Chapter 171: Training His Family

Brita watched Alaric train, emerald eyes wide behind her usual stoic mask. ’This is… something else entirely,’ she thought, her breath catching in her throat.

It wasn’t just raw power that radiated from him, though there was plenty of that, a palpable magical pressure that hummed in the air and made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

No, it was his control. That was what truly impressed her, even grudgingly.

He moved with a fluid grace that belied the sheer force he was wielding. Flame danced around his fists, not erupting wildly, but contained, shaped, almost… playful.

Ice crystals formed in the air, intricate and delicate, before shattering with controlled bursts of frost.

Wind howled at his command, swirling around him like a living thing, and even water, usually so formless, obeyed his will, rising in shimmering columns and weaving patterns in the air. And he was doing it all at once. Flame flickered, ice shimmered, wind whispered, water flowed – a symphony of elements orchestrated by his will.

’He’s training them… all at the same time,’ Brita mused, her gaze narrowed in concentration.

’Flame, Ice, Wind, Water… four elements simultaneously. And he’s not just throwing them around. He’s… refining them.’ She could see it now, the subtle adjustments, the minute shifts in focus.

He’d conjure a flame, hold it steady, then twist it, shape it, make it dance and flicker in different hues. Then, without dispelling the flame, he’d summon a swirl of ice, focusing on its density, its sharpness, its chilling aura. And the wind, and the water, each element receiving his focused attention, each being honed and refined.

’He’s training aspects of each element,’ she realized, her mind racing to keep up. ’Flame… intensity, shape, heat control. Ice… density, sharpness, cold aura. Wind… speed, direction, force. Water… flow, pressure, volume.’

It was a multifaceted approach, not just brute force, but nuanced mastery. And he was doing it all at once, pushing himself, she could see the strain in his brow, the slight tremor in his hands as he maintained the elemental tapestry.

’The mental drain must be immense,’ Brita acknowledged internally. ’Maintaining four elements at once, refining them, controlling them… it’s… insane. Most mages can barely manage two elements at once, let alone four, and with this level of control?’

She herself, a Master Mage of the Phantom Assembly, specialized in ice and dark magic, and even she wouldn’t dare attempt such a complex, multi-elemental training regime.

’He’s getting himself used to the drain,’ she deduced, observing how he’d hold the elements for longer and longer periods, his face tightening with effort, before briefly dispelling them, then immediately summoning them again, pushing his limits, expanding his capacity.

’Simultaneously training power and control… and endurance. It’s efficient and ruthless. But it fits a monstrous genius like him.’

She watched him for a few more minutes, genuinely captivated despite herself. The raw magical intensity was breathtaking, but it was the sheer discipline, the unwavering focus, the almost obsessive drive for improvement that truly impressed her, even more than his prodigious talent.

Finally, duty overriding her fascination, Brita stepped forward, breaking the magical silence.

“Alaric,” she called out, her voice clear and crisp, cutting through the elemental whispers.

Alaric instantly stilled, the dancing flames, shimmering ice, swirling wind, and flowing water abruptly vanishing as if they’d never been. He turned towards her, sweat plastering his blonde hair to his forehead, his ruby eyes sharp and focused, even as he breathed heavily.

’Damn,’ Brita thought involuntarily, a flicker of something she refused to name passing through her. He did look… unfairly good. Sweat glistened on his skin, highlighting the lean muscle of his arms and chest.

His blonde hair was a tousled mess, framing a face that, even she had to admit, possessed a striking, almost dangerous beauty. Those ruby eyes, piercing and intense, held a depth that was both intriguing and unsettling. And there was the scent of sandalwood around him…mixed with something… else, something warmer, more… alluring. A mysterious charm, undeniably potent.

’Handsome,’ she conceded mentally, a detached, clinical observation. ’Objectively, undeniably handsome. But that’s all. It’s just aesthetics.’

She felt nothing. No flutter in her chest, no warmth in her cheeks, no quickening of her pulse. Nothing but a cold, professional acknowledgement of a physical attribute. ’My loyalty is to Master Vortan. Always.’

“Brita,” Alaric acknowledged, his voice slightly raspy from exertion. “What is it?” He didn’t sound particularly welcoming, but not hostile either. Just… neutral.

“I have something important to discuss,” she stated, her voice businesslike, cutting through any potential awkwardness.

Alaric raised an eyebrow, a silent invitation for her to continue. He didn’t move from his spot, didn’t offer her a seat, didn’t even wipe the sweat from his brow. He just stood there, radiating power and… something else, something she couldn’t quite place, but it made her feel oddly… insignificant.

“My master, Lord Vortan,” Brita began, keeping her tone formal and precise, “has issued a new directive to the Phantom Assembly.” She paused, letting the weight of the information sink in. “We are to… subtly assist the kingdoms in resisting the demonic forces.”

Alaric’s ruby eyes flickered, a spark of something unreadable in their depths. He remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate.

“The directive,” Brita continued, “is to prioritize the acquisition of demon corpses. Alive if possible, but corpses are… acceptable. The Assembly will provide… sufficient rewards for successful acquisitions.”

She deliberately omitted the why, the research, the exploitation. That was Assembly business, not for outer members like Alaric.

Alaric listened, his expression unchanging, calm, almost… detached.

’Finally,’ he thought, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling within him. ’The Phantom Assembly has made a decision. Good.’ He had been wondering how long they would remain on the sidelines, observing, calculating.

’If they had decided to support the demons… that would have been problematic.’ A direct confrontation with the Phantom Assembly, while ultimately winnable, would have been a needless complication. ’This is… preferable.’

He finally spoke, his voice even, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. “I understand.” He stared at Brita, his gaze steady, unwavering. “You can return now. I still have training to complete.”

It wasn’t a question, not even a polite dismissal. It was an order, delivered with an effortless authority that, even Brita, a high-ranking member of the Phantom Assembly, found herself instinctively obeying.

“Very well,” Brita replied, a curt nod her only acknowledgement. She turned and walked back towards the mansion, her mind churning.

’What is he thinking?’ she wondered, glancing back at his retreating figure. ’What does he plan to do with this information?’ She couldn’t fathom his inner workings, the labyrinthine pathways of his mind.

’He’s too… opaque. Too… smart.’ It was frustrating, infuriating even, to be so utterly unable to decipher the thoughts of someone she so thoroughly disliked. But then again, that was Alaric Steele. Enigmatic. Powerful. Hateful bastard.

Brita disappeared into the mansion, leaving Alaric alone once more in the training field. He watched her go, a faint smirk playing on his lips, before turning back to his training area.

’Phantom Assembly is moving,’ he mused, summoning a small flame in his palm. ’As expected. Vortan is opportunistic. He wouldn’t miss a chance to exploit this demonic crisis.’

Research, demon corpses, rewards… it was all predictable. ’Good. Let them play their games. It simplifies things for me.’

He dispelled the flame and headed towards the other training field, where he knew Lyra, Cassandra, and Fiora would be waiting.

’Time to help them catch up,’ he thought, a different kind of anticipation stirring within him.

He found them in the adjacent training field, the rhythmic clang of steel and the sharp cracks of sparring blows echoing in the air. Lyra moved with the effortless grace of a Grand Martialist, her blonde hair swaying around her as she deflected Fiora’s strikes with practiced ease. Cassandra, a little further back, was practicing kata, her movements precise but lacking the fluidity of her sister and daughter.

’Lyra is already a Grand Martialist,’ Alaric thought, observing his mother’s fluid movements. ’Years of training, honed by our… nights together. She’s truly come into her own.’

He remembered the nights spent entwined, the raw passion, the exchange of energies, the subtle but profound strengthening of their bonds, both physical and… otherwise. ’She’s strong and would be dependable in a fight.’

Fiora, despite her youthful exuberance, was holding her own against Lyra, her emerald eyes focused, her movements sharp and fast. ’Fiora is progressing rapidly,’ Alaric assessed, watching her execute a particularly swift series of strikes.

’Her virginity is already gone and considering that I had two rounds with her, my essence didn’t manage to fuse with the core of her Battle Aura. From Expert Martialist to almost Master within a night is still impressive. However, my essence is very potent.’

He knew the power he had gifted her, the potential he had unlocked. ’She’ll be a force to be reckoned with soon enough.’ He imagined more nights spent with her, guiding her, nurturing her growth, both in martial arts and… other areas.

Cassandra, however, was lagging behind. ’Aunt Cassandra… Master Martialist, peak of her rank for now,’ Alaric noted, watching her stiff, hesitant movements. ’Twenty-five rounds, a night of passion, bath in the morning gave her a significant boost, but her body’s limits are closer with her potential having been exhausted already. She needs more… focused training. And more… motivation.’ He smirked inwardly, remembering her shattered composure, her vulnerability, her newfound… pliability. ’She’s… compliant now. More receptive. I can mold her further.’

He approached them, the sound of his footsteps drawing their attention. Lyra and Fiora paused their sparring, turning towards him, Lyra with a soft, loving smile, Fiora with an eager, excited grin.

Cassandra, however, tensed, her purple eyes widening slightly, a flicker of… something – fear, apprehension, shame – crossing her face before she quickly masked it with a neutral expression.

“Son,” Lyra greeted him, her voice warm and affectionate. “Finished with your magical training?”

“For now, Mother,” Alaric replied, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “I thought I’d join you three. See how your training is progressing.”

Fiora beamed, her youthful enthusiasm bubbling over. “Alaric! Are you going to spar with us? That would be amazing!”

Cassandra remained silent, her gaze fixed on the training dummies in front of her, avoiding his eyes.

“Perhaps later, Fiora,” Alaric said, his voice gentle, though his ruby eyes flickered towards Cassandra for a fleeting moment, a subtle, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “For now, I thought I’d help you two with your Battle Aura training. My mother has been explaining the theory, hasn’t she?”

“Yes, Aunt Lyra has been wonderful!” Fiora exclaimed, nodding eagerly. “But it’s still a little… abstract. I can sense it, the energy, but… unleashing it is still difficult.”

“Indeed,” Cassandra murmured, her voice low, barely audible.

“Then let’s make it more… practical,” Alaric said, turning his attention to Cassandra first. “Aunt Cassandra, show me what you’ve been practicing.” He stepped closer to her, his presence radiating a subtle, almost predatory energy that made her breath catch in her throat.

Cassandra hesitated, her purple eyes darting nervously towards Lyra and Fiora, then back to Alaric. ’He’s so close,’ she thought, her heart pounding against her ribs. ’Lyra and Fiora are watching. I can’t… I can’t show anything.’ But the memory of their night together, the raw intensity of his touch, the shame and the thrill, it was all still so vivid, so overwhelming.

“Sister, show Alaric what you’ve learned,” Lyra encouraged gently, a knowing smile playing on her lips, though Cassandra, lost in her own turmoil, didn’t notice.

With a deep breath, Cassandra forced herself to focus, adopting a fighting stance, her movements stiff and unnatural. She began to go through the motions of a kata, her strikes precise, but lacking power, lacking… aura.

Alaric watched her for a moment, his expression neutral, before stepping closer, his hand reaching out, seemingly to correct her stance. His fingers brushed against her lower back, just above her buttocks, a fleeting, seemingly accidental touch, yet Cassandra’s skin flared as if branded. She bit back a gasp, her muscles tensing, but Alaric’s hand was already gone, as if it had never been there.

“Your stance is too rigid, Aunt Cassandra,” Alaric said, his voice calm, instructional. “Relax your shoulders, loosen your hips. Let your energy flow.” He moved behind her, his body brushing against hers, his arm reaching around to guide her posture, his hand briefly resting on her waist, his fingers pressing lightly, intimately into the curve of her hip. Cassandra’s breath hitched, a silent moan trapped in her throat. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle scent of him, so close, so… dangerous.

“Like this,” Alaric murmured, his voice low, close to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. His other hand, seemingly casually, brushed against the side of her breast, a feather-light touch, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through her entire body. She almost cried out, her body trembling, but she forced herself to remain still, to breathe, to not betray anything to Lyra and Fiora, who were watching them with innocent curiosity.

’He’s doing it on purpose,’ Cassandra realized, a wave of terrified anger washing over her. ’He’s teasing me. Tormenting me. In front of them. The hateful… bastard.’ But she couldn’t react, couldn’t protest. She was trapped, caught in his web of manipulation and desire, forced to endure his intimate touches, his subtle torment, all while maintaining a façade of normalcy for her sister and daughter.

“Feel the flow of energy, Aunt Cassandra,” Alaric continued, his voice smooth, deceptively gentle, his fingers now tracing the line of her waist, dipping dangerously close to her hip again. “Imagine it building, gathering, ready to explode.”

Cassandra clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, fighting back the urge to scream, to lash out, to break down. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not now. Not in front of them. She had to endure it. She had to survive this. For Fiora. For herself.

The training continued, Alaric’s “corrections” becoming increasingly intimate, his touches lingering just a fraction too long, his body brushing against hers with calculated “accidental” intimacy. Each touch was a brand, each murmured instruction a torment, each suppressed moan a victory for him, and a fresh wave of shame and fear for her.

“Alright, Aunt Cassandra,” Alaric said, stepping back slightly, though still close enough for his sandalwood scent to envelop her. “Show me your Battle Aura. Unleash it as you perform your kata.”

Cassandra’s breath hitched again, but she nodded, a grim set to her jaw. She shifted her weight, trying to ignore the lingering phantom sensation of Alaric’s fingers on her hip and breast. Focus, she told herself. Focus on the kata. Focus on the energy within.

She began again, moving through the familiar sequence of strikes and blocks. This time, however, she consciously reached for that inner wellspring of power, the Battle Aura that Master Martialists were said to command. It was there, she could feel it, a subtle warmth coiling in her core, a tingling energy that responded to her will.

With a mental push, she tried to draw it forth, to channel it through her movements. She executed a sharp punch, visualizing the Battle Aura amplifying her strike. A faint shimmer, barely visible, flickered around her fist for a fleeting moment, then dissipated.

She continued, moving through the kata, trying to maintain the flow of Battle Aura, to make it a constant presence, a visible augmentation to her martial arts. But it was… elusive. It flickered, it faded, it seemed to lack substance, like a hesitant flame struggling to catch.

Lyra and Fiora paused their own sparring to watch Cassandra, their expressions encouraging. Lyra offered a warm smile, while Fiora bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to see her mother’s progress.

Cassandra completed the kata, breathing heavily, her face flushed with exertion and a deeper layer of… something else, something akin to shame. She glanced at Alaric, her purple eyes questioning, vulnerable.

Alaric observed her, his ruby gaze sharp and analytical. He didn’t immediately comment, letting the silence stretch, allowing Cassandra’s anxiety to build. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm and even, but with an underlying edge that only Cassandra seemed to perceive.

“You can use it,” he stated, confirming what she already knew, what she had been taught was the hallmark of a Master Martialist. “You can instinctively access your Battle Aura. As expected.”

Cassandra’s shoulders slumped slightly in relief, a small, almost imperceptible easing of tension. Yes, she could do it. She wasn’t a complete failure.

But Alaric wasn’t finished. He stepped closer again, his presence instantly tightening the knot of anxiety in her stomach. “But,” he continued, the single word hanging in the air, heavy with implication, “it’s… pitiable.”

The relief evaporated, replaced by a sharp sting of humiliation. Pitiable. That one word, spoken in Alaric’s calm, dismissive tone, cut deeper than any harsh insult.

Fiora frowned, tilting her head. “Mother, I saw something… a shimmer? Was that your Battle Aura?” Her tone was innocent, curious, but Cassandra still felt a blush creep up her neck. Read latest stories on ReadNovelFull.com.Côm

Lyra, ever perceptive, placed a comforting hand on Cassandra’s arm. “Don’t be discouraged, sister. It’s a start. Battle Aura mastery takes time and practice.” Lyra’s words were meant to soothe, but they also acknowledged the inadequacy of Cassandra’s current attempt.

Alaric, however, was not offering comfort. He was offering… instruction. “You understand the concept, Aunt Cassandra,” he said, his voice now taking on a more pedagogical tone, though his eyes still held that unsettling glint of amusement. “You know how to access it instinctively. But instinct alone is not enough. Efficiency is key.”

He moved closer again, circling her slowly, his gaze sweeping over her form, assessing, dissecting. “Your stance is still too tense. You are trying too hard to force the Aura. It’s not something to be forced. It’s something to be guided, to be channeled.”

He stopped behind her again, his body close, but this time he kept his hands to himself, at least for the moment. “Imagine it like water,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost hypnotic. “You don’t push water to flow. You create a channel, and it flows naturally. Your Battle Aura is the same. Your body, your movements, your very intent – these are the channels.”

He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, a seemingly innocuous touch, but Cassandra’s nerves still jumped. “Relax,” he instructed, his fingers gently kneading the tense muscles of her shoulder. “Loosen your body. Let your energy flow freely, like water finding its path.”