CHAPTER 53: ARIA’S CLASS

The next day, in Fenric’s study room, he sat behind his desk while Mavis stood nearby. Aria was seated before them, curiosity in her eyes, as Raman pressed the Blessing Crystal to her temple.

When he stepped back, a faint glow spread across her body, her muscles tensing for just a moment before the light faded.

"That’s a good sign," Mavis said with interest. "She must have gained a great class."

"What is your class?" she asked.

Aria flicked her gaze toward Fenric, who gave a small nod. Taking a breath, she answered, "My class... is called Death Soul Lord. It’s a Legendary class with Mana as its primary energy type, and it’s a mix of warrior and mage."

Mavis’s eyes narrowed slightly in interest. "So your class is a blend of martial skill and magic—a magus-warrior hybrid with the attributes of soul and death magic," she said, her tone laced with curiosity. "You’re already at the level of a sect heir."

"No wonder Fenric took you in—you’re an ice-block genius beauty," Mavis added with a sly smile.

Aria’s cheeks colored faintly, but she kept her eyes forward. Fenric ignored Mavis’s teasing, simply saying, "From now on, you’ll be tethered to me through oath."

"I understand," Aria replied, nodding firmly.

She rose from her seat and knelt before Fenric, her right hand over her heart. "I, Aria, swear upon my life and soul to serve Fenric Vareldis as my lord and liege. I shall wield my blade and magic in his name, protect his honor, and follow his will until my last breath."

A faint golden and black light intertwined around her as the magic of the oath bound itself to her soul.

Mavis nodded in approval. "Since you have a Legendary class, I’ll make an exception and train you alongside Fenric. Even Fenric got special treatment—why shouldn’t you?"

Fenric raised an eyebrow. "Would that be acceptable? You rarely train anyone outside the royal family."

"She’s got talent," Mavis said simply, crossing her arms. "And I’m not about to let that go to waste. Besides... she’s destined to be your blade now, so I’d better make sure she’s worth the spot."

Fenric gave a single nod, his expression calm but resolute.

"All right, you two," Mavis said, clapping her hands once. "Now that the blessing ceremony is over, so it’s back to your regular training routine. Fenric, to the track—you owe me one hundred laps. Then the knight dummy drills. After that, we move on to magic exercises."

Fenric rose without complaint, adjusting his tunic as he headed for the training yard. This time, however, he wasn’t alone. Aria walked beside him, her new oath still a warm, steady weight in her chest.

The yard’s morning air was cool, the scent of oiled steel and fresh earth hanging over the space. Without hesitation, Fenric started his run—steady, efficient, each step measured. Aria matched his pace at first, her breathing controlled, though it was clear the sheer number of laps would be a trial.

By the twentieth lap, her face glistened with sweat, but she didn’t falter. Fenric’s expression didn’t change, though a faint flicker of approval passed through his golden eyes.

When the laps were done, the air in the training yard felt heavy with heat and exertion. But there was no rest.

Fenric stepped forward toward the knight dummy, not the ordinary practice model but the enhanced one—its armor scored from countless battles, its enchanted joints designed to mimic the brutal speed of a real opponent.

The moment he took his stance, the fight erupted into something far beyond casual drills. Steel clashed against steel with a sharp, ringing violence. Fenric’s blade danced in deadly arcs, each strike crashing into the dummy with enough force to make its frame rattle. His movements were precise, but there was nothing gentle about them—this was a raw, brutal test of endurance and will.

Aria watched from the side, her eyes narrowing as she recognized every step, every parry, every counter. She had sparred with him in lighter sessions before, but this was different. This was the form he only showed in serious combat—the style honed in the marrow of his bones, a style that didn’t waste a single breath.

Mavis’s lips curled into a sharp, devilish smile. "Ah... there it is. He got immense talent and potential." Her voice was low, almost pleased. "And the best way to perfect it... is to push him to his limits everyday."

Aria caught the gleam in Mavis’s eyes, feeling a strange heat stir in her chest. A part of her didn’t like the thought—but another part, the warrior in her blood, was curious.

Fenric didn’t hear any of it. With a final strike, he knocked the dummy back a pace, its head snapping slightly on its hinge. He stepped away—only for the ground to hum faintly beneath their feet.

The test wasn’t over.

With a mechanical snarl, the dummy’s eyes flared with a dull red glow. Runes lit up across its armor, and in the next instant, sparks of mana crackled along its blade. This was no longer just a melee opponent—this was the Tier 1 magic combat model, capable of channeling elemental strikes and defensive wards.

Fenric tightened his grip. The next exchange came fast—the dummy’s blade swept low, releasing a shockwave of condensed wind mana. Fenric dodged, retaliating with a golden mana slash that burned into the dummy’s armor. Fireballs, lightning arcs, and reinforced counters followed in quick succession, each blow met with Fenric’s relentless offense.

This was no sparring match. This was survival training against an opponent that didn’t tire, didn’t hesitate, and wouldn’t stop until one of them was down.

Aria stood frozen at first, her eyes locked on the clash before her. Now—finally—she understood.

Every day, she had watched Fenric collapse into that golden water, muscles trembling, skin pale, as if the bath itself was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. She had thought it was some princely luxury, or a ritual for his strange magic.

But seeing him now... she knew it wasn’t luxury. It was survival.

His strikes were still sharp, but his breathing was ragged. Blood streaked down from a cut along his temple, another across his forearm. Every swing cost him more strength, yet he didn’t slow. His golden mana flickered unevenly around his blade, like a candle burning low in the wind.

The Tier 1 magic dummy was no longer just pressing him—it was punishing him. Elemental blasts scorched the ground, a jagged bolt of lightning clipped his side, forcing him to grit his teeth against the pain.

Aria’s knuckles tightened. She could almost feel the weight of each blow in her own chest.

Then, just as she thought Mavis would call an end to it, the older woman’s voice rang out like a merciless whip crack:

"Good. You’ve held at this level long enough—power it by ten percent."

The dummy’s runes flared a deeper, more dangerous red. The air grew hotter, heavier, every magical pulse from its frame hitting like a wave of pressure.

Aria’s jaw dropped slightly. "That’s insane—he’s already bleeding—"

But Mavis didn’t even glance at her. "If you want to rule, you train where others break. Anything less, and you’re just prey with a crown."

The words sank into Aria like ice. Her gaze returned to Fenric—who, despite the blood, despite the exhaustion, raised his sword again. His eyes were steady. His footing unshaken.

It wasn’t madness. It was necessity.

And now she understood why he worked harder than anyone she’d ever met.

Even with the dummy’s power increased, Fenric did not falter. His swings were heavier now, more deliberate—every movement calculated to conserve energy without losing killing intent. Sweat slicked his hair against his forehead, blood mixed with dirt on his jaw, but his gaze stayed locked on the enemy before him.

The dummy unleashed a barrage—wind blades cutting through the air, a burst of fire forcing him to sidestep. He blocked, rolled, countered, his golden mana flaring in short bursts like sparks struck from steel.

Mavis’s arms folded as she watched, her expression unreadable, though her eyes were sharp with approval. "Watch and understand," she said without turning to Aria. "My student is forged like this. If you wish, I will forge you the same way—until you are steel that does not bend."

Aria’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard, a small gulp escaping before she could hide it. The idea both terrified and thrilled her.

Her eyes followed Fenric’s relentless form—his determination, the sheer refusal to yield despite the pain.

"I..." she began, but the words caught.

Mavis finally glanced her way, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "You want to fight, don’t you?"

Aria clenched her fists, feeling her pulse quicken. "...Yes."

Mavis leaned in slightly, her voice low but cutting. "Then be ready to bleed. If you want to stand beside him, you must learn to suffer as he does—and still swing."

Aria didn’t flinch this time. She nodded, her resolve hardening.

Fenric’s sword struck the dummy again, the impact echoing in the training yard.

Aria’s eyes didn’t leave him. She wanted to fight like that. No—she would.