Sunlight filtered through the tall arched windows of the Thunderbloom estate, thin rays slipping past the pale curtains and laying themselves gently across Argus’s face. The warmth was faint, almost hesitant. Argus stirred.

  His body protested first. A dull ache lingered in his shoulders, a stiffness in his ribs from restless sleep rather than battle. He inhaled slowly, feeling the subtle tightness within his chest where mana channels lay coiled like delicate veins beneath flesh and bone. Even in stillness, he could sense their weakness.

  He opened his eyes.

  The ceiling above him felt familiar yet distant, as though he were observing it through a pane of glass. For a few seconds he allowed himself the indulgence of simply breathing, letting the remnants of sleep fade without resistance. He scratched the itch at the back of his head and stretched in an awkward position that should have been uncomfortable and yet was not.

  Then Dravien spoke, his voice cutting through the pleasantness of the morning.

  "I despise the current state of this vessel."

  The voice was calm, cultured, threaded with faint irritation rather than anger. It echoed not in the room but within the private chambers of his consciousness, resonant and measured.

  Argus did not flinch. He had grown accustomed to the voice.

  “You said something like that yesterday as well,” he replied quietly, pushing himself upright.

  "And it still remains accurate," Dravien answered. "The channels are narrow. The flow is sluggish. Even your resting circulation resembles that of a fatigued initiate. It is profoundly unpleasant."

  Argus swung his legs over the side of the bed and let his feet touch the cool floor. “You agreed to share it.”

  "I did not agree to inhabit mediocrity."

  Argus exhaled through his nose, neither amused nor offended. He had learned that Dravien’s arrogance was not emotional. It was structural. The ancient being did not posture. He assessed.

  “And what would you suggest,” Argus asked, standing and crossing toward the window, “that we do about my profound mediocrity?”

  The curtain shifted as he drew it slightly aside. Beyond the estate grounds, the city stirred awake. Smoke rose from chimneys in pale strands. Carriages creaked along distant streets. Life continued.

  "We are going to a training zone," Dravien said.

  Argus paused.

  “A training zone?”

  "A dangerous one."

  Argus's brows furrowed, "My mana channels would take at least a couple more days to fully..." He stopped as he examined his mana channels. They were completely restored, how?

  "I didn't have time to wait for them to actually restore themselves so I drew from external mana to power your core." Dravien replied in a bored voice.

  "What?", his voice came out at a higher pitch. "That kind of thing is extremely dangerous and only archmages can attempt it properly, not even then. How did you do it with a silver core body?"

  "It seems you humans are still incompetent despite having the aid of a divine construct. It is not that hard, one just needs precise focus and technique."

  Argus was stunned, his brows had gone so far up that they looked as part of his hair. He absorbed the words in silence, Dravien had managed to restore his core fully in one night without damaging it. If he managed to learn that technique then he would become one of the greatest modern adventurers. And Dravien had promised to teach him everything. This was the opportunity of a lifetime!

  But the external ambient mana and his body's natural mana were not the same. So why did he not feel a difference?

  "I spent the night regulating it and circulating it throughout your core. Your body now treats it as its naturally produced energy."

  Oh, that made... sense. But, "hadn't we established earlier that you were not to invade my mind?"

  "I did not". Argus waited for him to elaborate.

  "It was an educated guess. I just read your general emotions and the context of current events to come to a conclusion."

  It was reassuring that Dravien had kept his promise. But, it was also worrying that the Demon Lord didn't even need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. He would have to work more on controlling his emotions, along with his outward appearance. It would not do to have his enemies know about his state of mind. Now, onto the matter at hand.

  Argus turned slowly. “Silver and Gold zones are appropriate for my level.”

  "They would bore me."

  A faint crease formed between Argus’s brows. “Are you the one who will be fighting?”

  “It will be your body that bleeds,” Dravien replied evenly. “And therefore it will be your mind as well that must strengthen. I have no desire to share existence with a weakling who humiliates me by proximity.”

  Argus almost laughed, though there was little humor in him this morning. “You are remarkably encouraging.”

  “Encouragement is for children. You require pressure.”

  Argus leaned his shoulder against the wall and folded his arms. “If we enter a zone beyond my capacity, I will die.”

  Dravien’s presence shifted subtly, like a weight adjusting its balance within him. “If circumstances exceed survivable thresholds, I will intervene.”

  “You sound very confident in that promise.”

  “I am confident in my calculations.”

  Argus studied the floor for a moment. Mana exercises had seemed logical with circulation refinement and Compression drills.

  Though Dravien claimed that he merely wanted to train Argus, he felt that there was something else.

  “This is about the Undead One, is it not?” he guessed.

  There was a pause.

  Dravien did not deny it, so he knew his hunch was correct.

  Argus inhaled slowly, considering.

  “I could refuse.”

  “You could attempt to.”

  Argus’s lips curved faintly. “Forceful takeover damages the vessel. You have said so yourself.”

  Silence again. Not irritated this time, but measured.

  “You are negotiating.”

  “Yes.”

  “For what.”

  Argus lifted his gaze toward the window once more. “If I agree to enter a zone beyond my rank, you will tell me everything you know about the Undead One.”

  “Everything is a large demand.”

  “You will tell me what you have not told me.”

  “And why would I comply.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Because,” Argus said calmly, “if you refuse and attempt to override my will, the strain will destabilize our shared channels. I imagine that would inconvenience you more than answering a few questions.”

  A faint ripple of something passed through Dravien’s consciousness. Amusement, perhaps.

  “You are growing audacious.”

  “I am growing tired of being uninformed.”

  Several heartbeats passed in quiet tension.

  “Very well,” Dravien said at last. “I accept.”

  Argus did not smile, though relief brushed the edges of his thoughts.

  He moved toward the small writing desk near his bed. The estate was still subdued in grief, and though he had not been forbidden from leaving, he understood the quiet expectations placed upon him.

  He took a sheet of parchment and wrote briefly.

  'Mother,

  I will be gone for some hours. Do not be concerned. I will return before evening. I promise I will return, do not worry. And don't look for me.'

  He did not want his mother to think that he would be the second child she buried. But he also couldn't go and tell her that he would be going to a mithril zone to train.

  He placed the note carefully on the table where it would be seen.

  “You are certain,” Dravien said, “that you shouldn't personally tell her?”

  “She would try to stop me,” Argus replied.

  He dressed simply, fastening his coat and adjusting the bracers at his wrists. His reflection in the small mirror near the wardrobe revealed a young man who looked almost ordinary. Black hair with a pair of matching black eyes, like the rest of his family.

  Completely unremarkable and ordinary.

  Dravien’s disdain stirred faintly at the sight.

  “Where,” the ancient voice asked, “are the more unstable zones.”

  Argus closed his eyes briefly, recalling the maps he had studied.

  “There is a Mithril tier region to the southeast. Volcanic instability. Mana density fluctuates unpredictably. It is classified as unsuitable for Gold and below.”

  “Excellent.”

  Argus sighed.

  The journey did not take long once they left the city’s outer perimeter. Dravien’s control over external mana allowed them to traverse distance with unsettling efficiency. Air thickened beneath Argus’s feet, lifting him, carrying him forward in controlled arcs above treelines and rocky terrain. It tugged at his hair, spreading it at all angles.

  The sky darkened gradually as they approached.

  Ash drifted through the air like black snow. The ground below shifted in color from brown and green to a deep, bruised red. Cracks veined the earth, some glowing faintly with internal heat. The air itself felt heavier, saturated with unstable currents that pressed faintly against Argus’s senses.

  He landed upon a ridge overlooking a wide basin.

  The sky above the zone was choked with dense black clouds. They did not move like natural storm formations. They churned slowly, thick and oppressive, trapping heat and ash within the region.

  “This,” Argus murmured, “is Mithril territory.”

  “And you are Silver,” Dravien replied. “A discrepancy worth correcting.”

  Argus rolled his shoulders and exhaled.

  The moment his boots touched the red earth, he felt it.

  Mana here was not gentle. It did not flow in smooth, obedient currents. It surged in pulses, eddied unpredictably, coiling through the terrain like a restless serpent.

  His own circulation responded instinctively, tightening, adjusting.

  “Your flow is uneven,” Dravien noted. “Compensate.”

  Argus inhaled and began consciously refining the rhythm of his internal channels. Water mana, cool and fluid, gathered along his pathways. He extended his senses outward, mapping fluctuations in the surrounding field.

  A faint vibration.

  Then another.

  He turned toward the source.

  From behind a cluster of jagged rock formations emerged shapes wreathed in flame.

  They were the size of a small carriage, their bodies lean and muscular, their fur not fur at all but living fire that rippled and shifted with each movement. Their eyes burned a deeper crimson within the blaze. Heat radiated outward in waves.

  “Fire Blades,” Argus whispered.

  “Gold tier,” Dravien confirmed. “They hunt cooperatively.”

  Argus scanned them.

  [Fire Blade]

  Level: 40

  Health points: 300

  Strength: 567

  Mana: None

  Abilites: Not disclosed

  They were more powerful than anything he had faced yet, this was going to be a hell of a challenge.

  There were six of them.

  They spread slowly, encircling.

  Argus felt his pulse quicken, though he forced his breathing to remain measured.

  Gold tier. Individually not insurmountable. Collectively lethal.

  “You wished for experience,” Dravien said calmly. “You have it.”

  The first Fire Blade lunged.

  Argus moved instinctively, mana surging along his right arm as he formed a curved shield of condensed liquid, reinforced to near-solid density. The creature’s flaming claws struck, sending a violent hiss through the air as steam exploded outward.

  The force drove him back several steps.

  Heat licked across his forearm, searing through the outer layer of protection. It blistered his skin, he let out a hiss.

  He gritted his teeth and twisted, releasing the shield outward in a burst that splashed across the creature’s face. Steam erupted again, momentarily obscuring its vision.

  “Do not remain stationary,” Dravien advised. “They flank.”

  Argus pivoted just as another Fire Blade surged from his left. He dropped low, sweeping his hand across the ground. Moisture drawn from the ash-laden air condensed instantly, forming a slick layer of water that froze just enough to destabilize the creature’s footing.

  It stumbled.

  Argus drove a compressed jet of water directly into its exposed throat.

  He could feel Dravien circulating the spell.

  The impact was sharp and focused, a high-pressure lance that pierced through flame and into flesh. The creature roared, its fiery mane flaring violently.

  Two more closed in.

  Argus felt strain building already. His channels were not accustomed to sustaining such output under this environmental pressure.

  “You are overextending,” Dravien observed.

  “I am surviving,” Argus replied through clenched teeth.

  A Fire Blade leapt from behind, jaws wide. Argus twisted but not fast enough. Fangs grazed his shoulder, searing through fabric and skin. Blood poured out of his wound, immediately vaporizing upon touching the ground.

  Pain flared bright and immediate.

  Dravien nudged his footing, just enough to prevent a fatal follow-up strike.

  Argus retaliated with a spiraling torrent of water that wrapped around the creature’s torso and constricted violently. Steam filled the air as flame met liquid in explosive opposition.

  He could feel Dravien adjusting his internal circulation subtly, smoothing inefficiencies, redirecting overflow back into usable channels.

  “You are leaking mana unnecessarily,” Dravien said. “Compress before release.”

  Argus obeyed.

  He drew the next spell inward first, tightening the structure until it vibrated with contained pressure before unleashing it in a focused burst. The difference was immediate. Less waste. Greater impact.

  One Fire Blade collapsed, its flames sputtering.

  Four remained.

  Time lost meaning.

  The world narrowed to heat, ash, and movement.

  Argus dodged, rolled, countered. Water met fire again and again in violent collision. Steam scalded his skin. His lungs burned from the thickened air. Every movement demanded precision.

  Dravien’s voice threaded through it all, not frantic but analytical.

  “Left.”

  “Now.”

  “Lower your center.”

  “Do not chase.”

  Occasionally, when Argus’s structure faltered dangerously, Dravien reinforced a spell by a fraction, subtle enough that Argus retained ownership of the action but sufficient to prevent collapse.

  But Dravien did not prevent the injuries, multiple scars ran along his body and his clothes were torn in all places. A large gash ran along his cheek, where it had nearly taken his eye.

  Minutes stretched like hours.

  At some point, Argus realized his arms were trembling.

  Three remained.

  One lunged directly toward his throat.

  Argus gathered everything he had left and shaped it not into a shield but into a blade of water so dense it shimmered like glass. He stepped forward instead of back, slicing upward through flame and muscle.

  The creature’s body split along the line of impact.

  It fell.

  Two.

  They circled more cautiously now, flames flickering lower.

  Argus’s vision blurred slightly at the edges.

  “You are nearing depletion,” Dravien noted. “Finish this efficiently.”

  Argus inhaled deeply despite the heat, drawing in unstable ambient mana and forcing it through his channels. It burned. It resisted. But he bent it, folding it into his own circulation with sheer will.

  He feigned weakness.

  Let his stance falter.

  The nearest Fire Blade lunged eagerly.

  Argus pivoted sharply and slammed both palms into the ground.

  Water surged outward beneath the ash, spreading in a wide circle before freezing in an instant. The creature’s claws lost traction mid-stride. Its momentum carried it forward uncontrollably.

  Argus rose into the motion and drove a compressed column of water straight through its chest.

  The final Fire Blade hesitated.

  Then it roared and charged.

  Argus met it head-on.

  Their collision was violent, flame engulfing his form as he wrapped himself in the thinnest possible membrane of rotating water, turning his body into a spinning axis of opposing elements.

  The two forces clashed in a screaming burst of steam and ash.

  When the haze cleared, the creature lay still.

  Argus stood swaying.

  Then his knees gave way.

  He collapsed onto the scorched ground, chest heaving, every channel screaming in protest. Mana reserves were nearly empty, reduced to thin, flickering strands.

  Ash drifted downward gently, settling across his coat.

  For a long moment he could not move.

  Inside, he felt it.

  The subtle shift.

  His circulation was smoother. Broader. Not dramatically, but measurably. Where once his flow had felt constrained, now it moved with marginally less resistance.

  He was still Silver.

  But he was no longer the same Silver who had woken this morning.

  A burst of notifications flooded him.

  [Multiple levels gained, expand panel to gain detailed information.]

  [6 fireblades Defeated]

  He had gained plenty of levels and experience during this session. Also getting excessive skill points.

  [Skill Points: 23]

  [Soul Resonance: 10%]

  He still didn't know what soul resonance did, but having an extra skill couldn't be bad. He didn't expand the notifications right now, it was pretty dangerous to go into a trance-like state while gold level monsters roamed. Not to mention he was extremely tired, this could be dealt with in the comfort of his room.

  “You see,” Dravien said quietly, “experience refines what repetition merely imitates.”

  Argus closed his eyes briefly, allowing the exhaustion to settle without panic.

  “I almost died,” he murmured.

  “You did not.”

  Argus let out a weak breath that might have been a laugh.

  A scream tore through the ash-choked air from somewhere to his right.

  Not distant nor imagined.

  Human.

  Argus’s eyes snapped open.

  Dravien’s presence sharpened instantly.

  “There are others here,” he said.

  Argus forced himself onto one elbow, turning toward the source.

  It started again, then-

  It cut off abruptly.