After a moment of focused concentration, a brilliant speck of golden light slowly bloomed above Karl's palm.
It was no larger than a soybean, yet it radiated warmth and holiness, emanating a majesty that defied description. The tiny mote hovered in the air, suspended between them, its glow gentle yet undeniably potent.
The instant the golden light appeared, Dean Hen's curiosity froze, replaced by a primal, instinctive dread. His pupils shrank violently, and his fingers, resting on the armrest, trembled slightly.
Danger—pure, lethal danger. To a mana-sensitive being like him, that tiny speck seemed like a colossal Spell on the verge of eruption. Every nerve in his body screamed a warning, each cell urging him to flee, to cast protective Spells, or even to teleport away.
Even as a High-Tier Warlock, he had never encountered anything that triggered such an unmistakable premonition—not the most fearsome opponents in the Brotherhood, nor the most perilous relics, had ever made him feel this way.
Yet despite the terror coursing through him, Dean Hen forced his body to stay still. He gripped the armrest until his knuckles whitened, fixing his gaze on the golden light—and on Karl, who remained perfectly calm behind it.
He trusted Karl. He believed that the student he considered his finest would never harm him.
As Dean Hen steeled his mind, the golden light, like a small swallow returning to its nest, floated gently toward his chest. It hovered for a moment, radiating warmth, then sank soundlessly into his body.
"Hngh!?" The sound escaped before he could stop it—not pain, but shock. A vast, comforting energy surged through him, warm as a flood. Unlike familiar Chaotic mana, this energy was purer, loftier—every part of him thrilled under its touch.
The power penetrated deep into his Soul, sending waves of pleasure and fulfillment that reached into his bones. The sensation was overwhelming; he nearly moaned aloud, caught between shock and bliss.
"Karl… this… what is this? So vast… so pure…" His voice trembled as his body reacted to the torrent of divine energy.
Karl watched Dean Hen's stunned expression, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "Teacher, don't resist. Just feel what it brings."
Dean Hen closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensation, guiding the golden energy toward his long-overburdened heart. Almost immediately, a wondrous transformation began.
His body glowed from within, suffused with a soft, dazzling golden light. Specks of energy he could not absorb escaped through his pores, drifting into the air around him.
A half-withered pot of nameless flowers on the windowsill caught some of the stray motes. Their petals, fallen and yellowed, seemed to shiver in anticipation. Then, almost impossibly, the flowers revived. Leaves unfurled, tender green shoots emerged, and the stems stretched upward with renewed strength. Within moments, the flowers had grown several times their original size, blooming with a faint golden radiance that seemed almost otherworldly.
Karl's gaze lingered on the scene with a quiet satisfaction. "Power of Faith and Divine Power… they are indeed different," he mused.
"Faith draws from external sources, spiritual energy that requires conversion. Divine Power, however, is the sublimation of one's own life and energy—immensely potent, brimming with the very Origin of life itself."
He knew only a being like him, with nearly limitless energy, could lavish such power on a Mortal without hesitation. Most gods, even those sustained by faith, would balk at giving so freely.
Time passed in silence. About half an hour later, the golden light surrounding Dean Hen gradually dimmed, leaving him rejuvenated. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of the once-withered garden, now wild and thriving under the sunlight.
Yet it was the changes within himself that left him stunned. The world before him appeared clearer and brighter, his senses sharper than they had been in decades. The fatigue that had accompanied him for centuries—silent, persistent, unavoidable—was gone.
His hand instinctively went to his chest. His heart, once weary and burdened, now throbbed with strength and vitality. The tiredness that had clung to him like a shadow vanished, leaving him light and boundless with energy.
When his gaze finally returned to Karl, he understood for the first time the true magnitude of his student's aura. It resembled the sacred aura of the priestesses from the Temple of Melitele, but it was purer, loftier, more divine. The figure before him was no longer merely a student, but a deity walking among Mortals.
Karl's lips curved into a playful smile. "Teacher, who would have thought you were so dashingly handsome in your youth?"
Dean Hen blinked, touching his cheek instinctively. Where once potion-maintained skin had slackened and wrinkled, his fingers met smooth, elastic flesh. Moisture in the air condensed into a clear mirror at his gesture, and he stared in disbelief at his reflection—youthful, radiant, and imbued with the golden light of Divine Power.
A laugh, half in wonder and half in awe, escaped him. "This… this is impossible. Yet… it feels… natural," he murmured.
Karl watched silently, then inclined his head slightly. "The energy has always been within you, Teacher. I merely helped it blossom."
Dean Hen turned his gaze to the flowers again. They seemed to glow with life itself, an outward reflection of the energy now coursing through him. The experience left him humbled and awed; he realized that Divine Power was more than just energy—it was the essence of life, capable of reviving and sustaining both Mortals and the world itself.
He closed his eyes once more, feeling the golden warmth permeating every corner of his being. The pain of years, the ache of age, the shadow of mortality—they were all gone. In their place, a radiant vitality filled him, as if the centuries of experience had been refined into something pure, something immortal.
Karl's voice, gentle yet teasing, pulled him from his reverie. "Teacher, tell me—do you now understand the difference between mana and Divine Power?"
Dean Hen opened his eyes, looking directly at the young man who now seemed a god among men. His voice, steady and full of wonder, replied, "Yes… I understand. It is not merely energy. It is life itself, distilled into its purest form. And it… it flows through you as naturally as your will."
Karl's faint smile widened. "Good. Then let us continue. There is still much to learn, even for one as powerful as you."
The golden light around Dean Hen flickered softly, as if acknowledging the truth of Karl's words. He stood, feeling the energy of youth, power, and life coursing through him, ready to face whatever challenges awaited—no longer as a weary High-Tier Warlock, but as a Mortal who had touched the essence of the divine.
Outside the window, the garden flourished under the subtle, lingering glow of Divine Power, a testament to the extraordinary bond between teacher and student—and a promise of a new chapter in their shared journey, one where mortal limitations were but a memory, and the true potential of life, magic, and faith awaited their command.
For Dean Hen, the world had changed in an instant. The divine energy, once a distant concept, now flowed within him. Every heartbeat echoed with vitality, every breath carried a hint of eternity. He looked at Karl once more, eyes filled with awe, gratitude, and a spark of excitement he had not felt in centuries.
This was the true power of Divine Power: not just to heal, to strengthen, or to awe, but to awaken the Mortal soul to the vast potential of existence itself. And Dean Hen knew, with unshakable certainty, that from this moment forward, nothing—no enemy, no challenge, no passage of time—would ever be the same again.
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