The journey of Gumble's group pressed on toward the west, while Julian quietly made his way back into the dark cavern. The candles were still lit, their flames casting faint halos of light across the stone walls. Yet this time, the cave felt different—emptier, lonelier. None of the others remained. Only Mondrik, who had already absorbed half the beast cores Gumble had brought him.
Julian stepped forward toward Mondrik, who sat silently in his seat of shadows. He lowered the pack gently onto the ground.
"I've brought the first batch, my lord."
Mondrik finally stirred. His eyes opened slowly, fixing on Julian before drifting to the modest pile of cores.
"Few… but expected. Well done."
His praise was calm, almost absent-minded. Then, with a deliberate motion, he stood tall, a beast core glimmering in his hand—a fourth-level wind core. He extended it toward Julian.
"Take this. Your reward."
Julian bowed his head quickly. "Tha—"
Before he could finish, Mondrik was suddenly before him, his voice whispering close to his ear, chilling and sharp:
"You said you knew my daughter, Nua. Tell me… how is she now?"
Julian flinched, caught off guard. "I'll tell you everything you want to know."
Mondrik turned, striding toward a vast training hall that stretched out from the cavern. He stepped onto the platform at its center, his presence filling the space like a storm. Looking back, he commanded:
"You will explain to me how she has become… while we train."
Julian climbed onto the platform, his heartbeat quickening. Without another word, he unleashed his first attack—a sudden vortex of wind tearing from his palm toward Mondrik.
"I must say… she has grown beautiful."
Mondrik raised a hand. A barrier of wind shimmered into existence, effortlessly shattering Julian's attack.
"And how… beautiful is she?"
His counterattack came in the same instant, a wind strike mirroring Julian's but far more devastating. Julian twisted his body, summoning a cyclone around himself to absorb the brunt of the blow. Still, pain seared across him.
"Beautiful enough," he gasped, "to be called the fairest girl in the continent. Blonde, with golden eyes… carrying a grace that defies belief."
Channeling his mana, Julian's hand blazed with wind energy, shaping into ten sharp blades. He launched them in a flurry, cutting through the air toward Mondrik.
Mondrik did not move. A sphere of wind formed casually around his palm, batting away the blades as though they were leaves.
"She has inherited Sara's beauty after all," he murmured, his voice cold. "And what else, besides her looks?"
Sara. His wife. Nua's mother. The woman he had slain himself in a frenzy.
Julian surged forward again, wind coiling around his leg as he kicked with all his force.
"She has become one of the most important figures in New South City—daughter of two Saviors, and heir to Manuel, leader of the Rocs Alliance."
The moment the name left Julian's mouth, Mondrik's face twisted with fury. His counterstrike was merciless—his power flared, swatting Julian aside like a broken doll.
"Manuel… that wretch. He followed Sara everywhere, always trying to steal her from me. And now… he has taken my daughter!"
His voice thundered as wind mana condensed, crashing down on Julian's body like a mountain. The crushing weight drove Julian to his knees, bones groaning under the pressure until cracks rang out in his chest. Only then did Mondrik release him, letting the pressure dissolve.
"And what… am I to her?" Mondrik's voice was quiet, deadly.
Julian's answer came ragged, gasped between breaths:
"Dead."
Mondrik's gaze darkened. He spoke to himself in a low murmur before asking again:
"And what was you… to her?"
The question stunned Julian. He hesitated, then answered:
"Her only friend, I suppose."
Mondrik's eyes narrowed. "Hah… so I killed her only friend. Boy, you'd do well to remain dead to her as well."
Julian forced a nod, his voice quick. "Of course, my lord. I have no intention of returning."
Mondrik turned away, already bored.
"You've made me bored with your weakness. Absorb the core I gave you."
With that, he left the hall, his footsteps fading. Julian collapsed to the ground, coughing blood. One rib at least had snapped under the brutal pressure. What unsettled him most wasn't the pain—it was that Mondrik hadn't moved a single step the entire fight. Every attack, every defense… done with one hand.
Julian knew the gap was vast. Yet never had it seemed so crushingly, impossibly wide.
He remained there for a time, then finally drew the fourth-level wind core to himself. As he absorbed it, mana surged through his veins like a storm, expanding his core ever so slightly. The increase was subtle—barely noticeable to others—but to him, the difference was immense.
"One single wind core… stronger than dozens of lesser elements," he thought, awe sparking through his exhaustion. "This… is incredible."
When he finally left the hall, he noticed Kabel, Harris, and Noel were gone. He guessed rightly that Gumble had already taken them.
He entered a chamber set aside for rest, though he did not sleep. Instead, he sat cross-legged, eyes closed, and began to meditate on the mana.
Mana meditation—one of the most common methods in the world to strengthen one's core alongside absorption. Though its growth was slow, it heightened awareness of the flow around the body, sharpening perception.
And in that silence, Julian realized: when Mondrik closed his eyes, it was not sleep that claimed him. It was meditation.
The thought sent a shiver through him. For the strong, meditation was not stillness—it was dominion, a way to sense every vibration, every flicker of power that moved in the world around them.