The clash of steel against wood echoed through the training grounds.

  Lucius’s sword slashed through the training post—but only halfway.

  Again.

  He gritted his teeth, his arms trembling from the force of the impact. Sweat dripped from his forehead, soaking into his tunic. One month. That’s how long he had been swinging his sword at the same post, and still, he could only cut through it partially.

  The knights training nearby had noticed his efforts.

  At first, they dismissed him. A young noble struggling against a wooden post? Nothing impressive. But as the days passed, they couldn’t help but take an interest.

  His progress was undeniable.

  "He’s gotten stronger," one of them murmured, watching Lucius draw his blade back.

  "Yeah… I remember when he could barely hold that sword after waking from his coma," another added. "And now look at him."

  Lucius, however, heard none of their words.

  He was too focused.

  Swing.

  Clash.

  Halfway.

  Again and again.

  His arms ached, his fingers raw from gripping the hilt. But no matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t split the post in a single stroke. He knew why.

  Mana.

  His magical force was lacking. No matter how strong his body became, his mana simply wasn’t enough to complete the strike.

  And so, every night, he tried to break his limits.

  Alone in his chamber, he sat within a magic formation, pushing his mana to condense into a third circle.

  And every night, his body rejected it.

  His mana spiraled wildly, shattering before it could fully take shape. The pain was excruciating, like his very being was tearing apart.

  Days passed.

  Weeks passed.

  Failure. Over and over.

  Yet he refused to stop.

  The knights, at first amused, now watched in awe.

  "Does he ever take a break?"

  "Not once," another knight answered. "He trains until his hands bleed, then starts again the next morning."

  "That’s… terrifying."

  Even the senior knights, those who had mocked his struggles, now spoke of Lucius with something close to respect.

  But to Lucius, none of this mattered.

  He had only one goal.

  He needed to break through.

  One evening, after another grueling day of training, Lucius found himself standing beside Commander Darius, the man who had been guiding him in Marshal Reynard’s absence.

  The usual clatter of swords had died down. Most knights had left the grounds, though a few remained, still sparring under the torchlight.

  For a while, neither spoke.

  Then, Lucius broke the silence.

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  "Commander... is it even possible for me to cut the post in one strike within the next month?"

  Darius studied him, his sharp gaze unreadable. Then, with a deep sigh, he crossed his arms.

  "Look, Lucius... you’ve come a long way." His voice was calm but heavy with meaning. "Two years ago, after waking from your coma, you were weak. Frail. But now? You’ve built a strength even knights would respect."

  Lucius clenched his fists. He knew he had improved. But…

  "Then why can't I cut through it?" His voice held frustration.

  Darius stepped forward, his tone turning firm. "Because strength alone is not enough."

  The commander turned toward the post, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

  "Cutting that post in a single stroke requires more than just muscle. It demands concentration. Precision. And most importantly—mana."

  Lucius frowned. "So it’s impossible with my current strength?"

  Darius shook his head. "It is possible. But not the way you're trying."

  The knight commander unsheathed his sword, holding it in front of Lucius.

  "Listen carefully, Lucius. Simply infusing mana into your blade won’t cut through that post. It’s not about making your sword glow or strengthening the metal."

  A moment later, a faint aura shimmered around his blade. It was not fire, ice, or lightning. It was something deeper—something invisible yet undeniably sharp.

  Lucius’s eyes widened.

  Darius spoke slowly, ensuring every word sank in.

  "This is what we call ‘Sword Aura.’"

  He turned to face Lucius fully. "The higher a swordsman’s mana power, the stronger their aura becomes. At its peak, an aura blade can cut through steel as if it were paper."

  Lucius stared at the faint glow surrounding Darius’s sword.

  "Then… how do I create one?"

  Darius sheathed his weapon. "That’s where your problem lies, Lucius." He crossed his arms, looking directly at him. "A proper sword aura can only be formed by a third-circle mage."

  Lucius stiffened.

  Darius, unaware of Lucius’s secret, continued. "Yet somehow, you can already cut halfway through the post as a mere one-star mage. That alone is impressive."

  Lucius kept his expression blank.

  He wasn’t a one-star mage. He was already at the second circle.

  But if even Darius believed it was impossible without reaching the third circle… then there was no doubt about it.

  He had no choice.

  He needed to break through.

  No matter what.

  The dim candlelight flickered against the stone walls of Lucius’s chamber, casting long, jagged shadows. The night was silent, save for the faint rustle of his slow, steady breaths. He sat cross-legged on the cold floor, his sword resting beside him.

  His eyes were closed, his body motionless, but within him, a storm raged.

  Darius’s words repeated in his mind like an unrelenting mantra.

  "A proper sword aura can only be formed by a third-circle mage."

  Lucius clenched his fists. That was the wall before him. The threshold he could not cross.

  He had already formed his first mana circle shortly after waking from his coma. At that time, his body had been frail, his magic mere embers in the wind. The first circle had taken him months to construct—gathering mana, compressing it into a ring of power within his core.

  His second circle had been different. By then, his body had grown stronger, his endurance hardened through training. The formation of the second circle had been grueling, but the knowledge from his past life had guided him. He had grasped the balance, drawing mana into his core and stabilizing it into a second, stronger ring. With it, his magic had grown sharper, his control more refined.

  But now…

  The third circle eluded him.

  Lucius exhaled, his breath steady as he reached deep into himself.

  He could feel his two mana circles spinning within his core, perfectly balanced yet incomplete. Like twin celestial bodies caught in orbit, they hummed with energy, pulling in the mana around him.

  He needed one more.

  A third ring to complete the foundation of his power.

  His mind sharpened. He directed his mana, willing it to compress, to condense into the shape of a third circle. The mana obeyed—swirling, forming the early structure of a ring. It trembled, fragile but present.

  His heart pounded. This was it.

  He pushed harder, pouring everything into the process. The circle thickened, the lines of power becoming clearer, more refined—

  Then, suddenly, his body rejected it.

  A sharp, searing pain erupted in his core.

  Lucius gasped, his body lurching as if struck by a hammer from within. His muscles seized, his mana spiraling out of control. He gritted his teeth, struggling to hold it together—

  But the structure shattered.

  Mana lashed through his body like an explosion of needles, tearing through his nerves. He collapsed forward, his hands slamming onto the stone floor, his breath ragged. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his vision blurring.

  Failure. Again.

  Lucius sucked in a breath, his fingers digging into the cold ground. He had felt it—the edge of the third circle. It was within reach, just beyond his grasp, yet his body refused to accept it.

  He knew what he lacked now.

  His mana wasn’t the problem. His endurance wasn’t the problem.

  His body itself was not yet ready.

  Lucius sat back, exhaling sharply. His arms were trembling, his muscles aching from the backlash. He had been too impatient.

  His body was still adapting to the physical training. His core was trying to keep up, but it had not yet fully adjusted. If he kept forcing the third circle, he would destroy himself.

  But waiting was not an option. He had one month.

  He needed another way.

  His gaze flickered to the candle beside him. The tiny flame danced and flickered, but it did not waver.

  Lucius narrowed his eyes.

  He needed absolute control.

  If his body could not handle the third circle yet… he would force it to evolve.