"Now, let move," Nolan says, and he launches forward.
"Wow—Master is moving," Linda breathes, watching him. He moves so fast it’s almost unreal. Still, she tells herself, she can keep up. Can her body react to this new level of speed?
She sprints toward him, instincts sharp. As Nolan shifts, she predicts his movent and strikes—but he slips away cleanly. She tries again, faster this ti; he dodges. She punches, again and again, each blow t with Nolan’s unreal reflexes. He keeps dodging, twisting, sidestepping—never quite where she expects.
"Amazing," Linda whispers to herself. "Even if he’s dodging, I’m fast. My energy... it’s like I have endless strength."
She tests her wind affinity. Raising her hand, she releases a huge gust that rockets toward Nolan. He stands firm—unmoved—while the blast tears at the garden. A tree topples; a wheel of leaves spins away. The force is bone-deep and raw.
"That was incredible," Nolan says, watching the aftermath. "With bow and arrow like that, you’ll be unstoppable."
Linda grins, breathless. "This is only fifty percent of what I can do. By tomorrow, when your mana finishes circulating through our bodies, we’ll be at a hundred percent. Then we’ll truly be strong."
Nolan nods, impressed. "I’m amazed by your speed. One more question—when I moved, you still escaped. How did you predict and avoid ?"
Nolan considers for a mont. "My power increased drastically. Rember when I first t Lyra in the dungeon? Back then, my full strength was only a fraction of what it is now—maybe five percent. I’ve improved since. My speed, my reflexes, everything has jumped. I don’t just predict moves with a skill—my body reacts instinctively. You can predict my movent the sa way I predict yours, but your thod is skill; mine is instinct."
Nolan’s continued "I am at Level four already—only four days ago. And to think you can mirror my predictions... that’s sothing else."
Linda’s eyes shine. "You’re great, Master. Truly powerful."
"Very good. Now make sure you beat those two—Cora and Sela," Nolan said, voice firm. "You’re strong now. Don’t forget that."
Lyra watched them with half a smile. "They are ready. Honestly—both of them can handle Cora and Sela."
Nolan turned to Linda. "If things get tight—if your opponent keeps closing the gap and tries to force a brawl—don’t just run. Trade blows. et them. You’re faster in that arena; use it. Make your punches count. One clean hit from you can finish it."
"Hey, you—are you not coming in? You’ve been out there long enough. I think you’re trained enough, since you said so. Are you still watching them?"
Nolan shook his head. "No, we’ll stay out a bit longer."
"Fine. But you’re worn down again." Nolan crossed his arms. "Okay, now—what’s next? What should we test? ...Your agility? No, I already know that. Celia—let’s try sothing different. Those white flas of yours—try shaping them. Make a fla ball, like I usually do."
"Yes, Master," Celia said with a sharp nod. She summoned her phoenix-white flas, the air around her shimring with heat. Raising her hand, she tried to form them into a sphere, but the energy scattered.
"Don’t force it," Nolan instructed. "Close your eyes. Imagine it taking shape. Picture the fla in your palm becoming a ball."
Celia did as he said. She breathed deeply, focused, and pictured the white fire condensing into a perfect sphere. Slowly, the flas bent to her will—and when she opened her eyes, the ball was there, glowing bright.
Her face lit up. "Wow—it worked!" she said happily. She hurled it forward.
"That’s it," Nolan said, stepping in its path. Just as it reached him, he raised his hand and slapped it out of the air, scattering the flas harmlessly.
Both Celia and Linda gasped. "Did you see that?" Celia exclaid.
"Yes, I did," Linda replied, amazed. "That was incredible—fla balls!"
Nolan nodded. "Yeah. And not only that—this technique will be good for you since you fight up close. It gives you reach. You can pressure long-range opponents without closing distance. And I know how hot those flas are. If you force one into an enemy’s throat, it’ll burn instantly."
Celia smirked, her confidence growing. "I’ll do just that. Now I know—I won’t have any problem fighting long-range opponents."
Nolan gave a quiet nod of approval.
"Master, what about ? Is there anything more I should do?" Linda asked.
Nolan shook his head. "No, I think you’ll be fine tomorrow. Anything we didn’t practice here, I’m sure you’ll figure out during the tournant."
"Alright then." Linda smiled.
"Okay, Master—let’s go in," Lyra said, leading the way. The group followed her inside, where the rich sll of food greeted them. On the dining table lay a freshly prepared al, steam rising from a golden olette.
"Wow..." Nolan blinked. "I’m really going to miss sincere cooking once we’re gone from the Empire. Honestly, this tastes even better than what Linda and Celia usually make."
The room went quiet.
"...Hey, Master," Celia said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "What did you just say?"
Linda leaned closer, her voice low but sharp. "Did I hear you right? I hope I didn’t. Tell I didn’t hear what I think I heard."
Nolan coughed, waving his hands defensively. "No, no, no, no. I didn’t say anything. Maybe you’re just hearing things."
Both girls frowned, their eyes narrowing in unison. Nolan froze, sweat trickling down his temple.
(Ah... sotis they’re really cute when they call ’Master’... but right now, they’re terrifying.)
He quickly sat down at the table, and everyone followed, digging into the olette. The food was warm, rich, and comforting—though Nolan ate with the uneasiness.
"I’m really uncomfortable," Nolan muttered, shifting in his chair. "Why are they looking at like that? Every spoonful I take, those eyes... it’s like I’m being judged."
He glanced up. Sure enough, Linda and Celia were still staring at him, their gazes sharp and unblinking. The mont his eyes t theirs, they quickly turned away, pretending to be focused on their plates.
"Is there sothing you two want to tell ?" Nolan asked cautiously.
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