Asher's POV
I didn't train the moment I woke up.
That alone would've shocked anyone who knew me from the past two weeks.
Instead, I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, listening to my own breathing. It was steady. Deep. Not forced. Each inhale felt fuller than before, as if my lungs were drawing in more than just air. Each exhale carried a faint warmth with it, spreading through my chest and limbs.
My body felt heavy.
Not sluggish. Not sore.
Heavy in the sense that everything had weight now—proper weight. Like my muscles, bones, and tendons had finally agreed on how much strength they were supposed to carry.
"That's new," I murmured.
I stretched slowly. No sharp aches followed, only a dull resistance that melted away as I moved. My joints didn't protest. My balance didn't waver when I stood.
I washed up, dressed, and ate in silence. I didn't rush. Didn't force anything. Whatever state I was in, I didn't want to disturb it with impatience.
Only after everything settled did I step outside.
The morning air felt different against my skin. Cooler. Denser. The faint presence of mana clung to it like dew, brushing past my senses without resistance. I could feel it moving around me, not reacting, not retreating—just existing.
The terrace was already occupied.
Darek stood there with his spear, sweat dripping from his arms as he ran through thrusts and footwork. His movements were sharper now, more grounded. He wasn't just swinging anymore—every step had intent behind it.
He noticed me mid-drill and slowed.
He didn't smile.
Didn't joke.
Just stared.
"…You're different," he said.
I tilted my head slightly. "In a good way, I hope."
He frowned, eyes narrowing like he was trying to put a feeling into words. "You feel… settled. Like you stopped wobbling."
I snorted. "I didn't know I was wobbling."
"You were," he said immediately. "You just hid it better than most."
That earned a laugh out of me.
I set my practice sword down against the wall but didn't pick it up.
"Today," I said instead.
Darek nodded. "Yeah. I figured."
There was no need to explain what that meant.
I started with the basics.
No sword. No spear. No tricks.
Just movement.
I dropped into a low stance and began cycling through physical drills—slow squats, deliberate lunges, controlled jumps. Every movement was measured. Every muscle engaged exactly when it should.
My breathing guided everything.
Inhale.
Mana flowed naturally, circulating through familiar pathways without resistance.
Exhale.
The flow deepened.
I increased the pace gradually, pushing harder than before. Push-ups until my arms burned, then holding the lowest position until my muscles trembled violently. Static stances that demanded balance, strength, and endurance all at once.
The strain came quickly.
But it didn't overwhelm me.
Instead of spiraling into fatigue, the pressure spread evenly through my body, as if every part of me was sharing the burden instead of dumping it onto a single weak point.
I adjusted my breathing.
The pressure eased—not disappearing, but stabilizing.
That was the moment I knew.
I guided the mana a little faster.
Not reckless.
Not greedy.
Just enough to test the boundary I'd reached.
Heat bloomed under my skin. Not surface heat—deep heat, radiating from muscle to bone. My skeleton vibrated faintly, a low hum that resonated through my chest. Tendons stretched, tightened, then locked into place like reinforced cables.
The sensation was intense.
Not painful.
Demanding.
Like every cell in my body was being asked a simple question.
Can you hold this?
I stayed still.
Didn't force.
Didn't resist.
I let the answer come on its own.
Something inside me shifted.
There was no explosion. No dramatic surge. No flash of light.
Just a quiet, internal click.
Like a final piece sliding into place.
My breathing evened out without conscious effort. Mana circulation smoothed on its own, no longer needing guidance to remain stable. The pressure faded, replaced by a deep, steady strength that sat comfortably inside my body.
I opened my eyes.
The terrace looked the same.
The city sounded the same.
But my body felt… complete.
Not stronger in a flashy way.
Just finished.
I stood up slowly, half-expecting dizziness or weakness.
Nothing happened.
My feet felt rooted to the ground. My balance was perfect, even as I shifted my weight. My center of gravity felt lower, more stable.
Darek let out a low whistle.
"So that's Rank 1," he muttered.
"It feels like it," I replied.
"…Show-off."
I grinned.
We sparred after that.
Nothing serious. No full-power strikes. Just testing.
Even restrained, the difference was obvious.
When Darek pressured me with his spear, my footing didn't shift instinctively anymore. I adjusted deliberately, efficiently. The impact of each parry traveled cleanly through my arms instead of rattling my joints.
When I picked up the wooden sword, it felt lighter—not because it weighed less, but because my body no longer fought against its movement.
The blade moved where I intended it to.
No hesitation.
No overcorrection.
Darek noticed immediately.
"Damn," he said after I redirected a thrust with minimal movement. "You're not just faster. You're… steadier."
"That's a compliment, right?"
"Unfortunately."
He laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Guess I've got catching up to do."
"You're close," I said. "I can tell."
His grin widened. "Good. Wouldn't want you getting bored."
We sat on the terrace afterward, backs against the wall, watching the city wake fully. Mana-powered lights dimmed as daylight took over. People moved through the streets below, unaware that anything significant had happened.
To them, it was just another morning.
To me, it felt like a line had been crossed.
That night, lying in bed, the exhaustion finally settled in. Not the draining kind—the satisfying kind. The kind that told you something had been built properly.
As my breathing slowed and my thoughts drifted, I felt it.
That familiar presence.
Quiet.
Patient.
Then—
Ding!
End of Chapter 10 — "Reaching Rank 1 (2)"
End of Volume 1