"I will follow you... On one condition though," Annabeth responded, her eyes sparkling like a puppy that had found a new chew toy.
After seeing what he was capable of during the fight with Lord Ollie, Annabeth was simply astounded. She wanted his ability… its mysteries… its destructive capabilities.
"Hoh?" Canning raised an eyebrow; the excitement in Annabeth's face made her seem like she had forgotten about her father's funeral, and this bothered him a little.
"Ah snap, maybe I overdid it," he inwardly thought. He wanted to distract her from the fact that her father was gone for just a little bit, but now it seemed she had forgotten all about it.
"You'll have to teach me magic," Annabeth replied.
"I can't. You'll die. Did I ever tell you about the time I almost died during training?"
"I'm sure you won't let me die. And no, you didn't. I'm not really interested in hearing…" Annebeth tried to respond but was interrupted.
"Well… it was back when I was about 7 years old and I had just managed to get my master's acceptance to teach me magic. My master had decided that I should…" Canning had already started telling his story. He looked far into the distance in the same way old people do when they are lost in their thoughts about their childhood.
"You won't scare me that easily. So, is that a yes or no on trai…?"
"… that I should begin with strength training by using these really heavy bracelets. Each of them weighed like 5 Kgs at first and then…" Canning ignored Annabeth's interruption and happily continued telling his story.
Her patience was wearing dangerously thin. All Annabeth wanted was a simple answer—would he train her or not? Instead, she found herself enduring yet another lengthy tale about how he had nearly died during his own training.
If she hadn't witnessed his immense power firsthand, she would have walked away without a second thought.
With every passing moment, her frustration grew, her fists clenching as the urge to throttle him intensified. He reminded her far too much of that insufferable, hole-punching bastard—but where that one irritated her with actions, Canning wielded his words like weapons. Perhaps, she mused bitterly, there was something inherently aggravating about extremely powerful people.
Canning, of course, could feel the sharp edge of her killing intent. But the chance to spin a good story? That was a temptation he simply couldn't resist, no matter how annoyed his audience might be.
He flashed Annabeth a knowing smile and, undeterred, calmly finished his tale.
***
The dual funerals of Lord Flinn and Lady Elsie passed with an anticlimactic stillness. Compared to the dramatic and gruesome events of their deaths, the subdued ceremonies felt like an afterthought. No new revelations had surfaced regarding the mysterious circumstances of their demise. Every magical attempt to uncover the truth had failed, leaving only unanswered questions.
The funerals were attended by Lady Elsie's former commanders and superiors, a group of elderly men who seemed both detached and burdened with unspoken knowledge. Their expressions and cryptic behavior hinted at secrets they had no intention of sharing. Despite their ominous presence, no one dared challenge them—neither rank nor courage permitted it.
The service concluded with the couple being buried side by side, their graves flanking Annabeth's mother's resting place. Lord Flinn lay in the middle, forever caught between the two women in death as he had been in life.
Annabeth, however, felt nothing. Her attention was solely fixed on Lord Canning and his maddening refusal to give her a clear answer about training her. She barely acknowledged the resolution of the inheritance, which unequivocally named her as the sole beneficiary. Even a formal apology from a representative of Xenotar City, expressing regret for Lord Ollie's reckless behavior, failed to impress her. None of it mattered.
When Canning finally announced his departure back to Alpane City, Annabeth made a choice. Despite his vague answers and evasions, her thirst for power consumed her. Without waiting for his agreement, she followed him.
***
One year later, just outside a mansion in Alpane City, Annabeth stood drenched in sweat, glaring at a rubber ball. The heavy object was tethered to her by an elastic rope that made every inch of progress a monumental struggle. Her task was deceptively simple: push the ball thirty meters to touch a blackboard. But the farther she moved the ball, the harder the rope pulled back, dragging her small frame toward the unyielding weight.
Sixty grueling days into this exercise, she had yet to succeed even once. The relentless training had her convinced that Canning wasn't teaching her but trying to kill her.
It had taken ten months of relentless pestering before Canning finally agreed to train her, and now, two months in, she was questioning her decision. In those ten months, he had dodged her requests with infuriating ease—claiming to be busy one moment and launching into elaborate, irrelevant stories the next.
Left to her own devices, Annabeth had relied on the fragmented knowledge she retained from her past two lives to practice on her own. Yet, she felt it wasn't enough. Her techniques, while effective in theory, lacked the refinement and edge she desperately needed. The looming threat of her nemesis—the boy who had hunted her through every life—was a constant shadow in her mind.
She had no delusions about what awaited her in the forest where their inevitable confrontation would take place. Without sufficient power, survival was a fleeting hope. And yet, every day she resisted the overwhelming urge to lash out, to destroy, to let her chaos reign. The need to grow stronger kept her desires for destruction at bay, but Canning's infuriating personality tested her restraint.
Canning, ever the enigma, seemed to delight in making her life difficult. His endless attention and chatter left her no time to explore forbidden magic, the one avenue she suspected might give her an edge. Forbidden magic, however, carried the ultimate risk—discovery meant death.
For now, Annabeth endured. She toiled under Canning's relentless gaze, her growing power tempered by frustration and the gnawing certainty that time was running out
***
After ten relentless months of pestering, Canning finally relented. He agreed to train Annabeth, but his terms were strict: she had to follow his orders to the letter and complete every task without fail. Failure or disobedience would mean the immediate end of her training.
Moreover, as payment, Canning would take control of all her inherited wealth until the training was complete. "I don't work for free," he said with a grin.
To her own surprise, Annabeth felt a surge of joy when he agreed. It was a rare and foreign sensation for her—one she had only ever felt in the twisted pleasure of hearing her enemies' screams. She had no idea that she was stepping into hell itself.
From day one, Canning made it clear he was no ordinary mentor.
"Everyone thinks Tier 1 magic is the start of everything," he said on the first day. "But there's something before that: Tier 0 magic. It's the foundation of all magic—pure control. And you know what? The more talented you are, the harder it is to master."
His grin widened as he added, "You're a prodigy, Annabeth. That means you'll probably die trying to get it right."
Canning delighted in tormenting her with his words.
"Wind magic is your specialty? Oh, you're definitely going to die haha."
For the first three months, Annabeth was tasked with re-learning the basics. Her training focused on fine control, or what mages referred to as Tier 2 magic. But Canning's version of "basic control" came with a sadistic twist.
A large blackboard stood 30 meters away, marked with concentric rings like a target. Annabeth's task was simple in theory: stand on a line, use her wind magic to lift a heavy rubber ball attached to her by a thick elastic rope, and maneuver the ball until it touched the blackboard's innermost ring. If the ball hit the center, the board would turn yellow, signaling success. But if it struck any other ring, the board would flash red or blue.
The elastic rope added a layer of cruelty. It stretched as she moved the ball farther away, creating a force that pulled her relentlessly toward the ball.
"You have 90 days," Canning said, leaving her with a servant to monitor her progress. "Wind magic only. No shortcuts."
Annabeth scoffed inwardly. She was sure she could finish the task in a single week.
Normally, Annabeth relied on vertical wind vortices to sweep leaves or lift objects during her Tier 1 and Tier 2 training. It was a technique she had mastered through countless repetitions. However, controlling the rubber ball horizontally introduced a new challenge. Instead of conjuring her usual upward vortex, she now had to reconfigure her magic to create a horizontal one—a task that required both creativity and precision.
At first, her attempts were clumsy. The horizontal vortex spun the ball wildly, making it difficult to maintain control. But Annabeth was determined. Over the next few days, she honed the spell, refining its structure and balance until she could move objects horizontally with a steady flow of air. Though the spinning persisted, she managed to adapt, using the momentum to her advantage.
Confident in her progress, Annabeth approached the given task. She stood at the line, her feet firmly planted, and focused her energy. Raising the heavy rubber ball with her wind magic, she conjured a horizontal vortex. The ball hovered obediently, spinning slightly as it began its journey toward the blackboard.
At first, it was easy. But as the ball moved farther away, the rope's tension grew. By the time the ball reached five meters, her control began to falter. The elastic pull was immense, draining her energy and concentration.
Her magic reserves dwindled within minutes. Frustrated and desperate, she devised a plan: she would use a Tier 3 Wind Strike spell to propel the ball directly at the target. It was risky, but she reasoned that Canning hadn't explicitly forbidden higher-tier spells.
After carefully maneuvering the ball back into her comfort zone, she prepared her Wind Strike. The spell was flawless, launching the ball toward the blackboard with incredible force.
But she hadn't accounted for the rope.
As the ball sailed forward, the rope stretched to its limit, then violently recoiled. The sudden force yanked her forward and the ball back at lightning speed. Caught off guard and exhausted, Annabeth didn't have time to react.
The rubber ball slammed into her stomach with devastating force, knocking her unconscious instantly.
When she woke up, four days had passed.