Azael collapsed onto the cold stone floor, his back hitting the ground with a grunt. His arms throbbed, his lungs screamed, and every muscle fiber felt like it was simultaneously tearing and burning. He lay there, utterly spent, staring up at the high ceiling beams.
He had burned every muscle in his body while sparring with Arista. She was truly amazing.
Arista stood over him, her chest heaving slightly from the exertion of the short, brutal sparring session. She was barely winded. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"You have will, little brother," she admitted, her voice low and appreciative. "More than I ever gave you credit for. You fought like a cornered animal."
She nudged his side lightly with the toe of her foot. "But will isn't strength. Your movements have good lineage. The idea is correct. But your body can't keep up. You're too slow, and you leave yourself open."
Azael nodded, managing a ragged breath. "I know."
He sat up slowly, pushing himself upright with shaking arms. As he did, his gaze involuntarily darted toward the powerful, visible curve of her chest, strained tightly against the black sports bra. The sheer physicality of her body was a mesmerizing distraction.
'What a warm sight,' he thought.
Arista noticed his gaze immediately. Her smile sharpened, taking on a teasing, predatory edge.
"Oi," she said, her voice dropping playfully. "Where do you think you're looking, little brother?"
Azael's face flushed instantly, a purely human reaction that startled even him. He wasn't supposed to get flustered.
"S-sorry," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze. He stood up, steadying himself on the wooden sword. "That's enough training for now. I need to rest this body."
Arista chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "Go on, then. But be back here tomorrow, and I'll put you through something even worse. You have three months, Azael. Don't waste a single hour."
"I won't," he promised, gripping the sword tightly. He bowed a quick, stiff gesture and practically fled the training hall, leaving the confident, sexy heir to her own practice.
---
Back in his overly luxurious chamber, Azael locked the door and strode immediately to the four-poster bed, collapsing onto the soft sheets. He waited until his breathing returned to normal, then pushed himself into a cross-legged position.
He closed his eyes. The physical agony of the training still dominated his senses, but he pushed it away, seeking the deeper, more subtle energy within.
Mana.
In the old world, the hunter Ethan had trained to sense and channel prana. A raw, chaotic life force. Here, it was mana: refined, structured, the essence of all things.
He focused his intent, mentally tracing the familiar pathways of his body's internal energy network. He sought the mana core, the supposed hub of a being's power and the circulatory veins that distributed the energy.
The original Azael was cursed with a weak flow, he recalled. Any attempt to exert or circulate mana would cause immediate pain, dizziness, and eventual collapse. That was the core of his tragedy.
Azael took a deep, steady breath and gently, tentatively, began to pull the external mana into his system.
Nothing.
No searing pain, no throbbing pressure in his temples, no dizziness. His body accepted the energy without resistance.
Encouraged, he tried the next step. Circulation.
He guided the subtle blue-white energy through his veins, pushing it deliberately toward his limbs. He increased the flow, pushing more and more of the energy.
He waited for the backlash. The sharp, debilitating pain that should have ripped through his mana veins, forcing him to faint.
Instead, he felt only a faint warmth, a steady, comforting heat that traveled through his arms and settled in his palms. His body wasn't rejecting the mana; it was welcoming it.
Azael pushed the circulation as hard as he dared, driving the mana into a rapid, controlled cycle. The air around him shimmered faintly with the contained energy.
He laughed, a silent, exhilarated burst of air.
"It's gone," he whispered, opening his eyes. "The curse… it's actually gone."
Before, he had only a hunch that maybe he didn't have the curse. But now, after meditating and circulating his mana in a perfect way, he knew this was not just a guess. He was truly cured.
The Level Zero Artifact. That cursed, glowing locket that crumbled into dust after being sucked into the Hollow Gate. It must have served as the catalyst. A mysterious, powerful relic that, in the act of transmigrating his soul, had cleansed or healed the biological defect in Azael Igniva's body.
He flexed his hands. The body was still weak and brittle from a lifetime of inactivity, but now it was whole. It was a blank slate.
Azael stood up, feeling a surge of pure, powerful joy that Ethan hadn't felt since he'd mastered his first lethal technique. The next three months were no longer a desperate attempt to avoid humiliation; they were a chance to truly rebuild.
He didn't just have a new life and a handsome body. He had uncapped magical potential.
The Eternum Academy was no longer a burden; it was a challenge. And Azael Ignivar, the reborn man, couldn't wait to meet it.
He went to the bathroom and got refreshed. After that, he lay on the soft bed.
Azael was bored in his room. There was no mobile, TV, or anything here. So he decided to roam around the mansion for a while, not much.
While doing that, he tried to remember the dream, or rather, the broken memories he got last night.
It was not perfect, but Ethan was now slowly remembering the real memories of Azael. Maybe in a month or so, he might be able to revive all of Azael's memories.
He got up from his bed and decided to take a walk outside.
'Let's just roam the huge mansion.' He left the room.
While walking through the corridor, he saw someone for the first time. His violet eyes fell on another beautiful lady. He felt he knew her.
Though it's understandable why he felt that way.
The woman coming toward him was really attractive. She looked like she was in her late twenties, wearing a Victorian-style full maid uniform. But alas, it couldn't hide her curves well.