Raizen sat in a meditative pose beneath the cherrywood pavilion in the eastern garden. The soft rustle of leaves whispered through the air, carried by a breeze that bore the gentle fragrance of morning dew and polished steel. His katana lay beside him, untouched, its presence silent but heavy.
Today wasn't about the blade.
It was about mana.
He inhaled slowly, then exhaled, eyes closed. The world faded into silence as he focused inward. Deep within his chest, near his heart, he felt it—that familiar thrum, faint but persistent.
Mana.
It wasn't a tangible thing. It wasn't like blood that pulsed or breath that flowed.
It was presence. A force older than life, intimately woven into the soul.
Each individual possessed a core—a metaphysical organ nestled within them that regulated mana. For some, it was closed, dormant. For others, like those of noble bloodlines, it was a roaring flame from birth.
For Raizen, it had started as a flicker when he awakened weeks ago. F-rank, barely a spark.
But now?
Now it stirred like a river under thin ice, currents growing bolder each day.
Crack.
He felt it first in his chest—a faint pop, like a frozen surface giving way.
His core pulsed, and with it, the surrounding mana twisted. Invisible tendrils of energy seeped through his veins, pushing outward, seeking exit through the skin.
He grit his teeth, fingers twitching.
"Almost there…"
Raizen remembered what his grandfather had told him.
"Mana doesn't just flow—it resists. Like a wild beast. You don't command it. You earn its cooperation. You bend, not break."
He shifted the focus to his breathing. Inhale, draw in the surrounding energy. Exhale, circulate it through his channels. Again. And again. The pain dulled with each repetition. A rhythm formed.
The flow aligned.
Then, without warning, the sensation surged.
The energy burst outward, expanding from the core, and every nerve in his body lit up. It was fire and lightning—raw, unrelenting force. But it didn't hurt.
It was freedom.
A soft flash of blue aura flickered around him before fading.
Raizen opened his eyes.
"I broke through," he whispered. "F+."
His senses felt sharper. Sounds more crisp. The smell of grass, once subtle, now saturated his awareness. His limbs felt lighter, every breath deeper.
He didn't need anyone to tell him.
He had ascended.
A few hours later, Raizen stood before his mother and Kael in the private training hall.
"You've improved," Eleanor said, circling him slowly, her eyes scanning him as if reading his soul. "But there's more to it than a simple rank-up, isn't there?"
Raizen nodded. "I'm starting to feel it. How mana moves. How it doesn't just fill me—but wants to be used."
Kael grinned. "F+ already? At this pace, you'll be D-rank before the month ends. Not bad for our little brother."
Raizen rolled his eyes. "Not so little anymore."
Kael laughed. "No, I suppose not."
Eleanor's expression softened slightly. "Explain it. From your own perspective. How did it feel?"
Raizen closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "It felt like… pressure building up. Like water behind a dam. At first, my mana resisted me. It moved only when I forced it. But today, I didn't force it—I let it move. Guided it. When I did that, the dam cracked."
"A good metaphor," Eleanor said, clearly impressed. "The flow of mana is like an ecosystem. It needs harmony, not domination."
Kael crossed his arms. "What about your control? You trying to use it with the katana yet?"
"Not yet," Raizen admitted. "I'm still getting used to the sensitivity. But I can feel how it's going to help. My reflexes are sharper. I can predict motion better. And telekinesis—"
He raised a hand.
A nearby wooden training dummy lifted off the ground, hovering a foot in the air. It trembled slightly but held firm.
"I can manipulate multiple small objects now without splitting focus too much."
Eleanor nodded approvingly. "You'll start seeing real progress once you reach D-rank. That's when your core will start adapting on its own."
Later that night, Marcus and Darius sat at the family council room table, reviewing a list of incoming guests.
"He's reaching milestones faster than expected," Marcus said, sipping dark tea.
Darius chuckled. "Because he's a monster in the making."
Marcus smirked. "Just like you?"
"Worse." Darius grinned, eyes gleaming. "Which is exactly what we need."
They fell silent as they both looked at a shimmering projection hovering in the center of the table: the Ashborne party guest list.
Names from all eight great families appeared. Confirmed attendees.
And among them—one was highlighted in red.
"Ravon Eldric," Marcus muttered. "The head of the Drayven family."
Darius leaned back. "That bastard wouldn't show unless he was planning something."
Marcus looked toward the far end of the hall, where the Ashborne crest glowed on the wall.
"He's testing us," Marcus said. "Trying to see if the heir is a paper sword."
Darius cracked his knuckles.
"Then let's show them we forged him in fire."