A/N: "The next chapter is finally here! Sorry it took me so long, but it's ready—and it's a pretty long one at 4.5k words. I hope you enjoy it!"
(Donny POV – Age 2)
I woke up in my crib, still feeling exhausted from overexerting my mana. My head was light, my body sluggish, and my vision blurred—but slowly, the world came into focus.
'Fuck… I keep forgetting I'm still just a toddler,' I groaned, rubbing my eyes.
To my right, I spotted our maid, Cynthia. Her snow-white hair framed her face, and her purple eyes—so calm and watchful—locked onto my crimson gaze. She must have been nearby doing housework and came in when she heard me collapse.
She rose from the rocking chair beside my crib and walked over. Her hand gently caressed my head, ruffling my hair.
"You have to be more careful, Donny," she murmured softly, her voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket. "What would we do if you got seriously hurt, hm?"
I mumbled a quiet apology. She just smiled softly and replied,
"It's alright. Now I'll leave you be—I still have some matters to attend to. Take care of yourself, and be careful."
I watched her leave. Her footsteps were silent, barely a whisper against the floor.
'Welp… now that she's gone, time to think about my progress so far.'
Currently, after these past two years and six months of training, I can finally use my magic for up to five seconds before exhausting my mana, leaving me completely drained and collapsing.
It was a huge improvement—a real game-changer. I was nearly at the level of the old Donny, back when he didn't even know his magic was telekinesis and could barely make things float for twenty-five seconds before running out of energy.
That all changed the day Lancelot told him that magic is only limited by one's imagination. Donny realized the true potential of his magic in that moment… but he still never fully reached the heights he could have if he had trained properly.
He also never fully utilized Howzer's holy knight training, often cowering from hard work whenever he failed or struggled to grasp a lesson. Even his childhood friend Edlin tried to encourage him, reminding him that practice makes perfect.
Eventually, though, Edlin lost hope, seeing Donny's lack of progress—and that failure led Donny to quit, joining Katz and Elva's troupe of performers. They, too, aspired to become holy knights, but lacked the magic power and skill to truly measure up.
I, however, refused to follow that path. I plan to use every advantage I can get to ensure I have the power to protect myself—and not remain a pushover side character.
I could even learn blacksmithing from my uncle, Howzer, when I'm old enough, which would allow me to craft my future daggers myself without arousing suspicion about how I acquired them.
With that decided, I rose and resumed my meditation, focusing on gradually expanding my mana pool.
Timeskip 8 years later
(Donny POV - Age 10)
It's been a full decade now since I reincarnated into this world, and I have to say—the hard work I've poured into these years is slowly starting to pay off. I've even begun sword training under Uncle Howzer, and recently met Edlin in the village, who also aspires to be a holy knight. Uncle took him under his wing as well, training us side by side.
By the time I was six, my telekinesis had reached a point where I could push, pull, and levitate objects at will—though controlling more than one at a time was a nightmare. At best, I could juggle two before the strain made me drop both, my mind throbbing like it was tearing itself apart.
Still, my raw power was climbing. Back then, I could lift around a hundred kilograms and hurl objects at speeds just over a hundred kilometers per hour. The catch? Twenty-five minutes of constant exertion left me on the floor, drenched in sweat, head splitting like my skull was about to crack open. But it was progress. Better than the old Donny, who collapsed after twenty-five seconds.
And now… at the age of ten, everything is different.
I can levitate and control multiple objects effortlessly, lifting up to ten tons without breaking a sweat. Two hours of sustained use is my new limit, and the speeds I can fling things at? Nearly the speed of sound. Not quite there yet… but close enough to make anyone think twice before standing in my way.
But my biggest weakness isn't strength—it's reaction time. When I duel with Uncle or Edlin, I'm just not fast enough. Don't get me wrong, I can dodge here and there, but every movement costs me. I have to see the attack, process it, then focus before reacting. That single second of delay might as well be an eternity in a real battle. One second could mean life or death.
Still, compared to where I started, I've come a long way. But there's no denying—I can and must go further.
Right now, I stand in the training grounds, sparring against Uncle Howzer. Sweat drips down my forehead as I tighten my grip on the wooden practice sword.
I lunge forward, swinging with everything I've got, trying to combine my physical strength with subtle bursts of telekinesis to augment my reach. Howzer shifts effortlessly, parrying with the flat of his blade and pushing me back a few steps. His blond hair swirls in the wind, and his calm but sharp gaze pins me in place.
I swing again, quicker this time, but he sidesteps with a barely perceptible shuffle, tapping my shoulder with the tip of his sword. "Too telegraphed," he comments, voice even but firm.
I grunt, adjusting my stance. Another swing, this time feinting to the left, then shifting my wrist to strike from above. Howzer anticipates it, blocking just in time, and I feel the vibration run up my arms. The practice sword shudders in my grip.
"Donny," he says, lowering his blade slightly, "your strikes are getting sharper, but you're hesitating. You're relying too much on power—both with your body and your strange magic. Power is meaningless if you can't apply it at the right time. You must trust your instincts, not just your eyes. Anticipate, don't react."
I nod, breathing heavy, resetting my stance. He circles me, blade moving with a rhythm that forces me to match his footwork. I swing, he blocks; I thrust, he deflects. Each exchange is a lesson—timing, control, precision. I can feel the strain in my arms, the burn in my shoulders, but my focus sharpens.
A step forward, a twist of the wrist, and I manage to brush the side of his sword this time. He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Better. That was closer. Keep that momentum, Donny. Don't just think about hitting me—think about how you hit me."
I nod again, eyes narrowing, already plotting my next move.
He steps closer, tapping the flat of his sword against my own before adding, "A true knight doesn't wait for an opening—he creates it."
The weight of his words sinks into me. He's right. I can't just train my strength; I need to sharpen my awareness, to cut down that fatal second of hesitation.
To be honest, I've been relentlessly training and building up my body with all this sword dueling because I've realized something important—it benefits me in both ways. Not only am I slowly carving the foundation of a master swordsman, but I'm also refining the precision and power of my telekinesis at the same time.
For the past couple of months, I've been sparring with Edlin and Uncle Howzer, and during those sessions, I've been trying to master a technique I envisioned in my head long ago. I've failed countless times, but I keep pushing forward.
The skill I'm trying to develop is simple in theory but complicated in execution: spreading my telekinetic aura evenly around my entire body and weapon, making myself effectively weightless—faster, sharper—while amplifying my physical power to terrifying levels.
Essentially, it's an all-around body enhancer, boosting my strength, speed, durability, and agility all at once. It's my answer to Uncle's teachings and my inspiration from a certain "full-body" fighting style I once read about in my previous life.
On top of that, I've also been working to hone my spiritual awareness—an ability I've been nurturing slowly but steadily from my telekinesis. My goal is to reach a point where I can instinctively sense the strength, mana, and even intentions or emotions of people around me.
When I first started, I could barely sense a presence within a few dozen meters. Now, after months of quiet practice, I can extend my awareness outward nearly a full kilometer, the world around me lighting up in my mind like a glowing map of moving energy.
Right now, I was dueling with Uncle again, sweat dripping down my brow as his strikes came down like thunder. Every swing of his blade rattled my arms, each impact reminding me of the massive gap between us.
This is it… time to try it again.
I took a deep breath and focused, pushing my telekinesis outward—not to move an object, but to wrap around myself. A thin, invisible layer of pressure coated my body and sword, almost like I was cloaked in raw energy. For a moment, I felt light as air, my muscles unshackled.
I lunged forward, blade cutting the air faster than I'd ever moved before.
But then—CRACK.
The pressure wavered, the aura buckling under the strain of my divided focus. My limbs locked up, my head spun, and my body felt like lead as the telekinetic grip collapsed in on itself.
Uncle's sword tapped me on the forehead, just hard enough to sting.
"Too slow," Howzer said, pulling back with a calm, instructive tone. "You've got good instincts, Donny, but you're spreading yourself too thin. You're trying to control your body and your weapon at the same time without fully mastering either. It'll tear you apart before it makes you stronger."
I stumbled back, catching my breath, annoyed but not discouraged. "Tch… I almost had it this time."
From the sidelines, Edlin called out, "You're insane for even trying that, Donny! But… it looked crazy strong, even if it only lasted a second."
Uncle chuckled, shaking his head. "If he ever pulls it off, it won't just be strong—it'll be terrifying. But until then, don't skip steps. You want power? Build the foundation. Strength, speed, control. The rest will follow."
I clenched my fists, determination flaring. He was right. I couldn't rush this, no matter how badly I wanted to.
Still, that fleeting second—when I felt weightless, untouchable—was enough to keep me going.
But as I lowered my blade and caught my breath, I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander.
The "original" Donny—the one I read about in my old world—never pushed himself this far. He let himself settle, hiding in the shadows of others. When he lost, he'd cower, laugh it off, or walk away, until eventually, he gave up on being a Holy Knight altogether. He chose comfort, chose performance, chose the safe road.
And yeah, maybe in another life, that wasn't the worst fate. But for me? For this, Donny? That's not an option.
I've seen what's out there—Lancelot's potential, Percival's miracle, Tristan's bloodline, Gawain's sheer overwhelming strength. If I settle for mediocrity, I'll get crushed. Forgotten. I'd just be another weak name that shows up in someone else's story.
No. That's not me.
I tightened my grip on the hilt of my sword, the scar on my palm burning faintly as if reminding me of the oath I've already made.
I'm not going to be the Donny who quits. I'll be the Donny who stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the Knights of Prophecy. Who can hold his own in the storm and never back down.
Even if it takes every ounce of sweat, pain, and blood I've got…
This time, I'll make damn sure my story is worth remembering.
I then left, broke away from sparring with my uncle, and went to spar with Edlin, who was sparring earlier with him as well, way before me, so he gladly accepted, and we were off.
(Howzer's - POV)
I stood a few paces back, arms crossed, watching the two boys clash again and again under the afternoon sun.
Steel rang against steel as Donny and Edlin circled each other, sweat dripping, neither willing to yield an inch.
For years, Edlin had been the more gifted one—his form sharper, his reflexes quicker, his strikes more precise. Donny was always just a step behind him, sometimes two. But never… not once… had that boy backed down.
And now, as I watched them, I realized something. Donny wasn't trailing anymore. He was right there, on Edlin's heels, blow for blow.
Edlin's face told the whole story—gritted teeth, narrowed eyes, the pressure of someone being forced to dig deeper because the rival he used to surpass without effort was suddenly catching up.
A small smile tugged at my lips. That stubborn determination of his… It's infectious.
My gaze lingered on Donny, and before I knew it, a memory crept back into my head.
Flashback
Years ago, when Donny was barely a year old, my sister asked me to watch him for the day. She and her husband wanted a rare outing together, and I—like an idiot—said yes. Cynthia, their maid, was with me.
How hard could it be to watch a baby, right?
Turns out, harder than facing down ten Holy Knights at once.
The kid was a little gremlin from the moment they left. Crawling into cabinets, knocking things over, disappearing every time we blinked. Cynthia and I nearly lost our minds keeping up with him.
And then came the moment that seared itself into my memory. We found him in the kitchen after a few minutes of silence—a silence I should've known meant trouble.
Donny was standing on shaky legs, his crimson eyes glowing faintly with focus as several plates floated up out of the cabinet.
For a second, both Cynthia and I froze, our jaws dropping. The plates hovered for a breath, two breaths… then his tiny body gave out, and they all crashed to the floor in a storm of shattered porcelain.
Cynthia fainted on the spot. I just stood there, sighing so hard I nearly passed out myself.
But the chaos didn't stop there. A little later, we found him in the laundry room—floating clothes in the air like some kind of baby sorcerer. For a split second, it looked impressive.
Until the whole pile wobbled and dropped… right into the toilet. Cynthia screamed like she'd seen a demon, and I had to fish half the clothes out before my sister came home. To this day, I'm convinced that Maid has nightmares about babysitting.
"That's your nephew, alright," I muttered back then. "What a menace…"
Flashback End
The memory faded, replaced by the sight before me. Donny, now ten, standing tall with a blade in hand, sparks flying as he clashed with Edlin. His strikes were sharp, his aura fierce, his determination blazing in his eyes.
I exhaled slowly, a quiet pride swelling in my chest, from the troublemaking gremlin who once fainted the maid with his antics… to a boy who could stand neck-and-neck with my pupil.
Donny Clarent wasn't just growing. He was becoming something formidable.
And as I watched his crimson eyes lock onto Edlin's with that same fire from all those years ago, I couldn't help but think:
If he keeps this up… he might even surpass me one day.
Timeskip
(Donny POV – A week later)
Early morning, I stood in my room in front of the mirror, quietly admiring the reflection staring back at me.
I now stood at 4'9, short for my age maybe, but my presence carried more weight than height could. My dark reddish-purple hair was its usual mess, curling slightly over my crimson eyes. They looked lazy, calm… but anyone who stared long enough could sense the intensity buried underneath.
My features had sharpened over the years—my face already leaning toward handsome, though I'd never say that out loud. What really stood out, though, was the body I had built through nearly a decade of grinding.
Eight years of training and swordplay had carved me lean and muscular. Faint abs traced my stomach, the kind of definition that came from discipline rather than luck.
I let out a small breath, then turned away from the mirror and began pulling on clothes. A simple tunic and pants, light enough for training but clean enough to greet the household. As I tightened the straps of my boots, a thought that had been nagging at me for weeks returned with more force.
Swordsmanship, telekinesis, spiritual awareness—I'd been sharpening all those. But another skill called out to me now.
Blacksmithing.
Weapons had become extensions of me, especially my daggers. If I was going to keep pushing forward, shouldn't I learn to shape my own blades? To feel the iron and steel, and mold it as surely as I molded my own body?
Decision made, I slung my tunic straight and opened my door. Today, after breakfast, I'd ask Uncle if he could teach me the basics.
The thought made me smile faintly as I padded down the hall toward the dining room. Time to greet my family and the maid—then, step into another kind of training.
I padded down the wooden stairs, careful not to trip over my own feet. The morning sun streamed through the windows, casting golden light across the Clarent household.
"Good morning!" I called as I reached the bottom, my voice still carrying the slight rasp of early waking.
From the dining table, my parents looked up. My mother, Hilda Clarent, graceful as ever, smiled warmly. "Morning, Donny. Slept well?"
I gave a small nod, brushing a hand through my messy hair. "Yeah, feeling good."
My father, Gareth Clarent, chuckled, ruffling my hair in that familiar way that always made me grin despite myself. "Looking sharp, champ. Keep up the training, alright?"
"I will," I replied confidently, striding toward the table.
Cynthia, already bustling about serving breakfast, as her snow white hair swooshed around, gave me a small nod, her usual composed expression slightly softened.
"Morning, Master Donny," she said, placing a plate in front of me. "Eat well, you've got a big day ahead, I'm sure."
I returned her nod with a small smile. "Thanks, Cynthia."
Sliding into my seat, I couldn't help but glance at the table and think ahead to my plan. After breakfast, I'd ask Uncle Howzer about blacksmithing.
I could almost feel the heat of the forge in my mind already, imagining hammer striking metal, shaping a weapon with my own hands.
But for now, it was morning, it was breakfast, and I had a family to kick back with.
LAST TIMESKIP OF THIS CHAPTER
The breakfast plates were cleared, and the scent of fresh bread and stew lingered in the air. I pushed my chair back quietly and stood, stretching my shoulders.
"Thanks for the delicious breakfast, Cynthia," I said, giving her a small nod.
"No problem, Master Donny," she replied with her usual calm tone, though a hint of amusement flickered in her violet eyes as she dried the plates. "Just… try not to burn the house down today, okay?"
I chuckled. "I'll do my best, I promise."
Turning to my parents, I took a deep breath. "I was thinking… after training with Uncle Howzer today, I want to start learning blacksmithing. Can I?"
My mother's face softened immediately, a warm smile spreading across her features. "Of course, dear. It's a wonderful skill. I think it's great that you're taking initiative."
My father, however, shook his head firmly, his brows knitting together. "Donny, listen… I know you're enthusiastic and willing to try new things, but you can't overload yourself. I'd rather you focus on your sword training with your uncle first, then start blacksmithing gradually on the side. Don't boggle your brain with too many things at once—especially with your studies."
I frowned, crossing my arms. "But Father, I've been training for years. I can handle more than one thing. Swordplay alone isn't enough for me—I want to understand the weapons I use. If I don't start learning now, I'll just keep relying on others forever."
"My son," he replied, voice firm, "I'm not saying you can't do it. I'm saying patience is just as important as skill. If you rush into everything at once, you'll burn out. You won't improve, no matter how hard you try."
"But Father, that's exactly why I have to start now!" I shot back, frustration bubbling up. "If I wait too long, I'll fall behind. Uncle Howzer can teach me, and I can pace myself. I won't let this overwhelm me—I can manage both!"
Cynthia, standing nearby, shook her head quietly, a small smile on her lips. "This boy… stubborn as ever. He's exactly like a whirlwind when he was a baby. But he has the heart to back it up."
My father's jaw tightened, but his gaze softened slightly. "You're determined, I'll give you that. But listen carefully—you must promise me you'll be careful. If you push too hard, I won't have a choice but to stop you."
I grinned, stepping closer. "I promise, Father. I'll be careful. But I need to do this. I won't fail."
Cynthia chuckled softly, shaking her head again. "You two arguing like this… it's exhausting just watching."
I rolled my eyes, but the tension eased slightly. With a deep breath, I slung my satchel over my shoulder and adjusted my tunic.
"Well, I'm off then," and waved them off and left the cabin as I made my way to the courtyard.
I glanced at Uncle Howzer, who was inspecting the courtyard, and walked over with purpose. "Uncle," I began, trying to keep my voice steady even though my chest was racing with excitement, "I… I want to learn blacksmithing. Can you teach me?"
Howzer looked at me, his sharp golden eyes narrowing slightly, but there was a flicker of amusement there. "Blacksmithing, huh?" he said, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. "That's a serious craft. You sure you're ready for it, Donny? It's not like sword dueling—you can't just push through it with magic or strength. It's patience, precision… and endurance."
I straightened, crimson eyes blazing with determination. "I'm ready. I want to be able to make my own weapons. Not just for practice… but for when I face real threats. I want to shape them myself, understand them, feel them in my hands."
He studied me for a long moment, then let out a low chuckle. "You've got that stubborn spark I expected. Alright, then. I'll teach you the basics—but I warn you, the forge isn't kind. You'll burn your hands, scorch your clothes, and sweat more than you ever have in training. Are you willing to take that?"
"Absolutely," I said without hesitation.
Howzer nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Very well. After your training today, we'll start with hammering basics and metal tempering. Don't get cocky just because you've got magic—steel doesn't care about power."
I grinned, fists clenched in excitement. "I won't, Uncle. I promise. I'll work as hard as I did with sword training… maybe even harder."
The look in Howzer's eyes softened, a mixture of pride and amusement. "Then let's see if you're as stubborn with steel as you are with your magic."
So after finishing my sparring session with Edlin, sweat dripping and arms trembling, I wiped my brow and followed Uncle Howzer toward the forge at the far end of the courtyard.
The scent of coal and molten metal hit me immediately, a sharp contrast to the morning air.
"This is where patience meets steel," Howzer said, gesturing to the blazing forge. "Before you even touch the hammer, you need to understand the metal. Feel it, don't just hit it."
I stepped closer, eyes scanning the tools neatly arranged on the workbench: hammers of different sizes, tongs, anvils, and piles of raw iron. My crimson eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"First lesson," Howzer continued, picking up a small piece of iron and letting it heat in the forge, "is control. You can't rush the process. The metal has its own will—you guide it, but you don't force it. Got it?"
I nodded, gripping the handle of my hammer tightly. "Got it, Uncle."
He handed me a similarly small piece of iron. "Try heating it, then hammer it lightly. Feel the resistance, and don't tire yourself out too quickly."
As I carefully tapped at the iron, Howzer leaned against the workbench, eyes softening slightly.
"You know… my father forced me into blacksmithing when I wanted to train to be a holy knight. Every day, I would hammer and shape metal until my arms ached. At first, I resented it—despised it even—but in the end, I became proficient beyond what I thought possible. That discipline… that patience saved me more times than my sword ever did."
I blinked, feigning surprise, though inside I was grinning. Yeah, yeah… I already know all this from the manga and anime. But let's see how he tells it in person.
"That's… amazing, Uncle," I said, keeping my tone sincere. "I had no idea. It must have been brutal."
Howzer chuckled lowly. "It was. But it taught me more than just shaping steel. It taught me focus, endurance, and humility. Every mistake left a mark, every success felt earned. That's what I want you to understand, Donny—not just the technique, but the patience and respect the forge demands."
I nodded, hiding my smirk, trying to look impressed. "I get it. I really do."
"Good," he said, his eyes sharp again. "Now, let's see if you can handle it as well as I did. Don't just swing the hammer—feel the metal. Let your strength work with your mind, not against it."
I brought the iron closer to the forge, watching it slowly glow orange as the heat seeped into my fingers despite the tongs. Carefully, I tapped it with the hammer, letting every strike be deliberate.
The metal responded slowly at first, but gradually, I felt it bending under my control. Sparks flew with each hit, sweat dripped down my face, and my muscles ached—but the thrill of shaping something with my own hands, the same way Howzer had learned years ago, made it all worthwhile.
"Not perfect, but it's yours," Howzer said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Tomorrow, we refine it. Tempering, sharpening… and patience. You'll learn more from the mistakes than the successes, Donny. Never forget that."
I nodded, crimson eyes shining with determination. "I won't, Uncle. I'll keep pushing until I can make weapons worthy of my training."
Howzer's gaze softened, pride and amusement clear. "I've got no doubt about that, Donny. Now, let's clean up. The forge doesn't forgive a sloppy workspace either."
As I followed him to tidy up, I couldn't help but feel the excitement building inside me. Swordplay had sharpened my body and mind, but the forge… the forge was teaching me discipline in a completely new way.