Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Still Got It

“This is genuinely astonishing.”

The phrase slipped from Ruri’s lips as she stepped inside to serve the morning meal, her eyes fixed firmly on Ferda.

As a Dragon Spawn serving as the sole attendant to Valdrova, her insight into mana was sharp.

“Did you truly awaken your mana pathway?”

In the span of a single evening?

Ferda gave an unbothered nod.

“I have.”

“For an ordinary human, achieving such a feat within twenty-four hours should be impossible.”

“Could it not simply be that I am far from ordinary? More to the point, I am awaiting your verdict.”

“Regarding what?”

“Is this sufficient to demonstrate that I am fit to be her betrothed?”

Rather than replying, Ruri bit her lower lip and stared at Ferda. Measured against her standards of potential, he had not merely cleared them—he had utterly obliterated them.

No, he has far surpassed my wildest expectations.

Just a fortnight ago, when the proposal was delivered to Ferda, she had assumed to herself that it would take a miracle for him to gather even a speck of mana by the end of the fourth week.

Yet in only two weeks, Ferda had cleared the requirement effortlessly.

No, it had not even taken two weeks.

Because he had shown not a shred of magical progress until now, it meant he had accomplished the breakthrough in just one day.

The turning point… must have been seeing the Archduchess’s battle yesterday.

In truth, she was the one who had carried his battered frame back to this chamber; she knew the ruined state he had been in. It irritated her greatly to see him now carrying himself with such effortless grace, as though all of this were perfectly routine.

“Are you not going to answer?”

“It is adequate.”

“What is?”

“The requirement.” Ruri cleared her throat lightly, swiftly pivoting the conversation. “Given that you have fulfilled the conditions, you may rest until the day of the betrothal. You have exerted yourself enough.”

“Resting is pleasant, of course, but I still have considerable ground to cover, do I not?” After finishing the last of his food, Ferda patted his lips with a napkin and stood. “Is there a location where I can train?”

“What manner of training do you intend to perform?”

“Spellcraft, naturally.”

Ruri gave a faint shake of her head. “Regrettably, we do not keep implements for sorcerers here. I could arrange to obtain some, but it will take roughly three days.”

“There is no need to wait that long. I have no use for specialized tools.”

The regimen Ferda intended to undertake had no need for costly, intricate devices.

“A couple of targets will do just fine.”

“Targets?”

“Simply put, setting up a few straw dummies will be more than enough.”

Ruri appeared utterly bewildered. What sort of magical refinement could a novice who had only just stepped into the 1st Circle hope to accomplish with simple straw dummies?

Yet for Ferda, they were the most fitting instruments available. His magical training demanded a degree of precision that no machine could gauge or calibrate—and that exact level of control was something Ferda already possessed from memory.

Ruri escorted Ferda back to the open clearing where she had previously taken flight toward the mountain crest. The area had already been converted into a functional training site.

It resembled a drill ground meant for foot soldiers rather than sorcerers. Straw figures, range posts, hurdles, and various rudimentary tools stood arranged across the dirt.

It makes sense how she maintains this colossal fortress entirely on her own.

The sheer efficiency with which she had organized the entire ground in just half an hour was remarkable. With such physical speed and precision, there was little she could not manage.

Ferda turned his eyes toward Ruri, who stood quietly by his side. “My thanks for preparing this.”

“What training are you starting with?”

“Mana refinement.”

Ruri cocked her head slightly. “Why would one need to refine mana?”

“To cast spells effectively. Novices often exhaust their energy by releasing far too much, or their magic simply falls apart because they channel too little.”

This time, she tilted her head to the other side. “Does such a thing truly happen?”

“Is the process different for your kind? I was under the impression that every dragon possessed the ability to cast magic.”

Ruri gave a firm nod. “Just as you say, we command magic naturally. The exact spells we can weave depend on the dragon bloodline we inherit, but nearly every Dragon Spawn can do so effortlessly.”

“Then why does this surprise you?”

“To be frank, what you are describing sounds like an individual stressing over whether they will forget how to inhale and exhale air. If other Dragon Spawn heard such a notion, they would deem it utterly primitive.”

Ferda looked squarely at Ruri. “So, does my method appear primitive in your eyes?”

“I am a Dragon Spawn myself, after all.”

She was, in no uncertain terms, confirming that it did.

“I suppose you are not wrong to think so.”

Such pride was rooted in their very nature; it could hardly be helped. Dragon Spawn entered the world with an instinctive command over magical energy. Humans, by contrast, had to conquer magic through relentless toil, rigorous study, and unyielding discipline. It was only natural that those blessed with innate power and those who earned it through sweat and struggle could never see eye to eye.

Ferda shifted his attention toward the row of scarecrows.

“Would you mind if I stayed to watch?”

“Not at all, if you find amusement in watching someone practice the art of breathing.”

“In that case, proceed.”

Ruri stepped back several paces and kept her eyes trained on him.

Ferda shut his eyes. In traditional spellcraft, controlling mana meant tapping into total inner silence and gently aligning with a calm, steady current. That was the established doctrine for governing mana.

Yet that principle applies strictly to the Blue Circle.

Virtually all standard magical treatises had been constructed around the mechanics of the Blue Circle. Ferda’s foundation, however, was a Red Circle.

A Red Circle, forged through the volatile fires of emotion, could never be mastered using the placid rules of the Blue Circle. Even if a sorcerer somehow managed to constrain it through those methods, its true potency would be smothered, leaving the caster a pale shadow of what they could have been.

The Red Circle was an enigma of contradictions that shattered common sense. Yet if one grasped the hidden harmony behind those contradictions, the power could be entirely mastered.

And Ferda had already unlocked that truth in his past.

Remaining still with his eyelids shut, he allowed his consciousness to sink downward. His focused intent descended like a pebble cast into a quiet pool, reaching deep into his Dantian. The circle, rotating with intense velocity, revealed itself clearly within his inner sight.

Ferda observed the phenomenon with complete composure. The rushing mana moved like a roaring river during a heavy flood. It gave the impression that the slightest misstep would see him swallowed whole by the current.

Carefully, Ferda extended his intent. The technique he was performing resembled the delicate craft of pottery—gently skimming the outer perimeter of the violently rotating circle, preserving its balance while drawing out a controlled measure of mana.

Drawing the current.

Even within the steady flow of a Blue Circle, mastering this single step demanded over a year of grueling practice. For the turbulent Red Circle, the process should have demanded vastly more time and struggle.

I paid in blood and sweat to conquer this path before.

That precise muscle memory remained entirely intact within Ferda’s mind. Anchoring his focus onto the spinning circle, he mentally touched the current. The raging mana brushed against his intent, utilizing the connection as an open conduit to spill forth.

I can feel it clearly.

The raw mana from his Dantian surged upward through his inner pathways. Flowing through the channels toward his heart, and from the heart out into the primary vessels. Following the circulatory network as its guide, the magical energy surged forward.

Normally, navigating this internal journey would demand an entire year of discipline.

Yet Ferda navigated the channels with effortless mastery, guiding the power until it gathered precisely at the tip of his right index finger.

It had taken him merely sixty seconds.

A milestone that typically required a full year was conquered in a single minute. Having successfully drawn the mana forth, he shifted smoothly to the subsequent phase: Sphere Formation.

A low resonance hummed in the air.

The energy gathered at his fingertip began to radiate outward. He could sense faint azure filaments of power dispersing into the surrounding air.

Condensation.

The scattered energy was swiftly corralled, compressing into a tight point roughly an inch above his fingertip. The gathered mana intensified, adopting a brilliant, rich radiance. The moment the sphere becomes so solid that even an unawakened mortal can perceive it clearly, the stage is deemed complete.

The sphere Ferda produced was an immaculate, flawlessly balanced orb. Typically, mana that lacks complete mastery bleeds away like glowing vapor, yet Ferda’s sphere remained entirely leak-free.

Mastering that balance had once cost him another full year.

Just as breathing came effortlessly to Dragon Spawn, commanding this shape was entirely second nature to Ferda now.

Now came the final challenge.

A milestone that usually demanded three whole years from most gifted spellcasters—and one that even the exceptionally gifted Ferda of the past had struggled through for three painful years.

He engaged the Three Beats.

Ferda cast his gaze upon the concentrated orb hovering over his hand—a pristine core of energy capable of morphing into any manifestation the caster desired. The fundamental application of such energy was the kinetic Mana Shot.

In essence, it was simply launching a concentrated mass of mana through the air. However, executing this exercise served as the true litmus test of whether an individual deserved the title of a true mage.

Density, velocity, and precision had to harmonize without flaw.

Those were the Three Beats. This trial was infamously dubbed the Wall of Lamentation; a vast multitude of sorcerers failed to overcome it even after ascending to the 3rd Circle. In his prior life, Ferda had only succeeded in breaching this barrier after forging his 2nd Circle.

Looking past the orb of energy, Ferda raised his eyes. Downrange, marked precisely fifty paces away, stood the designated straw scarecrow.

“Hmm…” Ferda squinted slightly, humming in mild dissatisfaction. “This feels far too simple.”

Murmuring under his breath, he applied his focus to his fingertip once more. Instantly, three distinct spheres manifested, hovering steadily above his finger.

Ferda observed them with a satisfied nod. “Yes. This is more appropriate.”

If he was going to test himself, it ought to provide at least some degree of challenge.

Ferda swept his finger forward in a broad, fluid arc. At that exact moment, the three mana projectiles launched along an identical parabolic arc through the sky. Their target was dead center on the scarecrow’s head.

Three sharp concussions shattered the air in rapid succession.

The ultra-dense mana spheres detonated simultaneously. The dummy’s head was utterly vaporized, leaving no trace behind.

Ferda watched the drifting straw and murmured softly, “As expected, my skills haven’t dulled in the slightest.”

Though unleashing three simultaneous shots at the 1st Circle had consumed half of his available mana reserves, it mattered little. His capacity would naturally expand as he unlocked further circles. With this practical demonstration complete, Ferda held no further reservations regarding his capabilities.

His morning drill concluded right there. From the moment he stepped onto the field to the moment he finished, barely ten minutes had passed.

Later that evening, Ruri made her way down into the depths of the Lair. In her hands, she held the collection of daily reports she had compiled.

Even while dwelling in complete isolation, the Archduchess required knowledge of the realm’s affairs. Ruri, fulfilling her duty as the sole retainer, carried out this responsibility with absolute devotion.

Valdrova listened in silence to the briefing. After half an hour, the summary came to an end, and Ruri neatly closed the parchment folders.

“That concludes today’s report.”

—You have done well, Ruri.

“It is my honor. Is there any matter you wish to inquire about?”

No. You are dismissed.

Those were the standard words Ruri anticipated, but an unexpected response reached her ears instead.

—Actually, there is something on my mind…

Valdrova idly ran a massive claw along her jawline. Having spent years in her service, Ruri recognized the gesture instantly: the Archduchess was genuinely curious about something.

Could she finally be showing interest in the affairs of the continent?

Ruri’s eyes lit up with hope. Valdrova’s maw shifted slightly, and then she gave a dismissive shake of her massive head.

—Never mind, it is nothing of importance.

“Please, speak your mind. Whatever it may be, I am ready to answer, Master.”

Ruri gazed up with earnest anticipation. Valdrova looked down at her small attendant and finally gave voice to her thoughts with clear hesitation.

—How is… the gentleman who is to become my spouse faring?

“Ah.”

A sudden wave of disappointment crashed over Ruri’s heart. It felt as though her grand hopes had been shattered instantly. To think that out of all the matters in the realm, the sole subject capturing her master’s curiosity was the welfare of that mortal.

Nevertheless, having urged her master to speak, she was duty-bound to provide an answer.

“Your betrothed is in good health.”

—Has he experienced any hardships or discomforts?

“No, there is no cause for concern. Contrary to my initial belief that he would flounder without personal servants, he is adapting remarkably well. He carries himself quite differently from the pampered aristocrats of this era.”

—I see.

“Furthermore…”

“He is extraordinarily unpredictable.”

—Unpredictable? Are you saying he has fallen short of your expectations?

Ruri shook her head firmly. “No. His conduct is entirely the opposite—he defies all reasonable expectations.”

—For you to speak so highly of a mortal is quite rare.

Valdrova sounded genuinely surprised. She was intimately aware of how deeply Ruri detested mortals.

—Is there an issue, then? Does he appear dangerous or unstable?

“No. He was simply far too flawless.”

—Is excellence not a virtue?

“Naturally, competence is desirable. But not when displayed by a common mortal.”

Ruri reflected on everything she had observed while watching Ferda earlier. It was specifically his performance during the morning’s training that had unsettled her so deeply.

“Mortals are creatures that progress purely through trial and error. Because of that fundamental truth, they are incapable of displaying perfection on their first attempt.”

Yet he had not stumbled a single time. It was not merely confined to today; that same unnatural precision had defined his every action over the past several days. He handled every task with an effortless mastery so undeniable that even Ruri, with all her disdain for humanity, was forced to accept his talent.

Consequently, her view of him had transformed from dismissal to reluctant respect, and now to deep suspicion.

“That absolute perfection is precisely why I perceive him as a threat.”

A profound sense of wariness had settled deep within Ruri. She could not shake the feeling that a crucial piece of the puzzle was missing—as though he concealed a profound enigma beyond her comprehension. As a fiercely devoted retainer, the thought of such an unpredictable individual standing alongside her Master filled her with unease.

—If he has stirred such wariness in you, he must truly be an extraordinary individual.

“I despise having to admit it… but indeed he is.”

Valdrova turned those thoughts over in her mind.

—Even so, it is well. Did you not mention before that he sought me out with sincere motives?

—Therefore, I shall place my faith in him.

It was a remarkably trusting viewpoint. While Ruri was consumed with worry, the sovereign at the center of it all treated the matter with effortless optimism.

That is simply how my Master is.

Ruri was well aware of this noble trait and had already weighed it in her plans.

If she could not dissuade the union, she had to construct an opportunity to test his true character directly.

Perhaps… putting that scheme into motion would be wise.

She resolved to prepare the stage. She would find a way to expose his true nature, even if he kept his intentions hidden behind a mask. As she took her leave, the words her master had spoken echoed persistently in her mind.

An extraordinary hidden side…

Mulling over those syllables, a particular image flashed through Ruri’s memory: Ferda’s expression—the way he had worn a genuine smile of admiration even while writhing in physical agony. Her expression twisted in sheer disgust, as though she had caught sight of something utterly vile in the mud.

“Master. By any chance…”

—What is it, Ruri?

“…It is nothing.”