The nights in the Graymore territory always bore a stagnant, suffocating silence, especially when the thin, ethereal snow began to drape the majestic stone towers of the castle. Inside the vast nursery, the light from the mana-infused crystals embedded in the walls dimmed automatically, casting a cold, sapphire-blue hue across the room. The silence was only occasionally broken by the rhythmic creak of ancient wooden furniture and the whistle of the wind as it howled through the gaps in the high, tightly sealed windows.
In the midst of this tranquility, inside a crib crafted from meticulously carved white teak, a small inhabitant was far from sleep. Razzaq Graymore—or rather, the ancient soul of Ki Bungkuk Jagad residing within him—was struggling to sit upright. His infant spine, still soft and underdeveloped, was being forced into a rigid, straight line, while his pudgy little legs were crossed in a perfect lotus position.
If an adult were to witness him now, they would rub their eyes in disbelief, convinced they were hallucinating a toddler meditating like a holy ascetic. His disproportionately large baby head wobbled slightly, but his focus was as immovable as a mountain.
Razzaq closed his silver-gray eyes. In the darkness of his inner mind, he no longer saw the physical world. Instead, he perceived millions of light particles floating in the air like dust caught in a sunbeam. The people of this world called it Mana—the fundamental fuel for knights to reinforce their flesh and for mages to manifest natural phenomena.
Coarse... far too coarse, Razzaq noted, meticulously analyzing the particles with his spiritual vision.
To a Grand Shaman from Nusantara, energy was as essential and fluid as breath. In his previous life, he was accustomed to Prana or Ancestral Breath, which flowed as gently as liquid silk, merging harmoniously with the rhythms of nature. However, the Mana in the continent of Asyama felt fundamentally different. These particles were like jagged, overheated metal shards—aggressive, chaotic, and volatile. They didn't want to flow; they wanted to explode.
This was precisely why the mages here required complex incantations to tame them, and the knights needed extraordinary physical constitutions just to contain this jagged energy within their muscles.
If I attempt to absorb this Mana directly with my current, unrefined energy circuits, I will succeed only in shredding my own internal organs, he reasoned with cold calculation.
Razzaq began to execute his grand design. He did not seek to absorb the external Mana. Instead, he utilized a micro-version of the Buried Meditation (Tapa Pendem). He locked his physical breath to its absolute minimum, slowing his infant heartbeat until it was nearly imperceptible to the naked ear. He concentrated all the original life-force already present within his own newborn cells, forcing it to circulate at the base of his spine.
Screech... the heat...
A sharp, searing pain began to crawl along his bone marrow. For a normal baby, this level of agony would trigger a hysterical crying fit capable of waking the entire castle. But Razzaq was Ki Bungkuk Jagad. His soul had been forged by centuries of spiritual suffering and asceticism. He locked his tiny jaw, suppressing the groan that threatened to escape.
He forced his inner energy to penetrate the microscopic pores of his bones, reinforcing their density and constructing wider, sturdier neural pathways before any external Mana could be introduced. Every second felt like an hour. Cold sweat began to bead on his tiny forehead. His pale skin gradually turned a deep crimson as his internal body temperature skyrocketed. He was forging his physical "vessel," ensuring that one day it could hold an ocean of power without shattering like glass.
Suddenly, Razzaq's spiritual vision caught a disturbance. Several small, flickering orbs of light, much smaller than regular mana particles, began to approach his window from the outside. These were Whisps—small, indigenous spirits of Asyama attracted to the unnatural density of Razzaq's radiating soul. They pressed against the glass, eager to taste the pure, refined energy emanating from the infant.
Noisy. Be gone, you astral vermin! Razzaq unleashed a psychic snap—a Spiritual Shout (Gertakan Batin).
He used no spells, no mana. He simply released a sliver of the raw killing intent lingering from his memories of the blood-soaked battlefields of Lawu. Instantly, an incredibly dense, cold aura exploded spiritually within the nursery. The small spirits trembled violently, as if they had just glimpsed a primordial predator awakening from an eon of slumber. In a flash, they scattered back into the darkness of the forest, not daring to look back.
To Razzaq, the spirits of this world were merely pests yet to be domesticated.
However, that burst of spiritual intent triggered something unexpected.
Outside the room, a woman walking down the corridor suddenly froze. Countess Nayla Graymore, who had just finished studying ancient magic scrolls in the library, felt a bizarre fluctuation of energy coming from her son's nursery. As a Rank 6 Mage (Arcane Blaster), her sensitivity to mana was acute, though it was ill-tuned to the occult frequencies Razzaq was using.
"This fluctuation... what is this?" Nayla murmured, her beautiful face turning pale. "Why does it feel so cold, so heavy? Razzaq!"
Nayla broke into a run and threw the nursery door open with a light burst of magic. She gasped at the sight. Razzaq wasn't lying down. The baby was sitting in a position entirely unnatural for an infant his age, his eyes closed, his small body emitting visible steam in the cold night air.
"Sky Gods... what is happening?!" Nayla approached in a panic. Her mind raced to horror stories of "Void-Born" babies possessed by wicked spirits or demons from the North. In the world of Asyama, a child being born with an empty soul only to be filled by an ancient entity was a terrifying legend.
Nayla immediately began to chant, her hands glowing. "Soothing Mana: Azure Wave!"
Soft blue light radiated from Nayla's palms, attempting to enter Razzaq's body to "calm" his energy flow. To a Western mage, this was standard first aid for mana instability. But for Razzaq, it was a catastrophe. The Western Mana his mother was forcing into him was jagged and discordant, clashing violently with the high-precision energy pathways he was currently tempering.
Damn it! Mother, stop! You'll blow my heart apart! Razzaq screamed internally.
A violent collision occurred within Razzaq's chest. His internal breath repelled Nayla's blue Mana with brutal, instinctual force. The room began to vibrate. The water glass on the bedside table cracked, and the mana lamps on the walls flickered wildly. Nayla was thrown back a step by the powerful energy recoil.
In that critical moment, the door opened again. Count Ragil Graymore entered with heavy strides that made the floorboards groan. As a Rank 7 Knight (Flow Master), his presence carried tangible physical pressure. His knightly aura—steeped in combat intent—filled the room like a sudden increase in gravity.
Razzaq felt the pressure. For a normal baby, the presence of a Rank 7 Knight in a state of high alert like this could cause permanent mental trauma. But Razzaq only felt wary. Within his soul, he compared Ragil's aura to one of the traitorous kings from Nusantara.
Weak... Razzaq thought for a fleeting moment. My father is strong by this world's standards, but he wouldn't last a second against those who ambushed me at Lawu. However, for my current physical form... he is far too heavy.
"Nayla! What are you doing?!" Ragil's voice thundered, his eyes locked onto Razzaq, who looked like a glowing red statue.
"I don't know, Ragil! I felt something wrong with his body! It's as if he's fighting his own energy!" Nayla cried, her hands trembling.
Razzaq realized he had to act immediately before his father performed a deeper scan that could unearth the secret of his soul. He had to resort to his most humiliating tactic once more. He abruptly cancelled his entire energy circulation—a forceful act that left him feeling intensely nauseous.
"Oweee! Oweeee! Maaa-maaa... Oweee!"
Razzaq deliberately collapsed onto his side, rolling onto his silk blankets and beginning to wail with the frightened, erratic pitch of a terrified infant. He reached out with his chubby hands, staring at Nayla with eyes he intentionally made watery and wide, as if he had just woken from a horrific nightmare. He even managed to produce a bit of drool and snot to complete the image of a clueless, helpless baby.
Nayla immediately scooped Razzaq into her arms, clutching him tightly to her chest. "Oh, thank the gods! He's back! He's crying! Ragil, he's alright!"
Count Ragil approached, placing a massive, calloused hand on Razzaq's head. He used his Flow Master ability to scan the energy flow within his son. Razzaq quickly locked all of his internal energy into a singular point deep within his lower abdomen—the Dantian or Puser—masking it as the mana-void typically found in unawakened children.
"Hm..." Ragil hummed deeply, his brow furrowed. "The flow is chaotic, but it seems to be nothing more than a natural mana surge accidentally triggered by the extreme cold. He isn't possessed, Nayla. He is just... far too active for a child his age."
Ragil locked eyes with Razzaq. For a moment, there was a silent exchange between the Flow Master and the Grand Shaman. Ragil felt a strange density within those gray eyes, but he quickly dismissed it. How could a baby only a few months old possess such a gaze? I must simply be exhausted from the border patrol.
"My Lord! My Lady! What happened?!"
Clara rushed in, breathless, carrying a warm bottle of milk and fresh towels. She saw the tense atmosphere and immediately felt a wave of guilt. "Forgive me! I only went to the kitchen for a moment to prepare the Young Master's milk! Is he ill?"
"He is fine, Clara," Nayla said, wiping her tears. "Only... guard him more closely. He often does strange things when we aren't looking."
Clara approached Razzaq, taking him from Nayla's arms with infinite gentleness. "Oh, my sweet Young Master... you gave everyone quite a scare. Were you just trying to learn how to sit? Do you want to be a great knight like the Count already?"
Razzaq could only offer a soft, muffled whimper in Clara's embrace. Thank you for the defense, Clara, even though you have no idea what actually transpired.
After his parents left with lingering worry on their faces, silence reclaimed the nursery. Clara busied herself rocking Razzaq until he finally "drifted off." But the moment Clara fell asleep on the sofa beside his crib, Razzaq's gray eyes snapped open once more in the dark.
He felt his body. Despite nearly meeting disaster due to his mother's intervention, tonight's practice had not been in vain. He could feel that his energy circuits in the heart and spine were significantly sturdier. He had successfully touched the fundamental foundation. In the world of knights, this was the beginning of what was known as the Awakened Spark, though technically he had not awakened Western Mana at all.
The vessel is taking shape, Razzaq stared at the ceiling with a hidden, cynical smile.
He realized that the path to becoming a high-tier knight or a grand mage in this world would be utterly boring if he followed their crude methods. He would create his own path—one that merged the raw power of Asyama's Mana with the surgical precision of Nusantara's Ancestral Breath.
I'll let you think I'm manaless or just a strange babe for now, he thought, closing his eyes to return to a lighter state of meditation. But when this vessel is strong enough to hold my entire soul... I will show this world the true meaning of a Grand Shaman.
That night, Razzaq did not dream of Lawu. He began to dream of how he would dismantle the power standards of the Asyama continent, one meditation step at a time, under the watchful, unknowing eyes of his loyal maid.