THIS CHAPTER IS 2 MOTHS LATER FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER
The past two months had reshaped Lucius.
Every morning before sunrise, the Commander drilled him like a soldier. His muscles burned as he swung his sword hundreds of times. He ran through the open fields, dodged incoming strikes, and endured brutal conditioning that left him sore for days. The weight of his wooden sword, which had once felt awkward and heavy, now felt like an extension of his own body.
And every night, Adrian awaited him.
The sparring matches had started as merciless lessons. In the beginning, Adrian cut through his defenses with humiliating ease, knocking him down again and again. Lucius had no choice but to crawl back to his feet, blood pounding in his ears.
But he never backed down.
And Adrian? He never went easy on him.
The training was relentless. Every night, Lucius came back with fresh bruises, his body screaming in protest, but he kept moving. His feet, once clumsy and unsure, grew lighter. His swings, once wild and desperate, became controlled.
By the second month, something had changed.
Lucius no longer relied on instinct alone—he studied Adrian's movements, anticipated his strikes, and countered with precision. His stamina had nearly doubled, his body hardened under the brutal training. The frailty from his coma had vanished.
But deep inside, he knew—it still wasn't enough.
The weight of his weakness gnawed at him. His strikes had become sharper, his footwork faster. And yet, the gap between him and Adrian remained.
A gap he couldn't close with swordsmanship alone.
That night, after yet another grueling spar, Lucius collapsed onto the dirt, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion. Adrian stood over him, wooden sword resting against his shoulder.
"You're lasting longer," Adrian remarked.
Lucius exhaled sharply but didn't respond. His entire body ached, but he forced himself to sit up. Pain was nothing new to him.
Adrian watched him for a moment before turning away. The training was over.
Lucius remained seated on the ground, hands resting against the dirt. The cool night air chilled his sweat-drenched skin. He stared at his bruised hands—proof of his effort, of his struggle.
He had gotten stronger. He could feel it in the way his muscles no longer trembled under strain, in the way he moved with purpose instead of desperation.
But it wasn't enough.
Because strength alone wouldn't win him battles.
Because no matter how fast he was, no matter how skilled his blade became—there was a limit.
His grip on his hands tightened.
He had once commanded power that made the world tremble.
In his past life, magic had been second nature. It had flowed through him like a roaring river, effortless and unstoppable. But now? Now, he was like a man dying of thirst, standing before an ocean he couldn't touch.
He gritted his teeth. That needed to change.
The First Circle had been his first step back into the world of mana. It had taken him weeks to refine, to carve its delicate structure inside his core. But it was only a beginning—a mere fragment of what he once wielded.
The Second Circle was his next goal.
A circle meant more than just an increase in power. It was a declaration. A step toward reclaiming what was once his.
But no one could know.
Not the Commander. Not the family.
Not even Adrian.
His first breakthrough had been unexpected, but now… now, he would forge his path in silence.
This power would remain his secret.
Lucius exhaled slowly.
Then, with newfound determination, he stood. There was no more time to waste.