Chapter 27

Lord Torvares’s gaze lingered on Viola for a heartbeat longer, then shifted to the rest of the group. His expression didn’t soften, but the faintest tension left his shoulders.

“You’ve returned without injury. That much is acceptable,” he said, his gravelly voice carrying the weight of final judgment. His eyes slid back to Arslan, narrowing. “But do not mistake this for forgiveness. You were entrusted with my granddaughter’s safety, not with her leisure. Next time you test my patience, you will regret it.”

Arslan opened his mouth as if to respond, but one look from the old bull silenced him immediately. He coughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. “Understood.”

“Good.”

With that, Lord Torvares turned on his heel and strode back toward the estate doors. The guards followed in stiff silence, their armor clattering with each step, until the great doors shut behind them with a heavy

boom

.

The courtyard felt lighter the moment he was gone. Harold let out a long whistle. “And people wonder why I don’t settle down. Imagine living under that stare every day.”

Aleia grinned, patting her pouch of spoils. “At least he didn’t confiscate the loot. I’ll count that as a blessing.”

Selene muttered, “He should’ve taken Arslan’s head, would’ve saved us all trouble.”

Arslan grimaced, but then his grin returned in full force as he threw an arm around Viola’s shoulders. “See? Easy. No problems at all!”

Ludger crossed his arms and shook his head.

If that’s what he calls easy, I’d hate to see hard.

The road back to their village was long and quiet. By the time they finally left Meronia behind, the stars had filled the sky, silver light spilling across the hills. The horses moved at a steady pace, hooves clopping against the dirt road, but the weariness of the day weighed on everyone.

It was well past midnight when they reached home. The familiar home came into view, a lantern burning faintly in the window. Ludger sighed the moment he saw it. That single flicker of light could mean only one thing—his mother had stayed awake, waiting.

Sure enough, when they dismounted, Elaine stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, her expression darker than any labyrinth.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice low but sharp enough to cut.

Arslan froze, halfway through his grin, and scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, well, you see—”

“Don’t you

dare

start,” Elaine snapped, stepping forward. “Dragging my son out until the middle of the night, letting him stumble back tired and sore while you’re grinning like some fool—”

She went on, voice rising with every word, a storm of anger and worry rolled into one.

Ludger slipped past them quietly, dropping his heavy bag by the door. As he climbed the stairs, he could still hear her chewing Arslan apart, every accusation louder than the last.

By the time he reached his room, he couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips.

At this point, I think he enjoys it. No one gets chewed out that often and still walks into it with a smile… unless he actually likes it.

Ludger shook his head, settling into bed with his thoughts still buzzing from the labyrinth. His body ached faintly, but his mind was alive with lessons. Tomorrow, he’d train harder. Smarter. Stronger.

Outside his door, Elaine’s voice still thundered, and Arslan’s weak protests drifted up like the whimpers of a man who had already surrendered.

Ludger lay in bed, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. The house creaked softly in the night, but the muffled sound of his mother’s scolding downstairs still carried through the walls. His father’s weak replies came like the croaks of a man already drowning.

Ludger tuned it out. His thoughts were elsewhere.

I need to progress faster,

he told himself.

The physical side is coming along well—Selene’s drills, the sparring, the armguards, they’re all helping. My body’s stronger every week.

He clenched his hand, feeling the faint thrum of energy still lingering from the day’s excitement.

But strength alone isn’t enough. Not in this world. If I want to keep up, I need my core to grow. I need better mana regeneration. With it, my magical classes will climb as fast as my physical ones.

His eyes drifted shut, but his mind stayed awake, cataloging everything he’d seen in the labyrinth. The veterans’ coordination, their precision, their calm. The way Cor barely seemed to tire even after casting barrier after barrier.

That’s the difference a strong core makes. Not just bursts of power, but endurance. Control. Longevity.

He exhaled slowly, determination setting in like stone.

If I can master mana burning… if I can refine my core sooner… then I won’t just follow behind them. I’ll be able to stand at the front one day.

Downstairs, Elaine’s tirade showed no signs of ending. Arslan’s nervous laughter sputtered up the stairs. Ludger smirked faintly into the darkness.

Father can waste his life being scolded. I don’t have the time for that.

With that final thought, he let sleep finally take him.

The days that followed fell into a rhythm. Training, meals, chores, more training. Arslan’s party rotated his lessons as always, but Ludger’s focus shifted more and more toward one thing: his Sage skills.

Cor had planted the seeds, showing him how to shape spells, how to adjust rotation and flow. Now Ludger pushed himself to refine those lessons on his own. Every evening, after bruising spars with Selene or endless drills with Harold, he sat cross-legged with his hands glowing faintly, practicing [Mana Bolt] again and again. Not just firing it, but tweaking it—faster spin, slower spin, tighter shape, looser release.

But more than that, he began experimenting with his control when his reserves were low. He would cast until his mana bar thinned, until he felt that dull ache in his chest that signaled depletion. That was when the training really began.

If I can’t guide mana when I’m full, then what’s the point? Anyone can do that. But if I can stay sharp even when I’m running on scraps… that’s real control.

The more he practiced, the more he realized how sloppy his movements became when his mana dropped. Spells wavered, shapes collapsed. His mana burned hotter, more unruly, harder to tame. It was exhausting—more exhausting than any sparring match.

But every day he forced himself to hold on just a little longer. One second more of stability. One extra cast before collapse. Each failure was frustrating, yet each tiny success was proof he was moving forward.

By the end of two weeks, Ludger could maintain a basic [Mana Bolt] even when his mana pool was nearly empty. It sputtered, weak and unstable, but it held.

And that, to him, was worth more than any victory in a sparring ring.

If I can master this, I can master anything.

Cor watched Ludger’s nightly practice from the edge of the courtyard, his staff balanced across his knees. The boy’s brow was slick with sweat, his palms glowing faintly as he forced a shaky [Mana Bolt] into shape even though his chest rose and fell with exhaustion.

“Enough of that,” Cor finally said, his calm voice carrying easily in the still air. “You’ve proven you can control mana under strain. Now it’s time to test your defenses.”

Ludger blinked, looking up. “Defenses?”

Cor rose smoothly, tapping his staff once against the ground. “You’ve been sharpening your blade, but a dull shield won’t save you in battle. From now on, you’ll focus on [Mana Wall]. I will cast [Mana Bolt] at you, and you will maintain and repair your wall before it shatters.”

Ludger tilted his head, intrigued. “So I’m supposed to keep patching it up while you try to break through?”

“Exactly.” Cor’s eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of challenge in them. “Think of it as stitching a wound. The wall will crack. You must seal it instantly before the damage spreads. Fail, and you’ll take the hit.”

That made Ludger sit up straighter. His exhaustion faded into focus. This wasn’t just practice—it was a duel of control, a puzzle of speed and precision.

“Fine,” Ludger said, smirking faintly. “Sounds interesting. Let’s try it.”

Cor raised his staff, the faint blue glow of mana gathering at its tip. “Then prepare yourself, Ludger. A Sage who cannot defend will not live long enough to attack.”

Ludger planted his feet, his own mana swirling to form the shimmer of a translucent wall before him. His heart thumped once in his chest, anticipation building.

This was exactly the kind of training he had been waiting for.

Cor’s hand hummed as a small sphere of light flared to life at its tip. He gave Ludger a single nod.

“Begin.”

The first [Mana Bolt] zipped through the air, weak and slow, more a warning than an attack. Ludger’s translucent wall flickered at the impact, ripples spreading across its surface like a stone tossed into water. He gritted his teeth and pushed mana into the cracks, the shimmer evening out again.

“Good. But don’t wait for the hit,” Cor warned, launching another. “Anticipate.”

Two bolts came this time, striking in quick succession. The wall trembled harder, thin lines spiderwebbing outward. Ludger focused, forcing his mana to patch the breaks before they spread. The cracks sealed, but slowly—too slowly for his liking.

Cor’s eyes narrowed, and the next volley came faster. Three bolts, one after the other, each sharper than the last. The wall shuddered violently, pieces threatening to splinter off. Ludger’s hands shook as he forced more mana into it, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. The shimmer flickered but held.

“That hesitation will get you killed,” Cor said calmly, his voice carrying no sympathy. Another bolt flashed forth, stronger, faster. It hit like a hammer, splintering the barrier nearly in half.

Ludger’s eyes widened, his pulse racing. For an instant, the barrier wavered on the brink of collapse—then his will surged. He slammed more mana into the wall, stitching the broken halves together in a jagged seam. The crack sealed just as the next bolt slammed against it.

The wall shivered but endured.

Cor raised his hand, pausing at last. His expression softened slightly, a rare flicker of approval in his eyes. “Better. But this is only the beginning. I will increase the pace until you learn to repair without thought—until your wall becomes instinct.”

Ludger straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, his chest heaving. And despite his exhaustion, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Finally… something worth grinding at.

The glow of Cor’s staff flared brighter, mana gathering in sharp pulses. The next barrage came faster—five bolts, one after the other, each humming with more force than the last.

Ludger’s wall snapped into place, trembling under the impacts. He patched one crack, then another, sweat dripping into his eyes. His chest burned, his mana thinned, but he forced more into the shimmering barrier.

The sixth bolt came. Stronger. Faster.

The wall shattered.

The translucent fragments of mana dissolved into sparks, leaving Ludger exposed. His breath caught as two bolts streaked toward him, humming with enough force to knock him flat.

But at the last instant, Cor flicked his staff sideways. The bolts curved sharply, arcing upward. They soared into the sky like fireworks and vanished in a shimmer of blue light.

The courtyard fell silent.

Ludger staggered back a step, clutching his chest as he gasped for breath. His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, sweat running down his face. His mana pool was nearly dry, his body trembling from the strain.

The Skill Mana Wall leveled up.

The Sage class received 90 experience points.

Cor lowered his staff, his expression calm but not unkind. “That,” he said evenly, “is what happens when you force more than you can control. You patched well—but you must know when the shield is already broken.”

Ludger leaned back on his hands, his lips curling into a tired grin despite the ache in his chest.

So close. If I can last a little longer next time, I’ll endure it. I have to.

Cor studied him for a long moment, then allowed the faintest smile. “Rest, Ludger. We’ll continue tomorrow. And the day after. Until your wall never falls again.”

The boy closed his eyes, exhausted but satisfied.

I’ll get there. No matter how many times it breaks… I’ll get there.

The training with Cor became a part of Ludger’s daily life. Every evening, after sparring with Selene or drills with Harold, he met the Sage in the courtyard. Each session was the same trial: bolts raining down, his wall shattering, his mana thinning to the point of pain.

And each time, he held a little longer.

A crack sealed a heartbeat faster. A volley endured one strike more. Slowly, steadily, his control sharpened until patching the wall no longer required thought—his body and mana reacted as one.

The strain was brutal, but the results undeniable. His Sage class rose, each level hard-earned rather than handed to him. His mana flow grew steadier, his walls lasting longer, and even his [Mana Bolt] carried sharper force than before.

Finally, after weeks of pushing himself past his limits, the System’s cold voice rang in his mind:

[Sage Class reached Level 10.]

+2 INT, +4 WIS

New Skill acquired: [Spiritual Core Lv.1]

Your mana regeneration increases by 10% per minute for each level of this skill. When you focus on the skill, the effect doubles.

Ludger froze as the words sank in. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.

This is it. Exactly what I needed.

The difference was immediate. The dull emptiness that usually gnawed at him after training now filled faster, mana flowing back into his core in steady waves. No longer a trickle—now it was like a spring that never ran dry. For every cast, for every wall shattered, the strength returned quicker than before.

Cor studied him from across the courtyard, eyes narrowing as he sensed the shift. “Ah,” he murmured, “It seems that you pulled it off somehow... Good. That core will make or break you as a mage.”

Ludger exhaled, the grin still on his lips.

Now… I can grow both sides at once. Body and magic. No more choosing.

And for the first time since entering this world, he felt like he had finally reached the starting line of something greater.

Ludger flexed his fingers, still marveling at the steady flow of mana returning to his core. It was like having a second heartbeat pulsing in his chest, each beat feeding strength back into him.

Cor approached slowly, staff tapping against the stones with each step. He studied Ludger in silence for a moment before speaking.

“I can feel it,” the Sage said at last, his voice calm but certain. “Your Spiritual Core has begun to take shape.”

Ludger glanced up, curious. “So this is just the beginning?”

Cor nodded. “Exactly, but it is still only a seed. To make it grow, you must do more than cast spells or hold up walls. You must sit. Breathe. Meditate. Feel the mana within your body and the mana flowing outside of it.”

He raised a hand, fingers brushing the night air. “The moment you learn to connect the two—your inner mana with the current of the world—you will begin to absorb what surrounds you. Slowly at first, then faster, until your core will never run empty.”

Ludger’s eyes narrowed, a spark of excitement flashing through them. “So I could recover even in battle?”

Cor allowed the faintest smile. “Eventually. But it will take patience and a lot of skill.” His gaze sharpened. “And you must not force it. Meditate daily. Feel the rhythm of your mana, the tide of the world’s. If you rush, your core will remain shallow. But if you succeed… it will deepen without limit.”

Ludger clenched his fist, the thrum of the Spiritual Core vibrating faintly in his chest.

Meditation, huh? Not something I can brute force… but if this means I’ll never run out of mana, I’ll make it work.

Cor turned back toward his book, his tone final. “This is the true foundation of a Sage. Without it, you’ll always be a child playing with sparks.”