The first rays of sunlight slipped through the narrow window, spilling faint gold across the stone walls. Trafalgar hadn't slept a second. He sat cross-legged in the center of the room, completely naked, his eyes shut, body drenched in sweat.
Here, at the highest peak of the Morgain mountains, the air itself was thick with mana. It pressed against his skin, seeped into his lungs, sank into his core. Anyone else would have drowned in it—but thanks to the Primordial Body, Trafalgar could drag every drop of that rich mana into himself.
Hours had passed like this. His forehead gleamed, beads of sweat dripping down his back, pooling into a dark stain on the floor. The cold meant nothing. He didn't even feel it anymore.
'Almost… almost at the third core. It's overflowing with mana. Just a little more and it'll burst. If I could stay here, I'd advance much faster.'
The thought pulsed in rhythm with his heart. Then another, heavier one followed.
