Chapter 71:
Chapter 71 – Steel in Silence, Whispers in Wake
The Sovereign Ascendant
Darkness still stretched thick across the estate, settling into every corner and crevice like a shroud. The cold of the night clung to the air, pressing against my skin as if trying to dissuade me from rising.
But I was already moving.
I rolled off the bed with practiced ease, muscles taut beneath my skin, still humming from yesterday’s grueling sessions. The fatigue was a dull throb—an old friend I no longer bothered to chase away.
“Mana for the mind, Aura for the body,” I whispered to the empty room. “Let’s see which one breaks first.”
The words were both challenge and reassurance. A mantra to steel my focus, sharpen my will. Training was not just ritual—it was survival. A cold, relentless survival.
I rose, stretching the stiffness from my limbs. The chill of the floor seeped through my bare feet as I padded to the small table by the window. There, lying atop a folded cloth, was the dagger—its black rune-etched blade faintly gleaming even in near-darkness. I picked it up, feeling the familiar cold weight settle in my hand, the balance exact as always.
Sliding the dagger carefully into a narrow pouch, I strapped it to my belt beneath my tunic. No one must see—not yet. This was my secret, my experiment. A test.
The morning routine was otherwise spare. A plain shirt, simple trousers, boots worn soft from use. Nothing to announce myself, nothing to give away my thoughts.
As I crossed the hall toward the kitchen, the warm scents of breakfast began to tease my senses—bitter herbs, baking bread, roasting meat. Sylvie was already there, her bright eyes catching mine as I stepped into the light.
“You barely touched last night’s meal,” she said softly, concern tucked between the words.
I nodded, offering the barest of smiles. “Appetite’s waiting on results.”
She blinked, misreading my meaning—assuming it was the grueling training that gnawed at my hunger.
Her voice lowered, careful. “Don’t push yourself too hard. You know how stubborn you can be.”
“Always,” I replied, voice dry but not unkind.
Sylvie’s eyes lingered on me a moment longer before she turned away, busying herself with setting plates on the table. Her worry was faint but real, and though I never showed it, it wasn’t unnoticed.
I ate just enough—not for satisfaction, but to stave off weakness.
---
The training hall awaited with its familiar chill and heavy silence. Nerissa stood by the central platform, dark eyes sharp beneath the heavy lashes. Her posture was relaxed but coiled, ready to snap into action at a moment’s notice.
“Ready to prove you’re not going to die impressing me today?” she asked with a smirk.
I mirrored her stance, hands relaxed but alert. “Define overtraining.”
Her smile twisted. “The part where you try to do too much and end up dead.”
The brief exchange was a ritual, a dance of wits as much as skill.
Our session began with flame compression. I gathered my mana, feeling the familiar burn of energy beneath my skin. Flames flickered to life between my fingers, wild and hungry, but I forced them to fold into themselves—shrinking, tightening, a dance of control.
Nerissa watched closely. “Good control today. You didn’t overdo it.”
I exhaled slowly. “Calm is the only way to survive.”
She nodded approvingly. “Most novices lose themselves in the fire’s fury. You’ve learned to listen to the flame, not fight it.”
Before wrapping up, she offered a tantalizing lesson in theory.
“Flame Lance,” she said, eyes gleaming, “is a technique that fuses Wind and Fire magic. It channels combustion into a focused beam, propelled by pressure. Most mages blow themselves up trying it.”
I listened, interested but cautious. “Too early for me. Need to understand combustion trajectory better.”
She chuckled softly. “Good. Patience is as valuable as power.”
---
The training yard was already bathed in early sunlight when I arrived. Corvin waited like a sentinel, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up.
I met his gaze evenly. “I’m two minutes early.”
He arched a brow. “Then you’re two minutes late for being early.”
I smirked faintly. Our exchanges were as much part of training as the sparring itself.
Drawing the rune dagger, I weighed it in my hand, feeling its balance and weight—each curve and edge familiar, a silent partner in the dance to come.
Our blades met with a sharp ring, sparks dancing where metal collided. The rhythm was relentless—strike, parry, feint, counter—an intricate choreography of strength, skill, and subtlety.
I slipped in shallow grazes, testing Corvin’s Aura response. His parries absorbed the blows with practiced ease, but I focused on the pressure flows and rebounds—searching for weaknesses, for clues.
The dagger’s edge caught stray sunlight, glinting faintly. Corvin’s eyes narrowed.
“That dagger… custom?” he asked.
“Inherited curiosity,” I replied, voice low.
“Don’t let curiosity get you killed.”
The faint glow was likely a trick of light—or perhaps Aura friction—but it lent an odd aura to the blade that drew suspicion.
The spar continued with fierce intensity, neither of us giving ground easily. I studied Corvin’s breathing, posture, the minute shifts in his stance.
After several exchanges, he stepped back, eyes sharp.
“Your posture’s sharper. Breathing controlled. Blade lighter.”
“You’ve either been hiding strength or you’re evolving too fast.”
I let a faint smirk slip.
---
Later, washed and dressed, I walked the quiet paths behind the estate. Lanterns flickered with the breeze, shadows stretching long and thin beneath ancient trees.
“No more drills. No more instructions. Just stillness... finally.”
My hand brushed the cold stone rail, eyes scanning treetops. Always alert, even in solitude.
---
The small mana mirror pulsed faintly on my shelf. I tapped it, and Claire’s projection flickered into view, eyes blazing with concern.
“Why did I hear you collapsed after Aura training?!” she demanded.
“I didn’t collapse. I sat,” I replied flatly.
“Sat?! Bloodied arms, bruised ribs, missed meals?!”
“Sounds like excellent posture.”
“You’re clearly under attack.”
“By training. Yes.”
Her fists clenched, fire flickering around her fingers.
“Should I come home? I can be there by midnight. Just say the word.”
“That won’t be necessary. But if you do, bring snacks.”
She paused, fire blazing in her eyes.
“If you pass out again, I’m burning the entire Aura Division to ash.”
“That... seems excessive.”
“Excessive is you bleeding internally and calling it training.”
Behind her, magic scrolls exploded, a maid fleeing in terror.
“Shouldn’t you be studying?”
“I am. Studying how to murder your instructors.”
“Focus on theory. Practice tends to leave bodies.”
“So you admit you’re dying.”
“...I admit I’m sleepy.”
Claire slammed her desk, magic flaring.
“Anything else, war goddess?”
“Yeah. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage by training maniacs.”
I blinked once. Waited. Blinked again.
“Satisfied?”
“No. Now I’m suspicious and annoyed.”
“Congratulations. That’s your natural state.”
“Keep that up and I’ll send Father a letter titled ‘How to Spot a Mentally Unstable Mentor.’”
“You’re assuming he’ll read past the title.”
Claire leaned forward, fire crackling.
“You’re reckless, Aren. I know that look. You’re planning something.”
“Planning is just advanced survival.”
“So is manipulation. You’re not the only wolf in this bloodline.”
“Good. I’d hate to be lonely.”
The mirror dimmed, and silence settled once more.
---
Steel and silence, whispers in wake. The day tested more than muscle and mana—it tested the fragile balance between control and chaos. The blade was just a blade, but the battles beyond the physical were far from over.
And in the quiet, the story only deepened.
To be continued
But I was already moving.
I rolled off the bed with practiced ease, muscles taut beneath my skin, still humming from yesterday’s grueling sessions. The fatigue was a dull throb—an old friend I no longer bothered to chase away.
“Mana for the mind, Aura for the body,” I whispered to the empty room. “Let’s see which one breaks first.”
The words were both challenge and reassurance. A mantra to steel my focus, sharpen my will. Training was not just ritual—it was survival. A cold, relentless survival.
I rose, stretching the stiffness from my limbs. The chill of the floor seeped through my bare feet as I padded to the small table by the window. There, lying atop a folded cloth, was the dagger—its black rune-etched blade faintly gleaming even in near-darkness. I picked it up, feeling the familiar cold weight settle in my hand, the balance exact as always.
Sliding the dagger carefully into a narrow pouch, I strapped it to my belt beneath my tunic. No one must see—not yet. This was my secret, my experiment. A test.
The morning routine was otherwise spare. A plain shirt, simple trousers, boots worn soft from use. Nothing to announce myself, nothing to give away my thoughts.
As I crossed the hall toward the kitchen, the warm scents of breakfast began to tease my senses—bitter herbs, baking bread, roasting meat. Sylvie was already there, her bright eyes catching mine as I stepped into the light.
“You barely touched last night’s meal,” she said softly, concern tucked between the words.
I nodded, offering the barest of smiles. “Appetite’s waiting on results.”
She blinked, misreading my meaning—assuming it was the grueling training that gnawed at my hunger.
Her voice lowered, careful. “Don’t push yourself too hard. You know how stubborn you can be.”
“Always,” I replied, voice dry but not unkind.
Sylvie’s eyes lingered on me a moment longer before she turned away, busying herself with setting plates on the table. Her worry was faint but real, and though I never showed it, it wasn’t unnoticed.
I ate just enough—not for satisfaction, but to stave off weakness.
---
The training hall awaited with its familiar chill and heavy silence. Nerissa stood by the central platform, dark eyes sharp beneath the heavy lashes. Her posture was relaxed but coiled, ready to snap into action at a moment’s notice.
“Ready to prove you’re not going to die impressing me today?” she asked with a smirk.
I mirrored her stance, hands relaxed but alert. “Define overtraining.”
Her smile twisted. “The part where you try to do too much and end up dead.”
The brief exchange was a ritual, a dance of wits as much as skill.
Our session began with flame compression. I gathered my mana, feeling the familiar burn of energy beneath my skin. Flames flickered to life between my fingers, wild and hungry, but I forced them to fold into themselves—shrinking, tightening, a dance of control.
Nerissa watched closely. “Good control today. You didn’t overdo it.”
I exhaled slowly. “Calm is the only way to survive.”
She nodded approvingly. “Most novices lose themselves in the fire’s fury. You’ve learned to listen to the flame, not fight it.”
Before wrapping up, she offered a tantalizing lesson in theory.
“Flame Lance,” she said, eyes gleaming, “is a technique that fuses Wind and Fire magic. It channels combustion into a focused beam, propelled by pressure. Most mages blow themselves up trying it.”
I listened, interested but cautious. “Too early for me. Need to understand combustion trajectory better.”
She chuckled softly. “Good. Patience is as valuable as power.”
---
The training yard was already bathed in early sunlight when I arrived. Corvin waited like a sentinel, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up.
I met his gaze evenly. “I’m two minutes early.”
He arched a brow. “Then you’re two minutes late for being early.”
I smirked faintly. Our exchanges were as much part of training as the sparring itself.
Drawing the rune dagger, I weighed it in my hand, feeling its balance and weight—each curve and edge familiar, a silent partner in the dance to come.
Our blades met with a sharp ring, sparks dancing where metal collided. The rhythm was relentless—strike, parry, feint, counter—an intricate choreography of strength, skill, and subtlety.
I slipped in shallow grazes, testing Corvin’s Aura response. His parries absorbed the blows with practiced ease, but I focused on the pressure flows and rebounds—searching for weaknesses, for clues.
The dagger’s edge caught stray sunlight, glinting faintly. Corvin’s eyes narrowed.
“That dagger… custom?” he asked.
“Inherited curiosity,” I replied, voice low.
“Don’t let curiosity get you killed.”
The faint glow was likely a trick of light—or perhaps Aura friction—but it lent an odd aura to the blade that drew suspicion.
The spar continued with fierce intensity, neither of us giving ground easily. I studied Corvin’s breathing, posture, the minute shifts in his stance.
After several exchanges, he stepped back, eyes sharp.
“Your posture’s sharper. Breathing controlled. Blade lighter.”
“You’ve either been hiding strength or you’re evolving too fast.”
I let a faint smirk slip.
---
Later, washed and dressed, I walked the quiet paths behind the estate. Lanterns flickered with the breeze, shadows stretching long and thin beneath ancient trees.
“No more drills. No more instructions. Just stillness... finally.”
My hand brushed the cold stone rail, eyes scanning treetops. Always alert, even in solitude.
---
The small mana mirror pulsed faintly on my shelf. I tapped it, and Claire’s projection flickered into view, eyes blazing with concern.
“Why did I hear you collapsed after Aura training?!” she demanded.
“I didn’t collapse. I sat,” I replied flatly.
“Sat?! Bloodied arms, bruised ribs, missed meals?!”
“Sounds like excellent posture.”
“You’re clearly under attack.”
“By training. Yes.”
Her fists clenched, fire flickering around her fingers.
“Should I come home? I can be there by midnight. Just say the word.”
“That won’t be necessary. But if you do, bring snacks.”
She paused, fire blazing in her eyes.
“If you pass out again, I’m burning the entire Aura Division to ash.”
“That... seems excessive.”
“Excessive is you bleeding internally and calling it training.”
Behind her, magic scrolls exploded, a maid fleeing in terror.
“Shouldn’t you be studying?”
“I am. Studying how to murder your instructors.”
“Focus on theory. Practice tends to leave bodies.”
“So you admit you’re dying.”
“...I admit I’m sleepy.”
Claire slammed her desk, magic flaring.
“Anything else, war goddess?”
“Yeah. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage by training maniacs.”
I blinked once. Waited. Blinked again.
“Satisfied?”
“No. Now I’m suspicious and annoyed.”
“Congratulations. That’s your natural state.”
“Keep that up and I’ll send Father a letter titled ‘How to Spot a Mentally Unstable Mentor.’”
“You’re assuming he’ll read past the title.”
Claire leaned forward, fire crackling.
“You’re reckless, Aren. I know that look. You’re planning something.”
“Planning is just advanced survival.”
“So is manipulation. You’re not the only wolf in this bloodline.”
“Good. I’d hate to be lonely.”
The mirror dimmed, and silence settled once more.
---
Steel and silence, whispers in wake. The day tested more than muscle and mana—it tested the fragile balance between control and chaos. The blade was just a blade, but the battles beyond the physical were far from over.
And in the quiet, the story only deepened.
To be continued
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