Lucas sat cross-legged on the cold floor of his isolated room, his breathing ragged, sweat dripping from his brow. The flickering candlelight barely illuminated the dark shadows clinging to the corners of the room, but he paid no mind to his surroundings. His thoughts were entirely consumed by the task before him.
Shatter the core. Destroy it completely.
The very thought sent shivers down his spine. It wasn't just about enduring pain—he had to willingly walk towards death, knowing full well that failure meant his life could end here. But Lucas wasn't the kind of person to back down. If he wanted to reach heights beyond his past self, he had to break the weak foundation he currently had and rebuild it stronger.
With a slow exhale, he shut his eyes, his mind diving deep into the core of his being. He found it—a small, fragile thing, pulsing weakly within him. His mana core. The source of all magic, yet in its current state, it was pitiful.
Destroy it.
He focused, gathering all the mana in his body and driving it inward like a self-inflicted dagger. The moment his mana crashed into the core, agony tore through him. His veins felt like they were set ablaze, his entire body spasming as his core cracked, splintering into pieces. The pain was unbearable—far worse than he had anticipated. His chest tightened, his breathing shallow as if his very soul was being torn apart.
His vision blurred, his mind on the verge of shutting down. Am I dying? The thought clawed at him, his fear gripping his throat like a vice. But he clenched his teeth, refusing to lose himself in terror. I've come too far for that.
With the last ounce of his willpower, he pushed through, fully breaking his core into dust. The pain reached a peak—his nerves screamed in protest, his bones ached, and his very soul felt like it was unraveling. Then, all at once, the agony faded, leaving behind an eerie silence.
Lucas gasped, collapsing onto his back, his body soaked in sweat. Every breath felt like fire in his lungs, but despite the exhaustion, a smile formed on his lips.
"Hah… I did it..." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of triumph.
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Lucas exhaled, his breath steady as he stared at his fingertip. A small flame flickered to life, its glow illuminating his sharp eyes.
His lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile. He whispered, his voice tinged with pride, "Perfect."
For months, he had fought against the impossible, battled through frustration, exhaustion, and pain. But now, the mana obeyed him—not in violent bursts, not in chaotic swirls, but with controlled, refined precision.
He leaned back into his chair, his body sinking into the plush fabric as he let the moment settle in. It had worked. After three months of relentless struggle, he had done it.
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Three months earlier…
Lucas sat cross-legged on the cold, hard floor, his breathing ragged. Sweat dripped down his forehead, soaking his clothes as he tried, and failed, once again to stabilize his mana core. It felt as though every time he got close, the core would shatter like fragile glass, collapsing under the weight of the energy he tried to refine.
"Damn it..." he muttered, rubbing his temples. His head pounded, his body ached, but more than anything, the frustration gnawed at him. He wasn't weak. He wasn't incompetent. Yet forming a mana core—something even children managed—eluded him.
He tried to analyze the process logically. Why did a mana core exist? What was its purpose?
Purification.
That was its function. To take the wild, untamed energy from the world and refine it into something usable.
His mind drifted back to his past life. He had worked in a high-pressure environment, where efficiency and optimization were the key to survival. Purification was a process found everywhere—from water filtration to refining precious metals. The key wasn't just compression but a structured, layered method to remove impurities while maintaining a constant flow.
He sighed, staring at the ceiling. Think, Lucas. Think.
A core should be more than just a container; it should act as a filter, continuously cycling out waste while absorbing only the purest essence. He needed something self-sustaining. A system that wouldn't stagnate.
That's when he remembered.
Mana Rotation.
Arthur had used a technique that allowed him to absorb mana constantly. Lucas had read about it before—back when he had the luxury of treating this world as mere fiction.
He sat up straight, his pulse quickening. If he could mimic that concept within the structure of his core, it could work.
Instead of a single, unstable formation, he would create a dynamic system—two opposing currents rotating in perfect sync. One drawing mana in, the other expelling impurities. A balance of upward and downward flow, like a never-ending cycle of purification.
The idea was simple in theory. Execution? A nightmare...
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The first month was nothing but failure.
Lucas's attempts to split his mana flow into two currents resulted in violent instability. He suffered backlash after backlash, his body convulsing as the conflicting forces tore through him. He woke up more times than he could count, face-down in a pool of his own sweat, teeth clenched from the pain.
But he refused to stop.
He adjusted the speed of the rotations, experimented with different directions, even tried layering additional filtration points—but each time, his core either collapsed under pressure or became too inefficient to sustain.
He grew leaner. His once flawless hands became calloused from gripping the edges of his chair, nails digging into the wood as he endured the pain of failure after failure.
Yet, through the struggle, something changed.
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By the second month, he began to feel subtle improvements. The rotation system started to hold—just barely. The mana flow stabilized for seconds longer before collapsing. He tweaked it further, adjusting the intake and output balance, ensuring neither overwhelmed the other.
Then, on the brink of exhaustion, he felt it.
For the first time, his core didn't break apart.
It was small, barely a flicker of success, but it held. A perfect cycle, absorbing and filtering in tandem. A self-sustaining core.
That breakthrough led to the next. And the next.
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By the third month, his core wasn't just stable—it was efficient. Unlike standard mana cores, which passively gathered mana in chunks, his functioned constantly, ensuring an uninterrupted stream of refined energy.
He reached the Light Stage of Orange, something he hadn't thought possible in such a short time. The difference was staggering. Mana flowed into him effortlessly, without the sluggishness of impurities clogging his system. His body felt lighter, stronger, sharper.
Now, seated comfortably in his chair, he marveled at the small flame dancing on his fingertip. It was a simple spell, but to him, it was proof.
Proof that he had survived. That he had won.
He smirked, his voice low yet filled with absolute certainty.
"This... is just the beginning."
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Lucas leaned back in his chair, fingers idly spinning a small flame at his fingertip. The flickering light danced in his golden eyes, its warmth caressing his skin like a long-lost friend. He let out a slow exhale, his lips curving into a smirk—one of satisfaction, of triumph.
He had done it.
After months of grueling struggle, endless trial and error, and a level of perseverance that nearly broke him, he had formed his mana core. And not just any core—one that defied the conventional structure, a creation bordering on insanity. A core that constantly filtered mana, continuously refining itself with each cycle.
His fingers curled slightly, the flame shrinking before flaring up again. He admired its control, its purity. The very fact that he had achieved this was both exhilarating and surreal.
"Perfectionist," he muttered under his breath, unaware of the pride lacing his voice.
For the first time in both his lives, Lucas found himself admiring his own work. He had always been good—exceptional, even—but this was something else entirely. This was a creation that only he could have achieved. A core designed through relentless logic, observation, and sheer unwillingness to settle for mediocrity.
His mind drifted back to his past life. The late nights hunched over reports, the endless pursuit of perfection in a world that rewarded only the ruthless. That mindset had carried over, shaping him into what he was now. He had theorized, broken himself down, rebuilt, shattered his limitations, and rose beyond them.
And now he sat here, a flickering flame between his fingers, proof of his success.
He dissipated the fire with a flick and let his head rest against the chair, eyes narrowing as he replayed the events of yesterday.
The letter.
The Asuras had taken control over the council.
Lucas's jaw tightened slightly. It wasn't surprising. He had suspected that this would have been done in the first month but it looks like he was wrong it took three months.
If he was right—and he usually was—then they had already taken Arthur and his bond to Epheotus.
A slow smirk tugged at his lips.
It looked like he truly saw him as nothing more than a bug. Insignificant. Beneath notice.
"Good," he murmured to himself. He didn't want to meet Arthur right now anyway. Not yet. Not until he was truly ready.
Lucas straightened, rolling his shoulders as he reached for a quill and parchment. His mana core was formed, his path clearer than ever. Now it was time to move forward.
Dipping the quill into ink, he began to write, his mind already racing ahead to the steps that would follow.
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