The crisp morning air of the academy's training grounds bit at Rudelion's skin, a refreshing chill that invigorated him. Below, the sprawling emerald fields, dotted with enchanted dummies and Mana-infused obstacles, stretched towards the distant, mist-shrouded peaks of the Sylvani Mountains. He stood at the edge of the highest observation deck, clad in the academy's standard training gear, a simple yet durable tunic and trousers. His blonde hair, catching the first rays of dawn, seemed to shimmer, and his heterochromatic eyes, royal purple and abyssal black, surveyed the scene with a predatory focus.
His recent Gacha harvest had filled him with a potent sense of readiness. His Mana capacity was significantly boosted, his Vitality and other physical stats were climbing, and his new skills – Mana Shield, Void Step, Mana Bolt, Basic Elemental Infusion, Arcane Ward, Basic Scrying, Blood Imprint Manifestation, and Mana Conduit Optimization – formed a formidable foundation for his personal power. This was no longer just theoretical. It was time to put it all into practice. Time to truly train.
He descended to one of the lesser-used training zones, an isolated stretch of ground where towering stone constructs loomed, designed for high-impact spell testing. The air here was thick with residual Mana, a testament to countless generations of students honing their craft. For Rudelion, it felt like home. This was his battlefield, his dojo.
He started with fundamental physical conditioning. Even with his increased Strength, Dexterity, and Vitality stats, his new body, while undeniably potent, lacked the ingrained muscle memory of his Murim peak. He needed to re-forge it, to marry the raw strength of his stats with the honed precision of his past life. He launched into a series of calisthenics – push-ups, sit-ups, squats, burpees. Simple, foundational exercises.
Within minutes, a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, but his breathing remained steady, his heart rate barely elevated. He pushed harder, visualizing his old self, the countless hours spent enduring punishment that would break lesser men. The academy's 'rigorous' physical training curriculum, which he had previewed, was laughable. A child's play compared to the hellish drills of the Demonic Cult.
"This doesn't even making me Sweat," he murmured, a faint, almost amused smile playing on his lips. The title of this arc, given to him by the System (or perhaps, a deeper, meta-awareness), felt profoundly apt. He wasn't sweating. Not truly. Not in the way he had once shed blood and tears under the unforgiving Murim sun.
He transitioned to movement drills. He began with simple sprints, testing his new body's speed and agility. Then, he focused on Void Step. He initiated the skill, a flicker of abyssal Mana, nearly invisible to the untrained eye, enveloped him, and he reappeared ten meters away, instantly, silently. He repeated it, pushing the range, testing the cooldown. It was fluid, seamless. Far superior to any Murim footwork technique, offering true spatial displacement. He could phase through thin walls, bypass obstacles, vanish and reappear in the blink of an eye. This was an assassin's dream, a perfect evasion tool, and a phenomenal offensive opening. He practiced until his Mana reserves felt slightly strained, the familiar ache of depletion a welcome sensation.
Next, Mana control. He extended his hand, focusing on Mana Bolt. This time, he didn't just unleash it. He practiced shaping it, compressing it, aiming for precision. The purple-black projectile, tinged with the cold essence of his Blood Imprint, solidified, becoming denser, faster. He then layered Basic Elemental Infusion over it. He chose 'Fire' first, envisioning a roaring flame. The Mana Bolt, still abyssal at its core, shimmered with a crimson aura, striking the stone construct with a sharp impact and leaving a faint scorch mark. He tried 'Ice,' then 'Wind,' each time adapting the core Mana Bolt with a different elemental veneer. This was crucial for camouflaging his true power and for adapting to different magical defenses.
He spent the latter half of the morning dedicated to defensive skills. Mana Shield. He activated it, feeling a transparent, shimmering barrier condense around his arm, radiating a faint, protective Mana signature. He mentally summoned one of the automated Mana projectors, setting it to a low-level 'Firebolt' setting. The projectile struck his shield, dissipating with a faint fizz. He increased the intensity, the shield holding firm, absorbing the impact, his Mana capacity slowly draining. This was reliable, sturdy defense.
He then tried Arcane Ward. Instead of forming around him, a shimmering Mana barrier coalesced in front of the stone construct, deflecting a barrage of elemental projectiles. It was less mobile, but more resilient, perfect for protecting a fixed position or an ally – though Rudelion had no intention of protecting anyone but himself for now.
His Arcane Insight passive was invaluable. As he practiced, his mind subconsciously analyzed the Mana flows, the structural integrity of the spells, optimizing his movements, reducing Mana expenditure. He felt his understanding of Mana deepen with every repetition, his control becoming more intuitive.
By midday, when most academy students were just beginning their more strenuous exercises, Rudelion had already completed a workout that would leave most accomplished mages gasping for breath. He paused, catching his breath, though his heart rate was still remarkably calm. His limbs felt pleasantly heavy, but there was no pain, no crippling exhaustion. His new body, enhanced by the System, was a phenomenal instrument, far exceeding the Murim standards he had once known.
He returned to his dorm for a quick refresh, then made his way to the 'Advanced Mana Theory' class. His mind was buzzing with the practical applications of his new skills, making the esoteric lectures feel far more relevant. He absorbed information like a sponge, his Intelligence and Arcane Insight working in tandem to rapidly assimilate complex theories.
During a discussion on 'Mana Resonance and Blood Imprint Compatibility,' Rudelion subtly activated his Blood Imprint Manifestation skill. He didn't want a full-blown display, just a faint shimmer, a deeper resonance of his Thaumiel affinity within his Mana signature. The instructor, a wizened old elf renowned for his Mana sensitivity, paused mid-sentence, his eyes flicking towards Rudelion for a brief moment, a flicker of professional curiosity in his Mana signature. He then continued, seemingly undisturbed, but Rudelion noted the subtle shift. It was a test. A calculated risk. And it had gone unnoticed, or at least, unremarked upon overtly. Good. Subtlety was key.
He continued his routine for the rest of the day, attending classes, completing his DAILY OBJECTIVES, each task feeling less like a chore and more like a deliberate step in his grand strategy. He ate in the dining hall, engaging in light, amiable conversation with various students, subtly gathering information, identifying their Mana strengths and weaknesses, noting their social circles. His Charisma score of 21 was truly potent. People seemed drawn to him, eager to talk, even to reveal small bits of personal information without prompting. He absorbed it all, a silent database for future manipulation.
In the evening, he received another 5 Gacha Tickets for his completed dailies. He still had 5 tickets from his previous pulls, bringing his total to 10. He decided to hold off on pulling until he hit 20 again, for the guaranteed Rare. Patience.
Before retiring for the night, he planned his next visit to the Whispering Grotto. He had nearly nine more hours of meditation to complete. He would continue to chip away at it nightly, pushing his Thaumiel Blood Imprint Awakening further, accumulating more Arcana Core Fragments.
As he lay in bed, the faint hum of his newly optimized Mana conduits a soothing rhythm, Rudelion reflected on his progress. He was systematically dismantling the narrative's hold over him. His body was strong, his Mana abundant, his skills growing. He was no longer just the sickly noble, or the destined final boss. He was Rudelion Von Thaumiel, a force of nature, steadily gaining control, shaping his own destiny.
The academy, once a symbol of his confinement, was now his personal training ground, his forge. And the challenges ahead, the protagonist, the heroines, the deeper plots of this world… they felt less like insurmountable obstacles and more like intricate puzzles waiting to be solved. And he was very, very good at puzzles. Especially when his life depended on the solution.
He wasn't sweating. Not yet. But the arduous journey of his redemption, his ultimate defiance of fate, had truly begun. And he was enjoying every calculated step.