Azael frowned slightly. "The Goddess, huh…"
He continued reading.
When humanity's hope waned, the Goddess descended from the heavens and chose a mortal champion; the First Hero, Arvendil. Blessed with divine mana, he led humanity and its allied races to victory, sealing the Demon King deep within the Abyss. While mythical beings like dragons and others were not involved in those wars.
He closed the book halfway, thinking. "So, a Goddess and a Hero... classic cliché."
Leaning back on the chair, he gazed out the window. Outside, the sunlight had softened, painting the world in warm gold.
Azael ran a hand through his dark hair, lost in thought.
'So this world isn't simple. Gods, heroes, demons... more races. Sounds like every other fantasy story I've read... but it's real now. I wonder what kind of power system exists here. Mana flow, magic…' He exhaled slowly. 'And I'm stuck with a body that can barely stand mana exertion.'
He flipped to another page.
Mana is the essence of life and existence. All beings possess it, though its density and nature differ between races. Humans, while versatile, are the weakest in raw mana capacity. However, their adaptability allows them to create spellcrafts and magic tools that rival natural talents.
"So mana is everything here," Azael muttered. "And I was born with weak mana flow... Great."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.
'No wonder the old Azael fainted so easily. This body's veins probably can't handle normal mana circulation. But I don't feel any problem. The only thing is that this body is too weak.'
As he read on, a small note at the end caught his attention.
Prophecies foretell that whenever darkness threatens to rise again, the Goddess's light shall choose a new Hero. One who will bear her blessing and her curse.
He stared at those words for a while, expression unreadable.
"A blessing and a curse… huh."
He let the book fall shut with a soft thump. The sound echoed faintly in the vast room.
Standing up, Azael walked toward the nearest shelf, brushing his fingers across the spines of ancient books.
---
Azael got back to his chamber and lay on the bed.
His eyes stared at the beautiful ceiling.
He raised his hand.
Slowly, mana flowed through his veins. He tried to circulate it, just how he used to do with prana from his past world.
'It's not much different from prana. A little bit hard to control. Wait... why don't I feel anything wrong? Don't I have weak mana flow?'
Prana was energy that existed in his past world. Just like mana here.
Right now, when he tried to use mana. Circulating it throughout his body from the core. He felt no problem.
"I need to go and train a little. I can't think of anything else."
Azael got up and walked outside the room.
'Okay... so where is the training ground?' Azael stood in the corridor silently, in deep thought.
For some reason, this place looked more and more familiar as time passed.
Unknowingly to him, his legs started to move. He strode forward.
Stomp! Stomp!
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the empty corridor.
His legs led him towards a huge door. He stood in front of that door.
Creak!
As he opened the heavy door, what came into his view was a large, spacious training room.
The room was filled with the sound of steel meeting steel, swords swinging, and the smell of sweat mixed with metal.
'How did I know about this. Is it body memory?'He thought.
The knights and guards of the Valemont family were already engaged in training, honing their skills.
But at the sound of the door opening, some of them gazed toward the entrance. There stood their young master, Azael.
They looked surprised. They were shocked. Azael was someone who was too weak even physically, so he had hardly trained for the last few years.
But now, seeing him entering the training ground made everyone surprised.
One of the knights hurriedly walked toward Azael.
"Young Master, why have you come here?" he asked politely.
Azael stopped surveying the training ground.
His violet eyes fell on the man. He was tall and had a sturdy build. The man had brown hair.
"Why would I come here for? Of course to train," Azael said casually. Why would a man come to the training room? It's obvious to train.
Azael's reply made the man widen his eyes.
The man couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"But... but you are... Young Master, are you feeling well now?" he asked Azael, confused. He had fallen unconscious yesterday, so it was normal for the knight to ask this.
Azael remained silent for a while.
"What's your name?" he asked the man.
"It's Leon, Young Master." There was confusion on his face, but he didn't question Azael. He just continued to observed him.
Azael gave him a nod.
"I am feeling well... no, actually I am feeling better than ever. So I wanted to do some normal exercise. Not too much." His eyes fell on one corner of the room.
There were many gym instruments located there, mostly weights or dumbbells.
"I will be exercising. Don't bother me," Azael said, but this time with an authoritative tone.
Azael took off his coat and tossed it neatly over the nearest bench. Beneath it, he wore a simple white shirt that clung lightly to his pale frame far too thin, almost frail-looking. But despite that, his eyes burned faintly with a quiet resolve.
He rolled his shoulders, exhaled softly, and began to stretch.
The knights nearby exchanged uncertain glances. Some whispered under their breath, others simply stared. None of them had seen the young master in this room for years. Most had assumed he'd given up long ago.
But today… he looked different.
Azael leaned forward, his fingers brushing the floor as he stretched his legs. His body protested instantly. Joints stiff, muscles weak. A faint tremor ran down his arms.
"Tch…" he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to hold the pose. "Even basic stretching feels like hell. What a weak body."