Chapter 254: Individual Growth
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 254: Individual Growth
In the depths of the Carnedas family mansion lay a hidden room.
Inside, a strange, swirling portal flickered into existence. A man and a woman staggered out, their movements heavy and uncoordinated.
“Kugh!”
“Ugh…!”
It was Ian Fairytale and Ciel Carnedas.
Both collapsed onto the floor, groaning in exhaustion. The portal hissed shut behind them, the swirling phenomenon subsiding into nothingness.
“Haa… ahh… we actually did it…!”
“Shut up.”
Ian barely managed to push himself into a sitting position. He looked down at the sacred sword gripped in his right hand and let out a breathless chuckle.
Ciel, meanwhile, kept her face pressed against the cold floor, grumbling in sheer annoyance.
The two had just returned from the divine realm. Ian had endured the trials and received the recognition of a Great Heavenly Being, obtaining the Luminous Sword. Ciel, however, was still reeling from the memory of the overwhelming presence she had witnessed at the very end.
Even if only for a fleeting moment, they had encountered a Heavenly God.
To Ciel, the experience felt as if she had been reduced to a mere speck of dust. The Heavenly God had felt impossibly distant yet distinctly present—an entity so immense it defied comprehension. Its mana had pulsed like a cosmic heartbeat, triggering a primal, bone-deep fear.
She shuddered at the mere thought of it. Yet here was this oblivious man, grinning like an idiot because he’d picked up a fancy magic weapon. His carefreeness was infuriating.
“Ian! Ciel!”
“Lady Ciel!”
Alerted by the commotion, Amy Holloway rushed into the basement, followed by a Carnedas family maid.
Amy immediately dropped to her knees beside Ian, while the maid moved to assist Ciel.
“Are you okay? Are you really alright?”
“I’m fine! Look at this, Amy. I’ve gotten so much stronger…!”
“You’re covered in wounds!” Amy cried, throwing her arms around Ian. “You idiot. I told you not to overdo it. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
“...I’m sorry for making you worry.”
“...Welcome back.”
“I’m back.”
Ciel scowled as she watched the couple lost in their own little world. It was as if pink hearts were literally floating over their heads. A vein popped on Ciel’s forehead, and a dark shadow fell over her eyes.
Her expression screamed: How dare they act this lovey-dovey right in front of me?
“Should I just kill them…?”
“Please restrain yourself, Lady Ciel,” the maid whispered, stepping in as Ciel began to manifest her mana.
This kind of pure, drama-free love only served to fuel Ciel’s irritation. She craved blood, passion, and conflict—something as stimulating as Isaac’s messy, complicated romantic entanglements.
“More importantly, I have a report,” the maid said, her tone turning serious.
She explained that demons had attacked while Ciel and Ian were away. Fortunately, the forces of Düpfendorf had arrived to assist, preventing any casualties.
Amy chimed in, vividly recounting the harrowing events of that day.
“...”
Ciel fell into deep thought.
*
“Ugh…!”
“You missed.”
In a secluded corner of the Butterfly Garden.
Just as he had the previous night, Gerald Astrea was putting me through the ringer this morning, trying to teach me his footwork.
The technique had a name that sounded like it belonged in a martial arts epic, but in reality, it was a sophisticated application of mana. After moving only a short distance, sharp pain flared through my thighs, knees, and calves. I tried to grit my teeth and endure, but my balance faltered, and I hit the dirt.
Sweat drenched my body. This unfamiliar training was proving to be exceptionally grueling.
“First, your mana must harmonize with your muscles and joints. They must act as one from the start. It will be difficult at first; this isn't just about being a skilled mage,” Gerald explained as I staggered back to my feet.
Gerald didn't possess a natural, overwhelming talent for magic. Instead, he had mastered the art of imbuing his muscles and joints with mana to enhance his physical movements—a method he had pioneered himself.
It was far more complex than standard physical-enhancement magic. It required a profound understanding of one's own anatomy, something Gerald possessed in spades. Mastering this internal synchronization was the absolute prerequisite for learning the "Footwork" he spoke of.
“Let me repeat. This is a method of infusing strength from within. If done correctly, you can achieve explosive speed with zero wasted effort. The effect only grows as your body develops. The key is the harmonious blend of mana and movement. It requires trial and error, but with your capabilities, you should grasp it soon.”
If I could master Gerald’s technique, I could drastically reduce the strain on my body while enabling high-speed maneuvers. It was like raising the natural ceiling of my physical limits.
However, there was a reason Gerald’s method wasn't widely known.
“It’s so damn hard…”
The difficulty was astronomical. Natural magical talent wasn't enough; this was a path for those who had pushed both their bodies and their magic to the absolute limit. Without a perfect map of one's own physical structure, it was impossible to execute. Even with my knowledge, I was struggling.
Gerald had only mastered it because of his freakish physical intuition.
Still...
I needed to perfectly infuse mana into the joints and muscles. A single millisecond of poor timing or a fraction too much power caused immediate imbalance and agonizing pain. I had to find that razor-thin line where the mana could flow without disrupting the physical form.
It was like trying to fill a soju glass to the absolute brim, using surface tension to keep the liquid from spilling. In this analogy, the glass represented my muscles and joints—but right now, I felt like I didn't even know how big the glass was.
“Try again, Isaac.”
“Yes!”
Despite the pain, I was highly motivated. This was a technique worth dying for. Once I succeeded, I would finally be qualified to learn Gerald’s true footwork.
Pain was nothing. I had already endured far worse.
I gathered my mana once more.
*
Mateo Jordana had become a recognized and promising talent.
A commoner from the countryside who had fought his way into the Empire’s top academy and secured a spot as a top student. His entire village had pooled their meager savings to pay his tuition; that was how much they loved him.
Mateo’s goal was to be a commoner who stood tall against the nobility. He was determined to shatter the inequalities of birth. That drive had made him bold—bold enough to commit the foolish crime of kidnapping the noble Amy Holloway.
He had been an idiot back then. But thanks to Isaac and Ian Fairytale, Mateo had realized his mistakes and repented. Now, he was determined to prove that a commoner could surpass a noble through sheer skill alone.
However, the academy was a den of monsters whose talents dwarfed his own. He wasn't just competing with geniuses like the top-seat Luce Eltania or the second-seat Kaya Astrea; he was in the shadow of the literal Ice Sovereign, Isaac.
“Hoo.”
Mateo took a deep breath, his body slick with sweat.
The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the wide plains. His lover, dressed in a simple gown, sat a short distance away, watching his back with quiet devotion.
“Mateo, isn't it time to call it a day? The sun is almost gone.”
“Not yet. Just three hundred more.”
Mateo clenched his fist.
Realistically, he knew he might never be the absolute best at Märchen Academy. But he refused to give up on his goal. He planned to utilize every scrap of knowledge he had gained at the school.
He remembered seeing Isaac swinging those massive rock fists while hiding his true strength. That image had stayed with him. Mateo wondered if there was a combat style better suited for him than pure spellcasting.
He thought of his own sturdy build. He had never neglected his physical conditioning, believing that physical strength was the foundation of all things. Like Isaac, Mateo decided to become stronger by weaponizing his own body.
Rumble!
Rock mana swirled violently around Mateo’s fist. Jagged fragments of stone levitated in the air, orbiting his arm. Then, he unleashed the strike.
Whoosh!!
Rumbleeee!!!
The rock mana exploded outward, but it dispersed in a wide, fan-shaped spray. The resulting wind pressure whipped through his lover’s hair.
“...Oh!”
Mateo’s eyes widened in frustration. The power was there, but it was scattering. His goal was a concentrated, straight line of destruction.
Hundreds, thousands of times a day. Drenched in sweat, Mateo thrust his rock-clad fist forward again and again.
*
In the training grounds of the Humphrey family mansion.
Despite the late hour, Tristan Humphrey was a blur of motion, gales of wind coiling around him as he tore across the field.
Panting heavily, Tristan forced more mana from his core. An elderly butler, who had served the family for decades, watched from the shadows as Tristan pushed himself relentlessly.
“Young Master…”
Tristan was subjecting himself to a hellish regime every single day. Harnessing wind mana, he moved at speeds that defied the eye, shattering training dummies with a level of skill that far exceeded his years.
However, such high-speed combat placed an immense burden on his frame. For hours on end, Tristan trained until he suffered nosebleeds or vomited from the strain, yet he never slowed down.
“More!!”
Tristan roared, trying to force even more speed out of his trembling legs. His frustration was palpable. The usually arrogant Young Master only revealed his true self during these sessions—he looked like a man being hunted by a ghost.
“Kugh…!”
Tristan coughed up a spray of blood, his body shaking violently. The butler rushed forward, wiping the blood from Tristan’s chin with a silk towel.
“Young Master, please stop. You are overexerting yourself.”
“Not yet. I’m fine. I can’t stop yet.”
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
Tristan offered a jagged grin. “It feels like I’m close. I’m right on the edge of a breakthrough.”
Using wind mana for high-speed movement was inherently self-destructive. If he continued like this, permanent injury was inevitable. Tristan knew he had to find a way to mitigate the recoil.
“What do you mean…?”
“I’m practicing channeling mana into parts of the body that aren't meant to hold it.”
“What?” The butler gasped.
“Muscles. Joints. If I can synchronize the flow perfectly, I can control the output without the backlash.”
The butler, a former mercenary wizard himself, understood the sheer absurdity of the task. Channeling mana directly into joints? It was invisible to the eye, but the internal agony would be like having one's limbs snapped and reset over and over.
“If you continue this… you could end up crippled,” the butler whispered, his voice trembling with genuine concern.
“Pathetic talk. That’s exactly why I’m training. Do you think someone as superior as me can’t overcome a little pain?”
Tristan snickered, dismissively brushing away the butler’s hand. “Enough. Return to your post.”
Tristan turned his back and resumed his stance. The butler watched him with a mixture of pity and awe. He admired the young man’s drive; as a servant of the Humphrey family, seeing the future head work this hard was inspiring. But he feared the boy’s spirit would break his body before he reached his goal.
Finally, the butler couldn't help but ask the question that had been burning in his mind.
“Young Master.”
“What now?”
“Why… why do you push yourself so hard?”
Why strive for this level of strength? Why endure this level of torture? Isn't he already more than qualified to lead the family?
The butler knew it wasn't his place to ask. He immediately lowered his head. “I misspoke. Please, forget I said anything—”
“It’s only natural.”
“Pardon?”
Tristan thought back to his time at Märchen Academy—the education, the people he’d met, and the numerous humiliations he had suffered at the hands of Isaac. He had learned a bitter truth.
“I used to think I was the brightest light in the room. But looking back, I was just a speck of dirt.”
He felt a searing shame for having been so proud of his meager talents. He felt disgusted by his past complacency, believing his minimal efforts were enough. He wasn't brilliant; he had been a clueless, arrogant beggar.
And those people who had forced him to realize that... they were shining with an infuriating brilliance.
I will outshine them all.
I will become a Great Wizard, lead the Humphrey family, and I will crush the Ice Sovereign, Isaac.
“How could I possibly stand still?”
His heart hammered against his ribs. Tristan stepped forward, the wind beginning to howl around him once more. The butler remained silent, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. He bowed deeply to the man he would serve until his dying breath.
Then, as dawn began to break...
Whooosh!
As Tristan surged forward, cloaked in a mantle of wind, he realized he was moving faster than ever before. It was a gentle, fluid sensation. The wind didn't resist him; it spread like falling petals. He reached his target in the blink of an eye.
He felt it—the alien, exhilarating sensation of true speed. There was no physical backlash, no internal resistance weighing him down.
Stunned, Tristan stood frozen for a moment. Then, his lips curled into a manic grin.
“Kehehehe… Kuhahaha!! I did it!! I actually did it!!”
In a surge of pure euphoria, Tristan laughed until he began to cough. The butler’s eyes sparkled with joy, as if the achievement were his own.
As the adrenaline faded, a heavy, bone-deep fatigue washed over Tristan. He chuckled softly before collapsing powerlessly onto the grass.
Tristan Humphrey had reached a new height.