The morning light on the outskirts of Dragonbone Valley felt different. There was no birdsong, no hum of insects. There was only the dry wind carrying ancient calcium dust, creating a silence that pressed heavily on the soul.
Elian opened his eyes slowly.
The first thing he noticed wasn't pain. On the contrary, it was the startling absence of pain. The memory of hellfire burning his internal organs last night was still fresh, but this morning, his body felt... dense.
He sat up, the fur blanket sliding off his bare shoulders. Elian stared at his hands. His skin was still porcelain white, his fingers slender and tapered like those of a pianist or a noble princess. To the naked eye, there were no bulging muscles or terrifyingly prominent veins. His appearance remained deceptive: fragile, beautiful, and androgenous.
However, when Elian clenched his fist, he felt the difference.
There was a low hum within his bones. They no longer felt like dry twigs ready to snap, but like iron bars embedded in concrete. The Dragonblood Nightshade hadn't given him massive muscles; it had compacted his skeletal structure to a degree unnatural for a human.
"You're awake, Sleeping Beauty?"
Lunaria's voice broke his reverie. The Elf Queen sat at the mouth of the cave, twirling a dagger around her fingers. She tossed a leather water skin toward Elian.
Elian caught it. Snap.
The sound of the catch was crisp. Before, Elian's hand might have wavered slightly under the weight of a full water skin. Now, his hand didn't move a millimeter upon impact.
"Your bones absorbed the essence well," Lunaria commented, her purple eyes scanning Elian's body with the analytical gaze of a teacher. "Now, at least if I hit you with a stick, you won't crack immediately."
Elian drank greedily, feeling the cool liquid soothe his dry throat. "Are we going back to the tree?"
"No," Lunaria stood, dusting off her black silk robe. "The journey home is your training. The distance from here to our base is about fifty kilometers through dense forest terrain. You are forbidden from using Wind Step. You must run purely on your new physique. I want to see if your legs can support your own body weight now that it has changed."
Elian nodded, standing up and putting on his tattered, bloodstained tunic. He tied his long black hair—which now reached his mid-back—with a scrap of cloth into a high ponytail to keep it out of his eyes.
"Let's go," Lunaria commanded.
They began to run.
At first, Elian felt awkward. His body felt heavier—not in the sense of being fat, but his density had increased. Every time his foot struck the ground, he left a deeper footprint than before.
"Control, Elian!" shouted Lunaria, who ran lightly beside him, barely touching the ground. "Don't fight gravity. You are heavier than you look now. If you stomp too hard, you'll damage your own joints and kill your momentum. Flow!"
Elian tried to adjust. He took a deep breath, trying to listen to the rhythm of the forest.
The first five kilometers were an adaptation hell. His new muscles screamed for more oxygen. His lungs—not yet fully accustomed to processing mana efficiently—burned.
However, entering the tenth kilometer, something happened.
Elian began to find his rhythm. He stopped trying to jump high. Instead, he started using his weight as a weapon of momentum. When descending a slope, he let his body fall forward, catching that momentum with quick, short steps, sliding like a rolling stone.
Trees blurred past him. The wind slapped his face.
For the first time in his life, Elian felt the sensation of physical power. Not magical power borrowed from nature, but power that came from within himself.
***
By midday, they stopped at a small clearing near a rocky river.
"Ten-minute break," Lunaria said. She didn't look tired in the slightest; her breathing hadn't even changed. Meanwhile, Elian was gasping for air, sweat soaking his entire body, making his tunic cling tight, outlining his slender frame.
"You're slow," Lunaria criticized mercilessly. "But your endurance has increased drastically. A normal human your age would have fainted at kilometer five."
Lunaria walked to the center of the clearing and picked up two straight sticks the size of swords. She threw one to Elian.
"Stand up," she ordered.
Elian groaned internally, his legs feeling like lead, but he forced himself up. He gripped the wooden stick with both hands.
"Up until now, I've let you fight with wild instinct," Lunaria said, taking a relaxed stance. "That's good for survival, but bad for killing a trained opponent. The Tracker Captain you killed yesterday? He lost because he underestimated you and the swamp terrain helped you. If that had been a fight on flat ground, you would have died ten times over."
Elian knew it was true. He looked down. "I don't have Aura to strengthen my attacks, Master. How can I penetrate their steel defense?"
"That is the flaw in human thinking," Lunaria scoffed. "You always think about smashing the rock. Why smash it if you can stab through the cracks?"
Lunaria raised her stick, pointing it at the tip of Elian's nose.
"Because you have no Aura Core, you cannot perform a Burst. You cannot win a contest of strength. Therefore, your fighting style must be Absolute Precision and Efficiency."
"Attack me," Lunaria challenged.
Elian didn't hesitate. He dashed forward, swinging his wooden stick vertically toward Lunaria's shoulder. The swing was fast, powered by his new muscles.
Clack!
With a minimal flick of her wrist, Lunaria parried Elian's attack. Elian's stick was knocked aside, leaving his defense wide open.
Thud!
Lunaria's stick slammed into Elian's ribs.
"Ugh!" Elian stumbled back two steps, clutching his side. It hurt, but his ribs didn't break. The dragon bone was working.
"Too wide," Lunaria commented coldly. "You wasted energy raising the sword that high. You exposed your armpit, your chest, and your neck. Again."
Elian attacked again. This time a horizontal thrust.
Clack! Thud!
Parried easily again, and this time Lunaria's stick struck Elian's thigh.
"Too slow on the retraction. You committed too much to the attack. If you miss, you die. Again."
The afternoon was spent with Elian getting beaten black and blue. He fell, got up, got hit, fell again. His body was covered in fresh bruises. Yet, every time he fell, he learned something.
He learned that he didn't need to swing the sword with full power. He just needed to swing fast enough to touch the target.
He learned that human eyes are easily deceived. A feint of the shoulder, a misleading gaze, an off-beat footstep.
"Use your eyes!" Lunaria barked when Elian failed to block a strike to the head. "You are a Child of the World! Don't just look with those pathetic retinas of yours! Feel my intent!"
Elian closed his eyes for a moment, regulating his ragged breathing. He tried to ignore the pain all over his body. He tried to expand his awareness.
The wind shifted. The grass depressed.
He felt the shift in Lunaria's weight before she moved.
Left.
Elian opened his eyes and—instead of blocking—he tilted his head slightly to the right.
Whoosh!
Lunaria's stick passed just a millimeter from his left ear.
Without thinking, Elian's body moved on its own. He didn't strike. He slid into Lunaria's guard—in-fighting range—and pressed the tip of his stick against Lunaria's slender neck.
Silence.
They froze in position. Lunaria's stick was in the air beside Elian's head, while the tip of Elian's stick rested on Lunaria's jugular vein.
Elian's breathing was heavy, his black eyes staring sharply into his teacher's purple ones. For a moment, a cold killing intent radiated from his small body.
The corner of Lunaria's lips lifted into a faint smile.
"Not bad," Lunaria whispered. She lowered her weapon. "That is what I call a Counter. You don't block; you flow past the opponent's attack."
Elian withdrew his stick and bowed respectfully, though his legs trembled with exhaustion. "Thank you, Master."
"Don't get cocky," Lunaria tossed her stick away. "That was just the basics. You succeeded because I held my speed at Tier 2. If I used my real speed, your head would have rolled before you realized I moved."
The Elf woman turned and walked toward the river. "Wash up. We're moving out. We have to reach the Mother Tree before nightfall."
As Elian washed his face in the river, he saw his reflection again. His beautiful face was now adorned with a blue bruise on his cheek and a scratch on his forehead. Yet, the look in his eyes was becoming increasingly foreign to him.
It reminded him of the eyes of the wolf he had killed. The gaze of a patient predator.
"World..." Elian whispered to the flowing water. "If you want my death, you'll have to send more than just pain."
***
That night, they arrived back at the giant hollow tree that served as their home. The place felt like a luxurious palace after sleeping in a hard rock cave.
Elian sat at the rough wooden table, cleaning the Elven short sword Lunaria had given him—the sword he had used to slaughter the trackers. Its slender blade gleamed under the light of the crystal mushrooms.
"Elian," Lunaria called. She was sitting in her rocking chair, reading an ancient scroll.
"Yes, Master?"
"Do you know why the Solara Empire is so desperate to hunt down your family?" Lunaria asked suddenly. A topic rarely discussed.
Elian's hand stopped polishing the sword. "Because Father was too strong? Because they feared Father would rebel?"
"That is the reason they gave to the public," Lunaria shook her head slowly. "Human politics is not that simple. Duke Garrick Vane wasn't just a powerful general. He was the Guardian of the 'Northern Gate'. And rumors say he found something in the ruins of the Void border ten years ago. Something that scared the Solara Emperor half to death."
Elian frowned. "Something? Father never told me."
"Of course not. You were a baby then," Lunaria stared at Elian sharply. "But there is a possibility... that 'something' is related to you. Related to why this World loves you so much, Elian. Why mana doesn't hurt you, why fate seems to protect you from absolute death."
Elian's heart raced. Was his suffering not just political bad luck, but part of a greater destiny?
"You'll have to find that out for yourself later," Lunaria continued, returning to her scroll as if the conversation was unimportant. "The Solara Empire, the Holy Church of Celestia... they are all hiding the true history of this world. If you want revenge, you can't just kill people. You have to kill the truth they created."
Elian fell silent. The burden on his shoulders felt heavier. He wasn't just a victim of a civil war; he was the key to something he didn't yet understand.
"But before that," Lunaria closed her scroll and looked at Elian with a devilish grin. "Tomorrow we start real weapons training. Forget swords. I will teach you to use everything as a weapon. Forks, stones, sand, even your own cloak. Because in the outside world... true knights rarely fight fair."
Elian looked at the short sword in his hand, then at his empty hand which now possessed bones as hard as dragon steel.
"Teach me everything," Elian said, his eyes burning cold. "I will become their nightmare."
That night, Elian slept without dreams. His sleep was deep and heavy, like a stone at the bottom of a river. Outside, the Azure Mist Forest continued to whisper, spreading the news through its roots that the 'Beloved Child' had survived the Valley of Bones, and was preparing to shake the world.