Whoosh!
I reached out toward the roaring inferno.
A searing pain exploded across my arm, spreading through every nerve like wildfire. Flesh bubbled and crisped beneath invisible heat. My muscles trembled from the agony, but I clenched my jaw and swallowed the scream that clawed its way up my throat.
Five minutes.
That was the minimum required to absorb even a sliver of the primordial flame.
Five minutes might seem trivial, but not when you're forcing your hand into something that feels like the heart of a sun. Even the tiniest spark from a matchstick could make a person recoil—this was far beyond that. This wasn't fire meant to warm or cook. This was fire meant to consume.
"Grr... Ah... Ugh…"
The groans I'd been holding back finally broke through, low and guttural.
Though this training took place in a constructed realm—an inner world tethered to the Primordial Flame's consciousness—the pain was no illusion. My flesh didn't blister here, but my mind screamed as if it had.
Just a little longer…
The flame residing deep within the stigma etched on my chest was like a locked gate. Four times a day, I could challenge it—four suicidal opportunities to absorb its essence and slightly expand my mana capacity.
Five minutes. That's all I need.
At last, the imaginary flames retreated. I withdrew my hand.
A flickering ember the size of a finger danced in my palm, glowing faintly with primal energy.
'It's grown.'
When I first began, the flames I could absorb were barely the size of a candle's wick. Now they were the width of a finger. It wasn't much, but it was progress.
Still…
'This is nothing compared to the true flame.'
I looked up.
In that inner realm, beyond my reach, the true Primordial Flame raged in eternal silence—a monstrous, world-consuming blaze, ever out of reach.
I had taken mere droplets from a boundless ocean.
'No matter how much I draw in, it's like trying to fill a sea with a ladle.'
It should have been discouraging. But instead, I let out a breath and smirked bitterly.
'That's fine. Someday… I'll wield it all.'
Not now. But someday.
Worrying wouldn't help. The only path forward was enduring and surviving this pain again and again.
I opened my eyes.
The real world returned slowly—dim lighting, a battered shelf, a table stacked with books, and my creaky bed.
My dorm room. Spartan, quiet, mine.
I stretched, still feeling phantom heat in my muscles.
"Let's see… how much mana did I manage to accumulate this time?"
Activating the stigma, I channeled mana through my body. A surge of energy pulsed along my veins, denser than before. Stronger.
'Good.'
If an average first-year cadet had a mana level of ten, I was probably sitting around three.
Still laughable by most standards.
But when I first returned to this timeline, I was barely at one. Not even enough to light a spark.
'This is triple that. A huge leap.'
From bottom-feeder to merely weak. In weeks.
'At this pace… I'll catch up in two months. Maybe less.'
And if I could increase the size of the flame I absorbed?
If I could one day draw a fire the size of my palm… or an arm's length…
Then perhaps I could reach a tier of mana that even prodigies would envy. Something I never dreamed of attaining in my first life.
A shiver ran down my spine—not from fear, but anticipation.
But I forced myself to calm down.
"No. I can't celebrate yet."
Ambition was dangerous without discipline. And I was still far from ready.
A mana level of three was still less than half the average. It might be enough to shock a few professors or win a training duel, but…
'It's nowhere near enough to face Astaroth.'
Even if the Demon God's seal remained intact, and even if the archbishops' powers were suppressed due to the incomplete revival—
'An archbishop is still an archbishop.'
Beings who stood atop armies of demons. My endgame.
I couldn't get complacent.
"…Right. That reminds me."
My gaze drifted to a dusty paper bag tucked in the corner of the room.
Inside was the Seven Star Grass, infused with the ley line mana I'd painstakingly gathered from that cavern weeks ago. I'd promised to deliver it to Professor Jade, but the chaos of recent events—duels, missions, secrets—had made me forget.
'Better get this to her before she starts experimenting with explosives again.'
I grabbed the bag and slung it over my shoulder.
It was time to pay a visit to the most unhinged genius on campus.
"Here's the Seven Star Grass you requested."
Dust danced lazily through the stale air of Professor Jade's lab as I set the bag down on the cluttered table.
Jade let out a low whistle, his gaze fixated on the pile of glowing, mana-rich herbs.
"Even around the academy, Seven Star Grass isn't exactly rare, but this much—especially infused with ley line energy… You've gathered quite a haul."
His eyes sparkled like stars in the night sky.
If that sparkle had a voice, it would say: As expected, you're the only one worthy of being my assistant!
'Not happening, old man.'
I'd never been an official assistant to any professor, and I had no intention of becoming one—especially not for Jade. One look at the lifeless expressions of other assistants trudging around campus was enough to know that path led only to exhaustion, caffeine addiction, and likely madness.
"Is this amount sufficient?"
"It should be," Jade replied, eyes still glued to the ingredients. "Can't say for sure until I start brewing, but it's a solid base."
"When will it be finished?"
My voice was calm, but urgency gnawed at my core. Knowing Astaroth had infiltrated the academy made the completion of the Stigma Amplifier a pressing matter.
"The recipe's already finalized. Give me a bit of time. I'll have it ready before the sealing ceremony."
A quiet sigh of relief escaped me. That gave me at least a small margin before everything started spiraling.
"That's a relief."
"But…" he continued, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, "what do you plan to use this for?"
I raised a brow.
"You're not planning to use it during the cadet ranking exam, are you?"
"Huh?" I blinked.
'Seriously?'
Of course he'd think that. To most professors, I was still the same Dale Han who'd sat at the bottom of the rankings for three years. The idea that I'd suddenly pulled myself together and needed a powerful enhancer not for an exam was probably inconceivable.
I chuckled and shook my head.
"Don't worry. That's not going to happen."
"But—"
"If I use the Stigma Amplifier in the evaluation match, feel free to report me to the school for cheating."
Jade rubbed his beard, his eyes scanning me carefully, but eventually he gave a short nod.
"Fair enough. If you're that adamant, I won't press."
"Appreciate it."
I offered a slight bow, glancing around his lab.
Still a disaster zone. Books scattered on the floor, unwashed beakers growing suspicious mold, and magical reagents so poorly stored they might spontaneously combust.
'We're making the Amplifier here? I'm not sure whether I'll get stronger or die from chemical poisoning.'
"Alright, let's get started with the manufacturing—"
"Wait."
I stopped him just as he was about to dig into the pile of grass.
"Let's clean first."
"…Clean?"
He blinked like I'd just asked him to eat raw sand.
"How long do you plan to let your lab fester like this? This is borderline a biohazard."
"Ahem. I'll have you know everything here is organized through a deeply personal system of—"
"Enough."
I cut him off and grabbed a broom.
'I've seen pigsties with more hygiene than this place.'
Dust and garbage flew everywhere the moment I started. Old scrolls, moldy bread crusts, and a suspiciously sentient-looking mushroom were all purged under the merciless wrath of my broom.
Thanks to years of summer break cleaning duty to cover my tuition and living expenses, I had a sixth sense for this kind of battle.
Three hours passed in silence, broken only by the rhythmic sweep of cloth and the occasional sneeze from displaced dust spirits.
At last, I stood back and wiped my brow.
"Phew. Now it finally looks somewhat livable."
"Oh… Oh!" Jade spun around in wonder, eyes wide as he took in the sparkling workbenches and clearly labeled reagent drawers.
"Is this… really my lab?"
"Who else's would it be?"
I gestured to the reorganized station.
"Reagents here, magical tools over there. I grouped your research notes by type, but you'll want to double-check them."
"You… you!"
Suddenly, he grabbed my hands with the emotional intensity of a romantic confession.
"You're truly my assistant!"
"No."
"When one has worked so hard for their professor, it's only proper for said professor to show appreciation! Come—I shall treat you to lunch!"
"Wait—"
Before I could protest, he dragged me off like an overexcited uncle.
The destination?
The exclusive faculty dining hall, a space usually reserved for professors and their officially recognized assistants. The moment we entered, the contrast hit me: polished silverware, lacquered tables, and a menu that made the main cafeteria look like a roadside stand.
"Order anything you like!" Jade declared grandly.
And then—
"…Dale?"
I turned.
Standing at the entrance was none other than Professor Lucas, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
"You are…" Lucas glanced between us.
An awkward silence bloomed.
'Right. I nearly forgot… Professor Lucas punched Jade in the face two years ago.'
As the air thickened with unspoken tension, I subtly took a step back—only for Jade to block my escape.
"Do you have business with my assistant?" he asked, voice sharp with sudden authority.
Lucas blinked. "Assistant? Since when did Dale become your assistant?"
"He's not officially my assistant yet," Jade replied, puffing up proudly, "but after graduation, he'll join me full-time."
Excuse me?
'Where did that come from?!'
I stared at him, appalled.
Lucas gave a scoff that was both amused and dismissive.
"Dale? Working under you? What nonsense."
Yes! Yes, exactly! Thank you, Professor Lucas!
"He's going to join me after graduation," Lucas declared. "We're grooming him for leadership in the Warrior Department."
"No."
Why were both of them doing this to me?
I hadn't agreed to anything!
This lunch was turning into a custody battle.