The training yard echoed with the sharp clang of steel meeting steel, the impact sending vibrations through Raze's arms that made his bones ache. Oziel's blade came around again immediately, giving no quarter as he pressed the assault with speed that pushed Raze's Combat Reflex to its absolute limits.

Clang clang clang!

"Your footwork is sloppy," Oziel barked, his Master Peak cultivation making even his instructional strikes carry enough force to send Raze stumbling backward. "You're telegraphing your movements three steps ahead. Any competent opponent will read you like a children's book."

Raze adjusted his stance, trying to incorporate the correction while simultaneously defending against strikes that came from angles he could barely perceive. His Azure Edge moved in desperate arcs, intercepting attacks that would have ended the bout if they'd connected cleanly.

Two days had passed since the meeting at the castle, and Oziel had wasted no time establishing a training regimen that made Raze question whether his new knight was trying to prepare him or kill him. Every morning began before dawn, the Master Peak swordsman dragging him from bed with ruthless efficiency.

"Again," Oziel commanded, resetting his stance. "And this time actually think about where your center of gravity is. You're fighting like someone who learned swordsmanship yesterday rather than someone who's survived actual combat."

"I mostly survived through luck and desperation," Raze gasped, his body protesting after three hours of continuous combat.

"Which is why you're still alive despite having gaps in your fundamentals that should have gotten you killed a dozen times over," Oziel replied. "Your instincts are exceptional, your awareness in battle is remarkable, but your actual technical execution has holes I could drive a carriage through."

He attacked again, this time shifting his approach to exploit the weaknesses he'd identified. Raze's blade met the strikes but his positioning was wrong, forcing him to compensate with raw strength rather than proper leverage.

"See?" Oziel said, not even breathing hard despite the intensity. "You blocked successfully but wasted twice the energy necessary because your angle was off. Against an opponent at your own rank that's survivable. Against someone stronger? You'll exhaust yourself before landing a meaningful strike."

The bout continued for another twenty minutes, Oziel systematically dismantling every defense Raze attempted while providing running commentary on exactly what he was doing wrong. The instruction was brutal but effective, each correction immediately demonstrated through combat rather than abstract explanation.

Finally Oziel called a halt, his blade lowering as he assessed his student with a critical eye.

"You're improving," he said, which coming from him was practically effusive praise. "The corrections I made yesterday are showing in your movement today. Your body adapts faster than most—you're picking up adjustments that take other students weeks to internalize."

Raze slumped against a training post, his entire body protesting the abuse it had endured. Sweat soaked through his training clothes, his muscles burned with accumulated fatigue, and his hands ached from gripping his sword for hours straight.

"Tomorrow we'll work on integrating your movement better," Oziel continued, apparently unaware that his student was contemplating whether death might be preferable to more training. "You have good instincts for when to create distance or close gaps, but your transitions are rough. I want fluid motion, not desperate scrambling."

"Looking forward to it," Raze managed, the words coming out more sarcastic than he'd intended.

Oziel's scarred face showed a slight smile. "You should be. Most people never receive direct instruction from Master Peak cultivators—the fact that I'm willing to beat proper technique into you is a privilege many would kill for."

"I'm appropriately grateful," Raze said, pushing himself upright despite his body's protests. "Is the torture session concluded for today?"

"For combat training, yes," Oziel confirmed. "But you should spend the rest of the afternoon cultivating. You're progressing faster than normal—probably that natural talent of yours working overtime. Another few days of sustained practice and you might be ready to push for Expert rank."

Raze nodded, aware that his advancement had been unusually rapid since repairing his Fragmented core. The game knowledge he'd retained suggested that was abnormal, but he had no reference point from this world's perspective to know exactly how abnormal.

He made his way back to the main house, his muscles burning with every step. The servants had prepared recovery drinks—standard alchemical mixtures meant to help with post-training soreness. Raze downed one gratefully, feeling the concoction work through his system with warmth that soothed protesting tissue.

Logan Camherst was visible through an open doorway, the young steward already deep into his assessment of the estate's administration needs. Papers covered the desk he'd claimed as his workspace, his methodical approach to organization evident in how systematically he'd arranged everything.

"Count Dragonheart," Logan called, noticing Raze passing. "When you have a moment later, I'd like to review preliminary findings about your territorial holdings. Nothing urgent, but there are some inefficiencies in the current tax collection system that should be addressed sooner rather than later."

"Tomorrow," Raze replied, too exhausted for administrative discussions. "I need to recover from Oziel's attempt on my life first."

Logan smiled slightly, the expression suggesting he'd observed enough of the training sessions to appreciate the joke. "Of course. Tomorrow works perfectly."

Raze continued to his quarters, his body practically crying out for the bathing facilities. He stripped off his training clothes, noting new bruises forming across his torso where Oziel's "instructional" strikes had connected despite his attempts at defense.

The bath was already prepared, servants having learned his routine quickly. He sank into water that was maintained at perfect temperature through enchantments, the heat penetrating deep into abused muscles and drawing out tension that had been building throughout the session.

His mind drifted as his body recovered, thoughts touching on everything that had happened in such compressed timeframe. The investigation, the trial, the engagement, the territory grant, the training regime—it felt like he'd lived several years' worth of experiences in just a few months.

And through it all, that blank period remained. His companions hadn't spoken about it directly, but he'd caught the looks they exchanged when they thought he wasn't paying attention.

They knew something. Something significant enough that it made them nervous around him despite the friendship and loyalty they'd demonstrated repeatedly.

But dwelling on unknowns wouldn't help. Whatever had happened was beyond his current ability to understand or control. Better to focus on what he could influence—his cultivation advancement, his training with Oziel, his growing understanding of the responsibilities he'd accepted.

He climbed out of the bath eventually, drying himself thoroughly before wrapping a towel around his waist. The mirror showed the changes cultivation had wrought on his body—muscle definition that exceeded what normal exercise could produce, skin that had taken on subtle resilience beyond baseline human fragility, blue eyes that seemed slightly more vibrant than they'd been months ago.

He was becoming something more than he'd been, transformation driven by the cultivation he'd been practicing diligently.

The thought triggered memory of something he hadn't accessed in weeks. His status window, the mysterious interface that had appeared when he'd first woken up in this world with memories of the game.

He'd largely stopped using it after repairing his Fragmented core and learning to sense cultivation differences naturally. The interface had been useful initially when he'd known nothing about this world's power system, but once his enhanced perception developed, he could gauge relative strength through direct observation.

Since fixing his core, he'd discovered he could sense when someone was significantly stronger than him—like how King Harold's presence during the trial had been overwhelming, the man's power radiating in ways that spoke to capabilities far beyond Master rank. Raze had speculated the King was probably Grandmaster level based on that oppressive aura, though Harold clearly knew how to suppress it when not making official pronouncements.

He'd caught glimpses of that same controlled power occasionally, brief moments when the King's suppression slipped slightly and the full weight of his cultivation leaked through. It had been maddening during the trial, that pressure making the air itself feel heavier.

But it had been weeks since he'd actually checked his detailed statistics through the status window. And given how much had changed recently...

"Status," Raze said quietly, focusing his intent in the way that had always triggered the interface.

Ding.

The familiar notification sound chimed as the translucent window materialized before him, text appearing in organized display that only he could perceive.

[Status Window]

Name: Raze Dragonheart

Age: 17

Rank: Adept (Peak)

Core: Blooming (Peak)

Bloodline: [Unawakened]

Authority: [Dormant]

Talent: [Absolute Genius]

Strength: C

Agility: C

Endurance: B (+)

Mana: A (+)

Mana Well: S

Perception: D

Charm: A (+)

Will: A

Skills:

[Swordsmanship C]

[Mana Manipulation C]

[Inspect D]

[Combat Reflex C]

[Scarlet Leap C]

[Instant Transmission D]

[Inventory]

Raze stared at the display, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing.

Adept Peak. Blooming Peak.

He'd been Adept Low with a Blooming Mid core just days ago, before the trial and ceremony. Now he was sitting at the absolute threshold of advancement, his core completely full and his rank ready to break through to Expert.

The progression was impossible by any normal standard. From his game knowledge, Raze knew that cultivators typically spent months advancing through a single rank's sub-levels. The core development required gradual refinement and expansion—you couldn't just force rapid advancement without risking serious instability or even permanent damage to your cultivation base.

Yet somehow he'd gone from Low to Peak in less than a week.

His mind traced back to that blank period, to whatever had happened when Gunn's technique had sealed his soul.

Had that acceleration happened then?

Everything about his progression defied what he understood about normal cultivation advancement from the game. Players had needed to grind carefully through sub-ranks, spending in-game time building foundation properly to avoid stat penalties from rushing advancement.

Instead he was rocketing forward at speeds that should be causing problems but somehow weren't.

His thoughts drifted to observations he'd made during recent days. King Harold's overwhelming presence suggested Grandmaster rank, possibly Peak given how thoroughly his cultivation pressure had dominated the throne room when he chose to display it. That would make him one of perhaps a hundred people worldwide who'd reached that level—legendary power that most cultivators never even approached.

And Fedora... her aura when observed carefully suggested Adept rank like himself, though her control was refined in ways that spoke to excellent instruction and natural talent. She hid her cultivation well, maintaining the pleasant demeanor of someone who'd grown up in luxury rather than someone capable of significant combat power.

The interface dismissed with a thought, fading from perception as quickly as it had appeared. Raze stood there in his towel, staring at his reflection while processing implications of his accelerated advancement.

He was at the cusp of Expert rank. Ready to attempt the breakthrough that would expand his core capacity and multiply his capabilities significantly.

From his game knowledge, Raze understood the basic principle—advancement worked like expanding a container. A newly formed core was like a small cup with limited capacity. When you filled it completely with mana through cultivation, you reached Peak of that rank. Advancing meant forcing the container to expand into something larger—cup to jug to barrel to cistern as you climbed the ranks.

The process required flooding every cell in your body with mana, forcing your physical form to accommodate greater power capacity. It was painful, dangerous, and potentially fatal if done incorrectly. Rapid advancement without proper foundation caused instability that could cripple your cultivation permanently.

Yet his impossible progression suggested his foundation was somehow remaining solid despite the speed.

He dressed in comfortable clothes—loose pants and shirt that wouldn't restrict movement—and locked his bedroom door from the inside. What he was about to attempt required absolute privacy and lack of interruption.

Standing in the center of his room, Raze stripped down to just his underwear. The minimal clothing was practical—his body needed freedom of movement, and he didn't want to ruin good clothes with whatever was about to happen. At his current level, his body could absorb ambient mana directly from the air without requiring formal meditation in a temple or specialized location.

He settled into a cross-legged position on the floor, closing his eyes as his awareness turned inward. His Blooming core pulsed at the center of his being, filled to absolute capacity with mana that pressed against the container's limits.

This was the threshold. The moment where forcing expansion would either succeed and elevate him to new heights, or fail catastrophically and potentially cripple his cultivation base permanently.

Raze began circulating his mana with deliberate intensity, drawing power from his core and flooding it through every meridian in his body. The sensation was intense immediately, heat and pressure building as he pushed against the natural limits of what his pathways could handle.

More. He needed more pressure, more mana saturation, needed to force every cell in his body to accommodate power beyond what it currently could contain.

His Mana Well activated fully, that S-rank capacity pouring reserves into circulation with speed that made his skin begin to glow faintly. Silver-blue light emanated from his body as mana suffused his physical form, pushing toward the critical threshold where expansion would occur.

The pain started gradually, building from discomfort into genuine agony as his body protested the treatment. Cells were being flooded with energy they weren't designed to hold, pathways stretched beyond safe operational limits, his core straining against constraints that defined its current rank.

Raze gritted his teeth and pushed harder, drawing on everything his game knowledge had taught him about the advancement process. This was normal—breakthrough was supposed to hurt, supposed to feel like he was tearing himself apart from inside. The alternative was remaining stagnant, accepting limits when power to surpass them existed within reach.

The silver-blue glow intensified, his body beginning to radiate light that painted his locked room in ethereal illumination. Sweat poured from his skin despite the temperature being comfortable, his enhanced Endurance the only thing preventing him from passing out from the strain.

Then something shifted.

His core, that Blooming container filled to bursting, began to crack. Not breaking—expanding. Fissures appeared in the metaphysical structure as it prepared to enlarge, accommodate greater capacity, transform from one vessel size into something larger.

The pain spiked to levels that made his earlier discomfort seem trivial. Raze's back arched involuntarily, every muscle in his body going rigid as the transformation accelerated beyond his ability to control it.

His consciousness wavered, awareness threatening to fragment under the assault of sensation that transcended anything he'd experienced. But something in him—perhaps that Will stat, perhaps just stubborn determination—anchored his awareness and prevented him from losing himself completely.

Hold on. Just hold on a few more seconds.

The cracks in his core spread, the structure beginning to reform around new dimensions. His meridians were expanding simultaneously, pathways widening to accommodate increased flow rates. Every cell in his body was being rewritten at fundamental level, transformed from what they'd been into something capable of holding and processing greater power.

Then breakthrough.

Boom.

The explosion was internal but felt external, something fundamental shifting as Raze's cultivation rank advanced. His core stabilized in its new larger form, beginning transition toward the next stage of development. His rank jumped from Adept Peak to Expert Low, that significant power multiplication flooding through his system.

The silver-blue glow reached peak intensity before beginning to fade, excess mana being absorbed into his newly expanded capacity. His body settled, the pain receding as rapidly as it had spiked now that the transformation was complete.

Raze remained motionless for several seconds, his awareness slowly returning to normal function. He could feel the difference immediately—everything was sharper, stronger, more responsive. His physical capabilities had jumped significantly just from the rank advancement, his mana capacity and control had expanded proportionally.

He was Expert rank now. One of perhaps thousands in the kingdom rather than tens of thousands at Adept level. Still nowhere near the heights of Master or Grandmaster cultivation, but significantly more capable than he'd been minutes before.

His breathing steadied, heartbeat returning to normal rhythm as his body finished adjusting to its new baseline. He'd done it—successfully advanced through one of the most dangerous thresholds in cultivation without suffering any apparent complications.

But as his awareness fully returned, something felt... different.

Not wrong exactly, but like there was a presence beyond his normal consciousness. Something watching from depths of his being that his surface thoughts couldn't quite perceive.

---

Within Raze's mindspace, in a dimension that existed beyond normal perception, violet energy pulsed with rhythm that matched his heartbeat.

The energy had been dormant since manifesting during that blank period, sleeping within the host body while it recovered from the strain of temporary control. But the breakthrough had stirred it, the flood of power and expansion of capacity drawing its attention briefly toward surface awareness.

A voice emerged from the pulsing energy, though no ears could hear it and no mouth spoke the words. It resonated through the metaphysical space that housed consciousness itself.

"Hmmm... a competent successor indeed."

The words carried satisfaction mixed with anticipation, ancient presence acknowledging what it had witnessed. The breakthrough had been executed well, the host body demonstrating capability that exceeded what most cultivators could manage at such a young age.

This vessel would grow strong. Strong enough, eventually, to bear the full weight of what it contained. Strong enough to serve the purpose for which it had been chosen.

The violet energy pulsed one final time before settling back into dormancy, returning to patient waiting that could last years if necessary. It had endured eons—a few decades for the successor to reach appropriate strength was nothing compared to time already spent imprisoned in the Abyss.

Let the boy grow. Let him cultivate and advance and become the beast this world needed him to be.

When the time came, when circumstances demanded it, the presence would emerge again. And next time, perhaps, the vessel would be strong enough to maintain awareness during the manifestation.

That would be interesting indeed.

---

Raze's eyes snapped open, a chill racing down his spine for reasons he couldn't articulate.

For just a moment, just a fraction of a second, he'd felt something. Like being watched from inside his own head.

Then the sensation was gone, leaving only memory of discomfort.

Raze sat there in his underwear on his bedroom floor, breathing carefully while trying to process the implications. He was Expert rank now, significantly more powerful than he'd been that morning.

The chill remained even as he stood and dressed properly, an uncomfortable awareness that he was sharing his existence with something far beyond his current understanding.

But such was his life now. Mysteries without answers, power without full control, responsibility without adequate preparation.

He was Expert rank.

That would have to be enough for now.

‐‐‐

[A/N]

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