Fwsh—
Another swing came flying toward Icariel. He ducked just in time, the wooden branch slicing inches above his scalp like a guillotine made of bark.
Fwsh. Fwsh. Fwsh. Fwsh.
Each strike followed the next like a storm of broken wings. Aelar stood rooted in place, moving only his right arm—yet the branch in his grasp blurred like a phantom limb. Icariel could barely keep up. Cuts bloomed across his face, arms, and shoulders like red blossoms in a dying field. The clothes Elena had given him were already shredded, stained crimson with his own blood.
"Shit," Icariel hissed, jaw tight. The blows kept coming—relentless, vicious.
"How am I supposed to dodge this and still heal?"
Then the voice returned—sharp, low, and scathing.
"What are you doing?" it said. "Use your training. Cast the way I taught you. This is a scenario now—even if it's just training, your blood is still being spilled. Attack. Dodge. Defend. Do everything you've learned. Do what you can. Then, when there's nothing left, panic. That's how you'll trigger the spell mid-battle. That's how you'll learn."
"Tch…" Icariel clenched his teeth, vision stinging. "Easier said than done…"
Another horizontal swing screamed toward him.
"What are you doing?!" Aelar barked mid-swing. "That's the twelfth time you've 'died' today!"
"Fine," Icariel growled. "Let's go, then."
He reached into his core—not a center, not a circle—but his entire bloodstream, his living body of mana. He shaped the spell in his palm. A massive flame flared to life—huge in size but dim in heat. A familiar imprint. Not meant to kill.
Aelar's eyes narrowed, sharp with sudden interest.
"A fire spell that big… cast that fast?"
Without hesitation, Icariel hurled it straight at the Warleader.
Aelar's eyes twitched. "Didn't even see it coming." A flicker of surprise crossed his face. "Elif was right… that casting speed… it's not normal."
But then his tone darkened. "A fire that big will hit the trees. Do you not care about your surroundings?"
He leapt, raising the branch to cleave the fireball in two—but fwsh! A wind slash carved sideways through the air, intercepting.
"You think that'll work?" Aelar muttered, bracing—until—
Fwsh!
Another wind slash slammed into the first. The two collided midair—cancelling each other out like severed thoughts.
Aelar's gaze sharpened.
"…He used one spell to cancel the other?"
Icariel exhaled, ragged. "Just… like I practiced."
Aelar's expression shifted—somewhere between calculation, challenge, and the faintest flicker of respect.
"He's thinking like a mage who's seen war…" he muttered. "But if he's that confident already…"
He tensed—too late.
The fireball struck the ground. It exploded in a dazzling bloom of color, flames dancing without heat. It scorched nothing. A show. A trap.
Aelar twisted midair, landing silently on a branch behind Icariel like a whisper of war. In a blink, he was back—branch poised at Icariel's throat.
"…Hey," Aelar said, grinning. "You're more impressive than I thought."
"I figured you were reckless. That fire spell? I thought you'd lost control. But it had no real heat—just flash. You baited me."
His gaze sharpened. "You said you didn't know combat. You meant hand-to-hand, right? Because that casting speed? It'd roast most fighters. Maybe even a low-rank mage."
Whack!
The branch smacked Icariel's head.
"But didn't I tell you to practice healing while moving?"
Icariel winced, rubbing his temple. Blood trickled from half-healed wounds.
"I did what I could! I didn't want too many injuries, so I treated it like a real fight—mid-range casting, control. Is… is that wrong?"
Aelar stared for a moment. Then smirked.
"No. That's exactly what you should be doing."
Whack!
Another strike—gentler this time.
"But keep going. Think faster. Adapt harder. If this were real?" He stepped back. "You'd have died a hundred times."
He raised the branch again. "Again."
From the Warleader's window, Elif watched, dusk painting her eyes in shades of worry. Her small fingers clutched the windowsill.
"Father's being way too hard on him…" she whispered. "How much more can Icariel take?"
But outside—they kept going.
Icariel kept attacking, dodging, casting. But he couldn't heal mid-battle. Not yet. The sun fell behind the trees. They paused only once—to chew a few pieces of jeprak—before continuing, bathed now in silver moonlight. Icariel's body was a map of wounds. His breath came in shudders. His clothes—rags. But he didn't stop.
Elif still watched, unmoving, when Elena approached.
"They're still at it?" Elena asked.
"Yes," Elif murmured.
Out in the clearing, Aelar stood calm, though sweat clung to his brow.
"You've got good stamina," he said, voice low. "Alright—last spar. Give me everything you've got left."
But Icariel—burned, bloodied, bruised—wasn't ready to yield. His chest heaved with frustration. His hands trembled.
"I haven't improved at all… It's not working. I can't do it. I can't—"
"Shit. Shit. SHIT!" he roared—and charged. The same branch that had humiliated him all day still waited in Aelar's hand.
"I'm done worrying about the damn surroundings, Aelar!"
Aelar blinked. "Wait—what?"
"Flame Spear," Icariel whispered.
A weapon of fire burst into his hand. The spear pulsed—its tip glowing red, its shaft searing. The moment his skin touched it, it burned.
Foom!
He hurled it.
Aelar's eyes widened. "That heat—"
He couldn't dodge. If it struck the trees, the forest would ignite. He couldn't deflect it—the branch would incinerate.
He raised his left hand.
BOOM!
The spear hit, searing into his palm with a hiss of boiling skin.
"Intense…" Aelar muttered, voice tight with pain.
But Icariel had already conjured another.
"Flame Spear."
Foom!
Another explosion of heat. Another burning impact on the same ruined hand.
"Flame Spear!"
Foom!
Again. And again.
Each time, Icariel's hands blistered—his skin peeling, cracked. Steam curled from his arms. His body trembled like a tree splitting in the wind.
He fell to his knees, panting. A final spear hovered above his hand, flickering—but he lacked the strength to throw it.
"Hah… I'm finished…"
Aelar approached, branch loose in his grip. His other hand was charred black, flesh cooked through.
But then Icariel saw it.
The burns began to fade—skin knitting itself back, flesh mending like paper folding in reverse.
Healing magic.
Bam!
A gentle tap on the head.
"That Flame Spear of yours? Dangerous. Smart. And fast."
But Icariel's eyes weren't on him anymore.
They were locked on Aelar's hand—on the dance of green light. On the movement of mana as it obeyed the will to heal.
And in that moment—something shifted.
White Sense, always burning behind his gaze, pulsed. Then twisted.
Something inside him changed.
And then—
Darkness.
His knees buckled. Heat rose in waves. His vision tunneled. The world vanished into searing green.
He fainted.
Aelar stood above him in silence. Then, without a word, he bent down and placed a healing spell over the boy's wounds. Green light swept through him—soothing, steady. The blood vanished. The pain with it.
He lifted Icariel easily, carrying him back toward the house.
It was late.
Elena sat by the hearth with Elif.
"You're still awake?" Aelar asked as he entered.
"You were too loud," Elena replied, smiling. "But… it was good to see you happy. Teaching again."
Aelar chuckled, low. "Hah."
Elif crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Father, you never trained me like that."
"Of course not," he said instantly. "How could I hurt my princess like I do Icariel?"
She rolled her eyes. "Tch. Always Daddy's little girl."
"Always," Aelar said, smiling without shame.
"Is the room ready?" he asked Elena.
"It's ready," she nodded.
He moved into the hallway and laid Icariel on the bed, covering him with a clean white cloth. The boy, who had burned and bled for hours, now looked almost peaceful—his breath steady, his face slack in dreamless sleep.
Aelar lingered a moment.
Watched.
Listened.
Then turned toward the door.
"Hah," he muttered under his breath. "Elif asked why I never trained her like I trained him…"
He stopped in the doorway, a small smirk touching his lips.
"She'd have cried the first time I hit her like that." he added softly—and closed the door behind him.
[End of Chapter 33]