The training ground was vast, carved into the heart of the Gremory estate's private domain. The floor was reinforced obsidian stone, enchanted to withstand the volatile nature of the Power of Destruction, and crimson wards shimmered faintly across the walls like breathing embers.
Venelana stood gracefully at the center, her long hair catching the light of the crimson flames that flickered from the seals around them. Her eyes glowed with calm authority, the type born from centuries of refinement.
"Now, Sirzechs," she said, raising one delicate hand. The air grew heavy as her aura surged — smooth, suffocating, yet precise. "This is the foundation of control."
Nine spheres of destruction energy bloomed around her, one after another. They weren't the wild, unstable bombs Sirzechs had seen before; each was perfectly round, compact, and pulsed with a dangerous beauty. The orbs began to orbit her body in a lazy spiral, like miniature crimson suns, their deadly nature completely tamed.
Sirzechs swallowed. His instincts screamed to run — each sphere radiated annihilation, an erasure of existence — yet none of them detonated. They obeyed her perfectly.
"This," Venelana continued, her voice as smooth as silk, "is the first step. Forming stability. Containment. Power without control is nothing but waste. To rule with this gift, you must first be its master."
The nine spheres slowly dissipated into sparks, and she turned her gaze on her son. "Now, try. But only one. Do not be greedy."
Sirzechs clenched his fists, nodded, and stretched out his hand. He felt the familiar, violent tug of the Power of Destruction within his veins. Dark crimson light gathered in his palm, writhing like a caged beast. Slowly, it condensed into a sphere — unstable, trembling, vibrating like it wanted to burst apart.
His forehead broke into sweat. "H-Hold… steady…"
The ball wobbled, growing sharper at one edge, bulging on the other. The unstable fluctuations threatened to spiral out of his control. Sirzechs' teeth grit, his hand shaking as he tried to keep it from collapsing.
Venelana observed silently, arms crossed, lips curved in the faintest smile.
The sphere shuddered, distorted, and —
"—Tch!" Sirzechs threw it away instinctively. The orb detonated midair with a thunderous crack, scattering harmlessly against the enchanted walls.
Panting, he wiped his brow. "…That was close. I thought it was going to blow up in my hand."
Venelana chuckled softly, the sound equal parts amused and affectionate. "You did well not to panic. But remember, dear… control is not won in a day. It took me decades before I could shape nine sphere of destructions with ease." Her crimson eyes softened. "Do not rush. Power is like wine — it must be aged, refined, nurtured."
She stepped closer, her gaze lingering on his palm, faintly scorched from the unstable backlash. "And there is another matter. You will also need to train your resistance to destruction energy. At your current stage, it gnaws at your body every time you summon it. You will suffer damage while using it — burns, strain, perhaps even worse — but with practice, your own resistance will grow."
Sirzechs flexed his fingers, grimacing. "So even my body needs to be tempered…"
"Precisely," she said, tone soft but firm. "One day, with enough control and resistance, you will be able to coat your hands, then your arms, and eventually your entire body in destruction energy. It will form a sort of armor, a second skin that devours anything foolish enough to touch you."
Her crimson aura flickered faintly around her hand as a demonstration. The faint outline of energy wrapped her slender fingers like a glove of crimson flame before vanishing again. "But that day is far from now. For the moment, you must learn to hold even a single orb steady."
Her words soothed some of the sting in his pride.
Still, Sirzechs grit his teeth. "Then I'll keep trying until I can at least hold one stable."
And so he did. For hours. The boy repeated the process again and again. Each attempt ended in deformation, collapse, or detonation — but slowly, incrementally, he lasted longer. From three seconds to five. From five to ten. Each success, no matter how small, added to his determination.
Venelana gave subtle advice throughout, correcting his posture, reminding him to steady his breathing, to feel the rhythm of the energy rather than forcing it. At one point, she lightly pressed his trembling wrist, guiding him to slow down his release of power, and the orb in his palm stabilized for a fraction longer.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of strain, sweat dripping down his face, a notification chimed in his vision.
---
[System Notification]
Skill: Power of Destruction (Lv. 2 → Lv. 3)
Control has increased.
Destruction spheres can now be formed more stable and maintained for longer.
---
Sirzechs blinked, his breath ragged. "It… leveled up."
Opening the description, he saw that nothing grand had changed — no new abilities, no sudden leaps in raw might. But there was a clear remark:
> Lv. 3 Effect: User has achieved improved stability. Basic destruction spheres can now be created more consistently with less energy cost.
He exhaled in relief, smiling faintly despite his exhaustion. "Not much… but it feels different. Lighter. Easier."
Venelana's lips curled into a proud smile as she brushed a lock of crimson hair behind her ear. "Exactly. True mastery is built one layer at a time. Today, you've taken a step forward — and that is worth far more than reckless leaps."
The training ground finally fell silent. The crimson wards dimmed, and the suffocating energy dispersed into the cool evening air. Sirzechs collapsed onto the ground, his arms heavy, his breath ragged. Sweat clung to his skin, his crimson hair plastered to his forehead.
Venelana approached, her footsteps soft against the stone. She crouched beside him, offering a delicate handkerchief. "You did well today," she said gently. "Pushing yourself too far won't make progress come any faster."
Sirzechs took it, wiping his face, and managed a tired smile. "Thanks… I guess I got carried away."
Venelana chuckled, the sound like a soft bell. "That determination… you inherited it from me. But so did your stubbornness."
He laughed weakly. "Figures."
She reached down and tugged his arm, pulling him up with surprising strength. "Come. You need a bath. If you let yourself dry like this, you'll catch a cold."