The quiet hum of the night filled the empty courtyard as Lucius sat cross-legged beneath the pale glow of the moon. His breath was slow, measured, his hands resting on his knees as he focused inward.
Tonight, he would attempt to form his Second Circle.
He had done it countless times before—in his previous life, when he was a Seventh-Circle Archmage, shaping mana was as natural as breathing. But in this life, things were different. His body was still young, fragile, and untrained. He had spent the past two months undergoing intense training—sparring with Adrian by day, enduring grueling sessions under the watchful eyes of the Knight Commander in the mornings. His strength had grown, his swordsmanship had improved, but his mana core had yet to catch up.
Tonight, that would change.
Or so he thought.
Lucius closed his eyes, feeling the gentle flow of mana within him. The First Circle he had formed six months ago thrummed softly at the center of his being, like a flickering ember waiting to ignite into something greater.
Slowly, carefully, he began drawing in mana from the world around him. The air shimmered faintly, the energy responding to his will as he guided it into his core. The process of forming a Second Circle required absolute precision—it wasn't just about absorbing mana, but about shaping it, layering it upon the First Circle in perfect symmetry.
He began weaving the structure—thin lines of mana threads intertwining, coiling around his first circle like roots digging into the earth.
And then—
A sharp pain shot through his chest.
His breath hitched.
The mana flow staggered, turning unstable. His body trembled, sweat forming on his brow as a splitting headache surged through his skull.
Something was wrong.
The mana was slipping from his grasp, dispersing chaotically. His muscles screamed in protest, exhaustion from his earlier sparring session dragging him down like a weight. His limbs felt heavy, his mind foggy.
He clenched his teeth, trying to force the circle into place—
But his vision blurred.
Then, with a sudden burst of backlash, the mana violently rebounded inside him.
A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he collapsed backward, his chest heaving. His mana core pulsed erratically, rejecting the forced attempt.
It was no good.
His body wasn't ready.
Lucius refused to give up.
The following night, he tried again.
This time, he approached it more carefully—conserving his strength throughout the day, limiting his sword practice to ensure he wasn't pushing his body to its limits.
But even with this preparation, his mana still faltered the moment he tried to expand his core. His body had yet to recover fully from the previous night's backlash, and his attempt ended in failure once more.
Lying on the cold stone floor, panting, Lucius gritted his teeth in frustration.
His knowledge of magic was unparalleled. His understanding of mana structure was leagues beyond anyone in this kingdom.
And yet, this frail body refused to listen.
This isn't working.
His hand curled into a fist. He needed a different approach.
That's when it hit him.
His body wasn't in peak condition. His muscles were sore from continuous training, his mana pathways strained and overworked. Attempting to construct something as delicate as a Second Circle while his body was breaking apart was nothing short of reckless.
He had been trying to force his way through with sheer willpower, but magic wasn't just about will—it was about balance.
If his body was the issue, then he needed to heal it first.
For the next two days, Lucius did something he hadn't done in years—he focused on recovery.
He delved into his past knowledge, recalling the minor healing techniques used by mages to enhance physical recovery. While he lacked a proper healing spell, he could at least use mana circulation techniques to stimulate his body's natural regeneration.
At night, he carefully guided warm, soothing mana through his limbs, repairing the strain built up from his training.
During the day, he limited his physical exertion, focusing instead on stabilizing his mana core, ensuring that it would be in peak condition before his next attempt.
Two days later, his body felt lighter.
His mana flow was stable once more.
And so, on the fourth night—he tried again.
Lucius sat beneath the towering oak tree in the courtyard, the night wind cool against his skin. He exhaled slowly, his mind clear, body relaxed.
This time, he wouldn't force it.
He would let it happen naturally.
Closing his eyes, he reached deep within himself.
The First Circle at his core pulsed steadily.
Slowly, he began drawing in mana.
But this time, he wasn't in a rush. He let the energy settle, allowing it to naturally expand without resistance.
Thin strands of mana wove together, forming the delicate outline of the Second Circle. His breath remained steady, his control absolute.
The structure began taking shape, wrapping around the first like the petals of a blooming flower.
No pain.
No resistance.
Just pure, fluid motion.
Minutes stretched into an hour.
And then—
A faint click echoed in his mind.
His eyes snapped open, golden embers flickering in his irises.
A pulse of mana surged through his veins, stronger than before. The Second Circle had fully formed, its structure stable and complete.
He had done it.
Lucius exhaled, feeling the newfound power coursing through his body. It was subtle, but undeniable. His mana capacity had doubled, his connection to the arcane deepening.
A small, victorious smirk played on his lips.
This was just the beginning.
No one could know.
Not yet.
Even Adrian, the only person who knew of his First Circle, wouldn't be aware of this.
For now, he would let them all believe he was still the same weak boy.
But deep inside, Lucius knew—
He had taken another step forward.
And the world wouldn't be ready for what came next.