A day had passed, and Dante had spent his time in the cabin, imagining what his life would be like from now on. Now, he found himself in front of the training field, waiting for the old Tyler to arrive for their session.
It was early, very early — the time Tyler had scheduled. Today, he would likely be introduced to this world of powers.
Dante was excited, but also worried. He felt a flutter in his stomach, the same feeling he had experienced during his first kickboxing lesson.
Sitting at the door of the field, he grew increasingly anxious, wishing Tyler would arrive quickly, or at the same time, hoping he might not appear at all. It was a complicated feeling, amplified by the solitude of the still-dark dawn, accompanied by the whistling of the wind through the trees.
Dante remained there until a figure appeared. It wasn't Tyler, but someone he had been avoiding: Viviane, his fiancée, as dictated by the ancestral rules of the village. The heir to the leader — that is, Dante — could only become leader by marrying the daughter of the previous leader. Even if he had a child, he could not assume the position. This was a strategy to prevent a single family from dominating the village and to secure the inheritance without internal conflicts or civil wars.
Seeing Viviane, Dante blushed, feeling shy and resigned. He had nothing against her — in fact, he even liked her, kind and beautiful — but it was a lot of emotions for his young heart.
She approached with her calm and graceful demeanor, sitting beside him in silence. The seconds passed slowly, until Viviane finally broke the quiet:
— Good morning, Dante. Excited for the training?
— Good morning, Viviane… I'd say yes — he replied, slightly anxious, his hands trembling.
Sensing his nervousness, Viviane placed her hand over his, trying to calm him.
Unnoticed by them, Tyler was already observing from a distance. His vigorous voice cut through the moment:
— Brat, stop flirting with my daughter and come with me for training!
Viviane quickly removed her hand from Dante's, who stood up hastily, waving goodbye.
---
Upon entering the training field, Dante's excitement reached its peak, and he followed Tyler with energy.
— Brat, sit at the edge of the field — said the old man. — I'll help you initiate your mana.
While Tyler went to a shelf to grab some tools, Dante settled between the ice and fire pools, observing the internal areas of the field.
The master instructed him to remove his shirt and sat lightly behind him, beginning to draw on Dante's back with a special ink:
Three marks on the back
Two on each arm
One on each side of the neck
A dot at each end of the marks
When he finished, Tyler concentrated. The ink began to dry, and an overwhelming pain seized Dante's body. His veins bulged, his eyes burned red, his hands clenched tightly. Each passing minute intensified the sensation, as if specific points on his body were tearing. Invisible needles pierced his skin, his mind wavered, his ears rang, and his blood seemed to collide violently within him.
The master began the countdown, the numbers keeping Dante focused:
— 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4…
A hand touched his back, forming a "toy gun" shape with the fingers but pressing firmly.
— 3… 2… 1…
— ShHaka!
The moment the count reached one, a hot energy surged through his body. Initially gentle, it quickly intensified, and Dante screamed in agony:
— Arhhhh!
The suffering escalated, a burning sensation spreading from his abdomen to every fiber of his body. His screams echoed across the training field.
As expected, becoming a combatant demanded excruciating pain. Few could endure it to the end, and Dante had just taken the first step.