Chapter 108: The Wiz Duo!

The training ground was suddenly a quiet storm of concentration.

Some trainees sat cross-legged like enlightened monks, others stood stiff as scarecrows, fists clenched, brows furrowed in constipated focus. If anyone walked in without context, they might assume it was a mass toilet emergency, not a mana awakening session.

People whispered to themselves, hummed, groaned, or performed awkward stretches, as though flexibility could unlock magic. A few looked like they were about to sneeze. One guy even yelled, "I think I felt something!" only to realise it was just hunger pangs. He sat back down in shame.

Wuza Selone ignored the chaos and closed her eyes. Her breathing was steady. But still—nothing. The air felt the same. There was no pulse, no whisper of magic to her senses. Just the quiet frustration of another failure.

Then came the voice. Not loud, not shouting, but it rang through the training ground like the clang of a bell in a temple.

"Magic is eighty percent emotion... and twenty percent guts."

It was the Scarlet Raven—Uriel Commes—speaking for the first time since the session began.

His words sliced through doubt like a blade.

"Tap into your most impactful emotions," he continued, arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd. "The ones that scar you. That wake you in the night. That never stop whispering."

A silence followed, heavier than before—like the room had inhaled and forgotten how to breathe.

Wuza opened her eyes slowly.

Emotion.

She searched deep, pushing past her surface grief. Her mind drifted to that night—the screams, the laughter of the soldiers as they defiled and slaughtered her family, the silence afterward… too thick to cry in. That moment had marked her. Her fury had kept her alive. Her pain had kept her human.

And now, that pain had a purpose.

She closed her eyes again and let the emotion rise like a tidal wave. Not to drown her—but to lift her higher.

Her heart clenched. Her skin tingled.

Then—there—a pulse. Faint. Whispering. Like the air was holding its breath with her.

A strand of white mist coiled around her fingertips. Delicate. Fleeting.

But real.

Her eyes snapped open, glistening not from tears—but from triumph.

"I felt it…" she whispered, almost afraid to believe it.

Nearby, another trainee stared, slack-jawed. "Did… did anyone else see that?"

"She glowed," someone whispered. "She actually glowed."

Uriel Commes said nothing—but for the first time, a faint nod of approval passed through his stoic expression.

And across the room, other trainees—fuelled by jealousy, awe, or inspiration—closed their eyes and dove into their deepest memories, hoping their scars could light a spark too.

Magic wasn't about fancy words or complex gestures.

It was blood and guts.

And heart.

And Wuza Selone had just taken her first real step into power.

The gory scenes came flooding in like a dam that had finally cracked under the pressure.

The blood-soaked walls of her memory.

Her husband's final scream.

Her children's eyes, wide with confusion and fear—then silence.

The helplessness.

The rage.

The loss.

It all hit her like a duty armor truck, no warning—just impact.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her chest heaved violently, as if her lungs were trying to keep up with something primal and ancient that had awakened within her. The very air in the training room shifted around her. The particles of mana that had once felt like background noise now roared like a crowd chanting her name.

The air shimmered.

Mana began pouring into her like a flood from an opened gate. Invisible to some, but for the sensitive few, it was like watching someone become a living conduit of the arcane.

Wuza's body trembled. Her hands lifted involuntarily, fingers flexing as glowing threads danced across her palms. Her eyes flickered faintly with a white-blue light. Her aura expanded—thick, heavy, undeniable.

Uriel Commes—the Scarlet Raven himself—stepped forward swiftly, sensing the danger.

"This is very good," he said, crouching slightly to meet her eyes, his voice calm but firm, like a shepherd steadying a wild flame. "But slow down. You don't want to choke on it."

Her breath was ragged. She couldn't speak—only listen.

"Control the flow with the same emotion," he said, gesturing slowly, as though painting her inner world. "You're not a cup, Wuza. You're a tank. A reservoir. A gatekeeper."

His voice dropped to a steady rhythm, like a spell on its own.

"You're the tap… that regulates.

You're the stream… that flows with purpose.

You are not drowning—

You are commanding."

Wuza's eyes steadied.

Her heartbeat, once pounding like war drums, began to settle into something stronger. Focused. Measured.

The mana responded.

What had once surged like a tsunami now flowed like a guided river. Her skin no longer trembled. Her posture straightened. She wasn't just feeling mana now.

She was wearing it.

And everyone saw it.

Gasps erupted from the lines of trainees. One of the boys muttered, "She's… glowing, again."

"Wait… is this still the first day?" another whispered.

"Bro, I haven't even blinked properly and she's already ascended," Rex mumbled with a mixture of awe and envy.

Priestess Kendra, from the sidelines, leaned forward ever so slightly, mouth parted in stunned disbelief. Even she had not managed her first stable connection to mana.

Uriel stood slowly, glancing once at the others, his expression unreadable—but inside, he was impressed. She hadn't just felt mana.

She had claimed it.

Wuza Selone, once a grieving widow wrapped in trauma, had just drawn more mana into herself in minutes than most novices could manage in months.

Her story was already beginning to echo through the training room.

The woman who had suffered most, now shone the brightest.

And from the distant shadows of the training hall, a pair of ancient eyes belonging to Archmage Amber Nois observed it all through a silent scrying mirror… her lips curling ever so slightly.

The fire had been lit.

Now let's see who dares burn.

Cole was so pleased, you'd think he had just invented magic itself.

He clapped his hands softly, grinning like an idiot, watching Wuza with awe and just a pinch of puppy-love daze. His chest swelled with pride, though deep down, something stirred—he couldn't afford to be left behind. Not now. Not after what she'd just done.

If she could do it, maybe I can too...

He closed his eyes, trying to focus like the Archmage and Uriel had instructed. At first, it was chaos in his mind—snippets of dirty jokes, images of food, random humming, and the mental picture of Rex getting whacked in the head with a spoon. Focus, Cole... come on, get it together.

He tried to think of something positive.

Nothing.

The memories that surfaced were far from happy.

He was abandoned at a young age. Tossed around from one uncaring household to another like a cursed heirloom nobody wanted. He'd been beaten for speaking, beaten for laughing, beaten for existing. He'd fainted once from the pain. Twice, actually. He stopped counting after the fourth.

So he built a wall.

A wall of sarcasm. Of jokes. Of never taking anything too seriously—because if you laughed first, the pain couldn't catch you. That was his survival. That was Cole.

But lately, ever since Wuza entered his orbit, the wall was starting to crack. Her pain had depth—his had scars. But something about her made him want to be... more. Less broken.

And then—

It clicked.

A warm hum in his chest. A buzz along his fingertips. The room shimmered—just slightly—and a sliver of mana reached out to him.

Except unlike Wuza, who internalised the mana and made it hers, Cole didn't absorb it. Instead, he shaped it.

A swirl of light spun before him, raw and clumsy but fueled with feeling. Before he even realised what he was doing, the mana took form. It solidified mid-air in a hazy, glowing silhouette.

Gasps rang out from across the training hall.

The figure sharpened—flowing hair, arched cheekbones, firm shoulders—and then it became unmistakable.

It was Wuza Selone.

Not a perfect copy. More like a dream-image—gentler, with golden light swirling from her eyes like a divine being.

Everyone turned.

A wave of whispers surged through the crowd.

"Wait… is that…?"

"Damn, how did he do that?"

"Bro's got it bad," someone muttered. "He used mana to build a statue of his crush? That's next-level simp sorcery."

"We've got freaks in our midst," another grunted. "I need to step up or pack my bags."

Rex groaned. "This guy is gone. Gooooone. He's practically levitating on love fumes."

"Of all the things mana could form, he picked her face? My guy is under heavy spiritual jazz." Innik shook his head in mock mourning.

Meanwhile, Wuza looked over—and her breath caught.

She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or faint.

Cole had shaped a magic version of her.

Uriel Commes stepped forward with his usual stoic grace, his arms crossed, face unreadable. But a faint smile touched the corners of his lips. He nodded slightly.

"Well done," he said.

Simple words. Heavy praise.

Because from someone like the Scarlet Raven, that nod might as well have been a medal.

Both Cole and Wuza had done what few in the room could manage on their first day. They didn't just use mana—they connected with it on a level that made it respond to them.

And in doing so… they unknowingly became the unofficial leaders of their class.

Uriel turned, muttering almost to himself—but loud enough for the sharpest ears:

"If those two stay the course, they might just become the greatest wizards this empire's ever seen…"

And from the scrying mirror deep within the east wing, Archmage Amber Nois watched, her expression unreadable.

But her fingers flexed thoughtfully, and a single word echoed in her mind like a promise.

Potential.