The Final Trial

The Path to Power

The days blurred together as Hiratsu pushed himself beyond his limits.

Each morning began in the freezing darkness at 4 AM, his body screaming in protest as he ran the same grueling path around the city.

What once took him three hours slowly shrank to two, then to one and a half. His legs grew stronger, his breath steadier—but the pain never left.

His father was relentless.

Every day after the run, they fought with blades in the yard.

At first, Hiratsu barely lasted an hour before collapsing.

But as the days passed, his reflexes sharpened. He learned to anticipate his father's moves, to use his speed instead of brute force.

By the fifth day, he could hold his ground for two hours, striking back with increasing ferocity.

Yet, it was his mother's magic training that nearly broke him.

"Magic isn't just about power,"

she told him on the third day as she launched a barrage of glowing ice shards toward him.

"It's about focus. Will. And never—ever—letting your guard down."

At first, Hiratsu struggled to keep up.

His body was already exhausted by the time he faced her, and her spells were faster, stronger, and more unpredictable.

When she summoned firestorms, he doused them with water.

When she sent walls of wind crashing toward him, he grounded himself with earth magic.

But her spells always seemed to be one step ahead.

On the seventh day, when his mother summoned a lightning bolt, Hiratsu thought he was done.

His shield was too weak to block it. But instead of giving up, he absorbed the energy, channeling it into his own magic.

With a roar, he fired it back—shattering her defenses for the first time.

His mother laughed, pride shining in her eyes.

"That's the spirit,"

she said, brushing soot from her sleeve.

"You're starting to think like a mage, not just act like one."

By the tenth day, his body had transformed.

The ache in his muscles became familiar, almost comforting.

His once-sluggish movements grew precise and quick. He no longer simply reacted—he predicted.

When his father swung, he was already dodging. When his mother cast a spell, he countered with something unexpected.

The routine became his life:

4 AM – A full-speed run around the city, no matter how his legs burned.

6 AM – Intense sword combat with his father, sharpening his reflexes and strength.

8 AM – Magic training with his mother, pushing the limits of his magical potential.

10 AM – One hour of rest.

11 AM – A half-liter of milk with protein powder to rebuild his stamina.

But the training wasn't just physical—it was mental.

His father drilled strategy into him, forcing Hiratsu to think three steps ahead in every fight.

His mother taught him to stay calm under pressure, to manipulate his magic with precision rather than raw force.

By the twelfth day, the change was undeniable.

When he faced his father, Hiratsu no longer simply defended himself—he fought back, forcing his father to take the battle seriously.

During magic training, his mother no longer held back.

But for every spell she threw at him, he had a counter—blinding her with sudden flashes of light, trapping her fire in spheres of water, or grounding her lightning with metal rods.

On the thirteenth day, something even his father hadn't expected happened. During their sparring match, Hiratsu's sword shattered from the force of a blow.

Without thinking,

Hiratsu extended his magic through the broken blade—and it reformed, glowing with raw energy.

His father lowered his weapon, stunned.

"You… reforged your blade mid-fight,"

he said quietly.

"That takes both magic and skill. You're beyond what I imagined you could become."

That night, as he drank his final glass of milk, Hiratsu's mother stood beside him.

"Tomorrow's your last day of training," she said softly.

"After that, the tournament begins. Are you ready?"

Hiratsu didn't hesitate. His body ached, but inside, he felt stronger—smarter—unstoppable.

"I'm ready."

Hiratsu woke feeling refreshed—his body stronger and sharper than ever.

Today was the day.

The tournament had finally arrived.

As the morning sun poured through his window, he stood tall,

dressed in a dark combat robe his mother had prepared.

His hands trembled—not from fear, but from excitement.

His parents walked beside him as they approached the towering Royal Arena, its massive stone gates etched with the ancient symbols of power.

The stands were already filled with nobles, warriors, and curious spectators eager to witness the next holder of the Ring of Destruction.

"You've got this,"

his father said, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder.

His mother smiled softly.

"Remember what we taught you. Trust your instincts."

With a final nod, Hiratsu left them behind and stepped into the contestant's hall.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, a crushing aura hit him like a tidal wave.

It was overwhelming—an invisible weight pressing against his chest.

Any normal human would have collapsed under the sheer force of it. Yet, Hiratsu stood firm, breathing calmly.

He opened the heavy door and entered a dimly lit chamber filled with other competitors.

They were young like him, but their bodies were hardened—scarred from what must have been years of brutal training.

Their eyes burned with the same hunger for victory that he felt.

Without a word, he took a seat on a simple wooden chair at the edge of the room. The air was thick with tension, and no one spoke.

That is, until the boy next to him shifted nervously. His frame was small, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

He looked out of place—a coward among warriors.

"Umm… hey,"

the boy stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you… sure you're in the right place?"

Hiratsu raised an eyebrow, confused.

"What do you mean?"

The boy swallowed hard.

"I—I mean… I can't feel your aura. Even I, the weakest one here, have more aura than you."

For a moment, Hiratsu was stunned. No aura? That couldn't be right. But before he could answer, a smirk tugged at his lips.

"Well,"

Hiratsu said, meeting the boy's gaze,

"we'll see. I just hope you're the first one I get to beat."

The boy's face paled slightly, but before he could reply, the doors to the arena creaked open.

The first match was about to begin.

Meanwhile, in the spectator stands…

Hiratsu's parents found their seats, blending in among the sea of excited onlookers.

His mother leaned toward his father, her voice low and uneasy.

"Are you sure they'll accept him?" she asked.

His father chuckled under his breath.

"Don't worry. I made sure his name was on the list. Why?"

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of her cloak.

"Do you remember… when he was five? The day he lost control of his aura?"

His father's smile faded slightly, his mind flashing back to that terrifying moment. At such a young age, Hiratsu's power had erupted uncontrollably—so intense that even they, as seasoned warriors, could barely breathe.

If they hadn't sealed it that day… it might have killed them.

"I remember,"

he said quietly.

"We had no choice but to seal his aura. If we hadn't, his power would've consumed us all."

His mother nodded, her heart pounding as she glanced toward the contestant's hall.

"And today… the seal will finally break."

Her husband's expression shifted—part concern, part pride.

"Yes… and when it does, the world will finally see who Hiratsu really is."

Back in the chamber, Hiratsu leaned back in his chair, watching the others with calm curiosity.

The boy beside him still eyed him suspiciously, but Hiratsu didn't care.

He had no idea that the seal on his aura—the invisible cage that had held his true power back for years—was already beginning to crack.

And when it shattered… nothing would be the same again.