Chapter 36 - Douglas Nightingale

The monotony of a knight captain's life could be soul-crushing. Early mornings began with solitary training, followed by endless drills for the other knights under his command. Days bled into years, the routine an unyielding cycle. For Douglas, it had become particularly wearisome. He'd plateaued, reaching the pinnacle of his physical and magical abilities.

The barrier between and rank loomed like an insurmountable mountain. His aura, forever bound to its elemental form, would never condense and evolve into the coveted astral energy. Only a select few thousand in the world ever achieved such a feat. Yet, Douglas held a quiet contentment.

Reaching the stage, coupled with his mastery of the Grade 4 art, positioned him amongst the world's elite. He wasn't the strongest, but strength was relative. He could slay most 6-star beasts, and only a hundred thousand or so individuals surpassed his combat prowess. The tedium of his captaincy might pale in comparison, but his life as a husband and father was anything but.

The memory of Arthur's birth remained vivid. Holding his newborn son, a surge of purpose washed over him. It was a feeling he desperately craved after confronting his own limitations, a salvation from the well of despair he'd been teetering on.

A wry smile touched his lips as he recalled the initial years. Arthur, a bundle of boundless energy, had challenged him in ways his training never could. Sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, the constant worry that gnawed at every parent's heart – it was a whirlwind, a beautiful, chaotic whirlwind. Yet, amidst the exhaustion, a profound joy bloomed. Witnessing Arthur's first steps, his first words, the spark of curiosity igniting in his bright eyes – these were the moments that truly mattered.

One memory, however, remained etched in Douglas's mind: a young Arthur, barely more than a toddler, picking up a wooden sword and mimicking the training exercises he observed. What captivated Douglas wasn't just the playful imitation, but the innate talent radiating from his son. An almost preternatural connection to the blade sent a jolt of astonishment through him. This was special, a raw ability that surpassed even Douglas's own in a way that defied explanation. It was the glint of a prodigy, a potential that could shatter limitations and reach the coveted rank.

Count Chase, a keen observer of talent, soon recognized Arthur's exceptional aptitude as well. Under his tutelage, Arthur blossomed into a formidable swordsman. By the age of thirteen, even a sword master acknowledged Arthur's extraordinary skills, and with a glowing letter of recommendation, secured his entry into the prestigious Mythos Academy.

Gaining acceptance into this legendary institution was a remarkable feat in itself, but Arthur's journey didn't stop there. He landed a coveted spot in Class A, a crucible for geniuses culled from every corner of the world. A pang of concern, shared by his wife, flickered within Douglas. Arthur, undeniably talented, was about to be thrown into a maelstrom of brilliance. This year's Class A boasted the heirs to influential powers, prodigies amongst prodigies, each wielding unique Gifts and honed through potent martial arts since childhood. Would Arthur, despite his natural ability, become disheartened amidst such a formidable company?

Fortunately, Douglas's anxieties proved unfounded. Arthur not only acclimated well to the academy, but even forged friendships despite his lower social standing. In just a few short months, a subtle transformation had taken root in his son. The way he carried himself, the glint in his eyes, the choices of words, even his gait – each nuance, seemingly insignificant on its own, coalesced into a wholly different Arthur.

The youthful curiosity that defined him was now imbued with a newfound urgency, a passionate fire that burned brighter than anything Douglas had witnessed before. Arthur's strategic mind, evident in his preemptive study of the knights' Grade 3 art, hinted at a developing cunningness. His growth wasn't limited to his intellect. His mana core had surged from to , and his swordsmanship had been honed to a razor's edge. Remarkably, this surge in strength hadn't come at the expense of his raw talent – it seemed to have only amplified it, a phenomenon that eluded Douglas's understanding. But rather than worry, it filled him with a quiet pride. This transformation, after all, seemed positive. And through it all, Arthur's gaze hadn't changed. It still held the same love and a hint of concern, the familiar bond between parents and son reassuringly intact.

As Douglas hefted his training sword, the weight a familiar comfort in his hand, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within him. Pride, for the exceptional young man Arthur had become. Apprehension, for the perilous path his son had chosen.

Arthur, his face etched with a newfound seriousness, mirrored his stance. The playful boy who once mimicked the knights' training had vanished, replaced by a young man radiating quiet determination. Douglas saw in his son's eyes a flicker of the same competitive spirit that had always burned within him, but tempered now with a newfound maturity.

"Don't hold back," Douglas cautioned, assuming his fighting stance. Mana surged around him, a tangible wave directed at Arthur. This was a pure mana assault, a technique only accessible to -ranked fighters. Of course, against someone like Arthur, it wouldn't be a decisive blow.

Arthur reacted instinctively, a vertical swing of his blade imbued with water aura. The attack cleaved through the incoming wave, effortlessly dispersing Douglas's assault.

'He can already read the flow of ambient mana?' Douglas thought, a grin splitting his face. This was a crucial skill in duels, and for Arthur to grasp it before even reaching -rank was phenomenal.

Ambient mana particles were notoriously erratic, even under the influence of a skilled mage. Yet, Arthur seemed to be able to anticipate their movements. Douglas, impressed, launched another attack – a feint followed by a more potent blast of controlled mana aimed directly at Arthur.

Arthur's gaze remained steady as he swung his blade once more, the water aura dissolving the concentrated mana with practiced ease. "Let's see what else you have," Douglas muttered, thrusting his sword repeatedly, each movement unleashing a flurry of smaller mana attacks. These weren't meant to overpower Arthur, but rather to test his reaction time.

Lightning danced across Arthur's form as he dodged and deflected the attacks with impressive agility. It was clear – Arthur wasn't just strong, he was remarkably perceptive and adaptable.

A glint of determination hardened Arthur's eyes. "My turn, father," he declared, stepping forward. Lightning crackled around him, but with a different character this time. It was calmer, slower, somehow smoother and more controlled. A prickling unease snagged at Douglas, a flicker of shock crossing his features.

'An attack from a mere shouldn't pose a threat,' he reasoned. Yet, caution won out. He wove a cocoon of ambient mana around himself, fortifying his defenses beyond what was necessary against such an attack.

A blinding flash erupted as Arthur's body surged to incredible speed, his lightning-clad blade cleaving through the first layers of Douglas's defenses with ease. Momentum stalled, however, as the remaining layers held firm.

"What?!" Douglas roared, bewildered as the attack sputtered out just before reaching him.

Arthur lowered his blade, a hint of exertion coloring his voice. "I concede, father. That was my strongest attack."

A stunned silence descended upon the training grounds. What had they just witnessed? The synchronised flow of mana particles, the seamless integration with Arthur's movements – it was an attack that, due to its sheer speed, could potentially threaten even an -ranked fighter caught off guard.

The weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air. Count Chase, ever the strategist, was the first to break the silence. A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with a newfound respect for Arthur.

"An impressive display, Arthur," he boomed, his voice echoing across the training ground. "The way you manipulated the mana particles with your movement… it was ingenious. A truly unique application of magic, even for someone of your rank."

Arthur, still catching his breath, managed a grin. "Thank you, Your Grace," he responded. "It's still a work in progress, but I believe it has potential."

Douglas, his initial shock giving way to a surge of paternal pride, approached his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Indeed it does," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You've not only grown stronger, but you've developed your own unique fighting style. That's a rare and valuable thing, Arthur."

At the same time he wondered, what would have happened if Arthur used the same attack as a -rank?