Kael didn't push further. If a man hides something from his own son, it's not just on whim, its because whatever he has been hiding is either too painful or too dangerous to speak of.
Something that haunts him still.
Kael stepped forward, picking up one of the spare axes from the grass. The handle was worn from years of use, but the blade was sharp.
Kael took a slow breath, raising the axe high. Closing his eyes, he let a thread of mana stir within him. Just a speck.
He let it flow into the axe—carefully, slowly. His body was still in the stabilization stage, the beginning of a long path, and he hadn't yet taken the first true step toward becoming a magic swordsman.
The theory was there—he understood how mana should flow into a weapon, how to reinforce it—but theory meant little when faced with stubborn metal and unpredictable energy.
He had tried this before. Many times.
Daggers, swords, even wooden sticks. But the outcome was always the same: rejection. The mana would twist, the weapons would quiver or crack, and the flow would break.
That's when Kael realized something important—being a magic swordsman wasn't as simple as forcing mana into steel.
It was about stability.
The weapon had to accept the mana willingly. And the mana itself had to be stable, and work together with wielder's will. If not, it would rot the weapon from the inside, corrupt it and break the harmony.
As the axe came down and split a log cleanly in two, Kael opened his eyes. The mana flickered for a moment and faded. But the axe didn't resist him this time.
He smiled faintly.
A step, no matter how small, was still a step forward.
Alaric glanced at Kael, watching silently as the boy's axe met the log smoothly. He didn't say anything at first. This wasn't the first time Kael had done something unbelievable.
Alaric had long stopped being surprised by his son's rapid growth. But even so, there were moments like this that still caught him off guard.
Kael was only seventeen, though he wasn't aware of his real age. Just a teenage boy by any standard. Yet what he had just done, was something that most couldn't achieve even in their twenties.
It wasn't just about raw talent. It was about control and willpower.
Of course, there were geniuses. His eldest daughter, Leona, was one of them. She had always been ahead of the curve. It took her sixteen years to learn to harmonize her mana with a blade, and even then, she struggled at first.
But here Kael was—doing it effortlessly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Alaric cleared his throat and asked, his voice low and serious, "Kael, do you want to go to the Academy as well?"
The question hung in the air.
Kael didn't answer right away. His axe kept swinging, wood splitting beneath him as he kept his gaze down.
The word echoed in his mind—Academy.
He had thought about it before. Of course he had. Who wouldn't? It was the center of knowledge and training. A gateway to power.
But it wasn't so simple.
He had lived a life before this one. A life spent pleasing others, constantly judged, ridiculed, and looked down upon.
In this world, it wouldn't be any different.
He was a commoner. Walking into the Academy would be like painting a target on his back. Nobles and royals would mock him, treat him like dirt. And if things turned violent, what could he really do?
Yes, he could fight back… but what if they used the system against him? What if they used rules, titles, connections? In this world, raw strength wasn't always enough. Not when the entire hierarchy was built to suppress people like him.
Kael clenched the axe tighter, his next strike hitting harder than necessary.
Not yet, he told himself.
He shook his head, slowly turning to his father. "Not now, Father," he said firmly, his voice clear and determined.
Alaric raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Power. That was what Kael needed first.
Only after he had strength—undeniable, unshakable strength—would he have the right to stand tall, to speak freely, to walk into a place like the Academy and not just survive… but dominate.