Dawn had become Zen's most familiar companion over the past two weeks. Like every morning, he sat by the crystalline pool, where ripples of mana danced just beneath his skin. The first quarter of his internal star was beginning to take shape — a feat that had even earned him a rare nod from Carac three days prior.
"Your determination serves you well, young master," Carac's voice sliced through the morning mist. "But remember — forcing mana is like trying to grasp water. The tighter you clutch…"
"The more slips away," Zen finished, his eyes remaining shut as he guided another stream of mana toward his core. The sensation was like weaving moonlight into cloth — fragile, demanding, maddeningly precise.
Nearby, Tess watched from her usual perch on an ancient stone bench, her breakfast tray balanced beside her. Since training began, she had taken to bringing her morning meal to the training grounds, her silent presence a steady support during these grueling sessions.
"The star pattern grows clearer," Carac observed, his shadow stretching long in the dawn's light. "Though you've only shaped a quarter, the foundation is stable. Many rush this stage, leaving weak points that haunt them later."
Zen's concentration finally broke, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. "How will I know when it's truly complete?"
"The mana will sing," Carac replied, gesturing toward the manor. "But that's enough for now. Lady Sarella awaits you in the study."
The morning sessions with his mother had become another cornerstone of Zen's regimen. While Carac guided his mana development, Sarella ensured her son understood the nuanced arts of nobility — essential for any student of Farcus Academy.
"Remember, darling," Sarella's voice held its usual blend of warmth and command as Zen entered the study, "power alone won't secure your position at the Academy. The noble houses send their best, and they'll judge you on far more than combat skill."
The study, with walls lined by books and sunlight streaming through tall windows, had become a different kind of training ground. Today's lesson was on the complex web of noble alliances, with a special focus on the Academy's founding families.
"The three rulers of Farcus," Sarella continued, spreading out an elaborate genealogical chart, "each represent distinct power bases. Queen Freya of the elves values wisdom and diplomacy. King Orophin of the Whale Tribe respects strength tempered with honor. And Queen Helga of the Dragons…" She paused, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "She's a law unto herself, but she despises pretense."
By noon, Zen was back in the training grounds, this time for sword practice. Lumiere's ethereal blade cast patterns of light across the packed earth as he moved through his forms. Each swing was deliberate, each step precise — a stark contrast to his earlier, unrefined movements.
Carac watched from the shadows, silently observing. While he couldn't teach the intricacies of swordplay, his keen eye for movement and mana flow allowed him to monitor Zen's progress. The young master's dedication shone in every carefully measured strike, every controlled step.
Afternoon found Zen in the manor's lesser hall, where Lady Knight Falia had agreed to teach him about battlefield awareness. Her lessons focused on practical application rather than pure technique.
"Remember," Falia demonstrated a defensive stance, "in real combat, you rarely face a single opponent under ideal conditions. Your awareness must extend beyond the immediate adversary."
Evening brought its own challenges. In the quiet of his chamber, Zen practiced his forms, pushing through the exhaustion weighing on his limbs. Each movement balanced physical technique with mana control, building on the foundation of his growing mana heart while incorporating elements of his Aura Manipulation skill.
Though his muscles burned from the day's strain, Zen pressed on, knowing each practice brought him closer to his goal. The spirit sword responded to his movements with growing sensitivity, its light casting shadows that danced across his chamber walls until exhaustion finally claimed him.
Deep in the night, as the estate quieted, a different tension gripped the round conference room. Reiner's frame cast a long shadow in the lamplight as he stood before the assembled lords. Lloyd sat at his customary place, Sarella by his side, and Armin ready to serve.
"Now then, old friend," Lloyd addressed Reiner, his voice weighted by the night's stillness, "tell us what brings you to our door at this hour."
Reiner's appearance spoke of urgency; his travel-worn attire and the dark circles beneath his eyes hinted at unrest. Earlier, he and Lloyd had discussed the problem of monsters from the borderlands, and Lloyd's stomach clenched with the certainty that something dire had erupted in the Rowena Barony.
"My Lord," Reiner began, bowing low, his escorts following suit. Briar's guards stood at attention — three of them, along with Carac and Falia — while Reiner had come with only two men, one older, and the other as young as Carac.
"I apologize for my unbidden arrival, but my domain screams for aid at this hour."
Lloyd leaned forward, concern carving lines into his face. "Orcs?"
"Yes, my lord. A tribe of them has descended upon one of our villages near the borderlands. Casualties are mounting. I've come to ask for reinforcements."
Lloyd stroked his chin, deep in thought. "Sending an army is no issue — it's the commander. Carac is occupied with his current duties. Orcs are a five-star threat, and most of my guards are trained only to face up to four-star threats. We need a commander of at least five-star prowess."
The room fell silent as each person weighed the situation. Then, Falia raised her hand. "My Lord," she said firmly, "Send me. I am a six-star with specialized skills; I can handle them."
Carac nodded, adding, "Yes! Falia is indeed our best. In all the guards and retainers, she's the only one who's nearly touched me in a spar."
Lloyd's eyes lit with approval, though a trace of surprise lingered in his expression. He turned to Sarella, who gave a supportive nod.
"Falia, by my power as your lord, I grant you command of 200 men. Aid the Rowena Barony. Depart at Lord Reiner's instruction."
Falia bowed, leaving to assemble her forces. Reiner's face was a mask of awe; 200 of Briar's elite seemed excessive to him, considering the prowess of Briar's troops — it was said that 100 could lay waste to 500 goblins.
With their mission defined, the group vacated the conference room. Each of the 200 guards mounted their horses, Reiner settled into his coach with his attendants, and, with a crack of the whip, the convoy surged forward, galloping out of Briar's domain to meet the danger that lay ahead.