He took a few steps toward the door, but suddenly, his knees buckled.
A violent wave of dizziness struck him like a hammer. The floor rose to meet him, and Sion dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. Cold sweat slicked his back. Something was wrong—deeply wrong. This body felt fragile, unstable. He could feel his magical essence lashing out within him like chaotic wind trapped in a fragile vase.
With gritted teeth, he shut his eyes and slipped into a meditative stance, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. Drawing in a slow breath, he reached inward. The moment he connected with his core, his soul shuddered.
Two magic circles—dim, cracked, barely functioning. Like fractured rings in a spinning void. They were weak and on the brink of collapse, their energy leaking and trembling under strain. If he'd pushed his body even slightly harder, he would have ruptured them. Magic instability could kill him from within.
His eyes snapped open, filled with disbelief. "Raphaël! What the hell is this?! You seriously expect me to defeat twelve fallen angels in this pitiful condition?! You must be joking!"
A small flicker of divine light shimmered to his left. With a sleepy yawn, Raphaël floated into view—a childlike angel with white robes, silver-blonde hair, a halo lazily spinning above her head, and feathered wings that shimmered faintly.
"Why are you so noisy all of a sudden?!" she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Is it about your magic condition? You can fix that! You were the most powerful human in your world, remember? It's just... well... you have to awaken it again."
Sion narrowed his eyes. "I just felt like dying all over again."
"You dummy," Raphaël said with a teasing smirk, hovering beside him. "Focus. Channel your soul's energy, not your body's. The mana here is thick. Use it. Pull it into you. Build from the foundation that's already there."
He nodded slowly, letting out a sharp breath. "Alright then. Let's try this."
Sion slipped deeper into meditation. This time, he extended his awareness beyond his broken inner circles. He could feel it now—the mana of this world, thick and rich, like a current of invisible life weaving through the air. He opened himself to it, drawing it into his core. The unstable magic circles responded with tremors, like dying embers catching fire again.
With precise control and the hardened will of a war-hardened king, Sion began to reshape them. Hours passed as he refined, reinforced, and repaired the damage. Slowly but surely, a third circle formed, fusing with the others in perfect harmony. The mana swirled around him, bathing him in a faint glow. His breathing grew steadier, his heart lighter.
When he opened his eyes again, there was strength in them—a deep, contained fire.
Then—
BANG!
The door slammed open. Sion tensed.
A middle-aged man with greyed hair and a worn uniform stood in the doorway, panting and wide-eyed. "Young Master Sion! You must hurry!"
Sion's brows furrowed. "Who are you?"
The man bowed hurriedly. "I'm Jerin, your family's head butler. There's no time to explain Lady Janet is in danger! Please come with me, now!"
"What happened?" Sion rose to his feet immediately
Jerin's face was pale. "The knights—they're harassing her! Beating her—touching her inappropriately. She's helpless in the training grounds.
Silence.
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Sion's face darkened, his jaw clenched so hard that it popped. His eyes gleamed with a cold, calculated fury.
Raphaël blinked. "Whoa... that's a really scary look."
Jerin stepped back, visibly unsettled by the sudden shift in aura. "Y-Young Master... are you alright?"
Sion's voice was calm, but beneath it, a storm brewed. "Who is responsible?"
"T-The Knight Captain and several of his subordinates," Jerin stammered. "They've always looked down on your family. They said no one would care..."
He didn't need to hear more.
Sion strode past Jerin, his steps silent, his presence suffocating. The air grew heavier around him, mana curling at his fingertips. He was no longer just the boy they used to beat.
He was King Allen—resurrected in rage.
And the training grounds were about to become a battlefield.