Kion woke to the sight of potions and brews arranged neatly on shelves, and he instantly knew where he was: the Shaman's workshop.
He lay shirtless, sprawled across a makeshift stretcher of some sort—though this wasn't an ordinary craft. The stretcher floated in the air, gently swaying.
The events from earlier came rushing back to him as he felt a dull throb at the side of his head. He reached up to the spot where Sir Alex had struck him, wincing through gritted teeth as his fingers grazed the rough exterior of a bandage.
When he turned his head to the side, he realised just how much better he'd fared than his opponent.
Right next to him, on another floating stretcher, was his half-brother, glaring at him from across the room.
"Ah. It seems you both are finally awake," came an old, friendly voice Kion had become familiar with. Unlike the grumpy castle wizard he remembered from his past life, Shaman was far too polite for a royal wizard.
"Please, the next time you both try to kill yourselves, make sure it's not on castle grounds—so the king won't threaten to have the heads of us wizards and knights on pikes, will you?"
No answer came from either boy.
"I understand if the older one is silent," Shaman said, his gaze shifting to Kion with a puzzled look, "but you… you have nothing to say?"
"Of course he doesn't."
Kion heard the faint clatter of armour as Sir Alex walked in, his expression stern and heavy.
"There is a way things are done here, Prince Kion," he said, staring directly at him. "I knew you had some ill intention towards your brother, but this…" Alex gestured to a battered-looking Kai, "…was something else. There are strict codes you do not break, Prince. Were you not taught all of this?"
Kion remained silent.
"And you—" Alex turned sharply, a finger pointing straight at Kai. "Don't think you have it easy. You aimed to kill him first."
"Only because he's been such a pain in the ass," Kai retorted without hesitation.
"You are the crown prince of Stormholt," Alex shot back. "You are going to be the chief commander of the First Army. One day, you will be king." His voice deepened as he marched towards Kai, anger simmering.
"Will a worthy king murder his brother during his very first duel?" Alex demanded.
Kai kept silent.
"I thought so," Alex said, his tone clipped. "But whether you care or not doesn't matter much to me. Who you should truly be worried about is your father."
At those words, Kai's head snapped up, eyes wide with alarm.
"You didn't expect something like this to be swept under the carpet, did you? You're both required at the throne room immediately. The king would like to have a word with you—as soon as Shaman here is done checking you. Take it from here, wizard."
With that, Alex turned and marched back out the door.
"Well, he's said it all. I don't have much to add—I'm just an old man after all," Shaman said, glancing at Kai with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"And from the looks of it, you lot aren't much for talking either, so I'll just make this quick so we can all be free from each other."
Shaman muttered under his breath, conjuring a spell that caused two vials of liquid to appear in the palms of both brothers.
"Vitality brews. Potent and fresh—for your quick and speedy recovery from each other. You'll both be fine. Those bandages are enchanted to heal your wounds within the next few hours, so just keep them on for a little while. They should already have cleansed all pain from your body by now."
Kion touched the side of his head where he'd been struck, and unlike before, felt no pain at all.
"You're both free to go. Just look after yourselves so you can heal properly."
Kai sprang up from his stretcher, moving with the haste of someone who wanted to be anywhere else. The severity of the burn marks he'd sustained earlier had already lessened—most of his skin had cleared up nicely. The bandages were working, but the look on Kai's face was pure discomfort at having them on.
"I don't need this," Kai muttered irritably, tearing off the strips of bandages that lined his torso and arms.
Shaman simply smiled at the sight. "Take care, young master. I hope the king sees it fit to forgive you."
Kai stormed out of the workshop in a fit of rage.
Kion got up and began to follow, but Shaman's voice stopped him just as he reached the door.
"A word, my prince."
Kion turned to face him.
"I see you've already evolved your [Fire Blade] skill—even without learning it in the first place."
Kion thought back to the storm he'd conjured in the courtyard.
He had expected to use his [Fire Blade] skill to disarm Kai and perhaps injure him further. He had studied the talent scroll beforehand, just to confirm that it was the same activation technique his past self had used.
After confirming that everything matched—the stance, mana circulation, breathing technique—he hadn't needed to 'practice' at all. It was a skill he'd mastered so well in his previous life, his only true talent.
That was why he found it amusing that he had somehow taken the skill even further without any prior practice.
"Fire Storm," Shaman murmured, his grey eyes distant. "I barely remember the last time I saw someone use that skill in battle. It was a long time ago—and that's saying something, considering I've lived for centuries."
"You relied on pure rage and instinct to evolve your skill," Shaman continued. "I can tell just by looking at your mana reserves—they're severely depleted."
"I feel completely fine," Kion said.
"Not for long," Shaman replied evenly. "The effects of mana depletion won't kick in for another hour or two. I suggest you give your body proper time to rest and recharge. You need it more than him."
Kion nodded, turning to leave.
"Do you care about him?"
Kion stopped again, his mind swirling. He wasn't in the mood to answer questions he wasn't ready for—especially not ones from this old wizard. Besides, every extra second spent here meant he'd be late to the throne room.
He decided quickly: the faster he answered, the sooner he could leave.
"I don't really care about him," Kion replied. "My brother has been nothing but a nuisance my whole life. Why should I care?"
"Well," Shaman said, "if you hate him so much that you activated an evolved skill with no form or technique, then I suggest you stop hating him—or at least reduce it. The techniques in the talent scroll are meant to manage mana, to ensure it flows to the right places for efficient use.
"What you did was reckless—pouring out waves of mana from your body without any specific form. That could get you killed, young master."
"Anyway, I called you back because I wanted to give you this."
Shaman conjured another talent scroll from thin air and placed it in Kion's hands.
"I observed the way you recklessly activated [Fire Storm] and created a scroll for you to use it without potentially killing yourself. I hope you actually practice the technique this time. You are free to leave."
Kion stared at the scroll in his hands for what seemed like minutes. Then, after a pause, he said something Shaman hadn't expected—at least not yet.
"Thank you, wizard."
Kion left the workshop.
Shaman rubbed his forehead with his palm. "So, you can express gratitude, you cold mutt," he muttered.
In truth, what disappointed him wasn't that Kion had ignored his advice about meditating regularly for an ascension—it was that he had ignored the last three words Shaman had told him the last time they'd met in this very workshop.
Play the fool.
"Why didn't you listen? You just had to take the difficult path, didn't you?" Shaman wondered aloud.
After a moment, he stopped rubbing his forehead, waved his hand, and opened a grimwar, losing himself in other matters.