During the following week, Lusian maintained his training regimen under the watchful eye of the elderly Albert, who showed no mercy. More weight, more repetitions, greater precision with every sword strike; every session of meditation and mana channeling felt like a fire burning through his bones. Sweat and focus mingled, yet the results were undeniable. Lusian's internal mana flow grew slowly—a mere thread denser than the week before—but stable.
Albert watched him with the restrained satisfaction of a master witnessing a disciple's progress."Your control has improved," he said one morning, measuring the energy concentration in a crystal sphere. "If you keep this pace, you will soon reach the Lords' threshold."
Lusian nodded, aware that power did not depend solely on training. In this world, strength was also eaten. Every bite could reinforce the mana core—or leave it stagnant.
Mana—the life energy flowing through all living beings—could be absorbed in many ways. Magical creatures, fruits grown on blessed lands, and minerals born of enchanted soil contained concentrated fragments of that force. Consuming them was no simple pleasure: it was an act of survival, a way to feed on the world and transform it into one's own power. High-rank monster meat, juicy and saturated with mana, was a treasure nobles devoured with solemnity. Exotic plants, delicate and ephemeral, faded within minutes if removed from their habitat. Liquids and fruits from magical lands could be turned into soups and wines that strengthened body and spirit—but only the wealthy could afford them.
Lusian had learned this through conversations with Albert. Most of the population survived on common meat and bland herbs, unable to access the pure energy the nobles squandered at their tables. Ducal banquets were rituals of power: cuts of enchanted beasts, soups glowing with mana, and fruits sparkling under the moon. Each meal reinforced body and spirit, as if the very energy of the world flowed to the fortunate.
It was a brutally unfair system, but efficient. Lusian understood it as he held a piece of freshly prepared meat, warm and gleaming in the kitchen light: training alone was not enough; one had to consume the world's power itself to become more than a mere apprentice. Eating was a privilege. Eating was growth. Eating was, ultimately, survival.
As he chewed slowly, Lusian closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His mind absorbed not only nutrients but rules, strategies, possibilities. In a world like this, every decision, every movement, every bite could mark the difference between life and death, between domination and insignificance.
And Lusian knew he was not willing to fall behind.
One afternoon, after an exhausting session, Lusian reclined in the garden while Umber, the black wolf, slept peacefully beside him. The air smelled of damp earth and freshly bloomed flowers; for the first time in days, an unexpected calm settled in his chest.
Sofía appeared shortly after, moving with the natural elegance that seemed to surround her with light. She greeted Lusian with a kiss on the cheek and sat beside him, holding a wax-sealed envelope.
"A letter from the palace," she said, her voice soft like a whisper among the leaves.
Lusian examined the seal: the royal emblem of the Kingdom of Aldarion gleamed in the sunlight."What is this?" he asked, curiosity piqued.
"An invitation," Sofía replied, a faint smile touching her lips. "To the royal hunting tournament. It marks the start of the academic year at the academy. All heirs of the principal houses are invited."
Lusian raised an eyebrow."And I really have to go?"
Sofía let out a brief laugh and, almost instinctively, pinched his cheek—a gesture that had become habitual between them. Lusian, surprisingly, enjoyed it. That affection, even though he was not her son, reminded him he was not completely alone.
"It's important you attend," Sofía said, brushing his chin gently. "The tournament isn't just a competition: it's politics, alliances, prestige."
"I could say I'm sick," he joked lightly. "Duke's cough, right?"
She shook her head, patient but resolute."That's not an option. In three days, in the morning, I will take you to the Cymopelia Forest. There we will form the group that will accompany you."
The name of the forest sent a chill down his spine. Cymopelia: treacherous swamps, dense foliage, swarms of insectoid beasts. He recalled with shame the nightmare that had been the game's tutorial, dying 1,372 times before discovering the forest boss's weak point—a cycle of frustration and pain.
Sofía noticed the shadow in his expression and laid a hand on his arm."Are you alright?"
"Yes," he lied, straightening his posture. "Just remembering something about the forest."
She nodded, then added pragmatically,"You will not go alone. Each house can send three representatives; each representative brings a group of fifteen warriors. In addition, you will have Thunder and Umber with you."
"Are magical beasts allowed?" he asked, surprised.
"There's no rule against it," Sofía said firmly. "And I wouldn't allow anyone to complain. No one would dare."
Still, her confidence did not fully calm Lusian. When Sofía left, he was alone with his thoughts. Images from the tutorial surged back: the tournament had been the first link in a chain that ended with the heir to the throne's assassination and a cascade of tragedies. His stomach tightened; his hands began to sweat—not because of the competition, but because of what might be unleashed.
Among those memories, another thought emerged: the Denisse family. In his player's memory, the Denisses were threads of betrayal and imperial power. A cold, utilitarian thought formed in his mind: if he could undermine the Denisses, he could cut one of the empire's primary support lines. Dangerous, yes. But tempting.