The adrenaline finally began to ebb, leaving my small, borrowed muscles twitching. I retreated into the quiet expanse of our shared mind-space. Aeldir's soul was there, huddled and trembling from the sheer pressure of the duel.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, my voice echoing in the stillness.
"You almost got us killed!" Aeldir's voice cracked with a trauma no seven-year-old should possess. "Why did you throw us in front of that monster?"
I looked down at the boy who rightfully owned this body, my expression cold. "Crybaby. You've never seen a real war, have you?"
"With you around, I haven't even seen peace!" he shot back.
"A skirmish is not something you should compare to the front lines," I replied, my tone darkening. "In a war, everyone you love is at risk. If you are weak, you will watch them die because you lack the power to protect them. In my vision, war is a graveyard without an end. Take that to heart."
Aeldir went quiet, the weight of my words settling over him like a heavy shroud. After a long silence, he sighed softly. "Okay... wisdom spirit."
A soft, weightless pressure brushed against my leg. Nyx, the small familiar, hopped into my lap and curled into a ball, instantly drifting into a deep sleep.
"Let me play with her," Aeldir whispered, reaching out.
"Let her sleep first," I replied. "The Princess will likely come soon; you can both play with her then. "… I talks to him but not enough and goes to sleep.""
Aeldir took a deep breath, steadying his nerves.
The heavy doors of the royal hall groaned as I, the Second War General of the Elven Kingdom entered the throne room. The King and Queen sat in their high-backed chairs, while the Former King watched from the shadows of the dais. I knelt, the stone floor cold beneath my greaves.
"From the perspective of the kingdom, the summoned boy was no longer a child—but a resource
"Your Majesty," I began, "your doubts were correct. He may look fragile, but he possesses the power of an elite soldier level summoning . During our bout, it felt as though a massive, unbreakable shield was trapping his true mana and aura inside a vessel that shouldn't be able to hold it and beside summon he wilded a B rank wind spell too at age of 7 "
The King leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "And his composition?"
"It is unnatural, my Lord. He is an Elf of tri-blood descent, but the balance is skewed. My analysis suggests his vessel is roughly 40% Human, 20% Elf, and a shocking 40% Celestial. Yet, despite that divine trace, his human traits are the most dominating. "For the summoned vessel, human traits dominate. The boy himself should be more elven — yet he isn't.". He is a walking beast
"
"The 'how' is irrelevant," the King mused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "We simply have to take advantage of it."
"If I am permitted, my Lord, I would like to personally oversee his training," I said. "He has the potential to be a monster on the battlefield."
"Do whatever you like, Captain," the King replied, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. "Train him as you see fit—just ensure you do not kill him. He is to be my main asset."
"I understand," I bowed low. "Allow me to leave."
"You are dismissed."
As I walked out, I thought of the summon boy's eyes. They didn't look like the eyes of a child, or even an elf. They looked like the eyes of a soldier who had seen the end of the world and survived.
The gate closed behind me without a sound.
"The echoes of the throne room faded like a memory that didn't belong to me anymore."
Stone swallowed stone, sealing the path I the ryn had come through as if the dungeon itself wished to erase the idea of retreat. For a moment, I stood there unmoving, my hand still hovering where the surface had been—feeling nothing, yet knowing something irreversible had occurred.
The air beyond the gate was colder.
Heavier.
Not the cold of temperature, but of intent.
This place was not meant to test strength. It was meant to peel something away.
I took one step forward, and my body protested—bones aching, muscles screaming beneath skin that no longer felt entirely whole. This was not Aeldir's body. Not the temporary girl-form I had been forced into earlier either.
The remaining paths did not test strength alone—they stripped me piece by piece. The mosquito swarm was first: tiny, nearly invisible, mana-draining creatures that ignored defense and punished hesitation. I died three times, each death slower than the last, blood drained drop by drop while my body weakened and my mind screamed to flee. The swamp followed, where crocodilian beasts lurked beneath mana-suppressing water. I died eight times there—dragged under, limbs crushed, lungs burning as instinct fought terror until fear dulled into cold calculation. The underwater merrow were worse. They sang while tearing me apart, driving madness into my senses. I died eleven times, learning to shut out sound, to move without breath, to fight while vision blurred and panic clawed at my chest.
The ants came next—endless, ravenous, crawling into wounds, devouring flesh while I was still alive. Nine deaths. Pain lost meaning there. Survival became mechanical. I learned endurance. Timing. Stillness. Then came the sleeping dragon path—the cruelest trial. A guardian that sensed even the faintest mana fluctuation. Ten deaths followed, each one instant and absolute, teaching me suppression beyond instinct—existence reduced to presence alone. By the end, I no longer feared dying. I feared stagnation more.
Each path carved something into me: hearing without ears, movement without sight, reaction without thought. Pain stopped breaking me; it sharpened me. Death ceased to be an end and became instruction.
This was my original dragonoid vessel.
Cracked. Exhausted. Dragging itself forward through will alone.
Every breath scraped my chest raw.
The tunnel widened gradually, revealing a cavern scarred by countless battles. Claw marks gouged the stone. Burned patches blackened the ground. Old blood—too old to stink—darkened the floor like a second shadow.
At the center stood a single figure.
Tall.
Broad.
Four arms hung at its sides, each gripping a sword worn smooth by use. The troll's skin was layered with scars, thick leather armor strapped across its torso. Its eyes were calm—not savage, not mindless.
A warrior.
It lifted its head the moment I entered.
The pressure changed.
My instincts screamed.
I moved first.
The distance collapsed in a blink as it surged forward, all four blades flashing at once. I raised my sword to defend—
—and pain exploded through my arms.
Steel bit into flesh. Two blades cut deep, severing muscle, numbing my hands instantly. The other two tore across my side, ripping me open.
I screamed.
Not because I wanted to.
Because my soul remembered what was coming.
The next strike took my legs.
The world tilted.
Darkness swallowed everything.
—
I returned standing.
The pain returned with me.
Not dulled. Not softened. Remembered.
My hands trembled. My breathing fractured. I nearly fell again—but forced myself to remain upright.
It attacked again.
I died again.
And again.
The first deaths were chaos—raw terror, instinctive flailing, meaningless resistance. Each time the blades found me faster. Cleaner. More efficient.
But death did not end thought.
It sharpened it.
Between attempts, something shifted. Not power. Not skill.
Awareness.
The troll's movements weren't random.
They followed a pattern.
A delay.
Its four arms did not strike as one—they followed each other in a precise sequence, separated by fractions of a second too small for an untrained eye… but not for a mind that had been torn apart and reassembled by death.
Pain became data.
Fear became noise.
By the tenth confrontation, I no longer screamed.
By the next, I stopped retreating.
I moved into the attack.
Steel rang as I intercepted the first blade. My sword shattered against the second—but my body twisted, shoulder dislocating as the third missed by a hair. The fourth grazed my neck.
Close.
Too close.
The next death came slower.
Deliberate.
I stood still when it charged.
Counted.
One.
Two.
Three—
I struck on four.
Metal screamed as sparks tore the air. The troll staggered—not from pain, but surprise.
I felt something surge inside me.
Warm.
Violent.
Mana.
Not borrowed.
Not suppressed.
Mine.
It flooded my veins unrestrained, ripping through channels that had never held it before. My body convulsed, bones cracking as something deep inside adapted—or broke.
A barrier formed instinctively around me.
Not strong.
Cracked.
But real.
The troll roared and slammed into it. The shield fractured instantly—but the impact slowed it.
That was enough.
I ignited my blade.
Fire erupted—not borrowed flame, but raw manifestation. Unstable. Wild.
The troll swung all four swords at once.
I stepped through them.
Pain exploded as one arm was severed at the shoulder.
Another blade pierced my side.
I didn't stop.
Wind wrapped around my legs, forcing movement my muscles could no longer sustain. I struck again, cutting deep into its torso.
The troll screamed.
Not in rage.
In fear.
It tried to retreat.
I followed.
A second arm fell.
Earth mana surged around it, reinforcing its remaining weapons. It swung again—desperate now.
I blocked.
Barely.
The impact shattered my remaining arm.
I fell to one knee.
Blood pooled beneath me.
But my vision was clear.
Clearer than ever.
I could see the next strike before it happened.
Not prediction.
Acceptance.
I lunged forward, ignoring the pain, and drove my sword into its neck.
The blade stuck.
The troll thrashed wildly, slashing blindly. One final strike tore through me—
—and then I was airborne.
Daggers formed in my hands mid-motion, summoned by instinct rather than system command. Blue-tinged steel spun through the air, burying themselves into the troll's eyes.
Its scream ruptured the cavern.
I landed hard, rolled, and rose with nothing left.
One step.
Another.
My hands burned as I grabbed the sword lodged in its neck and pulled with everything I had left.
The head came free.
The body fell.
I collapsed beside it.
Breathing.
Alive.
A message surfaced—not triumphant, not mocking.
Measured.
[Irregular mana usage detected.] [Permission granted due to target anomaly.] [Penalty minimized.]
I didn't care.
I lay there until my body stopped shaking.
Light swallowed me.
—
I awoke coughing blood.
Then air.
Then warmth.
A small weight pressed against my chest.
Black fur.
Soft.
Nyx.
She stared at me with wide, innocent eyes, tail flicking slowly as if nothing in the universe could possibly be wrong.
I reached up and patted her head.
Smiled.
A ridiculous, exaggerated smile.
Because crying in front of a child—
even a dragon—
felt like a sin I couldn't afford.
Aeldir slept beside me, breath steady, unaware of how close everything had come near to ending.
I closed my eyes.
Just for a moment.
Before dawn.
[ A/n sorry for being late due to irl problem but made it double yo settle things hope you like it ]