The relentless march of Rudelion's self-imposed training regime continued, a disciplined cadence that far surpassed the academy's official curriculum. Each day was a carefully orchestrated symphony of Mana manipulation, physical conditioning, and strategic observation. The core of his personal power, the Abyssal/Void Mana of the nascent Demon God's vessel, grew more responsive with every passing hour. He wasn't just accumulating power; he was refining it, distilling it, twisting it to his will.
His early morning sparring sessions with Kael had evolved into a sophisticated dance of power and precision. Kael, unknowingly, served as the perfect anvil against which Rudelion hammered his defensive and evasive skills. Rudelion now effortlessly redirected Kael's most devastating Mana-infused punches with Mana Shield and Defensive Arcana Weaving, turning Kael's momentum against him, sending the larger boy stumbling in confused, good-natured frustration.
"How do you do that, Rudelion?!" Kael would often exclaim, wiping sweat from his brow, his Mana signature radiating pure awe. "It's like my punches just… slide off!"
Rudelion would offer a cryptic, charming smile. "It's merely a matter of understanding the subtle flows of Mana, Kael. Every force has an equal and opposite reaction. If you can anticipate the vector of Mana, you can guide it." He'd then offer a precise, subtle adjustment to Kael's stance or Mana channeling, instantly improving Kael's Berserker Blood Imprint efficiency. Kael's loyalty solidified with every genuine improvement he felt, turning him into an even more formidable, unwitting bodyguard.
Beyond Kael, Rudelion's focus expanded to integrating his newest Gacha-acquired skills. Abyssal Blink was a game-changer. He spent hours in the deepest, most secluded parts of the Whispering Grotto, practicing its true teleportation. He would Abyssal Blink through solid rock formations, across chasms, even briefly through sections of the grotto's underground lake, testing its limits. The instant spatial shift, leaving no lingering Mana signature, was intoxicating. It made him feel truly uncatchable, a wraith in motion. He could be anywhere, vanish from anywhere. Paired with Mana Cloaking, he was becoming a whisper in the wind, his presence almost impossible to detect, even by the academy's more sensitive instructors.
He also experimented with Arcane Pulse. It wasn't designed for lethal damage, but for disruption and crowd control. He practiced unleashing controlled bursts, pushing back Mana-infused rocks, or precisely deflecting the Mana signatures of passing bats. It was a subtle, non-lethal offensive option, perfect for disabling opponents without causing permanent damage – a necessity in a dating sim where killing major characters would certainly trigger a catastrophic death flag.
His Mana Construct: Wall skill was equally invaluable. He could now conjure shimmering Mana barriers that absorbed punishment, providing instantaneous cover. He practiced manifesting them mid-stride, forming them around trees, using them to block incoming bursts from automated training golems. It was Mana-intensive, but the utility was immense.
The cornerstone of his increasing power remained his Thaumiel Blood Imprint Awakening quest. Nightly, he returned to the Whispering Grotto, meditating for hours, deep within the pulsating heart of the subterranean chamber. The Mana here felt ancient, primal, resonating perfectly with the Abyssal/Void nature of his Blood Imprint. Each session was a profound journey into his inner core, coaxing forth the dormant power of the Demon God's vessel, shaping its raw energy into usable Arcana Core Fragments.
[Prime Mana Confluence: Day 12/20 completed.][Thaumiel Blood Imprint Awakening: 60% progress.][Arcana Core Fragments: 2 accumulated.]
He was steadily approaching the completion of the Prime Mana Confluence quest, which would undoubtedly grant him a significant boost in Arcana Core Fragments. And his Blood Imprint was awakening faster than he anticipated, confirming his methodical approach was paying dividends.
His DAILY OBJECTIVES continued to deliver. More Gacha Tickets. He now had a comfortable 25 Gacha Tickets. He decided to save them for a larger pull, perhaps aiming for another guaranteed SR or a higher rarity skill. Patience was a virtue he had honed over two lifetimes of brutal experience. He preferred to make calculated, impactful pulls.
During classes, his Arcane Insight passive was invaluable. He devoured textbooks on Mana theory, Blood Imprint histories, and ancient Arcana spells. His Intelligence and Wisdom stats, now at 18 and 17 respectively (after his latest Gacha pull), processed the information with astonishing speed and depth. He would often ask probing questions that baffled his peers and sometimes even surprised his instructors, revealing a profound understanding that seemed far beyond a recovering invalid. His Charisma (now 24) subtly smoothed over these moments, making his inquisitiveness seem like brilliant curiosity rather than unnerving precocity.
One afternoon, during a 'History of Arcana' lecture, the instructor mentioned a passing detail about "Ancient Abyssal Beasts," creatures of pure Mana and shadow, capable of distorting space and consuming light. Rudelion's Blood Imprint Manifestation pulsed faintly. He recognized the lore. These were the true forms of the "Evil Gods" that Rudelion, the Demon God, was meant to eventually consume or control. His vessel status was tied to this lineage, this terrifying cosmic ancestry. He now understood that his Mana, initially feeling suppressed, was merely being recalibrated to this world's distinct frequencies, transforming from Murim qi to a purer, more versatile Arcana, perfectly aligned with the Thaumiel Blood Imprint. He was not losing power; he was gaining a different, arguably more potent, kind.
He continued to meticulously observe Lathel, the protagonist, from a distance. Lathel was predictably drawing the attention of various 'heroines,' his Mana signature often intertwined with theirs, forming nascent bonds. Rudelion noted the specific Mana types of these heroines – the fiery strength of one, the serene healing aura of another, the sharp, frosty precision of a third. Each represented a potential future ally for Lathel, and thus, a potential future obstacle for Rudelion. He filed this information away, categorizing their elemental affinities and combat styles for later strategic consideration. He wasn't plotting their demise; he was plotting their avoidance from his own path, or, if necessary, their subtle neutralization as direct threats.
His daily Mana channeling exercises intensified. He no longer just drew Mana; he sculpted it. He would sit in his dorm, eyes closed, and mentally form intricate Mana patterns in the air around him, invisible to the naked eye. He could create shimmering orbs, delicate Mana threads, even miniature, transient constructs, testing the limits of his precision and concentration. This was a mental exercise, a form of active meditation that further refined his control over the colossal Mana reserves he was accumulating. His Mana capacity, nearing 200, felt like a vibrant, pulsating entity within him, constantly replenishing itself thanks to Greater Mana Recovery.
The physical conditioning also progressed beyond basic calisthenics. He now used the academy's advanced obstacle courses, designed to test speed, agility, and endurance under Mana-infused gravity. He scaled walls with impossible grace, leapt across chasms, and dodged automated Mana blasts, his Dexterity (now 15) and Strength (now 15) ensuring fluid, effortless movement. He maintained a facade of slight exertion, enough to seem like a diligent student, but internally, he felt utterly refreshed. The intense drills that would leave his peers panting and bruised barely raised his internal temperature.
'This doesn't even making me Sweat.'
He chuckled softly, a private moment of satisfaction. The phrase, a constant companion in his mental monologue, was becoming less of a goal and more of an understatement. He was beyond sweating. He was systematically mastering every facet of his new existence, embracing the paradox of being a human vessel for a Demon God, turning every narrative constraint into a strategic advantage.
As night fell, painting the academy in shades of indigo and silver, Rudelion prepared for his nightly meditation in the Whispering Grotto. The next Gacha pull beckoned, promising more power, more tools for his ultimate defiance. He had no doubt he would acquire them. The game was escalating, but so was he. And he was just getting started. The true games, the ones he would meticulously orchestrate for his own freedom, were rapidly approaching their climax. And he would be more than ready.