"What?" Icariel blinked, sitting up slightly.
"Yes,"the voice replied, calm and absolute."You're ready now… for the superhuman awakening. Soon we will begin."
A slow grin formed on Icariel's face. "Haha… This year's all about training, huh?" He exhaled, then leaned back into the grass, his hands behind his head. "Fine. I am excited to learn it."
His chest rose and fell slowly, eyes gazing up at the night sky above the forest canopy.
"…Hey, Voice," he muttered, voice softer now, more honest.
"Yes?"
"I have something to tell you."
"I know. And I already said it before—I don't care how you know what you know, or how you can teach me, or even what you teach me… as long as it helps me survive. Helps me grow stronger."
He paused, frowning faintly.
"But next time…" Icariel's voice dropped to a whisper. "Next time, just tell me beforehand if you're going to master something that weird to others again. Honestly, when Aelar reacted like that, I got nervous. Like… really nervous."
He glanced to the side, remembering Aelar's words. Unheard of. Impossible. Dangerous.
"White Sense… you made it sound normal. But that's not something anyone can even dream of mastering. He said that no one possesses something like me."
"...I will keep that in mind," the voice responded after a pause. "I didn't explain it earlier because that elf said he wouldn't pry. But after sparring with you and seeing your capabilities up close, he started to ask again. That was my miscalculation."
A brief silence fell between them, the wind brushing softly against the trees.
"It won't happen again. From now on, whatever I teach you—I'll tell you what it is before you learn it. No more surprises. Sound good?"
Icariel closed his eyes, a tired smile on his face. "Yeah… sounds good."
"…Oh, by the way," he added. "When Aelar said I'd cook a low-level mage with my spells… what did he mean? Have I truly grown that strong?"
He stared up at the stars above, their pale light twinkling through the forest canopy.
"I mean… I don't expect to beat Aelar. He's absurdly strong. I'm pretty sure he's even stronger than Elektra or Grido. But still… what's the actual difference between me and others right now?"
The voice responded without hesitation.
"Yes, Icariel. You've grown. You've grown fast—and you've grown well. But don't let it go to your head. I've always been with you, but we haven't met the true standards of elites of the world—Superhumans, Swordmasters, true Mages—to compare them directly with you. What I can say is this: You have the potential to grow really stronger than the average of them. Your instincts, your foundation, your versatility—these are real."
"But comparing it against someone like the Superhuman Grido, who I've seen in battle through you and judging his ability, you'd still lose. Easily. And as for that ponytailed woman, Elektra…"
"She's just in a different league from Grido—she's on a different level from him. She didn't show all her power with him."
Icariel didn't look disappointed. Instead, he smiled to himself, hands still behind his head.
"…Good. I expected that," he whispered. "That just means I still have work to do."
The wind passed gently over him, and the stars above seemed to shine just a little brighter.
Then a thought struck Icariel like a whisper in the back of his mind.
"Why… why didn't Elif ever say anything about me not having a mana core or a magic circle?"
He frowned slightly, eyes still closed, the night air against his skin.
"Elves all have that kind of enhanced vision, right? She should've noticed it immediately… like Aelar did, after all, she saw me using spells when training."
"I think she knew," the voice inside him said.
Icariel's brows furrowed. "Then why didn't she say anything?"
"Maybe… she chose not to mention it. Or maybe," the voice continued, "she simply didn't understand what she was seeing."
"Maybe…" Icariel repeated in his head."...Maybe she realized something was different but kept quiet. If she didn't understand it, she's the type that would've started asking lots of questions…"
He exhaled, eyes still scanning the black sky dotted with stars.
"…I'll ask her later," he murmured.
His fingers curled around a handful of grass, blades slipping between them like whispers of thought. He stretched out his arms, the cool earth grounding him.
"But first… I should heal my cuts from sparring," Icariel muttered to himself. "Aelar said I need to do it on my own now. He won't heal me anymore, so I can become more proficient at it."
He took a slow breath, sat cross-legged, closing his eyes. A soft green light began to shimmer around him as mana responded and sacrificed, enveloping the shallow cuts scattered across his shoulders, face, neck, and arms. In just two days, he had reached the point where he could cast healing magic across his whole body—without even needing to channel it through his hands.
But still… he couldn't manage to use it in the heat of battle.
"I can't seem to do it during combat," he admitted under his breath.
"Be patient," the voice said within him. "You will learn in time."
There was something in its tone—almost wistful. As if it remembered what learning felt like.
As the last of the wounds sealed and faded, the green light slowly vanished into the air as the mana did the same.
He smiled faintly, eyes narrowing with a flicker of resolve.
"I'm exhausted now. I need to catch my breath…"
His eyes drifted to the towering forest above as he lay again on the grass.
"…But who would've guessed I'd end up outside Mjull… training with an elven warleader…"
He plucked a blade of grass, tossed it into the air.
"…Really awesome," he whispered.
Sleep began to take him.
"And it's all thanks to you…"
His voice trailed off, barely a breath.
"…Thank you so mu—hh…"
His eyes closed.
Silence.
Night embraced him.
Midnight had passed. The forest was silent under a canopy of stars.
Outside, Icariel lay on the grass, sleeping like a bear, breath slow and even. The wind rustled softly through the trees, but he didn't stir.
Meanwhile, in one of the wooden houses of the elven village, within a simple room lined with woven cloth and glowing crystal orbs, Aelar lay on the bed—eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
Beside him, Elena stirred.
"…What's troubling your mind, dear?" she whispered, her voice drowsy. "You're not sleeping."
Aelar didn't answer right away.
"It's about the boy… Icariel?" Elena asked quietly.
Aelar's eyes widened slightly. He turned his head. Just nodded.
He let the silence settle again before thoughts flooded in.
"I didn't want to say it to him… He seemed too unaware.But still—"
"He flooded his eyes and brain with pure mana… and actually pulled it off? Permanent enhanced vision?"
"And now he absorbs mana just by breathing? Nineteen meters of detection, constant awareness of everything around him?"
"If it was that easy..." He clenched a fist under the blanket. "Everyone would've done it."
"Mages, even geniuses, have tried it. To forcefully awaken their perception through raw mana infusion… But their brains exploded. Their eyes popped. No one survived."
"And yet… he did?"
"Even those with the Infinity Body didn't dare attempt that method. It was considered a suicide technique, a death wish, a lost cause."
"And he pulled it off? Alone?"
"It's not possible…"
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple.
"Still… I couldn't bring myself to say it. Not yet. I didn't know how he'd take it. It would only weigh heavier on his mind, and as his teacher now, I couldn't add to that burden."
"Dear?" Elena's voice broke through his thoughts, gentle yet persistent. "Is something wrong with Icariel?"
Aelar's gaze lingered in the shadows before he answered, his voice soft but weighed with uncertainty. "I'm not sure."
He turned his eyes upward, fixating on the dark expanse of the ceiling, his gaze cutting through the dimness like sharpened blades reflecting the moonlight.
"...But I'm certain of one thing."
His voice dropped to a near whisper, as if sharing a secret only the night could understand.
"...He's either the most cursed human child I've ever known—"
He paused, the air thick with the gravity of his words.
"...Or the luckiest."
The sun was rising, spilling golden light across the treetops, pushing the last traces of night into the edges of the world.
Icariel stirred, his body relaxed against the forest floor. Eyes blinking open, he stretched with a soft groan. "Ahh… what a nice sleep," he murmured, voice still drowsy. "I actually feel refreshed."
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he rolled onto his side, brushing stray leaves off his face. "Guess sleeping on the ground for months does something to you. A soft bed just doesn't feel right anymore…"
He rubbed at his head, his fingers running through his messy black hair. The torn dark elven clothes ragged at the edges, worn down by training.
As he sat up, arms reaching toward the pale morning sky, a quiet thought drifted into his mind. "Maybe I should try the healing spells again before Aelar wakes," he mused aloud, the words barely a whisper against the dawn. "Couldn't hurt to practice—"
Then—a shift.
A slight ripple in the air, like mana bending in the wrong direction. The hairs on Icariel's arm stood up before the click even sounded.Something in his mind snapped.
His expression shifted in an instant...
"…Who are you?"
He turned his head slowly, eyes locked onto a patch of trees that, to any ordinary observer, seemed perfectly still—ancient and undisturbed. But Icariel's tone was calm, confident… and dead serious.
There was nothing visible there.
At least, not yet.
Then… a faint laugh echoed through the trees. Playful. Mocking.
"Hmph… and here I thought I was renowned for my stealth," a voice responded, its tone smooth and low, resonating oddly through the trees.
And then—it began to appear.
A faint shimmer peeled away from the trunk of a thick oak, like a curtain lifting. The figure was standing just at the edge—exactly 19 meters away.
Unfortunate for them.
Because they had just stepped into Icariel's White Sense range.
The cloak of invisibility unraveled slowly, revealing a lean silhouette: a slim figure with arms too steady, movements too deliberate to be a mere wanderer. Mana clung to them like a second skin, though twisted… refined.
The stranger's face was still hidden by a partial mask, eyes glowing faintly behind it.
They tilted their head curiously.
"…A human child," they said, voice silk-smooth and filled with bemused curiosity. "How did you detect me? No heartbeat spike… no flinch… You knew I was there."
Their eyes narrowed beneath the mask.
"I'm really curious now."
Icariel didn't move. He simply raised his head, black eyes steady, filled with the same quiet resolve as always.
But inside, something cold had already awakened.
He was being watched.
And this time, it wasn't a beast or a test.
It was someone else.