During the following week, Lusian maintained his training routine alongside the elderly Albert, who showed him no mercy whatsoever. More weight, more repetitions, more precision in every sword strike; each session of meditation and mana circulation felt like fire burning down to the bones. Sweat and concentration blended together, and yet the results were visible. Lusian's internal flow of mana increased slowly—barely a denser thread of energy compared to the previous week—but it was stable.
Albert observed him with the restrained satisfaction of someone watching a disciple improve.
—Your control has improved —he said one morning, while they measured energy concentration in a crystal sphere—. If you keep this pace, you will soon reach the threshold of the Lords.
Lusian nodded, aware that power did not depend solely on training. In this world, strength was also consumed. Every bite could reinforce the mana core—or leave it stagnant.
Mana, the life energy that flowed through all living beings, could be absorbed in multiple ways. Magical creatures, fruits that grew in blessed lands, and minerals born from enchanted soil all contained concentrated fragments of that power. Consuming them was not merely a pleasure; it was an act of survival, a way of feeding on the world and turning it into personal strength. The flesh of high-rank monsters, juicy and saturated with mana, was a treasure devoured solemnly by nobles. Exotic plants, delicate and short-lived, would wither within minutes if taken from their habitat. Liquids and fruits from magical lands could be turned into soups and wines that strengthened body and spirit, but only the wealthy could afford them.
Lusian had learned this through conversations with Albert. Most of the population survived on plain meat and tasteless herbs, unable to access the pure energy that nobles squandered at their tables. The ducal banquets were rituals of power: cuts of enchanted beasts, soups that glowed with mana light, and fruits that shimmered under the moon. Every meal strengthened body and spirit, as if the very energy of the world flowed into the fortunate.
It was a brutally unfair system—but an efficient one. Lusian understood it while holding a piece of freshly prepared meat, warm and glowing under the kitchen light: training alone was not enough; one had to devour the power of the world itself to become something more than a mere apprentice. Eating was a privilege. Eating was growth. Eating was, ultimately, survival.
As he chewed slowly, Lusian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His mind was not only absorbing nutrients—it was absorbing rules, strategies, possibilities. In a world like this, every decision, every movement, every bite could mean the difference between life and death, between dominance and irrelevance.
And Lusian knew he was not willing to be left behind.
One afternoon, after exhausting training, Lusian reclined in the garden while Umber, the black wolf, slept peacefully beside him. The air smelled of damp earth and freshly bloomed flowers; for the first time in days, an unexpected calm settled in his chest.
Sophia appeared shortly after, moving with that natural elegance that seemed to surround her like light. She greeted Lusian with a kiss on the cheek and sat beside him, holding a letter sealed with golden wax.
—A letter from the palace —she said, her voice soft like a whisper among the leaves.
Lusian examined the seal: the royal emblem of the Kingdom of Aldarion gleamed under the sunlight.
—What is this? —he asked, curious.
—An invitation —Sophia replied, barely smiling—. To the royal hunting tournament. It marks the beginning of the academic year at the academy. All heirs of the main houses are invited.
Lusian raised an eyebrow.
—And do I really have to go?
Sophia let out a short laugh and, almost absentmindedly, pinched his cheek—a gesture that had become habitual between them. Lusian, surprisingly, did not mind it. That affection, even if she was not his biological mother, reminded him he was not completely alone.
—It's important that you attend —Sophia said, gently brushing his chin—. The tournament is not just a competition: it's politics, alliances, prestige.
—We could just say I'm sick —he tried joking—. Duke's cough, you know?
She shook her head with patience and determination.
—That's not an option. In three days, in the morning, I will take you to the Cymopelia Forest. There we will form the group that will accompany you.
The name of the forest sent a chill through him. Cymopelia: treacherous swamps, dense foliage, and swarms of insect-like beasts. He recalled, with embarrassment, the nightmare that had been the game's tutorial, where dying 1,372 times before discovering the boss's weakness was only the beginning of a cycle of frustration and pain.
Sophia noticed the shadow in his expression and placed a hand on his arm.
—Are you alright?
—Yes —he lied, straightening his posture—. Just remembering something about the forest.
She nodded, but added in a practical tone:
—You will not go alone. Each house may present three representatives; each representative will have a group of fifteen warriors. In addition, you will have Thunder and Umber with you.
—Is it allowed to bring magical beasts? —he asked, surprised.
—There is no rule against it —Sophia replied firmly—. And I would not tolerate anyone complaining. No one would dare.
Even so, the certainty in her voice did not fully calm Lusian. When Sophia left, he remained alone with his thoughts. The images of the tutorial returned in waves: the tournament had been the first link in a chain that ended with the assassination of the crown prince and a cascade of tragedies. His stomach tightened; his hands began to sweat. Not because of the competition, but because of what it could trigger.
Among those memories, another idea emerged: the Denisse family. In his player's memory, the Denisse were threads of imperial betrayal and power. A cold, utilitarian thought formed in his mind: if he could weaken the Denisse, he might be able to cut one of the empire's main sources of support. Dangerous, yes. But tempting.