Now, he had to do 100 push-ups. It took a while, and he could feel his muscles activating with each repetition.
"I saw you using threads," Seraphine said, her voice as cold as ever. "But you're not utilizing them to their full potential."
Lindarion looked up at her as he finished his last push-up, confusion flashing in his eyes.
"Why only the threads?" She tilted her head slightly as if questioning his entire approach.
"Do you not have other techniques or skills?"
"I do… but I've never—"
"The techniques and skills we gain through our Mana Core exist to be implemented in real combat," she interrupted. "So why aren't you using them?"
Her words hit him harder than any of her attacks. His jaw clenched as he stared at the ground.
She was right. Why was he holding back? These abilities were his. He had earned them.
In his past life, he had to restrain himself because of his injury—during training, and competitions. But now, he didn't have to anymore.
"Then I won't hold back any longer."
Before she could finish, he channeled as much mana as he could into his legs and vanished into her shadow.
Seraphine reacted instantly, twisting her entire body around, her lips curling into a wide grin.
He poured mana into his hands and fingers, feeling his reserves drain fast—he wouldn't be able to keep this up for long.
The threads shot out from his fingertips, wrapping around her body. Her brows lifted in surprise.
She immediately ignited her black flames, burning through them—but he had expected that.
The moment she focused on the fire, he gathered all his remaining mana into his palm, forming a concentrated sphere. Sparks crackled from it, the raw energy unstable.
A blast of mana shot from his hand, striking her directly in the stomach.
The black flames around her flickered and died out.
He felt his mana reserves deplete completely, and the threads lost their form, dissolving into the air.
Seraphine glanced down at herself, then at her clothes.
Lindarion grinned in triumph, even as his knees hit the ground.
He had barely managed to graze the fabric of her uniform. It was a mere scratch—insignificant. But he hadn't expected more.
He knew she was leagues above him. Wounding her was impossible.
'But this… this is still my victory.'
"Nicely done, Your Highness," Seraphine said.
There was no mockery in her tone.
Just surprise. She hadn't expected that at all.
"Pull yourself together. Drink this."
Seraphine pulled a small vial from her pocket and tossed it toward him.
He barely caught it before it could hit the ground.
"Mana restoration potion."
Her voice was cold, but there was something else beneath it—something he couldn't quite place.
He uncorked the bottle, and an overpowering stench hit his nose. His stomach lurched, and he nearly gagged.
Seraphine arched an eyebrow, watching him with mild amusement.
'So I have to drink this…'
He pinched his nose shut and forced the vile liquid down. It tasted just as bad as it smelled. He thought he might pass out.
Lindarion shook his head, trying to rid his mouth of the lingering taste.
"You'll get used to it."
Seraphine's tone was unreadable as she sat down on the ground.
"Turn your back to me."
There was an unmistakable authority in her voice.
'What is she planning…?'
Despite his hesitation, he turned around and sat down. The cold stone beneath him sent a shiver up his spine.
"Now, start circulating mana through your body."
He closed his eyes and focused on his Mana Core. Mana had always come to him naturally—he only had to call for it. A surge of energy flowed through him, spreading into every part of his body.
Seraphine's eyes widened, her confident smirk faltering for the first time.
"Faint Core Master tier… Impressive, young prince."
'How is it this high?! That's nearly on par with new recruits in the army!'
Seraphine's thoughts were momentarily shaken, but she quickly masked her reaction.
"Starting tomorrow, we'll change your training regimen. You'll need a weapon, Prince."
His eyes lit up. A sword—or any weapon—finally in his hands. A rush of excitement filled his chest, and he nearly teared up from the overwhelming joy. He could have danced.
"Let's get you a weapon forged."
Before he could finish his sentence, Seraphine grabbed him. The world around them shattered like glass, and in an instant, they were somewhere else.
A thick, metallic scent invaded his nose, mixed with the acrid smell of burning coal. His skin prickled from the intense heat, a sudden wave of warmth making him feel as though he might combust.
"Where are we?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity as they stepped into a massive chamber. It looked like a regular smithy.
"Ironhold?" he repeated, barely hearing his voice over the rhythmic clang of metal striking metal.
"The land of dwarves."
'I had no idea this place existed…'
The scent of molten metal and burning coals hung thick in the air, blending with the raw essence of forged steel.
Along the walls, massive forges lined the chamber, each one radiating an orange glow as dwarven blacksmiths worked tirelessly. The rhythmic hammering echoed off the stone walls, the sound of metal striking metal reverberating through the vast hall. Sparks danced through the air before vanishing into the dim light, while rough, calloused hands shaped swords, armor, and weapons of unmatched craftsmanship.
'It's scorching in here…'
He spoke without thinking, mesmerized by a master blacksmith working on a long-bladed sword.
A deep, hearty laugh rang out as the dwarf smith turned to him, his beard singed at the edges from years spent by the forge.
"If you think that's impressive, lad, you've never held a true dwarven blade in your hands."
"He hasn't yet, Baldrek. This is the Elven Prince, Lindarion."
The moment Seraphine spoke those words, Baldrek's eyes widened. He halted his work, setting his hammer aside, and strode toward Lindarion.
"How old are you, boy?"
His voice carried the weight of years, deep and powerful, filled with the authority of a master who had seen and done it all.
"I'm six years old, sir," Lindarion declared loudly, making sure his voice carried through the smithy.
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, Baldrek let out a booming laugh, the kind that came from deep within his chest. It echoed off the stone walls, and soon, the other dwarves joined in, chuckling among themselves.
"Seraphine, tell me the real reason you brought him here," Baldrek said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye.
"We need a blade for the Prince—"
"Say no more." He cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"There's no way in the gods' names that I'm forging a sword for a child. Prince or not, he wouldn't even be able to hold a proper blade."
A few of the nearby dwarves smirked, barely containing their laughter.
'He thinks I can't? Who does he take me for?'
Seraphine's voice dropped, her expression hardening as she locked eyes with the dwarf.
Baldrek met her gaze but remained unfazed.
"My answer stands," he said firmly, turning back to the weapon he had been forging.