Chapter 2: The Founder's Whisper
Louis faltered, taken aback by the strange, intense look in his master's eyes. It was not the look of a broken boy, but of a seasoned general surveying a new battlefield. "Young Master? Are you... quite alright?"
Before Vicky could concoct an answer, the voice thrummed in his mind once more.
"This vessel is even weaker than I anticipated. The spiritual energy here is thin, and your meridians are utterly blocked. It is a wonder you can even breathe." Reman's tone was critically sharp, yet laced with a thread of dark amusement. "But fret not. I did not grant you a second chance without a solution. Do you wish to claim it?"
"More than anything," Vicky whispered fervently, his outward calm belying the storm within.
"Good. Then command your servant to fetch these ingredients. Immediately." A list of bizarre and rare materials seared itself into Vicky's consciousness: Goblin Commander core, Vili Flowers, Spam Fruits, the heart of a Twelve-Hound Deer.
He turned to Louis, the authority of a Duke heir settling onto his young shoulders like a well-worn cloak. "Louis. I require some items from the family storeroom. Do not question their purpose. Just bring them. Now."
"Of-of course, Young Master," Louis stammered, bowing slightly. "What do you need?"
Vicky recited the list, his voice unwavering. When he named the final ingredient, Louis's face paled.
"The heart of a Twelve-Hound Deer? But Young Master, that is a peak Intermediate-Level magical beast! Its heart is incredibly rare and packed with volatile mana! It's far too dangerous—"
"Now, Louis," Vicky interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. The look in his eyes was not a request; it was an order from a man who had seen death.
Swallowing his protests, Louis bowed deeply. "At once, sir." He hurried off, his mind reeling at the strange change in his master and the ominous nature of the request.
Within the hour, the items were laid out on the floor of Vicky's bedchamber. The deer's heart pulsed with a faint, dangerous light.
"Now," Reman's voice instructed, all humor gone. "Sit. Still your mind. Focus every ounce of your will, your consciousness, right here." An image of a point just below his sternum, his dantian, flashed in Vicky's mind. "The pain will be unlike anything you have ever conceived. It will feel as if your soul is being scoured with fire and reforged in ice. You must not yield. Your future, and the future of the Arkaan name, hinges on this moment."
Vicky took a steadying breath and assumed the position. He closed his eyes, pouring all his focus into the spot Reman had shown him. For a heartbeat, there was only silence.
Then, agony.
It erupted from his core, a cataclysm of pure, unadulterated pain. It was molten lead in his veins, a thunderstorm in his bones. He gagged, vomiting a dark, viscous fluid onto the floor. The veins across his body bulged, turning a terrifying black against his skin, mapping a network of pure torment. His eyes flew open, burning with a hellish crimson light.
Yet, through the universe of pain, a wild, exhilarating power surged. He could feel it. A torrent of raw, ancient energy was flooding his barren meridians, shattering the blockages, expanding them with violent, glorious purpose. It was the most painful and most wonderful feeling of his life.
As abruptly as it began, it ceased. He collapsed forward, gasping, sweat pouring from his brow. He looked at his hands. The blackened veins were receding, leaving his skin clear. His body felt... different. Lighter. Stronger. Buzzing with a latent energy he had never known.
And then he saw it.
The world was no longer just the world. The air shimmered with a faint, golden luminescence. Tiny motes of light danced and swirled around him. Mana.
"I... I can see it," he breathed, his voice a hoarse wonder. "I can truly see it." He was awestruck, his previous despair forgotten in the face of this miracle.
Reman's proud laugh echoed in his mind. "You have successfully assimilated the primordial mana from the Deer's heart! The ritual has forcibly awakened your dormant core and granted you 'Mana Sight.' You are blind no longer, boy. You have taken your first step onto the path of a knight."
Overwhelmed, Vicky could only whisper his gratitude. "Thank you, Founder. I will not waste this gift. I swear it."
"This is but the spark," Reman stated, his voice turning serious. "Now you must learn to wield the flame. The path is long and steep."
A clear hierarchy unfolded in Vicky's mind, not as a list, but as a vision of ascending power:
· Beginner Knight: Perceives the flow of mana.
· Low-Level Knight: Draws a trickle of mana into the core.
· Mid-Level Knight: Circulates mana to enhance the physical body.
· High-Level Knight: Projects mana as a visible aura or shield.
· Advanced Knight: Forms a stable, full-body mana armor.
· Experienced Knight: Imbues weapons with elemental mana.
· Swordmaster: Manifests pure mana into devastating ranged attacks.
· Grandmaster: Commands mana on a battlefield scale, a one-man army.
· Supreme Master: A mythic realm where one's will shapes reality itself.
"You stand at the beginning," Reman declared. "But I possess a forgotten technique—the 'Heaven-Devouring Art.' If you endure my training without complaint, I can elevate you to the Low-Level Knight stage within... thirty days."
"Thirty days?" Vicky gasped. For the boy who had been declared talentless mere hours ago, it was an unimaginable promise. "I will do it! I will endure any hardship! Any pain!"
A fierce grin was palpable in Reman's psychic voice. "Excellent. Your resolve pleases me. The first lesson begins now. Let us see if your enthusiasm survives the night."
At eighteen years old, Vicky Arkaan clenched his fists, feeling the faint, sweet flow of energy within him for the very first time. The road to vengeance had begun.
---