Tessara tightened her grip on her twin daggers, the leaf-shaped runes engraved along their edges softly glowing with a pale green light. The man before her radiated a suffocating murderous intent, so heavy it bent the air like warped glass.
"I can't win. Not against him… I couldn't even see him move."
She swallowed hard, breath catching in her throat as her eyes searched for an opening that didn't exist.
"I need to buy time. That's all I can do."
A blur—like a whisper of darkness trailing orange light—sliced across her vision.
"Planning to buy time?" the man scoffed, voice curling with disdain. "You think you're worth that much?"
He appeared before her in a blink, fist raised—death wrapped in flesh.
"Damn it—!"
Meanwhile, in the castle's underground safe room…
Icariel sat cross-legged on the floor, his breathing steady. His eyes were closed, his expression tense, and yet somehow serene. Behind him, Elif and Elena watched in silence. The two sat on the bed, not daring to speak, feeling the dense mana beginning to swirl faintly around the room.
The voice spoke in Icariel's mind, calm but firm.
"As you already know, humans who awaken as superhumans typically do so at age fourteen. That's when the body can best handle the transformation. People think they're 'chosen ones' like mages... but that's not quite true."
Icariel stayed focused, not flinching.
"They have a normal mana core, like any human. But when they awaken, their cores adapt. They can handle far more mana—enough to fuel superhuman abilities known as Skills. And the more battles they fight, the stronger they grow. The reason someone awakens depends on luck in most cases."
"Luck?" Icariel replied mentally.
"Yes. When someone awakens, the reason it happens is that the mana going inside their mana core is disrupted somehow—it escapes the core and invades the muscles, blood, nerves. The heart. It reconstructs the body, strengthens it thanks to that disruption of mana, and that is what turns a normal human into a superhuman."
The voice paused for a moment.
"For older people, the same disruption can happen in some cases—but it no longer causes awakening. The body is too stable. Too rigid."
"But you, Icariel… you're different."
"Like you know, you don't have a mana core anymore."
He nodded slightly. "I understand," he replied. "What do I have to do?"
"You already understand mana flow better than most. Your pure mana inside is rare. Focus it. Control it."
"In what way?"
"Gather all your pure mana. Form it into an arrow. Visualize it—not as an idea, but as something real. Like the arrows hunters in Mjull used. And then… pierce it through your heart. Let it flood into your blood. Your muscles. Your bones. Then recover mana through breathing. And repeat."
"What? If I do that—wouldn't my heart stop?!"
"No," the voice answered. "This is the only method left. Even if your age has passed the prime—this is your path to awakening."
Icariel nodded once.
"Alright. I'll try my best."
He closed his eyes. A gentle blue light shimmered from his body, rising from his toes to his crown.
His breath deepened—slow, controlled.
Inside, his mana surged like a rising tide.
He gathered it—all of it—channeling it toward his chest. An image bloomed in his mind: a hunter's arrow, whittled from ashwood, not metaphor but memory.
"Visualize it," the voice said. "Not as an idea—but as reality."
Elif squinted. Though she couldn't see his face, her elven vision caught the whirling vortex of mana condensing within him.
"What is he doing?" she murmured. "Is he... forming a circle?"
Inside Icariel's body, mana compressed into a crystal arrow—clear, sharp, deadly.
"Now," the voice commanded. "Pierce your heart."
"Damn it…" Icariel muttered aloud. "I'm really doing this."
He gritted his teeth.
BAM!
The arrow struck.
Agony ripped through his chest—raw, incandescent. Veins blazed across his skin in searing blue, a map of pain etched in light. But then... his blood, his heart, his bones began to pulse with the same radiance.
"Again," the voice ordered. "Recover. Fire again."
And he did.
BAM.
BAM.
BAM.
Each arrow shredded him, but rebuilt him stronger. His heart now pulsed not red, but cobalt. The blue aura clung to him like a second skin.
Blood streamed from his nose, a crimson trickle staining his lap. But his eyes remained shut, blind to pain, deaf to the world.
"Again," the voice said. "Every arrow refines you."
BAM.
BAM.
His breathing turned ragged. A wheeze between broken rhythm.
"I… I can't anymore," Icariel whispered, inside and out. "The pain's too much…"
"One more time," the voice growled.
"I can't... I can't..."
"You want to live, don't you? You want freedom? You want to breathe on your own terms? Then move. One. More. Time."
The words struck like thunder across a frozen lake.
"Break through now—or remain a prisoner of your limits."
Icariel clenched his fists. His face twisted.
BAM!
The final arrow.
"I… I did it…"
"Good. Then do it again."
"What...?"
"If you broke past once—you can do it again. Don't you remember why you're doing this?"
"I... I don't want to be at the mercy of this world."
"Then pierce again."
From behind, Elif gasped. The blue light was changing. Deepening. Stretching.
Elena turned sharply.
"What is he doing…?"
"You don't want your life in someone else's hands anymore, do you?!" the voice roared.
Icariel's blood poured now—thick drops splattering stone.
"THAT'S RIGHT!!" he screamed, the words torn from his soul like flesh from bone.
Elif and Elena flinched, stunned by the rawness in his cry.
"THEN DO IT AGAIN PIERCE YOUR HEART ONCE MORE!!"
BAM!
The purest arrow yet.
His body exploded in blue light—his skin, his veins, his eyes. For one moment, he wasn't flesh. He was mana.
"I… can't…" he whispered, and collapsed.
His body slumped to the stone—still aglow, but motionless.
"Once again, you've impressed me," the voice murmured. "Good job, Icariel."
Elif and Elena rushed forward—but before they could reach him, another light erupted.
Not blue.
Golden.
A divine cocoon wrapped him in quiet glory, bathing the room in a warm, unnatural brilliance.
It slipped through cracks in the stone, rising—high, higher—until it broke through the sky.
Outside the castle, the world paused.
On the grounds below, amid winding roads and ancient trees, two figures fought—spear against dagger.
The flash of gold swept over them like a falling sun.
Eldrin stepped back, eyes squinting. "What was that…?"
Ginis tilted her head, red and yellow eyes glittering behind her scarf.
"Worried about someone else when you can't even save yourself?" she purred.
She vanished—reappearing behind him.
CLANG!
Eldrin blocked, barely, but her blade kissed his cheek with a red line.
"Tch," he spat, blood warm on his skin.
"Your eyes are still on that light," she said, voice like silk dipped in poison.
Far away, Aelar paused mid-duel. His blade, moments from cleaving an invader's shoulder, froze.
His eyes narrowed.
"…Icariel?"
In the capital square, Princess Virethiel stood over twitching corpses, blood dripping from her arms.
The golden light reached even her.
She looked up, face unreadable.
"…What is happening there…?"
Back in the basement...
The golden light faded like morning fog.
And there he lay—transformed.
Icariel's body no longer looked boyish. It was carved by pressure and pain. His skin glowed faintly with health, his chest rising in steady breaths. The blue veins had vanished—replaced by equilibrium.
Still unconscious.
Still alive.
"What... just happened?" Elena whispered.
She stepped closer, voice trembling.
"That light... it was like a superhuman awakening—but different. Cleaner. Perfected."
"What is this boy?"
She knelt beside him, fingers to his neck.
Relief bloomed in her chest.
"He's alive."
"Elif, water. Now."
Elif nodded, rushing for the jug.
Then—thud… thud… thud…
Heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell above.
Elena froze. Ears sharp. Eyes like blades.
"Someone's coming…" she whispered.
Elif turned, jug clutched tight, face pale.
"I hope it's not an enemy…"
[End of Chapter 47]