Chapter 3: AN ATTEMPT TO BLUNT THE FANGS OF A LION
Even before dawn brushed the snow-covered hills of Aerundal, Logan sat beneath a frost-kissed window, legs crossed, back straight, breath calm. Mist coiled faintly around his small frame, a quiet aura of warmth drifting from within—not mana, but Qi.
He drew in a long breath, slow and silent. Qi flowed through his meridians like a quiet river, pulsing with steady strength. Each exhale carried a faint mist, rising from both his mouth and nose. He was six years old now—six years since Aiden Ferith died and was reborn as Logan Smith.
And already, his body was stronger than most adult warriors.
His fists could crack stone. His senses rivaled a hawk’s. His muscles, though childlike in size, were packed with power. Yet none of this came from mana.
He had already formed a mana core once. But he hadn’t trained it since.
Not after what happened a year ago.
It had begun innocently.
One evening, during meditation, he reached toward the ambient energy in the air. It responded—familiar, like an old friend. In a few moments, he condensed it into a rudimentary mana core within his lower dantian. The process was instinctive, smooth.
But it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
The court mage, Abraham, sensed something odd during a routine check. Within the day, Rudeous and Mirena were informed.
Logan was summoned before the elders of House Smith.