Breakthrough Again [2]

Morning came to Veldroth like a silent oath—solemn and unbroken.

The sun filtered through pale clouds, casting a gentle golden hue over the courtyard stones. The air was crisp, still clinging to the last touch of night.

Alaric stood at the center, robed in white and gold, his presence alone commanding silence. The girls gathered without being summoned twice, drawn not by duty, but something deeper.

They stood in formation—Aurevia slightly ahead of the others, her white hair bound neatly behind her, posture measured. Cellione and Serineth flanked her, quiet but attentive.

Alaric's voice broke the silence, calm but carrying.

"Aurevia. Step forward."

She obeyed with practiced grace, stopping before him. Her hands folded neatly in front of her, she bowed—not too low, just enough to reflect deference without groveling. Her bearing remained steady, proud yet devoted.

"Sit cross-legged."

Without question, she did as told, adjusting the folds of her robe as she settled on the stone. Alaric mirrored her posture before her, lowering himself slowly.

"Today,"

He said, looking at them all,

"you'll break through."

Cellione blinked.

"Already?"

Serineth's brows rose slightly, though she said nothing. It hadn't been long since their last advancement.

Alaric's tone held no rebuke—only certainty.

"You've settled the mana and aura from your last breakthrough. The foundations are ready. From now on, you'll face greater threats. You need to keep pace."

He looked toward Aurevia then, and something gentler flickered in his expression.

"There won't be complications. And if there are… I'll handle them."

The words settled over the girls like a shield, easing the faint tension in their frames. Alaric raised a hand and a dome of light bloomed soundlessly around him and Aurevia—

soft golden threads weaving upward into a full sphere. Cellione and Serineth remained outside, by his design.

They understood. A breakthrough to the [Rank-4] was no gentle ripple—it was a tide. And even standing near it unprepared could wound.

Inside the dome, the air thickened.

Alaric extended a hand toward Aurevia, forming a slender thread of light that reached out and touched her chest, anchoring near her heart.

Through that single strand, divine energy flowed—pure and measured, broken down into refined mana.

From there, he said nothing more. This was her path to walk.

Aurevia's eyes fluttered closed. She inhaled softly, steadying her breath, and began to guide the mana through her own cultivation method.

The light rippled through her mana vains, and from within her energy center, cold bloomed—ice and water aura forming in resonance with her technique.

Her frame shimmered faintly as the frost-laced aura began circulating, compressing with mechanical precision.

Hours passed in silence. The dome pulsed gently with her surging energy. Beyond it, Cellione and Serineth kept watch—one curious, the other quietly admiring.

Aurevia's body trembled. The bottleneck neared. Her aura had thickened, nearing solidity—a condensation of years' worth of cultivation achieved in mere hours.

Then it broke.

With a low, muffled boom, like iron chains shattering underwater, the breakthrough occurred.

From her skin seeped black, foul impurities—thick, tar-like, reeking of something ancient and bitter. They hissed as they touched the stone, steaming in the sacred light. Alaric waved a hand, and the rot vanished without a trace.

Aurevia's body settled.

She sat motionless for a moment. Her eyes opened slowly—red irises now deeper, clearer. Her aura had changed.

It clung to her skin like a second garment—refined, sharp, controlled. She looked… elevated. Not just stronger, but more complete.

Her features had subtly shifted—refined, matured. Her white hair shimmered with a silken sheen, and her posture had a new weight to it.

She rose, slow and deliberate, and bowed once more.

"I wouldn't have crossed it without you, Master. Thank you."

Her voice was steady. Not flustered, not flowery—just a quiet, simple truth.

Alaric didn't answer at first. He studied her for a moment, then gave the faintest of smiles.

"Let's go."

The dome faded as he stood, and together they stepped out. Cellione and Serineth's eyes widened at Aurevia's transformation.

Cellione, never one to hide her thoughts, whistled low.

"She looks like she stepped out of a legend."

Serineth nodded, her quiet awe apparent. The glint in her eyes wasn't just admiration—it was motivation. No girl wished to be left behind.

That evening, they did little but bask in the peace of a day hard-earned. No drills. No cultivation. Just warm meals, quiet conversation, and the occasional smile passed across the table.

Before they turned in, Alaric addressed the remaining two.

"Tomorrow, you'll break through. Prepare yourselves. Tonight—rest."

They nodded without hesitation.

And in the stillness of their quarters, beneath the hush of twilight, each girl turned inward—ready to face her path, with him waiting just ahead.

***

The sun rose gently over Veldroth, its rays slanting through drifting clouds like the breath of some divine witness.

Alaric stood once more in the courtyard—the same quiet stone square where Aurevia had shed her limits the day before.

He looked no different, but something in the air seemed to acknowledge him now. The stillness bent around him.

"Serineth. Cellione."

His voice carried like morning wind—soft, but final.

The two girls stepped forward. No words were needed.

They sat apart, just enough to ensure their energies wouldn't clash, each carrying the quiet dignity unique to her soul. Serineth, reticent and calm, arranged her skirt and settled into the grass without a sound.

Cellione followed, precise and poised, with a quiet exhale that masked her anticipation.

Alaric, without another word, raised two fingers.

From his hand extended two narrow threads of light—graceful as silk, precise as needles. They snaked through the air, delicate and unwavering, and anchored themselves to each girl—settling softly over the heart.

And then… Mana.

Divine Energy surged through the threads, and in Alaric's heart, it split, unraveled, and reformed into raw, pristine mana—refined to the edge of perfection. It flowed without resistance, pouring into the girls like starlight into vessels long prepared.

He sat far from them, under a tree, the soft rustle of leaves overhead. The dome of light shimmered into place around the girls like a veil of spun gold, parting him from them—yet never truly separate.

Aurevia sat beside him on the grass, quietly folding a cloth over her knees. She didn't speak, but her presence was like a gentle blade—grounded, protective. Alaric leaned against the tree, eyes half-lidded, seemingly relaxed.

But even now, even this… came easily to him. After his rebirth, things like this—things that once demanded focus, strain, discipline—flowed like second nature. He breathed, and the world bent ever so slightly.

Inside the dome, the work began.

The [3rd-Circle] was no mere addition. It was a threshold, a declaration of mastery over the first two.

Unlike the structural clarity of the First, or the foundational strength of the Second, the Third was an orchestra.

Within each of them, the mana began to swirl. The first and second rings, already formed within their cores, stirred from their stillness—like old stones humming to life.

Then came the shaping.

Pure mana began to weave itself into a broad canvas—an unseen lattice of energy that expanded with breathtaking complexity.

Onto this invisible parchment, the nine primary runes were etched, their shapes simple but immense in weight. Each rune anchored a facet of reality—stability, cohesion, identity.

And then came the rest.

One by one, the remaining twenty-seven runes began to integrate—each folding seamlessly into the circle.

These were subtler—refinements, harmonics, balancing forces. Together, they spun a web of unimaginable intricacy.

The [3rd-Circle] swelled, its size dwarfing the ones before it. Where the First was a spark, and the Second a flame, this was a hearth—vast, radiant, alive.

Then came resonance.

The newly formed circle pulsed once—soft and deep.

And the other two answered.

The three circles began to hum in unison, vibrating on a frequency beyond hearing. The mana in the very air responded. Leaves stirred. Grass bent. Even the light within the dome shimmered, as if bowing to a new equilibrium.

They had done it.

The breakthrough had not been an explosion, but an awakening. Their foundations expanded. Their auras stretched outward—stronger, more refined, more complete.

Inside, both girls continued to work—not out of strain, but discipline. They began to stabilize the new circle, drawing in the residual mana, reinforcing its form with quiet intention.

The dome dimmed slightly, the golden threads softening in hue. The hum lowered, growing fainter.

Outside the dome, Alaric watched without speaking.

Aurevia turned slightly toward him.

"They've done it."

Alaric didn't nod. He didn't need to. His eyes held the truth already.

He closed them again, leaning back against the bark, letting the soft breeze play through his hair.

The sky was vast above them. The dome stood silent. And within it, two more stars had quietly found their place in the firmament.

***

The resonance faded. The dome of light dissolved into gentle motes. The air stilled once more.

Serineth and Cellione opened their eyes—no blaze of triumph, no celebration. Just the quiet, certain gleam of those who had touched something vast and made it their own.

"Come here."

Alaric's voice, from where he sat beneath the tree, drifted toward them. Not a command. An invitation.

The girls rose—steady, balanced. They approached with measured steps, the air around them faintly stirring. The residual mana clung to them like a veil not yet ready to part.

Aurevia gave each of them a nod—nothing spoken, but approval hung in the slight lift of her brow.

Alaric watched them for a moment, then turned his gaze to the forest that loomed behind them, vast and dark with hidden breath.

"Tomorrow,"

He began,

"we enter the inner forest."

His tone held no uncertainty.

"You will stabilize your breakthrough through battle. Real combat will refine your aura faster than any meditation. Nothing teaches like blood and fire."

Serineth's gaze flicked toward the trees, then back to him. She said nothing, but her eyes held quiet acceptance.

Cellione folded her arms, her voice composed but brimming with resolve.

"Understood."

"Rest well. We leave at dawn."

He stood, brushing the dust from his robe as if brushing off the weight of the day.

"Be ready."

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

Mist hung low over the treetops, silver-threaded and quiet like a prayer.

KRSSHH!

A fireball exploded midair, scattering burning embers across the clearing—smoke curling like serpents through the trees.

BOOM!

A second blast followed, tearing through the chest of a charging wolf-beast, its shriek cut short in a burst of charred muscle and smoking fur.

FWOOOSH—!

Flames surged, licking across the forest floor, forcing back a tide of creatures that surged from the dark brush.

More than fifty monsters—fang and claw, fur and scale—rushed toward the two girls in a cacophony of howls and screeches.

Their Rank was not high. Within [Rank-2], all of them. But the number is the problem. Mages are at a disadvantage in close combat not mention with this many.

Serineth moved like a shadow.

Her hand flicked.

SHHHK!

A ripple of darkness extended from her fingertips—a slicing veil of shadow that severed two charging beasts at the midsection.

They fell without a cry.

She raised her hand again—no chant, no gesture.

"..."

SHHHHHHHK—KRRRK!

A tendril of black Mana coiled from her palm, snaked through the air, and pierced the skull of a shrieking lizard-hound. It dropped like a stone.

Silent Casting.

Her magic moved like death's whisper—cold, precise, unseen until too late.

Cellione, in contrast, was fire incarnate.

BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!

Three fire lances erupted from her extended staff in succession—each slamming into a target with surgical wrath.

KRRRZHHH!

THWACK—SSSHK!

One wolf-beast took a lance straight to the flank, bursting in a spray of molten blood. Another was impaled mid-air. A third turned to flee—

"Flame Cage."

Her voice barely a whisper.

FWSSHHH—!

A dome of flame roared into existence around the fleeing creature.

KA-BOOM!

It imploded.

The two girls stood back to back—hair tousled, breaths controlled, eyes burning with resolve.

Their spells flew without hesitation. No chanting, no flourishes. Just raw execution.

Serineth's shadows crept under the roots—impaling from beneath.

Cellione's flames swept from above—scorching from the skies.

The battlefield danced with light and darkness, a duet of death and control.

From afar, beneath the dappled shade of a tall ash tree, Alaric stood. Aurevia stood beside him, hands calmly folded before her.

"Only when it's dire,"

He had told her earlier.

"Yes, Master."

She had bowed—measured and composed. There was no eagerness in her tone, only readiness.

Now she watched, gaze sharp as steel. She did not flinch. Did not intervene.

Alaric said nothing. But his eyes followed every motion.

He did not simply watch a fight. He watched the rhythm of souls revealing themselves—one blaze, one void.

The girls were tired—he could see it in their breath, in the faint tremor in Cellione's fingertips as she cast another volley, in the slight narrowing of Serineth's eyes as her mana reserve dipped.

But they pushed forward.

A large beast—part bear, part stag—charged through the trees with a guttural roar.

"GRAAAAHH—!!"

Serineth flicked her hand—shadow needles flew—

KRK-KRSH!

They struck, but bounced.

Too shallow.

"Tch—!"

Cellione raised her staff.

"Ingnite—"

But she was too late.

The beast closed the distance in a heartbeat.

Aurevia stepped forward—just half a step.

Alaric raised a single hand.

"Wait."

Serineth's eyes flashed.

From the ground, a massive shadow claw surged upward.

KRRRSHH—THUMP!

It slammed into the creature's jaw and lifted it mid-charge.

Cellione finished.

"CRIMSON PYRE."

FWOOOOOM!

A pillar of fire engulfed the lifted beast, searing it midair.

Its scream echoed through the forest—then died.

The creature's charred husk hit the earth with a dull THUD.

The clearing fell silent, save for the crackle of dying flames and the faint rustle of trees whispering above.

The girls stood still—shoulders heaving, a thin sheen of sweat on their brows.

Serineth exhaled slowly. Cellione brushed soot from her sleeve.

From afar, Alaric nodded—ever so slightly.

They had held the line.

They had owned their breakthrough.

They had burned it into flesh and blood.

***

The sun was low when they returned, the amber glow of twilight painting the roofs of Veldroth in molten gold.

The once-stirring forest behind them fell into hush, its cries of battle now distant memories—echoes silenced beneath the weight of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Alaric walked at the front, cloak fluttering in the warm breeze, his golden eyes reflecting the last embers of the day.

Behind him, Aurevia followed in practiced grace, her white hair loose over her shoulders, faint traces of blood wiped clean from her blade.

Serineth and Cellione trailed at a slower pace, their footsteps uneven from fatigue. Yet there was a glimmer of quiet pride in their eyes—earned and well-deserved.

The manor gate closed behind them.

The courtyard's stone tiles, still warm from the afternoon sun, offered a rare comfort. The manor itself stood in solemn welcome, its silhouette soft against the darkening sky.

A familiar calm settled over them all. It was home, and it received its weary champions in silence.

Inside, the manor's small street-side kitchen gave off a warm, homely scent.

A pot simmered gently on the iron stove. The aroma of seasoned stew and fresh bread hung in the air—simple, but nourishing.

They did not speak much. Words weren't necessary.

Aurevia, ever the responsible one, helped with the bowls and set the table with practiced elegance.

Cellione mumbled her thanks with a quiet pride still clinging to her posture, while Serineth, eyes half-lidded with weariness, sank into the chair with a rare vulnerability that she allowed herself only here, in this place, near him.

Spoons tapped gently against bowls.

A breath of satisfaction from Cellione, followed by a long, exhausted sigh.

Alaric leaned back, his expression unreadable yet oddly gentle, observing them with that quiet light in his gaze—the one only they saw.

He didn't speak a word of praise, yet they knew. His silence was not absence; it was acknowledgment.

After dinner, the girls disappeared into the manor one by one. Cellione, after brushing her fingers over the hallway bookshelf in absent thought, retired to her chambers.

Serineth, barely able to keep her eyes open, offered a small nod to Aurevia before vanishing behind her door.

Aurevia lingered for a moment longer, collecting the dishes, wiping the table. Her movements were neither hurried nor sluggish—only precise, habitual, graceful. When she finally turned to leave, she caught Alaric's eyes.

A small bow. A quiet,

"Good night, Master."

He said nothing. He only inclined his head.

And then the manor was quiet.

Outside, the stars emerged, soft and scattered across the velvet sky. A calm wind blew through Veldroth's sleeping streets. And within those stone walls, hearts beat steady—stronger now, steadier—preparing for what came next.

-To Be Continued