaking Damien’s silence for awe.
"Even I couldn’t decipher the rune completely. Only one thing is for certain: this thing amplifies mana. That’s why this room is so saturated. The runic treasure stabilizes the ambient flow, pulls it from surrounding veins and redirects it here. Clever, huh?"
But Damien wasn’t awestruck.
He was confused.
’Runic treasure?’
His brows furrowed slightly, and he cast a sidelong glance at Arctic, who was now busy admiring his own reflection in the diamond pillar.
The term sparked sothing—but not clarity.
Just more questions.
He pressed his hand lightly to his temple.
"Think," he muttered under his breath.
Damien smiled faintly, finally breaking his silence.
"I’m fine. Just realizing how little I actually know."
In a brief mont, Damien’s mind reached its absolute peak. Thoughts raced at a velocity no ordinary human could fathom—his ntal faculties surged forward, processing information at over six hundred tis the normal speed.
Within that ntal whirlwind, possibilities flickered like stars, each one examined, dissected, and discarded within microseconds. His gaze remained locked on the radiant rune at the core of the crystal pillar, but his mind had already built and deconstructed a dozen theories.
In the end, only two plausible conclusions remained.
First—these runic treasures were incredibly rare, so much so that even soone like Baron Arctic—a genie from the infernal realm—was shocked by their presence. If they surprised a creature from another world, that alone was telling.
Second—perhaps these were more commonplace than he imagined. Not rare at all, just misunderstood. Maybe they were simply tools—ranked just like spiritual treasures: Iron, Silver, Gold—but designed specifically for warriors at the Channel Forging Realm.
That thought made him pause.
And then, sothing clicked.
"It’s the second one," Damien muttered internally. "It makes too much sense not to be."
With that, he slowly deactivated his Accelerated Cognition state.
Imdiately, a wave of nausea hit him like a storm. His stomach churned. His eyes briefly lost focus. To Damien, it felt as though the entire world around him was suddenly... lagging—like a high-speed machine forcibly slowed to a crawl.
His breath ca out slowly.
"Still not used to that transition," he thought with a wince.
A mont passed. The world around him steadied.
Then Damien began to walk, each step taking him closer to the crystal pillar.
Arctic’s gaze, curious and observant, followed him silently. The genie didn’t interrupt—he simply hovered, watching.
Damien, for his part, knew exactly what this pillar was.
A Strength Test Pillar.
He had one just like it back at the Valthorn castle—though this one appeared far more advanced, with an embedded rune that pulsed like a heart, possibly amplifying or accurately asuring force output to a higher degree of precision.
He stopped when he was just an arm’s length away—exactly the right distance for a clean punch.
Without ceremony, without flexing or preparing a stance, he simply drew his fist back.
Then launched it forward.
Whoosh!
A clean, sharp sound echoed through the chamber as his fist cut through the air.
The strike landed squarely on the pillar, and for a mont, the runic light surged brighter.
The room went quiet.
Then—ding!
Bright numbers appeared in front of him on the pillar’s glowing surface:
1009 kg!
Damien’s expression didn’t change, but the corner of his mouth tugged slightly upward.
"That’s a lot of force... for a casual punch," he said softly, more to himself than to Arctic.
There was no shock in his tone—only quiet satisfaction. It was the exact result he had anticipated.
Arctic, however, looked visibly startled.
"A thousand kilos with a casual punch?" the genie muttered under his breath, rubbing his chin. "sothing’sworng even servants back ho were stronger?
Damien ignored the confusion, his attention still fixed on the glowing numbers.
He was testing more than his strength—he was testing the pillar, the rune, the room itself. And all signs pointed to one thing:
This wasn’t just a training room.
It was a legacy.
A forgotten relic of the Blue Hamr Kingdom’s golden era, buried beneath stone and dust.
And now... it was his.
"Let’s see how much it can take," Damien murmured, cracking his knuckles.
However, on the other side of the vast chamber, Baron Arctic remained squinted at the glowing number, a puzzled look slowly spreading across his wide face.
1009 kg.
The genie’s brows creased, and his arms folded over his ample chest. For a mont, he looked as if he’d just seen soone fail basic arithtic. He tilted his head, his long horns gently scraping the air above.
"That’s it?"
Sothing wasn’t adding up.
Damien, sensing the look from behind, didn’t say a word. Instead, he stepped forward again, his gaze cool and focused. This ti, there was no casual grace in his stance—his body tensed, every muscle coiling like a drawn bow.
With a breath, Damien struck.
His second punch tore through the air like a cannon blast.
Boom!
The deep, vibrating echo of impact rolled across the marble-white walls. The pillar shimred violently, its glowing rune flaring for a mont before stabilizing.
Then the number appeared, bold and clear:
4030 kg. A force large enough to put beginner Silver ranks expert in sha, even Using exerting full force they might not reach this level in their lifeti.
Damien’s brows pulled together.
"Still not five tons?" he thought, disappointed.
Behind him, Arctic’s confusion deepened further. His gray-blue eyes blinked twice.
He had seen Damien tear through half the palace, obliterate Silver-ranked soldiers with ease, and flatten a Channel Forging Realm king with a single blow.
Yet here... just four tons?
The numbers didn’t align.
"Is he holding back? No... that was serious. I could feel it."
His thick fingers curled near his chin, stroking it in thought.
"Could it be... he’s toying with ?"
That seed to be the most logical answer. Either that, or the pillar was defective—which, knowing the Blue Hamr’s forr pride, was unlikely.
But before the genie could fully spiral into suspicion, Damien moved again.
This ti, there was no restraint. His aura flared, raw and primal, crackling like a storm just before it broke.
"Super serious punch," Damien muttered.
No theatrics. No posing. Just pure, devastating montum.
His fist blurred in the air.
BOOOOM!
The entire room shook.
The pillar vibrated, its rune dimming for a breath, almost as if in pain. A thunderclap erupted as shockwaves burst outward in all directions.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
Arctic’s robes billowed wildly as his jaw dropped open.
The rune at the pillar’s core surged—then a number blazed into view:
10,000 kg.
A perfect and clean ten tons.
Damien exhaled slowly, lowering his fist. He rolled his shoulder, extrely satisfied.
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