During the following week, Lusian maintained his training routine alongside the old man Albert, who showed no mercy whatsoever. More weight, more repetitions, more precision in every sword strike; each session of meditation and mana channeling felt like a fire burning down to his bones. Sweat and concentration blended together, and even so, the results were visible. Lusian's internal flow of mana increased slowly, barely a thread of energy denser than the previous week, but stable.
Albert watched him with the restrained satisfaction of someone who had seen a disciple progress.
"Your control has improved," he said one morning while they measured the concentration of energy inside a crystal sphere. "If you keep this pace, you'll soon reach the threshold of the Lords."
Lusian nodded, aware that power did not depend solely on training.
In this world, strength began with something much more basic: food.
It depended on the amount of mana present within it. The higher the concentration, the faster the body of the one consuming it evolved.
Mana —the vital energy flowing through all living beings— could be absorbed in many ways.
Magical creatures, fruits grown in blessed lands, and minerals born from enchanted earth contained dense fragments of that power. Consuming them was not a simple pleasure: it was an act of survival, a way of feeding one's body with the world itself and turning it into strength.
The meat of high-ranking monsters, juicy and overflowing with mana, was considered a treasure devoured solemnly by nobles.
Exotic plants, delicate and fleeting, withered within minutes if removed from their habitat, as though the world itself rejected their separation.
And the fruits and liquids born from magical lands could be transformed into soups, wines, or elixirs capable of strengthening body and spirit... though only the wealthiest could afford to even taste them.
Lusian had learned all of this through conversations with Albert.
Most of the population survived on ordinary meat and tasteless herbs. Obtaining the meat of a powerful beast meant defeating it first... and surviving afterward. The same applied to high-density mana plants and fruits: entering the forests where they grew was, in many cases, a death sentence.
That was why the vast majority never had access to the pure energy nobles consumed effortlessly.
The duchy's banquets were not simple meals.
They were rituals of power.
Cuts of enchanted beasts served with ceremonial precision, soups glowing with a faint light of mana, fruits sparkling like tiny stars beneath the moonlight.
Every bite did more than nourish: it strengthened body and spirit, as if the energy of the world itself flowed directly into the fortunate.
In practice, it was a silent system of growth.
Some were born "feeding" on power, while others barely survived on food that contained none.
A peasant could spend years without feeling any real change in strength, trapped in a low rank, barely brushing the limits of humanity.
A noble, on the other hand, grew stronger even while sitting at the table.
At the same age, the difference was enormous: while a common-born youth barely reached levels close to the basics, an heir of a noble house had already been strengthened through years of mana-filled banquets, accumulating power as if every meal were an invisible victory.
"What a strange feeling... but it's not bad."
Lusian swallowed silently while meditating.
If he had to put it in simple terms... it was like points.
One meal, one point.
If every level required one hundred points, then one hundred meals equaled a single level.
A ridiculous idea, but useful.
Without overthinking it, he took another bite.
And kept eating.
One afternoon, after exhausting training, Lusian reclined in the garden while Umber, the black wolf, slept peacefully beside him. The air smelled of damp earth and freshly bloomed flowers; for the first time in days, an unexpected calm settled in his chest.
Sofía appeared shortly afterward, moving with that natural elegance that seemed to surround her with light. She greeted Lusian with a kiss on the cheek and sat beside him, holding an envelope sealed with golden wax.
"A letter from the palace," she said, her voice soft like a whisper between the leaves.
Lusian examined the seal: the royal emblem of the Kingdom of Aldarion gleamed beneath the sunlight.
"What is this?" he asked curiously.
"An invitation," Sofía replied, barely forming a smile. "For the royal hunting tournament. It marks the beginning of the academic year at the academy. All heirs of the major houses are invited."
Lusian raised an eyebrow.
"And I really have to go?"
Sofía let out a brief laugh and, almost without thinking, pinched his cheek; a gesture that had already become habitual between them. Surprisingly, Lusian enjoyed it. That affection, even though he was not truly her son, reminded him that he was not completely alone.
"It's important that you attend," Sofía said, gently holding his chin. "The tournament isn't just a competition: it's politics, alliances, prestige."
"We could say I'm sick," he suggested jokingly. "Duke's cough, right?"
She shook her head with patience and determination.
"That's not an option. In three days, in the morning, I'll take you to the Cymopelia Forest. That's where we'll form the group accompanying you."
The name of the forest sent a chill through him.
Cymopelia: treacherous swamps, dense foliage, and swarms of insectoid beasts. He remembered with embarrassment the nightmare that the game's tutorial had been, where dying 1,372 times before discovering the forest boss's weak point had only been the beginning of a cycle of frustration and pain.
Sofía noticed the shadow crossing his expression and placed a hand on his arm.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes," he lied, straightening his posture. "I was just remembering something about the forest."
She nodded, then added in a practical tone:
"You won't go alone. Each house may present three representatives; each representative goes with a group of fifteen warriors. Besides, you'll have Thunder and Umber with you."
"Is it allowed to bring magical beasts?" he asked, surprised.
"There's no rule forbidding it," Sofía answered firmly. "And I wouldn't allow anyone to complain. No one would dare."
Even so, the certainty in her voice did not completely calm Lusian. After Sofía left, he remained alone, and the silence filled his head once more.
Fragments of the tutorial returned to him: the tournament, the prince's death, the war afterward… the kingdom's greatest warriors dying there, and then the disaster.
The monster waves.
A world without enough strength to resist.
Lusian clenched his jaw.
"This can't happen again…"
He ran a hand across his face, breathing more slowly, trying to piece everything together.
The war had been the breaking point. If he could prevent it…
Denisse.
The idea appeared on its own.
A family of the Empire. Important. Influential. The kind that didn't rule directly, but pushed everything from behind the scenes.
If the Denisse family weakened or lost influence…
the Empire wouldn't have as much pressure to force conflict with the kingdom.
Without that pressure…
the war might not happen.
And if there was no war…
the kingdom's greatest warriors wouldn't die there.
And if they didn't die…
when the monster waves arrived…
there would be more people capable of defending the world.
Lusian ran a hand over his face.
What do I do?