By direct order of Duchess Sophia, the first to pressure him was Albert.
His tutor.
His guardian since childhood.
And, deep within House Douglas, one of the few men who did not need to raise his voice to command silence.
No one argued with him.
Not the soldiers.
Not the servants.
And certainly not the heir.
Albert descended from the maternal lineage of the Douglas family. He had served them for three generations. His loyalty was not a promise—it was a structure. Something as solid as the steel he always carried, even when it remained sheathed.
But his role was not only to protect.
It was to shape.
And when Sophia spoke that morning from the balcony, with the sun breaking over the duchy's fields, there was no room for interpretation.
—A weak body breeds a weak mind.
It was not a warning.
It was a sentence.
Albert understood without needing further words.
And he obeyed.
The door to Lusian's chambers opened without ceremony.
Albert's presence did not need to announce itself. He entered like a storm: it did not ask for permission—it simply happened.
The air shifted.
Leather, metal, the weight of armor.
Everything about him spoke before his voice did.
Lusian felt it even before he saw him.
—The reason you fell ill —Albert said bluntly— is simple.
A pause.
His eyes measured him as if they already knew the answer.
—You lack training.
Lusian, still half-reclined, frowned.
His body ached in a vague way, as if it didn't fully belong to him yet.
—I still feel unwell… —he murmured—. Let it be another day.
It was not a firm request.
More like a reflex.
A habit from another world where "rest" was a real option.
Albert did not change his expression.
—There is no other day.
He stepped closer.
Each step shrinking the space between them.
—Lost time is danger.
Silence.
—Every moment you waste here… is one step closer to your death.
Lusian swallowed.
He did not answer.
Because something about that sentence did not sound like a threat.
It sounded like a statistic.
Like truth.
Albert grabbed his arm and forced him to stand.
No unnecessary violence.
No cruelty.
Only certainty.
—You're going to the training grounds.
The training field was too large to simply be called a "field."
It was an open courtyard of compacted sand and stone, surrounded by low walls and towers where soldiers practiced endlessly.
Swords clashing.
Spells slicing through the air.
Mana vibrating like a second atmosphere.
When Lusian entered, the sound changed.
It did not stop.
It simply acknowledged him.
—Greetings to Young Master Lusian!
The voice was unified.
Disciplined.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Lusian felt the gazes like physical weight.
It wasn't "being watched."
It was being measured.
Evaluated.
Compared.
The echo of his own name rebounded off the walls, as if the entire castle were reminding him who he was… or who he was supposed to be.
Albert appeared beside him effortlessly.
In his hand, he carried two swords.
He tossed one.
Lusian caught it on reflex.
The impact nearly threw him off balance.
Too heavy.
Too real.
—You still haven't learned —Albert said—. Your body is that of House Douglas' heir. Act like it.
Lusian looked down at the sword.
And then he said it.
—Master… I can't feel mana.
The silence did not come immediately.
It came uncomfortably late.
Albert studied him as if weighing between two truths.
—You can't?
A step forward.
—Or you won't?
The air shifted.
There was no wind.
But there was pressure.
Something unseen began to gather around Albert's fist.
Red.
Dense.
As if space itself was learning how to burn.
—Let's find out.
The first strike was not a strike.
It was a break in reality.
Lusian's chest caved in as if the air had vanished from that exact point in existence.
The world turned white.
Then sound.
Then ground.
Dust filled his mouth.
The metallic taste came before the full pain.
—Get up.
It was not an emotional command.
It was a mechanism.
The body tried to obey before the mind did.
Lusian trembled.
He pushed himself up for half a second.
And collapsed again.
—I… still feel unwell…
Another impact.
This time to the abdomen.
Air vanished again.
The world did not spin.
It fractured.
The soldiers watched in silence.
Not out of cruelty.
Out of habit.
Albert leaned slightly forward.
—The time you waste here…
A pause.
—…brings you closer to the grave.
And then he understood.
This was not training.
It was filtration.
A world eliminating those who could not survive.
The pain became constant.
Not linear.
Not measurable.
Just present.
And somewhere between the third blow and his attempt to stand again, something inside Lusian stopped.
Not his body.
His perception.
Because for the first time… he noticed it.
It wasn't a lack of strength.
It was a lack of something deeper.
—There's no…
He searched.
As if remembering a system.
As if his body should respond to an invisible interface.
But there was nothing.
No flow.
No pulse.
Nothing to "feel."
Only emptiness.
And emptiness was not neutral.
It was wrong.
The next impact changed everything.
It was not physical.
It was presence.
Albert released his mana.
The air grew heavy.
The temperature dropped.
And the space around Lusian compressed, as if the world itself had decided to remind him of his fragility.
Pain.
But not from the body.
Something deeper.
Something without a name in his human memory.
And then—
it responded.
Not light.
Not fire.
Not wind.
Darkness.
A thick, cold, almost liquid substance emerged from his skin as if it had always been there, waiting.
The ground cracked.
The air distorted.
The smell changed.
Ozone.
Ash.
Albert smiled faintly.
—There you are…
As if he had been waiting for this all along.
The memories of the game did not arrive like flashbacks.
They arrived like structure.
Level.
System.
Rules.
In this world, everyone was born level 1.
Growth depended on training and mana-infused food.
Monsters.
Herbs.
Meat saturated with energy.
Nobles reached higher levels simply through constant exposure.
But even among them…
Lusian's body was not ordinary.
Level 45.
Too high for his age.
Too low for what his name demanded.
And still…
insufficient.
Albert moved again.
Lusian reacted.
Without thinking.
He extended his hand.
The darkness answered.
Seven black spears formed in the air.
They did not appear.
They condensed.
As if reality itself had been forced to remember another shape.
And they launched.
Albert did not move.
He simply raised his sword.
Fire.
The spears dissolved.
One after another.
As if they had never had the right to exist.
—Good —Albert said—. Now we begin.
The fight continued.
Blows.
Falls.
Standing again.
Water.
Attempt.
Void.
Instant depletion.
Error.
Punishment.
Albert never changed rhythm.
—Only your affinity.
—Everything else is waste.
—And waste dies.
From the balcony above, Sophia watched without moving.
Her fingers slowly clenched against the stone railing.
Thunder, her beast, shifted uneasily.
The air around the duchess felt like it was holding its breath.
—One more strike… —she whispered— and I'll stop him.
But she did not move.
Because she saw it too.
Something was changing.
When the training finally ended, the sun was no longer in the same place.
The field had changed color.
Sound.
World.
Lusian lay on the ground.
Breathing.
Alive.
But barely.
Albert watched him in silence.
Not like an executioner.
But like someone who had seen enough boys break… to know when one wouldn't.
Adela rushed in.
Two vials.
Mana-infused healing.
Lusian drank.
The pain did not disappear.
It simply stopped being everything.
—What level am I…?
Adela hesitated.
—Forty-five, my lord.
Silence.
—I see.
A pause.
—Thank you.
Adela froze.
Because that word…
did not belong to the previous version of him.
Albert said nothing either.
But for the first time…
it did not feel like training.
It felt like the beginning.