A week later.
Lucian had never imagined hunting would be this… messy.
Blood stained his sleeves, his breath came in sharp bursts, and sweat slicked his curls. The steel of his borrowed sword dripped red, and the forest around him echoed with the aftermath of a violent skirmish.
Malrik made him go hunting... with a sword. Lucian questioned him, obviously, but he assured him that what he is hunting would NOT run away. And when he saw it, he cursed Malrik for being right.
The corpse of the boar was colossal—larger than the dining table at Valemart Manor, and twice as aggressive. Its tusks alone looked like ivory scimitars, and it had taken three dodges, a branch to the face, and an admittedly lucky slash to the throat to finally bring it down. Lucian refrained from using magic, the kill being a result of his hardwork and time spent honing his blade.
Panting, Lucian wiped his blade on the fur of the beast.
"Hunt game, he said… it wouldn't run, he said… Bastard forgot to mention it wanted to eat me."
He muttered curses under his breath as he dragged the beast's leg, gritting his teeth. This was not the kind of hunting nobles did for sport. This was a death match. For a moment, he imagined maybe the manor wouldn't be so bad.
It took effort, but eventually the treeline broke, revealing the clearing—and Malrik.
The man was shirtless, sweat gleaming on his dark skin as he split logs with a single precise swing of an axe. One could almost forget he wasn't just a woodsman. Until you looked at the way his muscles coiled, efficient and practiced, like a predator at rest.
Above, the familiar cry of wings drew their attention skyward.
The hawk descended with grace, talons clutching a cloth-bound package.
Lucian dropped the boar leg and stretched.
"Oh, what did she bring this time?" he asked dryly. "Freedom?"
Malrik raised a brow mid-swing. "What?"
"Nothing," Lucian grinned. "Inside joke."
The hawk landed on Malrik's arm, obedient as a trained knight's steed. Malrik untied the small scroll pouch, revealing something larger inside—something metallic and glowing faintly. His fingers pulled out a polished silver ring etched with runes.
Lucian's eyes widened. "A spatial ring?"
His voice cracked slightly. "You're joking."
Spatial rings were products of conjuration-based magic engineering, rare to these parts of the country and very expensive. Malrik smiled, slipping it onto his finger like it was a simple trinket. "
Lucian stared, mouth half-open. "So… who are you, again? How rich are you and why are you even living in a cabin?...And"
Malrik ignored the questions, and stretched out his ring hand. Sparks of light came together and dispersed, revealing two long, radiant crystals—each one taller than Lucian's arm. One glowed faint blue, the other an odd amber-gold.
Lucian's curiosity flared, but before he could ask, Malrik glanced over with an amused smirk.
"Aptitude crystals. You may train, but how far would you go? This is to check how far you can get up the power ladder"
"But take a shower first. You smell like pig's blood and sweat. And the crystals won't work properly if you're covered in mana-stained residue."
Lucian glanced down at himself.
"…Fair. But you did have to do this though "
He trudged toward the creek, muttering something about magical hygiene and overdramatic training arcs. But his eyes never left the crystals.
Power.
Potential.
And the quiet fire in his chest… was roaring again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucian stepped out of the creek, hair damp and skin steaming slightly in the sun. A piece of cloth hung over his shoulder as he walked back barefoot across the grassy clearing, shirt loosely thrown on. He caught Malrik kneeling by the crystals, deep in thought.
"You're brooding," Lucian said, dropping beside him. "Don't tell me you're afraid the boar's cousins will come for revenge."
Malrik gave a dry chuckle. "No. Just thinking."
He tapped the blue crystal lightly. "Before you touch that, there's something I want to explain."
Lucian raised a brow.
"Mana," Malrik began, "comes in different consistencies depending on your body's affinity and lineage. Most people awaken semi-gaseous mana—it's easy to draw out, mold, reinforce their bodies with. Suits martial combat. That's what the majority of soldiers and warriors use."
He pointed to the first crystal.
"That's what this crystal tests—your martial aptitude. How well you resonate with physical combat paths."
Lucian nodded. "And the other?"
Malrik tapped the second. "Mages… real mages… manifest mana as motes of light, or waves. It's delicate. Precise. It can bend at extreme angles, dance through formations, carry will far more efficiently. The rarer the consistency, the more suited you are to spellwork."
He looked at Lucian with a knowing gaze.
"But your case is… different."
Lucian's brows furrowed. "Different how?"
"You don't have gaseous mana. Or light-waved mana."
Malrik's voice was calm but heavy.
"Yours is liquid."
Lucian blinked. "…Come again?"
"I sensed it that day. When you broke the seal in the woods. The mana didn't crackle or flare. It flowed. Like a surge of blue fire, violent and graceful. Powerful enough to push the very air around you. Liquid mana is incredibly rare. In theory, it shouldn't even exist in stable form."
Lucian glanced at his palm. "…Guess I'm just built different."
Malrik chuckled. "Let's see how different. Place your hand on the first crystal."
Lucian complied, touching the martial crystal. It glowed faintly blue, ripples of light pulsing through its core.
A number etched itself in the air above the crystal, glowing:
75
Malrik whistled low. "Seventy-five"
That was master-tier potential. Even elite knight academies throw banquets when a student hits sixty. You could reach Grandmaster with enough blood and time.
Lucian leaned back, unimpressed. "But what if I wanna be more than a glorified sword babysitter?"
Malrik motioned to the second crystal. "Then prove it."
Lucian rolled his eyes but reached out.
The moment his hand made contact with the magic crystal, the air shimmered.
Light erupted within it—brilliant, twisting like threads of starlight in water. The entire crystal pulsed as if it were alive, responding not just to his touch, but his presence. Even the ground seemed to quiet. Lights still continued to bounce within the crystal.
"Maybe it's broken?" Lucian stretched. "Well. I'm starving. Boar stew?"
He turned to walk into the cabin, completely unbothered.
Then the light in the crystal settled. On it, the number formed:
98
Malrik was dead silent. Then exhaled sharply, ran a hand through his tied hair, and muttered, "Hah…"
This kid. Why would such a mage genius throw magic away? What really happened to him?