The single glowing page of Mana Circulation was too much. The moment its contents began to burn into Lucy's mind, his entire skull ignited with pain, worse than the fists that had shattered his composure just moments ago.
It wasn't just a headache. It felt like his brain was being split open, each new thread of knowledge searing through his synapses like molten wire. His knees were planted on the obsidian floor, his palms clutching the sides of his head as if he could hold it all together by force.
'It's like someone's forcing a thousand lifetimes of knowledge into my skull... all at once.'
He screamed.
It wasn't a cry of battle or pride—it was primal, broken, raw. The sound tore from his throat and echoed across the battlefield like a soul being dragged into hell.
Far away, Seraphine's soldiers paused, confused. None could tell what was happening to the boy, but they assumed it was some terrifying aspect of Vorn's power. None dared to speak, except Seraphine herself, who remained seated upon her conjured throne at the cliff's edge. Her expression was unreadable, carved from stone, a queen watching pieces move across her board.
On the opposite end, Ithriel's army erupted in cheers. Some warriors laughed aloud; others, more smug than surprised, exchanged gold coins and shook their heads.
"Damn, I should've taken the over," one muttered bitterly.
But Ithriel, seated on his elevated throne, actually smiled. There was rare satisfaction in his voice as he barked, "Finish him, Vorn!"
Vorn didn't answer. He simply walked forward, approaching Lucy's kneeling figure. The boy's sword had clattered to the ground, forgotten. His hands clutched his skull like it was cracking apart.
'Hurry it up, brat, I don't want to kill you, but if Ithriel starts to suspect anything, I won't have a choice.' Vorn's thoughts were heavy, but his stride was calm.
But Lucy couldn't hear any of it.
The world had gone silent—eerily so. Like someone had dipped his entire body into water and stolen all sound. The roar of magic, the cheers and jeers, even the hum of his own breath—all gone.
His vision blurred. His eyes stung with tears that weren't entirely emotional. Pain radiated from the center of his skull like an earthquake, blinding and furious. Shapes around him became formless smudges. He could only vaguely perceive the figure walking toward him, each step like a drumbeat in a war he couldn't comprehend.
His brain didn't just hurt. It screamed. It pounded against the walls of his skull like it was trying to escape. Thoughts wouldn't come. Coherent words vanished. The information from the manuscript wasn't being read—it was being carved into him, every line branding itself into his soul.
His body trembled.
His breath caught.
And then—
Silence shattered.
The pain vanished.
Not dulled. Not numbed. Vanished.
His senses snapped back all at once: the obsidian battlefield beneath him, still humming with residual heat; the scent of scorched earth, blood, and sweat; the distant clang of steel against magic; and the sight of Vorn, just paces away, his fist already drawn back.
'He's going to strike again.'
The pain from the mana manuscript may have vanished, but his body hadn't forgotten Vorn's beating. Agony now pulsed from his ribs, each breath sharp as a dagger. His vision swam for a heartbeat. His face was slick with blood—his nose shattered, jaw aching, his whole head one giant bruise.
'I can still move. My limbs respond. I can still fight…'
But when he reached for his sword and staggered upright, the world tilted. A wave of dizziness threatened to drop him again.
'Definitely a concussion,' he thought bitterly.
Vorn stopped mid-step.
He looked at the kid's face, broken, blood streaming from nose to chin, one eye half-swollen, legs trembling, and still, somehow, that sword raised in front of him like a banner of defiance.
Relief flickered in the old warrior's eyes.
'He's still standing.'
Vorn had thought, just for a moment, that he'd pushed the boy too far. That he might have to kill him after all.
But now, there was still time.
Time to keep up the act. Time to drag out the lesson.
He exhaled slowly and let a faint smirk form.
The brat wasn't done yet.
'That was only one page of Mana Circulation out of a hundred, and it almost tore my mind in two.'
Lucy stared at the old elf standing before him. For some reason, Vorn had stopped attacking. He just stood there now, watching him, not with anger or malice, but with something far stranger.
Joy.
It wasn't a smug smile or a condescending look. No, there was a quiet, almost relieved joy behind Vorn's weathered eyes.
'My hunch was right,' Lucy thought, his gaze sharpening. 'He doesn't want to kill me. He's had countless chances, and he hasn't taken a single one.'
"Why did you spare me again?" Lucy asked aloud. His voice was low, raspy, every word scraping against the pain that lingered in his jaw. A groan slipped through his lips as he clutched his face, the nerves still screaming from the earlier punishment.
But Vorn didn't answer with words.
Instead, the old elf mouthed something, slow and deliberate.
Lucy blinked.
He'd never been good at reading lips. In elementary school, whenever friends or girls tried to mouth words at him across the room, he'd always guessed wrong, but this time, there was no mistaking it.
'Kill the Gods.'
The words hit like a thunderclap.
'Kill the gods?'
His thoughts scattered in every direction, his mind racing like a storm.
He really wants to kill them? Is there someone else out there crazy enough to make that their goal?
But then it all began to click.
'That's why he hasn't killed me. That's why he's been training me mid-fight. Each move, each blow—it was a lesson. This whole battle is an act.'
Yet even as the thought came, Lucy instinctively reached for his jaw and winced at the pain. The aching bones, the dizziness still echoing in his skull—no, this wasn't just theater.
'If it's an act, it's the most brutal one I've ever seen.'
Still, something had shifted between them.
Lucy nodded slightly, barely enough for most to notice, but it was a message Vorn would understand.
'I'm ready.'
'Time to put his training to use.'
Lucy inhaled slowly, steadying his breath. Then he did something that only a rare handful of creatures had ever achieved: he began to circulate his mana.
And immediately, he frowned.
'It's moving so slow.'
His mana did begin to flow, threading through his body like a newborn stream carving its way through stone. But it was sluggish, painfully so. The technique was raw, unfinished. He had only absorbed the very first page of a hundred, and the results were glaring.
'I don't feel stronger. If anything, I feel weaker.'
The full benefits of Mana Circulation—speed, strength, fluid control—were meant to scale infinitely with a user's mana. But right now, Lucy could barely ignite a flicker. His mana oozed through him like molasses, crawling at a pace that a sleepy grandmother could've outpaced.
His lips twitched in frustration.
'There's only one way to speed it up, and I won't like it.'
And then he surged forward.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Blade ready.
Mana—however slow—flowing through his veins.
He charged toward the strongest soldier to ever live, heart pounding not from fear but purpose.