The week following Helga's induction into the Order of the Archangel was a blur of intensive, nocturnal training. Daemon utilized the commoners' training complex in the dead of night, focusing entirely on pushing Helga's latent Telekinetic ability beyond its academic limitations. Daemon knew that the Academy's methods were crude, relying on sheer mental strain to generate Aetheric force. His goal was to refine her power into elegant precision, treating the mind like a finely tuned engine, not a blunt hammer.
"The rapier is merely a focus," Daemon instructed, his voice firm and unwavering as he corrected her stance in the dim light of the training hall. "The Mythril-Tungsten Rapier is not for brute cutting; it is for defining the force. When you move the blade, you are showing your mind the path, the length, and the precise velocity of the Aether you intend to project. The blade teaches you precision over chaotic force."
The rapier's unique, subtle enchantment—engineered to discharge a precise streak of lightning only when the blade impacted something solid—was Daemon's way of giving Helga immediate, undeniable feedback. If the lightning didn't arc, her mental projection was unstable. If it arced cleanly, her focus was perfect.
Daemon's instincts proved absolutely correct: Helga possessed a formidable, suppressed talent. Liberated from the heavy-handed, restrictive teaching of her former tutors, her ability soared. In the space of one grueling week, she achieved growth that should have taken many months. She quickly moved past small practice stones, learning to manipulate heavier and more complex objects with graceful ease. Her breakthrough moment came late one evening. Fuelled by frustration and guided by the rapier's lightning-quick movements, she let out a sharp, silent mental breath and was able to push a heavy, iron-weighted training dummy several meters across the stone floor using only the power of her mind. The change was profound: her Telekinesis had transitioned from a straining lift to a graceful, invisible, and powerful shove. Helga was no longer just a commoner mage; she was becoming an efficient asset of the Archangel Order.
While Daemon forged a silent revolution within the Academy's walls, the consequences of his ruthlessness at Insbruck were finally spiraling toward him.
Hundreds of miles away, nestled high in the remote, heavily protected peaks of the Alps, lay a secretive Imperial prison facility. Within a cold, stone chamber, one of the sixteen captured Insbruck bandits was undergoing extreme interrogation. The method was pure magic: an Imperial mage specializing in Telepathy—an Affinity so rare and intrusive it was only used for the highest intelligence extraction—delved deep into the bandit's terrified, shattered mind.
The interrogator was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer, primal terror dominating the prisoner's memory of the battle. The mental images were chaotic and fragmented, yet devastatingly clear: the sudden, deafening explosion that tore the world apart, followed by an incandescent, white-hot flash of fire, impossibly brighter and more destructive than any standard Fire magic the Telepath had ever witnessed or cataloged.
Then came the image of the white-hot blade. The Telepath saw the commoner move with inhuman speed, wielding a dark blade that glowed with the fury of a star, slicing through steel and bone without resistance.
"There is no smoke… there is no spell circle!" the Telepath muttered, relaying the memory to the rune recording device. "It's just raw, elemental destruction, contained within copper and steel! Generated in a way I cannot comprehend! This is not magic as we know it!"
The Telepath's report was immediately categorized as a matter of highest national security. It bypassed standard Academy channels and was flown directly to a man whose power had recently expanded to terrifying proportions: Duke Steiner.
Duke Steiner had recovered from the humiliation of the Berlin tournament not by wallowing, but by plotting and climbing. He had been appointed the Lord Constable of the Empire, granting him sweeping authority to investigate and neutralize threats to Imperial stability, regardless of noble rank or jurisdiction. Steiner had been actively searching for any pretext to ruin Daemon for the brutal, public shaming of his son, Adolf.
Steiner read the Telepath's summary, his eyes narrowing to slits of triumphant, focused malice. The report spoke of unknown explosive power and a white-hot blade that defied classification—a tactical anomaly the Empire could not ignore.
"Unconventional weapons… non-magical destruction… capable of breaching fortifications instantly," Steiner murmured to his attending aide, tapping the report with a predatory finger. "If this commoner has the key to creating such raw, unmanageable power, the Empire requires it. Not tomorrow, but today. This is a threat, yes, but it is also the key to increasing my influence with the Kaiser."
Steiner straightened in his chair, a cold, calculating smile spreading across his face. "I will personally oversee the acquisition of this technology. We will bring Daemon in, not as a student, but as a threat to Imperial security—a rogue agent with forbidden knowledge."
He leaned back, the victory already tasting sweet. "The commoner destroyed my son's spirit by inflicting physical and mental torture publicly. Now, I shall retrieve this new weapon, and in the process, I shall inflict physical and psychological torture on Daemon in a manner that will ensure he suffers the exact same, devastating loss of will that Adolf endured. The debt must be paid in full."
The Lord Constable of the Empire had found his long-awaited, justified excuse to move against the Berlin prodigy, and this time, he was backed by the full, terrifying weight of the Kaiser's investigative authority. Daemon, focused on internal growth, was utterly unaware that the true enemy was finally making its move.