Lucius's room was spacious yet modest compared to the grandeur of the manor's dining hall. The polished wooden floor had a thick, intricately woven rug laid on it that added a touch of warmth to the space.
Shelves lined with books and scrolls covered one wall, evidence of his growing interest in magic, while a stand by the corner of the room held his practice sword—a silent nod to his heritage as a magic swordsman.
A large window allowed golden rays of sunlight to stream in, casting a serene glow over the room. The centerpiece was his sturdy oak bed, with dark wooden frames complemented by neatly arranged linens in deep greens and browns.
In the center of the room, Lucius sat on the floor in a meditative position, his legs crossed, arms resting on his knees, palms facing upward and fingers crossed.
His eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and measured, as though he were reaching out to something that couldn't be seen.
Behind him stood Arlena, her expression calm but focused. Her hands were outstretched toward him, fingers slightly curved as if grasping an invisible thread. The faint hum of magic filled the room, subtle and quiet, yet undeniably present.
A soft breeze seemed to emanate from their combined efforts, ruffling the edges of a parchment left on his desk nearby. The moment was one of quiet concentration, a harmonious balance between mentor and student.
Arlena's hands moved with practiced precision, gliding smoothly through the air as if she were sculpting an invisible form around Lucius's body.
Starting at his core, her fingers followed deliberate paths, spreading outward to his arms, then up to his head, down to his legs, and finally back to his core. Her motions were fluid like water and yet deliberate, each gesture filled with a noticeable energy.
"Urgh—" Lucius let out a low groan, his brows twitching slightly. The process wasn't painful, but it was intense, like a deep pressure working its way through every part of his body.
Arlena repeated the sequence over and over, with an unshaken focus. Slowly, Lucius's body began to emit a faint blue light, soft at first, but steadily growing in intensity. The glow outlined the network of veins and arteries beneath his skin, creating a mesmerizing lattice of illuminated pathways.
His core, nestled at the center of his body, shone brightest of all—a concentrated sphere of energy pulsating like a second heart.
It became evident that Arlena was forcefully channeling the core's energy, spreading it through his entire body with meticulous care.
The light followed her movements, surging wherever her hands guided it. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, but she maintained an unwavering expression of focus. The level of concentration she exhibited in that moment was nothing short of remarkable, a testament to her mastery of magic and her dedication to her student.
Arlena made one final sweep with her hands, guiding the glowing energy back to Lucius's core. The faint blue light dimmed as it condensed within him. With a deliberate motion, she released her hands, and the light dissipated entirely, sending a soft wave of air rippling through the room.
"Haaaa... this is honestly a hassle," she muttered, collapsing onto the plush bed with an exaggerated sigh.
Lucius, meanwhile, let out a shaky breath as he broke free from his meditative state. His body trembled slightly as he fell to one knee, struggling to steady himself.
"Ha... ha... ha..." He panted, the sound of his labored breathing filling the room. Beads of sweat ran down his face, dripping onto the wooden floor beneath him.
"Hey... are you okay?" Arlena asked, sitting up. Her voice carried an uncharacteristic softness, and the concern in her expression was clear.
"I'm... fine," he replied, though his hesitation betrayed him. His voice was strained, and his body sagged under the weight of exhaustion. The fatigue etched across his face made it evident how much strain the exercise had put on him.
Arlena sighed inwardly as her gaze rested on Lucius's trembling form. 'Haaaaa... this kid,' she thought, a mix of frustration and admiration swirling within her. 'I wonder why he pushes himself so hard.'
She folded her arms, watching him struggle to catch his breath, and let her thoughts drift. 'I should honestly stop this,' she mused, her brows furrowing slightly. But after a brief pause, her expression softened. 'But to be honest, I can't bring myself to do it. Even though it's taking a huge toll on his body, he's handling it well enough, and it's not going to cause any lasting damage.'
Her lips twitched upward into a faint smile. 'Besides... I'm curious too. I want to see just how far he can go.' With that thought, her resolve strengthened, and she leaned back, observing him quietly as he recovered.
She'd had been working tirelessly to circulate Lucius's mana, a crucial step in teaching him chantless casting. Normally, the flow of mana within someone his age was sluggish and unrefined, making it nearly impossible to achieve the level of control needed for such advanced magic. However, Lucius was far from ordinary.
Most children his age lacked the physical and mental fortitude to endure the strain this kind of training put on their bodies. But Lucius's rigorous routine had given him an edge.
His evenings were spent practicing martial arts to enhance his swordsmanship, focusing on discipline, coordination, and precise movements. Additionally, he engaged in physical training to build his strength and endurance, honing his muscles and physicality to a level uncommon for boys his age.
This combination of martial and magical pursuits had made him stronger and more resilient, enabling him to handle the intense pain and fatigue that came with Arlena's mana acceleration technique.
During the days, when the sun was at its peak, he trained with her, diligently learning the fundamentals of magic and striving to master them.
It was a grueling schedule, but Lucius approached it with unwavering determination, refusing to let the immense strain deter him. Arlena couldn't help but admire his resolve, even as she worried about the toll it was taking on his young body.
****
A week later.
The dining hall was as grand as ever, bathed in the warm glow of midday sunlight streaming in through the tall arched windows. The trio sat at the long oak table, the air around them calm and quiet. The clinking of cutlery on porcelain was the only sound to break the silence as Lucius, Arlena, and Lady Maria shared their meal.
Lucius picked at his roasted chicken absentmindedly while Arlena occasionally glanced at him, perhaps out of habit or boredom. Lady Maria, ever composed, delicately sipped from her crystal goblet, her demeanor as serene as the atmosphere around them.
A sharp knock at the door broke the tranquility, and a servant stepped in, bowing respectfully as he approached. In his hand was a crisp envelope, sealed with a wax emblem.
"A letter from the southeastern frontier, my lady," the servant announced, his voice calm yet formal. He placed the letter gently before Lady Maria, bowed again, and exited the hall.
Lady Maria's face lit up with a warm smile as she reached for the envelope. "Oh, this must be from your father, Lucius," she said, her voice tinging with excitement as she broke the seal.
Lucius perked up, his expression mirroring her enthusiasm. "What does it say, Mother? Did he finally kill all the demons? Is he heading home soon?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward in anticipation.
But as Lady Maria's eyes scanned the letter, her smile faded. Her complexion turned deathly pale, the color draining from her face as her hand trembled. The letter slipped from her fingers, fluttering toward the ground like a fragile leaf.
"Mother!" Lucius exclaimed, leaping from his seat. He reached out and caught the letter just before it touched the floor. His breath quickened as he glanced at his mother, who sat frozen in place, her wide eyes staring into the distance.
Driven by urgency, Lucius scanned the letter, his eyes darting across the words. His heart raced as he read further, and then it happened—his gaze locked on a single phrase.
His face, too, turned ghostly white. The letter slipped from his grip, hanging in the air for a heartbeat before crumpling onto the table. The room felt as though the air had been sucked out, leaving an unbearable silence.