The world blurred, and in the blink of an eye, the harsh desert sun was replaced by the soft, warm lighting of their hotel room.
Markil stood on the plush carpet, his mask back in place, but his mind was still back in the dunes, replaying every movement of their fight.
"Hey," Markil said, breaking the silence. He turned to Maren, who was already heading toward the mini-fridge.
"During our spar... I wasn't able to land a clean hit. Every time my blade got close, it felt like I was hitting a wall of invisible glass. But now, you're touching my shoulder like it's nothing. What was that?"
Maren stopped, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.
"Oho? My cute little student is observant! Listen closely, Markilli—"
"Don't call me that," Markil snapped.
Maren ignored him, held up a finger, and began to glow with a faint, translucent light.
"I have an invisible layer around my entire body. It's exactly ten centimeters away from my skin. It doesn't allow anything—swords, magic, or even dust—to touch me unless I give it permission or have the intention to let it through. I call this magic The Marcer."
"The Marcer?" Markil repeated.
"Yep. I created it myself. No one else uses it because it requires insane mana control," Maren bragged, leaning back.
"To do it, I had to visualize a perfect, absolute barrier and release my mana in a slow, constant stream until it hardened into a secondary skin."
Markil didn't respond.
He simply closed his eyes.
Visualize a barrier... slow release...
Deep within Markil's core, his Chaos mana began to churn. Usually, his power was explosive and violent, but he forced it to steady.
Even with his eyes closed, the world changed.
He began to see "Mana Threads"—glowing silver lines that connected everything in the room.
He reached out and began to weave those threads around himself, layering them exactly ten centimeters from his body.
Maren's jaw dropped.
"Hey... what are you doing? Kid, it took me a whole year of meditation just to figure out the visualization! You can't just—"
Markil opened his eyes.
The air around him seemed to ripple like heat over pavement.
"Try to touch me," Markil challenged.
Maren's eyes narrowed.
No way. There's no way.
He reached out a hand to poke Markil's chest, but as his finger reached the ten-centimeter mark, a violent, humming force pushed back.
Maren pushed harder, but the more pressure he applied, the more the barrier fought him.
It wasn't just a wall; it was a kinetic spring.
"What the... it's different from mine," Maren whispered, his eyes sparkling with genuine shock.
"Mine is a shield, but yours... yours is aggressive!"
Maren, caught up in the excitement, laughed and lunged forward for a hug.
"You really are a genius! Come here, you little—"
BOOM!
As soon as Maren's body hit the barrier, the Marcer reacted with a thunderous blast of repelling force.
Maren was sent flying backward, slamming into the hotel wall with a heavy thud.
He slid down to the floor, blood trickling from his nose, but he was wearing a massive, goofy grin.
"Ouch..." Maren wiped his nose, chuckling.
"You're a quick learner. Maybe a little too quick. You almost broke my nose!"
Markil looked at him with a deadpan expression.
Who is this weirdo? He gets blasted across a room and smiles about it?
Evening fell over the kingdom.
Markil retreated to his own room, the silence of the night allowing his thoughts to wander.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Maren Walberd... Markil thought.
He's a pervert and a mental case, but he's... kind.
He hides his power behind that stupid laugh.
Elrond was right—he really is the strongest.
He has no ego, no need to prove himself, yet he just taught me a technique that would take a master years to learn.
Markil looked at his hands, feeling the Marcer barrier still humming around him.
If I could crack his barrier in the desert, it means someone could break mine too.
I can't get complacent.
I have to be careful, even with his protection.
The next morning, Markil woke up early.
He put on his mask and slipped out for a walk through the quiet hotel halls, hoping for a moment of peace.
Suddenly, a pair of arms grabbed him from behind.
Who the—!
Markil reacted instantly, spinning around and throwing a lightning-fast punch that connected squarely with the intruder's head.
CRACK.
"Ow! Markilli! That's no way to treat your master!" Maren yelled, rubbing the growing lump on his head.
"I told you not to call me that! And stop sneaking up on me!" Markil shouted.
Maren just grinned.
"No time for grumbling! Let's go!"
Before Markil could protest, the world dissolved again.
When the colors returned, the air was freezing.
Markil looked around and gasped.
They were standing on a vast, perfectly flat surface of grey stone.
Clouds drifted below them.
"Where are we?" Markil asked, his breath hitching in the thin air.
"We're at the summit of Mount Ignis," Maren said casually, gesturing to the horizon.
"I made this surface flat by slicing the peak off a few years ago. It's the perfect place to train because there's no one around to hear you scream."
Markil stared at the flattened mountain top.
"You... you just cut the top off a mountain because you wanted a flat floor?"
"Details, details!" Maren waved his hand dismissively.
"You proved yesterday you're a quick learner. So today, the real fun begins. I'm going to teach you the most dangerous art in my repertoire."
Maren's playful demeanor suddenly vanished.
His aura began to bleed out—a terrifying, suffocating pressure that made the very air vibrate.
He turned to Markil, and for the first time, his smile wasn't goofy.
It was brutal.
It was the smile of a predator.
"First lesson," Maren whispered, his voice echoing like thunder.
"High-Precision Fire Magic. Don't die, student."
Markil's heart hammered against his ribs.
He dropped into a combat stance, his own dark aura rising to meet Maren's golden light.
(Chapter 44 Finished)