Chapter 9: I AM NOT JUST BACK—I AM RISING

The days rolled by in quiet rhythm—each sunrise marking another step in Logan’s journey toward mastery.

Every morning, he stood in the center of the training field, the air buzzing faintly with static before he even summoned a spell. Ardyn Vex had wasted no time. After witnessing Logan’s raw affinity with lightning, the Thunder Reaper pushed him harder, but never unreasonably.

“Again,” Ardyn called as a faint blue bolt crackled out from Logan’s fingers, zapping the wooden dummy. “Better. Your control’s improving. But you still hesitate before casting. Hesitation can get you killed.”

“I’m not scared,” Logan replied between breaths, rolling his shoulder. “I’m just making sure it lands where I want it.”

Ardyn grunted approvingly. “Good. Precision matters a lot. But learn to cast without thinking too hard. Make it instinct. Let your mana flow like breath.”

Logan nodded. He raised his hand again.

Zap!

Another bolt flew, faster this time, with less effort.

Rudeous stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, silently observing. No one could be sure what he was thinking. Was he happy or worried? Or maybe just amazed? But Alice—standing beside him—watched with shimmering eyes. Pride lit her features every time Logan’s bolt found its mark.

Not far behind them, Darius leaned against a pillar, jaw tight, arms folded. He had an angry look on his face. Like someone just threw a bucket of dirty, nasty water over him.

A servant nearby whispered, “He’s improving fast, isn’t he?”

Darius scoffed. “He’s only hitting stationary targets.”

But even he couldn’t deny it—Logan was changing. Too fast at that.

By the fourth day, Logan could fire lightning in rapid bursts with almost no delay. His body still trembled with exertion after each session, but his confidence grew.

“Now let’s change things up,” Ardyn said on the fifth morning. “Targets that move. Let’s see how your eyes keep up.”

The runes on the field glowed faintly. Suddenly, the wooden dummies began to shift and glide across the ground, mimicking evasive motions.

Logan’s brow furrowed in concentration. He raised his hand, tracing one with his gaze.

Snap—crack!

The bolt missed.

“You’re tracking with your eyes, not your mind,” Ardyn barked. “You must feel where they’ll be, not where they are. Use your instinct. Try to predict their move. Feel it.”

Logan closed his eyes briefly, steadying his breathing. Then opened them again with renewed focus.

Crack!

Missed. Again.

Crack!..crack!!!

Again.

Crack! Bam!

Finally. After several failures—

The bolt struck the dummy’s shoulder, sending up a small puff of smoke.

At night, Logan’s room transformed into a sanctuary of silence. He would light a single candle, draw the curtains, and sit cross-legged beside the window.

While others rested, he cultivated.

The soft hum of mana vibrated in the air, drawn toward him like metal to a magnet. He could feel the pathways inside his body becoming clearer with each night, his breath slowing, his core strengthening. After training his mana core as well, his cultivation speed increased by several folds. Mana was like fueling his qi to fasten his cultivation speed.

His technique from the old world, far more refined than anything this world had seen, allowed him to gather energy with unimaginable purity. And with the help of mana, training his cultivation would be in its own league—even in his previous world.

The golden threads of refined qi pulsed beneath his skin like glowing veins.

The seventh day marked a new challenge.

“You’re going to hit your targets while you’re moving now,” said Ardyn.

“Moving?” Logan asked, stretching his arms. “As in… running?”

“Dodging, jumping, sliding—whatever you need. No point standing still in real combat.”

The training field transformed again. The dummies moved unpredictably now, zigzagging with magical bursts. Runes lined the floor, forcing Logan to weave around them as they shot small pulses of mana his way.

He rolled to the side, raised his hand, and loosed a bolt.

Zap—miss.

He tried again, timing his step with his casting.

Crack—direct hit.

By midday, his robes were soaked with sweat, and yet he grinned.

“I like this,” he admitted during a short water break.

“You should,” Ardyn said, sipping tea nearby. “You’re starting to look like a mage. Maybe soon you can go hunting with me when you reach a certain height.”

Really? They will let me go in dungeons? Isn’t there any minimum age limit?

Nope, said Ardyn Vex. Only strength matters. Which will decide your qualification as a hunter. Like I am an AA class hunter. There are even S class hunters. But only a few.

Logan’s eyes lit up with excitement.

Mirena stood further back this time, her lips pressed in a thin line. Her cousin Adlan at her side whispered something inaudible, but she didn’t reply. The tension in her expression said everything.

Darius had already left after Logan struck three moving targets in a row.

By the tenth day, Logan stood with his arm extended toward the field.

“Today,” Ardyn said with a grin, “you’ll try something more advanced. Multiple targets. Two for now.”

The dummies split apart.

Logan inhaled, centering his thoughts. He raised both arms.

Boom! Boom!

Two bolts forked outward—one right, one left. Both hit their marks.

Alice let out a soft gasp of joy. Even Rudeous’s brow twitched upward.

“Not bad,” Ardyn muttered. “Again.”

Each day that followed, Logan increased the count. From two to three. Then five. Then more. The lightning crackled louder, more confidently, leaping from his palms with fluid grace.

By the end of the second week, he could clear a field of ten targets in under thirty seconds—without even breaking focus.

That night, Logan lay on the roof, gazing up at the stars.

His hands still tingled with residual energy. His core, once sealed, now pulsed like a heartbeat inside him.

“I wonder how strong I’ll be in a month,” he whispered.

No one answered. But the wind stirred around him, as if the heavens themselves were curious.

He wasn’t preparing for war. Not yet. But training—this training—it made him feel alive. It gave him purpose.

He smiled.

“Tomorrow, I’ll hit fifteen.”

And he would.

Because every spark he conjured was another reminder.

He wasn’t just back.

He was rising.

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