Chapter 157: Personal Training & News About Demons Spread

Leaving Lyra’s chambers, Alaric moved with a renewed sense of purpose. The physical exhaustion from their intense spar and subsequent… activities… was already fading, the Azure Spirit Lion’s Beast Essence working its rapid restorative magic. He could feel the lingering aches and strains in his muscles, but they were quickly being soothed, the subtle azure energy mending and revitalizing his body from the inside out.

’That spar with Mother… it was more insightful than I initially anticipated,’ he mused, as he walked through the mansion’s corridors, heading towards a different training area. The previous one was likely still a cratered mess. ’She’s definitely gotten stronger. That Sword Qi technique… it’s no joke.’ He acknowledged, with a hint of genuine respect, Lyra’s martial prowess. While he had maintained a slight edge, leveraging his unpredictable magic-martial arts style, her raw power and disciplined swordsmanship had pushed him harder than he expected.

He needed to refine his magic integration further, he realized. Relying solely on raw power, even with elemental enhancements, wouldn’t be enough against truly skilled opponents, or against those mysterious demons he had encountered. He needed more finesse, more control, more… deadliness in his spells.

He arrived at a secondary training field, located further away from the main mansion building, a more secluded and less meticulously manicured area, clearly intended for more… destructive training. This training field was a large, open space of packed earth, surrounded by reinforced stone walls, designed to withstand powerful magic and martial arts. Several training dummies, albeit more robust and magically reinforced than the ones they had obliterated earlier, stood scattered across the field, waiting to be pulverized.

Alaric stepped onto the training ground, the air here feeling charged with latent magical energy, a testament to the countless hours of training and spellcasting that had taken place within these walls. He took a deep breath, focusing his mind, clearing away the lingering sensual haze from his encounter with Lyra and replacing it with a sharp, focused intensity.

’Magic training first,’ he decided. ’Need to sharpen those spells, make them faster, more potent, more… efficient in combat.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, visualizing the elemental energies within him, the roaring flames, the biting ice, the surging water, the crackling lightning, the ever-present wind. He needed to weave them together, to blend them seamlessly into his fighting style, to make them extensions of his own will.

He started with fire magic, raising his hands, palms facing outwards. “Inferno Blast,” he chanted, the words resonating with power, the air in front of him shimmering with heat. A ball of fire materialized in his palms, small at first, then rapidly growing in size and intensity, swirling with crimson and gold flames. He focused on control, on shaping the flames, on compressing their energy, making them denser, hotter, and more explosive.

He launched the Inferno Blast towards a reinforced training dummy, the fireball streaking through the air, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. The dummy, designed to withstand Master-level fire spells, was engulfed in flames, the magical reinforcements flickering and straining under the intense heat. The dummy didn’t shatter, but it was visibly charred and damaged, smoking ominously even after the flames dissipated.

’Good, but not good enough,’ Alaric thought critically, observing the damage. ’Still too… brute force. Needs more precision, more control, more… finesse.’ He needed to move beyond simply launching raw elemental power and start weaving more intricate spells, spells that were faster, more targeted, more versatile.

He shifted his focus to wind magic, raising his sword now, channeling wind energy into the blade. “Wind Shear,” he murmured, executing a swift, precise slash through the air. A blade of pure wind energy erupted from his sword, invisible to the naked eye but carrying immense cutting power. It sliced through the air with a whistling sound, striking another training dummy with pinpoint accuracy.

This time, the dummy was cleanly bisected, the magically reinforced material cleanly severed as if cut by a razor-sharp blade. ’Better,’ Alaric acknowledged, observing the clean cut. ’Precision is improving. But still lacking… versatility.’ Wind Shear was powerful, precise, but it was a single, linear attack. He needed spells that were more adaptable, more dynamic, spells that could be used in a variety of combat situations.

He spent the next few hours cycling through different elemental spells, practicing control, precision, speed, and versatility. He summoned ice shards, not just as projectiles, but as swirling shields, as razor-edged blades coating his sword, as slippery surfaces to impede his opponents. He conjured water whips, not just as blunt force weapons, but as binding restraints, as conduits for electrical energy, as illusions to confuse and disorient. He unleashed lightning bolts, not just as direct strikes, but as arcing fields of electricity, as blinding flashes of light, as energy conduits to amplify his other spells.

With each spell, he focused on weaving in elements of martial arts, incorporating sword movements, footwork, and body mechanics to enhance his magical attacks. He practiced casting spells mid-stride, mid-swing, seamlessly blending magic and martial arts into a fluid, unpredictable fighting style. He visualized himself facing Lyra again, anticipating her attacks, countering her techniques, unleashing his spells with speed and precision, overwhelming her with a barrage of elemental power.

As the afternoon wore on, and the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the training field, Alaric shifted his focus from elemental magic to his Beast Essence. He sat down cross-legged in the center of the training ground, closing his eyes, focusing inwards, delving into the depths of his spiritual core, seeking the connection to the Azure Spirit Lion.

The Beast Essence responded instantly, a surge of raw, untamed power coursing through his veins, filling him with a vibrant, almost overwhelming energy. He could feel the spiritual energy within him, a potent force, distinct from his magic energy, yet intrinsically linked to it, capable of amplifying and enhancing his magical abilities to an unimaginable degree.

’Spiritual Energy… the key to unlocking true power,’ he thought, focusing on the sensation, on the flow of energy, on the potential it held. He had only scratched the surface of the Beast Essence’s capabilities, he knew. He had used it for healing, for enhancing his physical attributes, for brief bursts of power in combat, but he hadn’t truly mastered it, hadn’t learned to fully harness its potential.

He began to experiment, channeling the Beast Essence, consciously directing the spiritual energy, trying to weave it into his magic spells, to imbue his elemental attacks with its unique power. He started with wind magic again, summoning a Wind Shear spell, but this time, he infused it with spiritual energy, focusing his intent, visualizing the azure energy merging with the wind, amplifying its cutting power, its speed, its sheer destructive force.

The Wind Shear spell, now imbued with Beast Essence, was different. It was no longer just a blade of wind energy. It shimmered with an azure glow, crackling with spiritual power, the air around it distorting and warping with unseen force. When he unleashed it towards another training dummy, the effect was… devastating.

The Wind Shear didn’t just bisect the dummy; it obliterated it. The magically reinforced material shattered into dust, pulverized into nothingness, leaving only a faint azure afterglow in the air. The force of the impact sent a shockwave rippling outwards, cracking the stone walls of the training field, sending tremors through the ground.

Alaric stared at the remnants of the training dummy, or rather, the lack thereof, his ruby eyes widening slightly in surprise, then narrowing in focused concentration. ’Spiritual Energy… combined with magic… the potential is… immense,’ he thought, a thrill of excitement mixed with a healthy dose of awe coursing through him. He had glimpsed, just for a moment, the true power of the Beast Essence, the terrifying, exhilarating potential it held.

He continued to experiment, infusing other elemental spells with spiritual energy – Inferno Blast becoming a raging vortex of azure-infused flames, Glacier Spike turning into a spear of ice that radiated an almost palpable aura of spiritual cold, Torrential Wave transforming into a surging tsunami of azure-tinged water that crashed against the training field walls with earth-shattering force, Lightning Strike becoming a bolt of pure white-hot lightning that crackled with spiritual energy, leaving trails of azure light in its wake.

Each spell was amplified, enhanced, transformed into something far more potent, far more dangerous than its original form. The spiritual energy, combined with his magic, was like adding rocket fuel to a raging fire, amplifying its power exponentially, making his spells truly… deadly.

’This… this is the key,’ Alaric realized, a surge of determination hardening his resolve. ’This is how I’ll become strong enough. Strong enough to face those demons. Strong enough to protect… everything.’ He knew he had a long way to go, a lot more training to do, to truly master the Beast Essence, to fully integrate it into his fighting style, but he had glimpsed the path forward, and he was determined to walk it, to push himself to his limits, to unlock the full potential of his power.

As dusk began to settle, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Alaric was still training, still pushing himself, still experimenting with the Beast Essence, his spells becoming more and more powerful, more and more refined, the ravaged training field around him a testament to his relentless dedication, his unwavering focus, his burning desire to become stronger, to become ready for whatever darkness lay ahead.

~~

While Alaric continued his relentless training, pushing the boundaries of his magic and Beast Essence in the secluded training field, a storm of a different kind was brewing across Eloriath Kingdom and beyond. News, carried on the invisible threads of Alaric’s revolutionary invention – the Phone – spread like wildfire, igniting shock and disbelief in its wake.

In Eryndral, the capital city of Eloriath, King Thaleon of Eloriath had spent the morning as he did every other—presiding over tedious council meetings that drained his patience more than any battlefield ever could. Today, the topic was trade tariffs with the southern provinces, a discussion that seemed to stretch into eternity. The ministers droned on about figures, shipments, and taxation, their voices blending into an almost hypnotic hum.

Thaleon, a man of impeccable patience, had learned to tolerate these proceedings with the stoicism befitting a ruler. He sat on his throne-like chair, nodding at the appropriate moments, offering the occasional sharp remark when necessary. But deep down, he despised these drawn-out discussions, preferring the clarity of military strategy and decisive action over bureaucratic squabbling.

It was in the midst of this mind-numbing discourse that something unexpected happened.

His Phone buzzed.

The sleek obsidian device, adorned with silver filigree, lay beside his mahogany table, silent until now.

For a moment, Thaleon’s fingers hesitated over the device. The Phones, a revolutionary invention, were still relatively new, their distribution limited to an elite inner circle—the royal family, high-ranking nobles, and key officials. Few dared to contact him directly unless the matter was truly urgent.

His sharp gaze fell upon the caller ID:

“City Lord Crathis – Bigara.”

’Crathis?’ Thaleon’s frown deepened. The lord of Bigara, one of Eloriath’s major trading hubs, was a man of protocol and procedure. He rarely broke decorum, preferring to send official reports rather than direct calls.

A call at this hour meant something serious. And given the man’s personality, it wasn’t good news.

Thaleon raised a hand, signaling for silence in the council chamber. Even the most long-winded ministers immediately shut their mouths, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

The room fell into uneasy stillness as the King picked up the Phone.

“City Lord Crathis,” Thaleon said, his voice calm and measured, betraying none of his inner apprehension. “To what do I owe this call?”

The voice that answered him was strained, breathless, and very unlike the usual composed tone of Crathis.

“Your Majesty… forgive the intrusion… but… it’s… it’s urgent. Terrible news.”

A cold sensation crawled up Thaleon’s spine. His fingers tightened around the Phone.

“Urgent? What is it, Crathis? Speak plainly.”

Crathis took a shaky breath.

“Verdant Dawn Academy, Your Majesty…”

Thaleon’s eyes narrowed. Something about the way Crathis paused unsettled him.

“What about the Academy?” he pressed.

There was a long, dreadful silence. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Crathis finally said the words that would change everything.

“It’s fallen. Destroyed.”

For the first time in years, King Thaleon felt his composure slip.

He leaned forward, gripping the Phone tightly.

“Fallen? Destroyed? What madness is this?” His voice rose slightly, his usual controlled demeanor replaced by something sharper, colder. “By what? Bandits? A rogue dragon? Some kind of disaster?”

“No, Your Majesty…” Crathis’s voice shook. “Not bandits. Not monsters. Demons.”

The room seemed to darken.

A hush fell over the council chamber as every noble, every official froze, their gazes locked onto their King.

Thaleon felt his grip on reality waver for just a moment.

’Demons?’

His first instinct was to dismiss the claim. Legends. Myths. That’s all demons were. Ancient bedtime stories to scare children. A relic of a forgotten past, dismissed as superstition by scholars and rulers alike.

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And yet…

Crathis wasn’t a fool. And he sounded terrified.

Thaleon exhaled sharply.

“Crathis, are you certain?” His voice was hard, but beneath it lay something rarely heard—uncertainty. “Are you absolutely sure these weren’t some kind of powerful beasts? Rogue mages? Something… explainable?”

A pause. Then, Crathis’s broken reply:

“Your Majesty… Professors Lilliana and Maelis are here. They saw it themselves. They barely escaped with their lives. They swear upon their magic that these were demons. Creatures of shadow and fire, wielding dark magic, more powerful than Master Mages.”

Thaleon leaned back, his heart pounding in a way it hadn’t since his first battle as a young prince.

’If this is true… then this is a disaster beyond anything we have ever faced.’

“Put them on the line,” Thaleon ordered. “I want to hear it from their own lips.”

In Bigara, in the lavish hall of City Lord Crathis’s mansion, two women stood near the Phone.

They were not just any women—they were Archmages. Lilliana, the ever-composed elementalist, and Maelis, the vibrant war mage, now reduced to exhausted survivors. Their robes were torn, stained with soot and blood, their faces pale with lingering horror.

Around them, a group of young, trembling students huddled together, their eyes wide, haunted.

Lilliana took the Phone, her hands steady despite the turmoil in her eyes.

“Your Majesty…” she began, her voice measured yet grim. “This is Professor Lilliana of Verdant Dawn Academy. I regret to inform you that City Lord Crathis’s report is… tragically accurate.”

Maelis, standing beside her, added hoarsely, “Your Majesty, I am Professor Maelis. We witnessed it with our own eyes. The Academy is no more. It was overrun. Destroyed.”

Thaleon’s grip on the Phone tightened.

“Tell me everything.”

And so, they did.

They spoke of the sudden attack, the nightmarish creatures that descended upon the Academy like a swarm of shadow and flame. They described unfathomable horrors, demons wielding forbidden magic, effortlessly cutting through Master Mages like paper.

“We fought,” Lilliana said, her voice strained. “The professors, the students—we gave everything we had. But… it was hopeless.”

“Even the weakest among them,” Maelis added, voice trembling, “were stronger than seasoned battlemages.”

Thaleon listened in stunned silence, his mind racing.

If what they were saying was true… then this was no mere attack. This was war.

A war against something that shouldn’t exist.

The thought chilled him to the bone.

“Stay in Bigara,” Thaleon finally ordered, his voice heavy with command. “You and the survivors. City Lord Crathis will provide for you. Do not move until I give further orders.”

And with that, he ended the call.

For a long moment, he simply sat there, Phone in hand, staring blankly at the polished mahogany table.

The council chamber remained deathly silent.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, shaken.

“Demons… have returned.”

The news, relayed by Thaleon himself, spread through Eryndral like a shockwave, then rippled outwards across the Eloriath Kingdom via the Phone network.

Noble families, governors, military commanders, merchants, guild leaders – all received the unbelievable news, delivered in hushed, urgent tones, carried on the small, obsidian devices that had once been symbols of innovation and progress, now messengers of impending doom.

Beyond Eloriath, the news jumped borders, crossing into neighboring kingdoms and federations.

King Rouben Yachvili of the mage-centric Jorailian Kingdom, a young, ambitious ruler known for his pragmatic approach and keen interest in magical advancements, received the news with a mixture of disbelief and intense curiosity.

“Demons, you say?” Rouben murmured, staring at his own Phone, the sleek device suddenly feeling cold and ominous in his hand.

He was in his royal study, surrounded by arcane texts and magical artifacts, the air thick with the scent of parchment and incense.

His advisors, a mix of mages and diplomats, stood around him, their faces etched with concern. “Destroyed Verdant Dawn Academy? The Eloriath’s magical powerhouse? By… demons?”

“That is the report, Your Majesty,” his chief advisor, a wizened old mage named Eldar, confirmed, his voice grave. “From multiple sources within Eloriath, all converging on the same unbelievable story. Professors, city lords, even whispers from within the Eloriath Royal Court itself… they all speak of demons.”

Rouben frowned, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the polished surface of his desk. “Demons… If this is true… if Verdant Dawn Academy, with all its defenses and archmages, truly fell to demons… then this is not just Eloriath’s problem. This is… a threat to us all.”

The news, carried by the silent, efficient network of Phones, continued to spread, reaching even the far-flung corners of the known world, carried by merchants, travelers, and the clandestine networks of various guilds and organizations. The world, once focused on trade disputes, political maneuvering, and the usual ebb and flow of kingdom affairs, was suddenly united by a single, terrifying piece of news: Demons had returned. And the world’s most prestigious magic academy had been the first to fall. The age of complacency was over.

A new, darker era was dawning.