"She's so right… I really don't have any strength left in me!?" Lucius was exorbitantly flabbergasted, even though just a few hours ago, trying to lift a finger or shift even slightly in his bed had felt like bench-pressing a mountain. And now? Now he was supposed to move his body, rise up, and stand tall for a good few seconds without any support? That felt impossible. Not yet. Not now. Still, Lucius bit his inner cheek and reminded himself, "Sia… and whoever took care of me before her didn't raise no bitch." That was enough to push him into trying.
He placed his only arm flat against the mattress and attempted to lift himself up—slowly, carefully—but the second his muscles tensed, the strain exploded through his bones like fire. His arm trembled, refused to comply, and gave up seconds later as he collapsed back against the bed.
Physically, he was a goner. His body had endured too much. '... Physically?'
The word echoed inside his skull, sticking there like a stubborn thorn. There were other ways to move for him, weren't there? His mind—his consciousness was battered and fraying at the edges, but still intact. Sure, the weight pressing down on his thoughts felt unbearable. The pain, the exhaustion, the mental fatigue—it had all settled into his skull like permanent fog. But he could still think. Still act. His eye drifted and locked onto Adrianna's for a fleeting second. She didn't speak, didn't interrupt. She just sat there silently, watching his struggle, letting him prove himself in whatever way he chose.
This'll take a long time… and effort, Lucius told himself, frustrated but not defeated. Then he did what he knew best. He reached out—not physically, but mentally—searching for the familiar presence of mana, the ambient force that had always been with him. Except now, the connection felt… different. Not entirely his. Or rather, not his alone. It was as if something had changed—not just the access, but the ownership.
'Is it because of the damage my core suffered?' He thought back to Adrianna's earlier words—how parts of his mana core had shattered or been blown off completely. That could explain the shift in sensation. A reasonable theory. And yet, despite the described damage, the raw feeling of mana in the air… it was somehow stronger. Deeper. Alive in a way he couldn't explain. Not just cooperative, but willing. Unrestricted. Personal.
Lucius didn't understand it—not yet. But there was one good thing. Perhaps the only good thing so far. Despite all the injuries, all the suffering, all the reckless decisions and irreversible consequences, he was still in control. Still capable. He could still access his telekinesis. Still feel the undeniable whispers of Absolute Zero—dormant, but there.
He called on the mana the same way he always did—and this time, it surged toward him. The response wasn't like before. This wasn't the gentle ripple of magic brushing against a mage's will. No. It felt… deeper. Heavier. Intimate. Like mana knew him now—recognised him.
It gathered slowly around his lying frame, whispering across the bandages and blankets, wrapping his battered body like a second skin. But then came the limitation. The problem. The old habit that now felt like a curse.
Lucius always needed to observe his target before engaging his telekinesis. His control had always depended on sight—on focus. But now? His head was upright, stiff, locked in place, still facing the ceiling. He couldn't even look around. With the loss of an eye, that already flawed system was even more broken. Trying to move his head with telekinesis wouldn't solve the larger issue, because if he couldn't see the object, in this case, his entire body-or what's left of it, he couldn't manipulate it, not properly, not effectively. And now, that restriction had become a liability he could no longer sit back and ignore.
As such, Lucius closed his eye and focused inward, calling upon one of his lesser-used mana techniques, 'Mana sonar'. Unlike standard telekinetic control, which required line-of-sight and constant visual feedback before engaging, mana sonar worked off sensation, awareness, and resonance. It was something he had used sparingly before, especially when battling that Valgura and Chimaera more recently. It wasn't exactly perfect—not then—but it had served him well in emergencies. Now, it was all he had.
He carefully exhaled, clearing his thoughts, and began projecting his mana outward like a pulse. The waves spread, soft and unseen, rebounding against nearby objects and energy signatures. A mental picture began forming within his consciousness. Black. White. Grey. Grey signifies the smallest, most minute mana particles floating freely in the atmosphere. At first, it felt routine, something he'd experienced before. But then, something shifted.
The clarity of the image forming behind his closed eyelid was sharper than anything he'd ever summoned in his past attempts. Every contour of the room, every edge of the nearby furnishings, and even the faint shimmer of residual mana near the window—it all came into shape with unnatural precision. This wasn't vague guessing or loose outlines anymore. This was near-visual fidelity. A mental sketch so clear, it was practically three-dimensional.
Earlier, it had always felt like he was summoning invisible mental arms—distant, blurred limbs that vaguely brushed against the terrain, grazed the objects, and skimmed across the ambient mana around him. The touch was always indirect, like the back of those arms dragging across surfaces—vague, imprecise, and only barely reliable in heated moments. The information they relayed was mixed, often overlapping, and lacked the depth required to make strategic decisions mid-battle. But now? It was nothing like before. Now, it felt as if he had summoned not just two, but thousands of such arms, all fully functional, equipped with detailed fingers and nerve-like mana fibres that responded to even the most delicate touches. These weren't vague projections—they were much sharper, responsive extensions of himself.
Each one relayed a specific set of information: the floor beneath the bed, the subtle curvature of the armrest on the side table, the shape and size of the bed and the chairs. Every input was now felt layered, stacked, and distinguishable—nothing overlapping or muddled. He could somehow distinguish between wood, metal, and cloth through resonance alone. The change wasn't minor—it was monumental. It completely surpassed the older form of mana sonar he had once relied on, and though Lucius didn't yet understand how or why it had evolved to this degree, one thing was certain—it had. Permanently.
Lucius's heart rate quickened. This wasn't just his sonar improving from practice or instinct. This was something else. Something deeper. The sheer amount of information he could absorb from a single set of pulses—down to the granular texture of the bedsheets, the layered mana clinging to the healing tools, even the aura Adrianna was radiating beside him—was staggering. His mind struggled to keep pace, as if the limits of perception had been quietly lifted without his permission.
'What the hell... What changed?!' He asked himself. He wasn't entirely sure. Was it an effect of the soul pact? A side-effect of his near-death experience? Or was his damaged core somehow compensating by amplifying his sensory input in new ways? He didn't know. And for now, it didn't matter. What mattered was that he had just uncovered a new way of seeing, one that didn't rely on his damaged body or failing vision.
Still not entirely confident, but deeply curious, Lucius decided he needed time. Time to sort through this new method of sensing. Time to understand its range, its limitations, and how much control he had over it. Without overthinking it, he turned his head slightly and murmured to Adrianna, asking her for an hour—just a single hour to 'prepare.' His tone was deliberate, as if it were just a casual request, but there was urgency beneath it.
Adrianna, seated quietly beside him, raised a brow but didn't argue. She never expected Lucius to seriously attempt this challenge, much less follow through with such determination. If he was asking for extra time now, she didn't question it. In fact, she assumed it was an excuse—a polite delay made to mask frustration or fatigue. That was fine with her. Anything that distracted Lucius from his current condition, even if just for a little while, was welcome.
Besides, she had rounds to make. As one of the top-ranking healers, her presence was constantly required—patients to check on, schedules to review, and junior healers needing her guidance. She stood, quietly brushing her cloak over her shoulders and stepping toward the door without interrupting Lucius's focus. She knew he wasn't going to quit. Not now. Not when he was this close to standing again—mentally, if not physically.
Lucius was now alone again. But this time, there was a task—no, a purpose—at hand, or more precisely, in mind. As always, he preferred solitude when testing out new theories, refining his abilities, or developing techniques. Being alone gave him two vital things: confidence and confidentiality. Both were necessary for maintaining focus, especially when stepping into unexplored territory. And this was no ordinary experiment. This was a brand-new subject. A new theory. Maybe even the foundation for a completely new technique...