The forge roared around Albedo. The sound of clashing weapons, molten rivers hissing and the roars of their channels echoed and all blended into a single, living pulse, which thummed like the heart-beat of the HeartForge itself.

Hours had passed since his spar with Zeus, but the rush of it still lingered in Albedo's veins. The Throwing Daggers had surprisingly matched him even better than he expected, and was now another addition to his arsenal.

He had tested the weapon for a bit after the spar, and at this point, every test, throw and ricochet sharpened his intuition until the weapons no longer felt foreign to him.

The other students had continued sparring long after the first duels ended, testing the weapons or artifacts they had chosen.

For instance, Lira's talisman had unleashed spectral beasts of molten energy that came in all different shapes and sizes while Zeus had become much more adept at using his gauntlets, using them in tandem with his Battle Axe as the gauntlets blazed like miniature volcanoes.

Branthor had watched it all, a grin beneath his soot-darkened beard, occasionally shouting corrections or laughing when someone accidentally blew a hole in the floor. The atmosphere was alive.

But while they were all doing that, Albedo had slipped away walking toward the far edge of the forge where the molten channels narrowed and the noise dimmed into a low, thunderous hum.

Here, the stone was dark and cracked, the heat less oppressive but the air heavier, dense with raw mana. It was a place Branthor had shown them that was used by alot of the Infernus Smiths to train and improve their own strength, and he would use it for that very reason.

He sat down cross-legged on a flat slab of basalt, the knives resting before him.

The runes beneath his feet pulsed faintly, reacting to the faint aura spilling from him. Albedo closed his eyes and drew a slow breath, letting the familiar sensation of mana flow through his core.

It started as a trickle, then swelled into a river.

He immediately felt the way mana flowed through his body, and the rhythmic pulse of his Flame Dragon Heart that connected everything inside him.

His Flesh and Mana Veins were as sturdy as one could possibly imagine, and while that made him stronger among those of the same rank, it meant he'd need to gather more Mana and purify more mana to breakthrough.

He was preparing for a breakthough, his mana flowing like liquid sunlight using his Crimson Apocalypse Flames, burning away impurities it could find.

The Flame Dragon Heart also constantly refined his body and deepened his control over his Mana. He drew in a slow breath. Mana rushed into his lungs with the air, a roaring tide of molten heat and life essence.

He could feel it now, his current limit.

It wasn't a wall, not yet. It was more like a tightening band around his soul, one that threatened to crush inward if he failed to expand it.

His current strength, Peak Low Gold, was solid, refined, but it lacked that next layer of density, that elusive step that separated those who merely commanded mana from those whose mana obeyed instinctively.

He inhaled again.

Mana flooded him in a torrent, surging through his limbs and coiling around his Flame Dragon Heart. It was a storm of heat and light, wild and suffocating. His flesh trembled, his mind strained, but he did not yield. He clenched his jaw, forcing the torrent through his veins.

"Purify. Compress. Ignite."

The mantra echoed in his mind, a rhythm he had learned through pain, instinct, and countless nights of silent struggle.

His Crimson Apocalypse Flames responded, erupting around him in thin veils of light. The basalt beneath him glowed red-hot, runes activating in response to the surge of energy.

Flames began to spiral around him in a vortex, black at the edges, crimson at the core.

Inside, the world dissolved into mana.

He could see it, streams of golden light coursing through his body, interwoven with faint streaks of violet and black, the marks of his unique affinity. Every cell was alive, straining, yearning to evolve. But the process was agony.

The impurities in his mana resisted purification. The Flame Dragon Heart roared within his chest, like an ancient beast demanding sacrifice.

He gritted his teeth as his body shook, veins glowing beneath his skin. The air around him warped under the sheer density of power being forced through such a fragile vessel. His skin seared, then mended; his heartbeat thundered like the strike of a forge hammer.

Images flickered through his mind, memories, faces, and fragments of things that didn't belong.

His past life. The world of the novel. Lucian. Miranda. Gwen's laughter. Celeste's blade flashing in the dark. Diona's soft eyes when she looked at him with trust.

And beyond them all, the void.

That suffocating darkness that had consumed his first life, whispering of loneliness, futility, and failure.

NO!

The word tore through his mind like a spark in dry tinder.

Not again.

His eyes snapped open, glowing faintly violet as his mana erupted outward.

The flames surged into a perfect sphere around him, an inferno compressed so tightly it no longer burned but sang. It was the cry of a phoenix reborn or a dragon ascending. The basalt beneath him cracked, molten veins spidering outward in glowing patterns that mirrored the fractal runes of his own mana core.

Inside his body, the Flame Dragon Heart changed.

Its pulse deepened, slowing but growing infinitely heavier, as though each beat carried the weight of mountains. His mana veins once again widened and strengthened, allowing rivers of energy to surge through without tearing him apart.

His soul, ever so faintly, expanded, threads of light weaving through the darkness at its edges.

He exhaled. And in that breath, everything shifted. The crimson light around him condensed into a pillar of molten gold that burst upward, striking the volcanic ceiling before fading into glowing dust.

The runes beneath him dimmed once more, returning to their resting rhythm.

Albedo's body slumped forward, his breath slow but steady. The moment of tension passed, replaced by a profound stillness.

He opened his eyes.

The world looked sharper now, edges defined mana. Every ember, every ripple in the molten flow carried meaning. His aura burned steady and pure, no longer the chaotic storm of a lower Gold Rank but something far more refined.

Mid Gold Rank.

He could feel it in the marrow of his bones. His mana was denser, hotter, alive. He flexed his fingers, watching faint wisps of black-crimson energy coil between them before dissipating. His control was absolute.

But as the euphoria faded, a heaviness lingered in his chest.

He leaned back against the warm stone, his platinum blonde hair clinging to his neck from sweat, and stared up at the glowing ceiling above.

He'd done it, another breakthrough, another step forward. But even now, that creeping sense of unease gnawed at him.

The story was moving faster than it should have.

Events that weren't supposed to happen yet or never happened had already begun unfolding, the Demon Academy exchange, the ancient relics hidden in the HeartForge, even the presence of beings like Ysvara and Saphira this early in the Novel.

They were very late game characters who had already appeared during their first year at the Academy, which was still the early stages.

He was ahead of the curve, yes, but the curve itself had changed. And how many more things had changed that he didn't know about?

He clenched his fists slowly, feeling the sharp edge of determination settle into his chest. His mana still surged faintly, the afterglow of his breakthrough radiating heat into the air. But his thoughts were cold.

"I can't keep reacting to the story," he said under his breath. "The story is changing."

He looked down at the knives again, his reflection staring back from their mirrored surfaces, fractured into a dozen ghostly copies.

"Then I'll have to change faster." He murmured under his breath, the words lost to the forge's hum.

He looked down at his hands, steady, powerful, yet still trembling faintly from the strain.

"Am I still strong enough to change it?"

No answer came. Only the molten rivers flowed, the forge burning as it always had, ancient and indifferent.

He sat there for a long while, letting the mana within him settle, his aura gradually dimming until it was no more than a faint pulse beneath the skin.

Then, slowly, he rose. The knives rested at his side, their mirrored surfaces pulsing once, as if in silent approval of their master's growth.

He sheathed them carefully and turned back toward the main chamber of the HeartForge.

Behind him, the basalt slab he had sat upon glowed faintly with lingering runes, marking the place of his ascension.

Ahead, laughter and the clang of weapons echoed faintly, his classmates were all still training, the living heart of the forge still beating strong.

Albedo took one last glance back at the molten horizon, his expression unreadable.

Then he whispered softly, almost to himself,

"...Mid Gold, huh? Not bad."

He adjusted his coat, his shadow stretching long against the molten light, and walked back toward the others.

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