Ryker lay sprawled on the ground, his entire body aching—especially his arms and legs. Every muscle screamed in agony, as though they were being torn apart. Yet, even through the haze of pain, one thing remained clear: his father wouldn't care.
Aiden would push him to his absolute limit, and only when satisfied would he allow Ryker to stop.
And, as expected—
"You have half an hour to recuperate," Aiden said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
Ryker made no move to acknowledge him. He simply lay there, his chest heaving, his body too drained to respond. Aiden, unfazed, turned away and walked to a nearby spot, sitting down cross-legged to meditate.
Aiden closed his eyes, though his mind was far from calm. Today, Ryker had displayed overwhelming talent in two distinct areas: cultivating the mind and cultivating the body.
It was unheard of.
Geniuses typically excelled in one area while remaining above average at best in others. But Ryker was different. He wasn't just talented—he excelled in all areas.
Even more astonishing was the reaction of ambient mana whenever Ryker's emotions spiraled out of control. If Aiden's instincts were correct, his son's talent in mana manipulation might be unparalleled as well.
What kind of monster will he become in the future? Aiden wondered, a mixture of pride and apprehension swirling within him.
Meanwhile, Ryker remained motionless, his consciousness sinking into his mental realm for the first time since his breakthrough.
The first thing that caught his attention was the colossal sword suspended high above the very core of his realm.
It was monumental—100 meters in length, radiating an aura of undeniable authority. Its golden blade was engraved with runic symbols, their brilliance pulsing with an energy that felt alive, ancient, and boundless. Each inscription shimmered with a deep, esoteric light, as though containing wisdom far beyond his comprehension.
It did not waver, did not move. It simply existed—like an eternal truth, the silent ruler of his domain.
"Is this… the manifestation of my will?" Ryker wondered.
His instincts whispered that the sword was more than a mere construct—it was a beacon, a foundation of power, something that had yet to reveal its full significance.
But he knew one thing for sure.
This sword was his.
A testament to his mind, his will, his path.
And it was only the beginning.
Ryker reluctantly tore his gaze from the sword and turned his attention to the rest of his mental realm.
At first glance, it was breathtaking.
Mountains rose proudly into the sky, their peaks lost in swirling mist. Lakes stretched across the land, their surfaces shimmering with golden light, reflecting the quiet serenity of the world.
But then, he looked closer.
The mountains were not solid. The lakes rippled as if not truly there.
Everything felt translucent, fragile—almost like an illusion.
The realization struck him immediately.
His mental realm was still weak.
It had form, but it lacked substance. The foundation was there, but the strength to hold it together was insufficient. The more he cultivated, the more refined and tangible this realm would become.
For now, it was like a dream taking shape—on the verge of becoming real but not quite there yet.
His realm spanned only a kilometer in both length and width, a mere fraction of what it could become.
But instead of feeling discouraged, Ryker's resolve burned even brighter.
"This is just the start."
If this world represented his mind and will, then he would expand it, strengthen it, refine it until it became a fortress no one could breach.
His first step? Understanding the standards of mental realm cultivation.
"I need to ask Mother about mental realm standards," he noted to himself. "If I'm going to cultivate it, I need to do it right."
Before he could analyze further—
"Time's up."
Aiden's booming voice snapped Ryker back into reality.
Ryker immediately noticed the difference—his aching had subsided significantly. Though his body wasn't fully recovered, it was far better than it had been thirty minutes ago.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Aiden said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"That's a passive ability of our bloodline—self-healing and regeneration," he explained, his tone calm but tinged with unmistakable pride.
"This is one of the reasons fighting a Phoenix is a nightmare. As long as we have enough time, we can heal from any injury. The best of us can even regenerate stamina and mana indefinitely, ensuring infinite reserves of both."
He regarded Ryker with sharp eyes. "Right now, you're only experiencing a suppressed version. Once you awaken, you'll truly understand the advantages of our bloodline—and why those with awakened bloodlines rule the world."
Aiden's expression hardened once more. "Next drill—150 arm presses."
Gritting his teeth, Ryker complied. One. Two. Three. His muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself to continue.
"Now—200 sit-ups."
Again, Ryker pushed himself forward, his body trembling under the strain.
Aiden showed no mercy.
Squats. Reverse lunges. Step-ups. Deadlifts. Even weightlifting, though the weight was limited to 12 kilograms.
Through it all, Ryker looked as though he might collapse at any moment. His movements grew clumsy, his body practically begging for mercy. But Aiden was relentless.
By the time they finished for the day, Ryker could no longer feel his body. His muscles were a mess, his internals felt like they'd been scrambled, and he wasn't even sure if he'd be able to train the next day.
Aiden walked over, a rare apologetic look on his face.
Truthfully, Ryker's training today wasn't conventional. Normally, each drill would be assigned to specific days to allow structured growth.
But Aiden had been greedy.
He wanted to see what would happen if he pushed Ryker's body through all the drills at once, forcing it to break down and heal repeatedly. He believed that if anyone could survive such strain, it would be Ryker.
He took out a small vial filled with violet liquid.
"This is a rejuvenation potion," he said. "It will help your body heal faster without interfering with the natural process. By tomorrow, you should be as good as new."
Then, in a rare moment of consideration, he added:
"Ryker, what I put you through today isn't normal. I doubt there's anyone else your age training this way. If it's too much, I can restructure your training—focusing on one area at a time instead."
Ryker, still breathing heavily, looked up.
"Between this and structured training, which would make me stronger?"
Aiden didn't hesitate. "This. It's faster and better. My goal is to continuously break down your body and force it to heal, making it stronger each time. The structured method will still make you strong—but not as strong as this."
Ryker clenched his fists, his resolve unshaken. "Then let's continue this way. I can take it."
Aiden smirked, his pride evident. "Good."
And so, Ryker continued with his father's brutal, relentless training—walking a path that no one else dared to tread.