Suddenly, a chilling realization hit him.
'That explains perfectly why the death of every single previous manager was so gruesome.'
His eyes widened in horror. If he looked at the political landscape logically, His Majesty's enemies couldn't directly assassinate the champion without sparking a massive holy war. So, they targeted his shadow managers instead.
'By putting me in this position, all the hidden knives in the capital will be aimed directly at my back. It's a paradox—if I manage to survive their initial "accidents," their attention on me will only grow. The better I perform my secret duties, the larger the target on my back becomes.'
Gulp. Sam swallowed hard, his throat tight with anxiety. He was an engineering student, not a political mastermind, but even he could see the writing on the wall.
The manipulators trying to topple His Majesty had already anticipated the arrival of a new manager. They likely had lethal traps laid ten steps ahead of him.
'I've just traded a small prison cell for a massive, empire-sized cage,' he realized, his entire body breaking out in a cold sweat. 'They have probably already prepared my death scenario. No.. No previous manager has ever managed to escape this matrix alive. Why should I fare any better?'
His mind raced wildly, paranoia threatening to consume him. 'Can I really trust this Origin Fire? What if the contract itself is rigged to kill me?'
He quickly suppressed the thought, throwing it to the back of his mind. 'No. The Merge ability gave me this chance. The Origin Fire itself is innocent; there is no hidden backdoor in the magic. The danger comes from the people wielding it. I just have to use every tool at my disposal very, very carefully.'
He hadn't even stepped foot outside the palace walls yet, so he couldn't be completely sure of the political web. But his gut told him he was walking a tightrope over an active volcano.
'Anyway, I can't leave this place, so I might as well test the weapon they gave me.'
Pushing aside all his disturbing political theories, he took a deep, grounding breath. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. On the back of his right hand, the circular tattoo of the flickering flame began to glow with a searing, brilliant light.
Following the instinctual knowledge implanted by the blood contract, a dim spark of blue fire popped into existence. It hovered just inches above his open palm, flickering weakly as if a stray breeze might extinguish it at any moment.
However, the ambient temperature in the room instantly skyrocketed. The plush, expensive bedsheets directly beneath his hand suddenly crisped, blackened, and flash-fried into charcoal just from the radiant heat of the tiny flame.
Sam's eyelids trembled, and he snapped his eyes open.
"So, that's how I'm supposed to use it."
He jumped up from the ruined bed, glancing sideways at the charred crater in the mattress, but quickly ignored it to stare in awe at his glowing tattoo.
'The fire... it traveled with my soul,' he realized, a faint smile caressing his face. "And the extreme heat... it's completely ineffective against my own skin."
Sam nodded in profound understanding. Now he knew exactly why he had to endure that horrific, boiling torture back in the operating chamber.
If a fire-caster's physical body wasn't tempered to resist the absolute, melting heat of their own element, they would incinerate themselves the very first time they activated their powers.
This time, keeping his eyes wide open, Sam focused his willpower. The flickering blue fire reappeared in the air before him.
'Now, let's see how it—'
Before the thought could even fully form in his mind, his concentration slipped, and the fire instantly snuffed out into nothingness.
'I need serious training!'
Having grasped the basic concept of ignition, he decided to implement a rigorous practice routine immediately. Doing something to prepare was vastly better than sitting around waiting to be assassinated.
In a flash, the fire roared back to life, hovering steadily before his eyes. Using pure thought, he commanded the flame to move. Left. Right. Up. Down. It trailed through the air like a dancing, lethal firefly.
Sam continued this delicate manipulation process for thirty straight minutes. To his absolute astonishment, he didn't shed a single ounce of sweat. As he relaxed into the rhythm of the practice, a stunning realization hit him.
'My physical body, my willpower, and my mental energy... everything has been massively enhanced!'
He was stunned by this transformation. The contract's torture hadn't just given him fire; it had fundamentally upgraded his vessel.
He had fully expected to be mentally exhausted within five minutes of casting, but he was effortlessly shattering his previous limits. This newfound stamina motivated him to push his abilities even further.
He stopped moving the fire linearly and began practicing free-form spatial manifestation, letting go of the constraints and commanding the sparks to pop into existence anywhere in the room at random.
Time continued to tick by. With every passing minute, his control grew tighter, faster, and more lethal.
Finally, after a full hour of relentless practice, the mental fatigue caught up to him. He slumped back onto the unburnt side of the bed, his new attire completely soaked in sweat, but his face carried a glowing, triumphant smile.
Utterly exhausted, his heavy eyelids shut, and his consciousness was blissfully engulfed in a shroud of restful darkness.