Chapter 4: I TOLD YOU NOT TO CRY

The sun hung low over Aerundal’s wintry skies, casting pale gold across the vast courtyards of House Smith. Snow clung to the branches like cobwebs, but the silence in the estate wasn’t peaceful—it was tense, as if the land itself held its breath.

Logan was nine now.

Four years had passed since his mana core was sealed.

Four years of silence. Of pretending.

But while others slept and grew soft on luxury and ignorance, Logan trained. He cultivated Qi with unrelenting focus—Void Soul Sutra in the dead of night, rigorous body refinement at dawn. He lifted stones until his fingers bled. Punched logs until bark shattered into splinters. He tempered his mind until pain became nothing but another breath.

And not once—not once—did he touch mana.

Darius, now fourteen, was the pride of the Smith household. With the Enlightenment Ceremony behind him, he had formed a brilliant mana core. The affinity crystal orb radiated red, white, and purple colors when he touched it after baptism. That meant he awakened fire, air, and gravity elementals—just like Rudeous.

The affinity crystal orb shows different colors for different elemental affinities: red is for fire, blue for lightning, green for healing, white for air, sky-blue for water, grey for earth, and purple for gravity. Most have one or two. A rare few… more.

Like Darius, who—following in his father Rudeous’s footsteps—awakened three elemental affinities: the rare tri-elemental affinity.

“Just like Father,” the court mage had said proudly. “A destined heir. A true prodigy of this era.”

Servants bowed deeper when Darius walked past. Nobles visited more frequently. Even Rudeous, usually unreadable, smiled faintly.

But none of that satisfied Darius.

Because Logan still existed.

Logan, who walked silently. Who never flinched when glared at. Who trained without teachers, without magic—and yet whose presence cast a long shadow across Darius’s pride.

And that pride couldn’t tolerate it.

One fine morning, as frost still clung to the training grounds, Darius stood waiting, a wooden practice sword resting on his shoulder. His friends lingered behind him—sons of nobles, boys bloated with ego and mana, thinking they were above all.

Logan had just finished lifting stone slabs twice his size, sweat dripping from his forehead in the cold air.

“You’ve been lifting rocks again,” Darius sneered. “Trying to become a beast instead of a mage?”

Logan didn’t answer. He reached for a towel, calm as ever.

“I asked you a question, you dwarf,” Darius said louder. “How dare you ignore me? Or are you afraid to speak in front of your older brother—who you can never catch up to now?”

The other boys chuckled. Ignorance knows no bounds, they thought.

Logan met his gaze. “If you’re trying to provoke me, it’s working. But it’s unwise.”

“Unwise?” Darius scoffed. “You have no magic. Your mana core is sealed. You’re not even a real contender. Just a parasite hiding under our roof. And you still dare to say something like that?”

“Maybe you do need some lessons. You need to know your place,” said Darius.

He tossed the practice sword at Logan’s feet.

“Prove me wrong. Fight me.”

Logan didn’t move.

“You scared?” Darius mocked. “I’ll even use a wooden sword to keep things fair.”

“If I take the sword, then you wouldn’t even have the right to duel me,” said Logan in a calm, but confident tone.

“You… okay, fine… I will tear that smug face of yours and show you who is the boss around here,” said Darius.

“Fine,” he said, voice like winter steel. “Just don’t cry when it’s over.”

They formed a circle. Even the guards stopped to watch. Some smirked—this was going to be over quickly. After all, one boy had tri-elemental affinities and the full backing of a noble household. The other? Just a strange, silent child with a sealed mana core and no future.

“Begin!” shouted one of the spectators.

Darius moved first, fast—his mana flaring with wind to boost his speed. He swung downward, a strike aimed to knock Logan off his feet.

But Logan sidestepped, smooth and precise, letting the sword whistle past.

Though my body has grown stronger over time, I will still feel pain if those attacks infused with mana land a hit on me, Logan thought to himself.

Darius snarled and attacked again, this time with a burst of fire dancing along the blade. He used gravity as well to pin Logan down so the attack wouldn’t miss its target.

But still, reality proved all his efforts to be mere child’s play in front of Logan. He ducked. The fire brushed past his shoulder but didn’t touch him.

He stepped in. Slammed his fist into Darius’s chest. A crack sounded.

The older boy staggered back.

Someone gasped. “Was that—did he break something?”

“Impossible,” muttered another. “Darius has fire reinforcement. His body’s enhanced.”

Darius’s eyes blazed. “You little freak!”

He unleashed a wind burst in his legs for a speed boost. The ground cracked as he sprinted toward Logan with enhanced speed, slashing his sword obliquely, fire magic enhancing its offensive capability.

Logan waited.

And then he moved.

One fluid twist to dodge the slash.

One devastating blow across Darius’s wrist.

Clang! The sword dropped.

Another strike to the leg—Darius’s knee buckled.

Then Logan’s palm landed square in the chest with enough force to throw Darius backward.

He crashed into the snow.

The crowd fell silent.

Darius groaned, trying to rise, but his arms trembled. He coughed—and blood painted the snow beneath him.

His smirk cracked—not from pain, but something colder. Recognition.

No one moved. No one knew what to say. They felt like they were hallucinating. Was it for real? Or were they just witnessing some illusion? they thought.

How had a boy with no magic—no visible power—defeated the future heir?

The sudden uproar shattered the stillness, and the sound of combat sent feet rushing from every direction.

The court mage rushed in, followed by two healers.

Rudeous appeared a moment later, his face carved in stone.

“What happened?” he asked coldly.

No one answered.

Logan stood still, the sword in the ground by his side, breath calm despite the heat that radiated from his body.

“He challenged me,” he said plainly. “I accepted.”

Darius, humiliated, tried to shout something, but Rudeous raised a hand to silence him.

“Enough.”

He looked at Logan. For a moment—just a moment—there was something unreadable in his eyes.

Then he turned to the others.

“This matter will not be discussed outside this estate.”

“But, Lord Rudeous,” the court mage protested, “this boy… he has no mana, and yet—”

“I said enough,” Rudeous snapped.

Mirena arrived then, her fur-lined cloak sweeping across the snow.

She took one look at Darius’s bruised body and screamed, “He tried to cripple my son! Arrest him!”

“No one’s being arrested,” Rudeous growled. “They dueled. Darius lost.”

“He has no magic!” she shrieked. “Then how?! What twisted trickery—”

“He used strength. Skill. Discipline,” Rudeous said tightly. “Things you clearly haven’t taught your son.”

Mirena scoffed but didn’t find any words to refute him.

Rudeous walked away, leaving the rest stunned.

The gathering also dispersed.

Mirena left with Darius, Abraham helping, in an angry mood.

Later that night, in his chamber, Logan sat by the frosted window once more.

The moonlight bathed his face.

He closed his eyes.

Circulated his Qi.

And whispered to the world that still didn’t know what he truly was.

“I told you not to cry,” he murmured.

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