Back in the inn, in the deep hours of the night, Nolan stirred awake.
The room was quiet, the kind of stillness that settles only after midnight, heavy and laced with the breath of sleeping bodies.
He blinked at the ceiling for a moment, then turned his gaze toward the sleeping succubus curled up near the edge of the bed. Her body was wrapped loosely in the thin sheets, her breathing soft and rhythmic. Her tail lazily flicked once, then stilled.
Nolan sighed.
He was tired—exhausted in truth, after everything he had to go through in that twisted training session earlier. But sleep was a luxury his thoughts refused to grant.
He sat up slowly, suppressing the groan in his throat, and carefully stood from the bed.
For a long moment, he just stared at her.
Lirazel.
The sleeping embodiment of temptation, danger, and burdens he never asked for.
"I'm not sure if this is going to work, but I want to try," he muttered under his breath.
If he couldn't destroy her directly, then perhaps he could shift the responsibility. Let someone else deal with her.
If she were found by the city guards—yes, perhaps that would be enough. Surely someone would see her and do what he couldn't.
He moved carefully, channeling mana through his hands to soften his touch.
He reached under her body and lifted her gently, making sure her head rested against his shoulder.
The effect of his mana ensured she remained asleep, or at least dormant. Her body was light—too light, almost like air. Or perhaps that was part of the illusion surrounding her.
He stepped out into the hallway, crept down the wooden stairs, and pushed open the creaky inn door with his shoulder.
The city outside was dark and still, lanterns flickering along the cobbled streets. He scanned the area—no patrols in sight yet. Good.
But just as he stepped forward, a voice echoed softly from the side alley.
"…What are you doing, walking awkwardly?"
Nolan froze.
His heart stuttered. His blood turned cold. His head snapped to the side. A man stood at the edge of a building, staring directly at him with a curious expression. Not fear. Not suspicion. Just curiosity.
"Wait…" Nolan said, stiffening. "You… You can see this?"
The man tilted his head. "No, but I can see you. And it's clear you're carrying something. Your arms are lifted weirdly. Also, you're glowing with a mana field shaped around something... It's not hard to guess."
Nolan narrowed his eyes.
This wasn't good.
Before he could respond, the warm body in his arms stirred. A yawn escaped Lirazel's lips as her crimson eyes fluttered open, glowing faintly in the night.
"Mmm… Why are we outside, Nolan?" she purred, her sultry voice a whisper only he could hear clearly.
Nolan flinched.
She smiled lazily, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
"You were asleep," Nolan hissed.
"I'm a succubus," she replied, almost laughing. "I dream with my senses intact. And besides, I could feel your intentions hours ago."
Nolan's throat tightened. He took a step back, lowering her gently to the ground, but her hold didn't waver.
"You… You knew what I was planning?" he asked, defeated.
"Of course, you want to kill me so you could get rid of me," she said sweetly. "And just so you know, even if someone could see me, it wouldn't matter. Only you can interact with me—because you made the pact with my mother."
Nolan's hands balled into fists.
"All of this… useless," he whispered.
Lirazel nodded, then leaned in closer, her voice turning to velvet.
"I can't be killed, either. If I die… your lifespan will compensate. If I die again, it happens again. Until you breathe your last."
"You're lying," he said, but the words felt hollow.
Her smile didn't falter.
"I'm bound to you now. I am only dependent on you… but I am not disposable."
She let go, turning and walking back toward the inn without a care in the world, leaving Nolan in the dark, staring after her like a man chained to his own shadow.
And then Nolan would wonder, 'why am I adamant on killing her when I need her powers to tomorrow?'
Thinking of this, Nolan just cursed, ''Damn it!'' then he went back inside.
---
Meanwhile, back in the Silverhart training grounds, the energy had shifted drastically.
The arena still bore the scuff marks of the earlier clash, but now it was quiet, save for the soft hum of mana around them.
Crosun stood before Calien, arms crossed, studying the boy with an expression that was half pride, half suspicion.
"How long," Crosun asked slowly, "have you been training with knife techniques?"
Calien scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "Um… just today?"
Fergan's eyes narrowed. Buch raised an eyebrow.
Crosun turned to them, and both men nodded silently in affirmation.
Crosun's gaze returned to his son. "And yet, you moved like someone who's been training for years. That wasn't raw instinct."
"Well," Calien said with a sudden grin, "Teacher Nolan taught me."
Crosun's brow twitched.
Calien's eyes lit up. "He brought me to his Special Arcane Realm. It's… not like this place. It's a different world—no, a simulation of another world. He calls it Earth."
Crosun blinked. "Earth?"
Fergan and Buch leaned in slightly.
"Yes!" Calien said, waving his arms. "The sky was grey, choked with smoke. The buildings were like steel mountains. No horses—just cars or magic carriages and glowing glass towers. And the people… they were always rushing, scared, hunted by infected."
"Infected?" Buch repeated, skeptical.
Calien nodded earnestly. "Twisted creatures. Once human, now mindless beasts. The whole place was like a maze of death. You had to move fast, kill fast. If you stopped, even to breathe, you'd die. I learned how to use a knife by taking out these things—one stab to the throat, another to the base of the skull. Over and over."
Fergan and Buch exchanged a look. Crosun's frown deepened.
"You expect us to believe you mastered blade techniques like that in one day?" Crosun asked.
"I didn't just fight," Calien replied. "Nolan… he made it real. We had to fight to survive."
His eyes glinted. "I killed more in that place than I can count. It wasn't just practice. It was survival. I learned to hold my breath, to move without sound, to stab with purpose. I learned how to fight for my life."
Crosun stared at him in silence.
Then, he stepped forward, withdrawing a curved training dagger from his belt. "Catch."
Calien caught it effortlessly.
"Hold it like you would when expecting a slash from the side," Crosun instructed.
Calien adjusted the grip without hesitation, feet shifting subtly into a defensive posture.
"Good," Fergan said slowly. "Now reverse the grip."
Calien spun the dagger into a reverse grip smoothly.
Buch frowned. "Now, show us how you'd deflect a blade with it."
Calien crouched slightly, and with a sharp motion, demonstrated a precise maneuver using his forearm and wrist to redirect an invisible strike—followed by a quick counter aimed at the throat.
All three men exchanged a long glance.
"Again," Crosun ordered.
Calien did it again. Faster. Smoother.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't falter.
Every answer, every motion, every instinct—it was as if the dagger was an extension of his body.
"Hold your breath and close your eyes," Fergan said suddenly.
Calien obeyed.
"Now defend yourself."
Fergan struck.
And Calien reacted instantly, blocking the invisible blow with a twist of the wrist, slipping under the imagined arc, stabbing upward with precision.
The three men slowly straightened, stunned.
They had tested many young recruits. Some with raw power. Others with strong instincts. But rarely did they see someone so naturally in tune with a weapon—especially one so difficult to master.
He wasn't simply talented.
He was attuned.
Crosun looked at Fergan and Buch. "His breathing. His reactions. Even with his eyes closed…"
Fergan nodded. "It's not just muscle memory. It's instinct. Like he's done this for years."
"He has knife aura potential," Buch said simply.
Crosun stepped forward again, voice quieter this time.
"Calien," he said. "Would you like us to determine your affinity as a Mana Knight… specifically, in the way of the knife?"