Chapter No.49: - Unconventional

His eyes met Simon's, unwavering. "I want to know… how to burn hotter."

Simon didn't respond right away—but he understood. Not the words alone, but what Ivan truly meant. The frustration and helplessness of hitting a ceiling. He'd felt it himself, not long ago.

Ivan continued, his voice low but steady. "My flames won't go past 1000°C. No matter what I do."

He clenched his fist. "It's holding me back. I can feel it—every time I fight. It's like I'm stuck."

FLASHBACK

The wilderness wind howled through the shattered trees as Ivan stood before his team leader, his body bruised and still singed from the last mission. The mission where he'd disobeyed a direct order to save Alpha Team from an ambush of Dreadbeasts.

His leader's expression was unreadable—arms crossed, jaw tight.

"You disobeyed orders."

"I saved lives."

A long silence passed. Then the leader finally sighed. "You're strong, Ivan. But strength without control only breeds recklessness."

Ivan hesitated. Then asked, quieter, almost vulnerable:" Can I ask you something… about my flames?"

The leader glanced at him.

"They've stopped getting hotter. I'm stuck at a thousand degrees. I've tried everything."

The man didn't answer immediately. Then, finally:

"I don't know the answer." He stepped closer, voice lower. "But there might be someone who does. someone who as ability similar to you—another fire-type Astral Lord. Ask them. Learn from them."

He placed a hand on Ivan's shoulder, firm and final. "Consider it my last favour to you for being part of this team the last five months."

And with that, he walked away.

BACK TO PRESENT

"I don't know anyone else like me," Ivan said, stepping closer. "Except you."

Simon blinked, taken aback.

Every fire-type Astral Lord is different. Some could only make fireballs, others can shape it. Some can't create fire, just control it. while other can create fire but not control it, Astral lords like Ivan. who could both control and create fire without any extremal help are rarely found.

So, Simon naturally became the other person because, he copied Ivan's Fire manipulation Astral Skill.

Simon looked at his friend for a long moment. Then, he lifted his hand.

A blue-white flame danced above his palm, crackling softly, like lightning in slow motion.

"There are two ways to make your flames burn hotter." Simon said.

"First—advance through the stars. Reach the 4-star Astral Lord rank, and your flame will burn hotter and more fiercely on its own. "He paused, eyes narrowing.

"But I don't recommend it. Rushing through star ranks weakens your foundation. It leads to instability, backlash... and sometimes worse."

Ivan nodded slowly. He already suspected as much.

"Second—use Heaven and Earth treasures. Rare items, like Flame Fruits, Fire Crystals, or Ember Spirit Cores. They can boost your flame's quality. But..."Simon closed his hand, extinguishing the flame. "They're insanely expensive. Even if you had the money, you'd still need the luck to win them at auction."

Ivan's shoulders slumped slightly, eyes darkening.

Simon saw the defeat starting to creep into his friend's expression and sighed.

"Actually… there is a third way."

Ivan looked up, surprised.

"It's not conventional," Simon added. "It won't raise your flame's temperature—but it will raise your combat efficiency. Maybe more than you think."

Ivan's eyes sharpened with hope. "What is it?"

Simon gave a faint smile.

"By using a Solid Astral weapon,"

He pulled ignis fangs for his space belt, and swing it around.

"Though it may don't increase your flames temperature directly but it does increase your combat efficiency in battle, and choosing a suitable weapon can improve the efficiency by a large margin," 

he said as he handed over his blade to Ivan,

when he held it and increased the heat, the blade's edge started sharpen. he felt the danger radiating from his edge.

clearly showcasing its power.

but Simon's tone grew more serious.

"That said, this path comes with its own problems. One—you need to find a weapon that truly suits you. Two—you'll have to split your training: mastering the weapon, developing your Astral Skill, managing your Astral breathing, and strengthening your body for close combat."

He paused, then added:

"It's not easy...but it's worth it,"

Ivan nodded, with a sincere voice.

"Then help me, help me become stronger,"

Simon smiled, quietly proud.

"Alright then," Simon said calmly, "let's first find you a suitable weapon."

He retrieved Ignis Fang from Ivan's hand and slid it back into his space belt with practiced ease.

"If I remember correctly, there's a martial arts dojo nearby."

With that, the two of them began walking through the quiet evening streets, the moonlight following them like a silent companion. The city had begun to settle into its late-night rhythm—lights dimming, traffic thinning—but the calm gave them space to think.

They turned a few corners, and soon enough, they spotted a small, old-fashioned shop with a wooden sign above it that read:

"Iron Root Dojo – Weaponry & Training Hall"

Just as they approached, a man in his sixties stepped out, clearly getting ready to close for the night. He wore a thick, dark apron over his clothes, and his hands were calloused with years of weapon work. He turned the key in the door—until he noticed them.

Simon and Ivan hurried toward him.

"Wait, sir! Are you closing?" Simon asked politely.

The old man turned to look at them. His gaze landed on Simon—and paused. His brows drew together slightly, as though he were trying to confirm something… then his eyes widened.

"Are you…" he began slowly, "the White-Flame Knight?"

Simon shifted awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the title. Still, he gave a short nod.

The old man's face lit up. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and gripped Simon's hand tightly, shaking it with surprising energy, as if he were the happiest man in the city.

Ivan stood nearby, utterly dumbfounded, trying (and failing) not to laugh at the sudden burst of enthusiasm.

"You saved my son!" the old man said, voice thick with emotion. "During the Dreadbeast riot at the base city! He was fighting when a beast nearly ambushed him—but your flaming spear killed it before it reached him. You probably don't even remember, but I saw it. It was on the news. The whole city did!"

Simon blinked, caught off guard.

The old man chuckled as he composed himself.

"He joins the military after hearing my story when I was in military, wanting to live the honour felled life the of a solider"

he sighed fondly, then added, "I told him not to-- life on the frontline isn't easy--but the boy wouldn't listen. he said, I'd once worn the uniform, and he wanted to stand where I had stood." 

There was a proud glint in the man's eyes, but a quiet worry, too— the kind only a father could carry.

Then, remembering himself, the old man asked, "but what brings the White-Flame Knight and his friend to my humble shop at this hour?"

Simon smiled politely.

"We're looking to try out some weapons. My friend here is searching for one that suit him."

The old man's expression shifted into a wide grin, and he let out a hearty laugh.

"Well, if it for you two, how could I possibly turn you away?"

He turned back toward the door, unlocking it once more.

"For the saviours of my son… this Dojo is always open."

He pushed the door wide, motioning then inside with warmth and reverence.

"Come. Let's find the flame its fangs,"

And with that, Simon and Ivan stepped into dimly lit dojo.

Simon and Ivan stepped into the dimly lit dojo, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath their feet. The scent of old timber and polished weapons filled the air—earthy, grounding, and filled with a quiet reverence for years of training.

Without a word, Simon slipped off his overcoat and carefully folded it, placing it to the side. He loosened his crimson tie and rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, revealing lean, corded muscle beneath. Every motion was calm, unhurried—like a ritual he'd performed a hundred times before.

Ivan followed him quietly as they walked to the far wall, where wooden practice weapons were meticulously arranged. Spears, staves, swords, daggers—each one placed with care and purpose. The display spoke volumes about the old man's lifelong dedication to the martial arts.

Simon scanned the selection, then picked up two wooden short swords, testing their balance with a few experimental swings. He moved like a dancer with fire for blood—graceful but undeniably dangerous.

Meanwhile, Ivan stood still, eyes moving across the rows of weapons. Unlike Simon, he wasn't sure what to pick. His experience had always been centred around long distance fire and his flame; weapons had rarely been part of the equation.

Noticing Ivan's hesitation, Simon glanced over.

"Pick whatever calls to you," he said simply, his tone both patient and encouraging. "We're here to try."

After a moment of contemplation, Ivan reached out and selected a standard sword. It felt familiar in his grip—heavy, balanced—but somehow not quite right. Still, it would do for now.

The two moved to the centre of the dojo, facing each other under the warm glow of the hanging lanterns. Their footsteps echoed slightly in the silence.

They met each other's eyes.

No words.

Just a shared nod—and then they moved.

Simon's movements were precise and fluid, striking with control and testing Ivan's instincts. Ivan responded in kind, his attacks more forceful, raw, but surprisingly responsive—learning as he fought.

Off to the side, the old dojo master stood silently, arms folded. A quiet smile played on his lips as he watched the two young men clash—not as enemies, but as comrades.

There was no anger in their strikes, no tension—only curiosity, joy, and the thrill of discovery.

They looked like two boys playing a game, their laughter hidden beneath focused expressions and clashing wooden blades. And yet, the skill they showed was far beyond their years.

The old man's smile deepened, his heart warming at the sight.

In a world full of Dreadbeasts and destruction, this was something rare:

Friendship forged in fire.