The training grounds were quiet.
Not the calm, comforting kind of silence—
but the heavy, suffocating kind that pressed against the lungs and made every breath feel deliberate.
Azriah stood alone at the center.
Barefoot against the cold stone.
Body still.
Mind sharp.
In his hands—
mana stones.
A dozen of them.
They pulsed faintly.
Each one containing condensed mana, compressed and stabilized for safe usage.
Safe—
under normal circumstances.
Azriah exhaled slowly.
'…Let's push it.'
Sham appeared instantly.
"…You're about to do something stupid."
Azriah ignored him.
His fingers tightened.
Crack.
The stones shattered in his grip.
Mana erupted.
Not a steady flow—
not a controlled stream—
but a violent surge.
Like a flood breaking through a dam.
Energy poured into his body all at once.
Unfiltered.
Unrestrained.
"—Hnn—!"
His body jolted.
Muscles tensed violently.
Veins flared.
A thin line of blood slipped from the corner of his lips.
Sham's expression darkened.
"You idiot—this isn't controlled intake—"
Azriah said nothing.
The pain—
was familiar.
His mana circuits ignited.
Burned.
Expanded.
The very pathways Asta had forced open—
were now being tested.
Reinforced.
Or destroyed.
His core trembled under the pressure.
Pulsing erratically.
For a moment—
it felt like it would collapse.
But it didn't.
It endured.
Mana surged again—
then again—
forcing itself through every channel, scraping away impurities, tearing at imperfections, burning weakness out of existence.
Time lost meaning.
Pain became everything.
Then—
Silence.
The energy settled.
Azriah stood still.
Breathing slow.
Measured.
He opened his eyes.
"…Sham remind me not to do it again."
But this time—
there was something different.
Clarity.
He could feel it.
His mana circuits—
stronger.
Denser.
Refined.
Cleaner.
Sham exhaled slowly.
"…You are actually a lunatic but you did survive that hats off for that."
Azriah wiped the blood from his lip with a smile he said-
'Hey ,it works you can't deny it right?'
Sham stared.
"…You're insane."
Footsteps approached.
Measured.
Familiar.
Asta.
She stopped a few steps away.
Her eyes scanned him once.
Then—
she nodded.
"Well done."
Azriah glanced at her.
"…You're not going to question it?"
Asta's tone remained calm.
"I expected nothing less."
Then—
"Your core has stabilized."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And now—"
A slight shift in posture.
"—we begin."
Azriah straightened slightly.
"Your mana circuits…"
Asta continued,
"…are among the most intricate in recorded magical history."
Even Sham went quiet at that.
Asta stepped forward.
"Making them durable…was necessary and it will help with creating your chronicle too"
Then—
she drew her sword.
A simple motion.
Yet—
everything changed.
"Watch carefully."
Azriah focused.
Every sense locked onto her.
Mana gathered.
Not violently.
Not chaotically.
But perfectly.
Controlled.
Refined.
Absolute and utterly beautiful.
It flowed around her blade like a second skin.
Luminous.
Soft.
Deadly.
Then—
she moved.
A single slash.
And the world responded.
A crescent of light formed in the air—
pale, silver-blue—
its edges flickering like a newborn star.
Unstable.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
Fragments of light trailed behind it like broken time itself.
The air trembled.
Then—
the crescent struck.
The training dummy—
didn't break.
It vanished.
Erased.
Azriah's breath caught.
But Asta wasn't finished.
The air warped again.
Distorted—
like reality itself was being pulled apart.
Then—
they appeared.
Dozens of crescent blades.
Then—
hundreds.
They spiraled around her, forming a violent storm of cutting light.
The sky dimmed slightly—
as if illumination itself was being carved into pieces.
And then—
everything surged forward.
The crescents tore through space.
The dummy—
ceased to exist.
Not destroyed.
Removed.
Silence followed.
Asta lowered her blade.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Then—
she turned to Azriah.
He stood frozen.
Gazing at the empty space.
"…As you saw," she began,
"each member of Antioch develops their own Chronicle."
She stepped closer.
"My sword art my lunar mana."
A faint glow shimmered around her again.
Soft.
Elegant.
Deadly.
"I condense it into blades."
Thin constructs flickered briefly into existence around her hand.
Sharp.
Perfectly shaped.
"This is the foundation of Antioch swordsmanship."
Azriah listened intently.
"I overloaded your core…"
Asta continued,
"…so you could withstand this process."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Only a antiochs biology is suited for this process ."
A pause.
"And you don't have that advantage."
Azriah said nothing.
"But you are not ordinary."
A brief silence.
"You carry the core of a god."
Sham shifted slightly at that.
Asta stepped back.
"Now."
A pause.
"Your turn."
Azriah inhaled slowly.
Then focused.
Mana gathered.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He reached inward.
Grasped it.
Forced it outward.
It resisted.
His circuits strained immediately.
Pain flared again—
sharp—
intense.
But he didn't stop.
He compressed the mana.
Shaped it.
Forced structure into chaos.
His core pulsed violently.
Then—
something formed.
A blade.
Thin.
Unstable.
Flickering like it might collapse at any moment.
But it was there.
A mana sword made of his ice mana.
Azriah stared at it.
"…I did it."
Sham blinked.
"…First try."
Asta smiled faintly.
"Well done."
For a brief moment—
Azriah felt it.
Satisfaction.
Then—
it shattered.
"Do not celebrate."
His expression froze.
"That…"
Asta said calmly,
"…is just one."
She turned slightly.
"And you will need more."
Azriah frowned.
"…How many?"
Asta answered without hesitation.
"Millions."
Silence.
Azriah stared at her dumbfoundedly.
"…That's impossible."
Asta just smiled.
"I can create as many as i can imagine."
And with that—
she walked away.
Leaving him standing alone.
Holding his single unstable blade.
His arm trembling slightly from the strain.
Slowly—
the blade dissolved.
Azriah exhaled.
Long.
Heavy.
Then turned slightly toward Sham.
'…Remind me.'
A pause.
Then—
'Never to provoke her.'
Sham nodded immediately.
"…Already noted."
Azriah looked back at the empty field.
Where existence itself had been erased moments ago.
Then down at his hand.
Where a single fragile blade had barely formed.
A long path ahead.
A brutal one.
But for the first time—
he understood.
This—
was power.
And he had only just begun to touch it.