Jean stood in the middle of a quiet clearing deep within the Origin Realm, surrounded by floating training runes that hummed softly like overly enthusiastic study buddies. After yesterday's "accidental combat seminar," he had demanded— DEMANDED— another private session with no audience, no subordinates, and absolutely no risk of turning another cup of coffee into a territorial claim.
Just the basics, he told himself, staring at a simple glowing orb. Swing the sword without looking like I'm declaring war. Channel a little energy without coughing blood everywhere. Baby steps. I'm not trying to master the mantle, I'm trying not to accidentally annex the snack table.
He took a deep breath and made a small, careful gesture. The orb responded with a gentle pulse of crimson energy that formed a stable little shield in front of him. No explosions. No dramatic wind. Just… a shield.
For one glorious second, it felt like progress.
Then the universe, as usual, laughed at him.
A single floating tome drifted too close. Jean reached out instinctively to push it away and the mantle's power surged just a little too strongly. The shield expanded rapidly, knocking the tome across the clearing like a crystalline baseball. It bounced off three other runes, which interpreted the impact as a command and began projecting training dummies.
Jean panicked and tried to wave them off. "No! Bad runes! Sit!"
His flailing hand traced an accidental pattern in the air. The dummies solidified into perfect replicas of Fracture King's shadows but tiny, almost cute versions that waddled instead of menaced.
Varak, who had "respectfully" waited just outside the clearing despite explicit instructions, poked his head in at exactly the wrong moment. "My Lord summons training entities even in solitude! Such dedication to improvement!"
One: Lirael appeared like a particularly nosy shadow. "I've taken notes on the waddling variants. Adorable psychological warfare. The King's forces will be demoralized before the first blow."
Two: Elara, who had followed because "medical supervision," crossed her arms and tried not to laugh. "You told them no audience. They heard 'secret training montage.' And now you've made pocket-sized eldritch horrors. Progress?"
Three: Jean let out a nervous giggle, that raspy, unintentionally villainous sound, while trying to dismiss the waddling dummies. The sound resonated with the runes. The tiny shadows suddenly stood at attention like loyal minions, then dissolved into sparkles that formed a protective circle around him.
The small group (now including several scholars who had "just been passing by") erupted into awe.
"He commands even miniature versions of the enemy!"
"His training produces guardians instead of monsters!"
"The Warmonger turns corruption into protection with a laugh!"
Jean buried his face in his hands. "I was trying to turn them off…"
As the "training session" continued despite his protests (because no one would dare interrupt the Warmonger's genius), more controlled fragments of Jan's memories surfaced, slow and manageable this time. He felt the echo of Jan as a young guardian practicing in secret, learning to stabilize small portals to protect his family. He sensed the first stirrings of the entity's influence, a vast, neutral presence that had watched the multiverse fraying and chosen Jan's bloodline as a potential anchor.
No full revelation. Just a hint: The entity hadn't forced the transfer. It had simply prepared the vessel for someone who could carry the burden without being immediately consumed by it. Someone… from outside.
Jean sat down on a convenient crystal outcrop, processing the tiny piece. The motion made the orbiting runes align into a perfect crown-like formation above his head.
Varak dropped to one knee immediately. "He meditates upon the mantle's origins! We witness history unfolding!"
Lirael was scribbling notes at dangerous speed. "The crown of knowledge itself forms for him. I will document every detail for the archives."
Elara crouched beside him, her voice soft enough for only him to hear. "You're learning more about Jan, aren't you? Slowly. Piece by piece."
Jean nodded carefully. "Yeah. He wasn't always the monster. There was… something guiding the mantle. An entity that wanted balance. It's vague right now. But I think I was… compatible somehow."
He stopped there. No mention of trucks, soul transfers, or being from another world. The secret stayed locked away, known only to the Fracture King, who was biding its time somewhere in the shadows.
Elara didn't push. "Keep going at your pace. Just try not to accidentally create a new legion of waddling horrors this time."
As the session finally wound down (with Jean successfully forming one stable energy blade without looking like he was about to execute someone), a scout arrived with non-catastrophic news: The neutral realms were sending more envoys, inspired by rumors of the "Waddling Shadow Training."
Jean sighed as they headed back toward camp.
Baby steps in godlike power were still producing legendary results.
And somewhere out there, the Fracture King was watching… waiting for the day when Jean's growing understanding would finally make him a worthy opponent.