At first, when Reoloy began training four days ago, he did so physically in a gravity-adjusted chamber while maintaining telekinesis over whatever object—and then objects—he could find.
Simply moving things in precise, repeated patterns was enough to improve control, and the act of sustained usage itself improved his casis recovery. Combined with intense physical exertion, his mind was slowly being refined into a steel trap for casis manipulation.
It wasn't long, however, before he decided it wasn't enough.
That was when he discovered the small, wide-range, shrapnel-packed explosives stored within Luvarne's inventory.
It clicked instantly.
What better way to motivate consistent control was there?
That's right.
He had effectively decided to train under the condition that even the slightest lapse in focus could cost him his arm or more.
"They were bombs," Lavere muttered in faint disbelief.
"He just keeps getting crazier," Roy laughed.
Lohan, on the other hand, didn't find it amusing in the slightest.
"Didn't he—?"
"Walk around the entirely enclosed interior of the ship while flinging them around carelessly," Selene cut in. "Yes. Yes, he did."
Reoloy stepped through the smoke.
His fist buried itself into Graham's stomach, sending him skipping across the ground like a stone over water.
Green eyes regarded his opponent with a measure of approval before casis erupted around his body and he rose into the air.
Then he came crashing back down, driving both feet into the mana blader's back.
Reoloy stepped off Graham, nodding as he watched him recover faster than average.
'It's instinctual, but it works,' he thought.
His foot snapped up, kicking the boy in the chin.
"I don't need it," he muttered flatly. "But this is a good time to compare notes. Activate the Guideline Protocol."
Thousands of screens only he could see burst into existence as the gears in his eyes blurred into motion.
The sight still sent chills down his spine. He almost geeked out right then and there—but remembered, frustratingly, that Graham was still very capable of killing him if he left an opening.
Reoloy briefly flashed back to one of the nights he had sat awake, consumed by his own concerns, when a question had randomly surfaced.
'How did Luvarne's system know about Reoloy's surname when I didn't?'
He went down a rabbit hole of tests—twenty, then fifty—until he eventually arrived at a simple conclusion.
It wasn't an omniscient force with direct access to all information in existence. It was limited to what had been built into it and what it could observe and interpret.
Which led directly into his next discovery.
It had learned what he didn't know from the traces of the original still lingering within his body—memories embedded in the brain, and fragments of information left behind throughout the vessel.
The normal response would have been to begin extracting those lost memories immediately, and he had, using his limited authority to initiate the probe.
But his priorities lied elsewhere.
Instead, Reoloy had the system archive everything from his previous life directly from his memory, down to the smallest detail. He then spent that night sorting, structuring, and categorising it into a usable framework.
He called them Guides.
The most important of them were designed to interface directly with the system's analytical functions in combat and other relevant scenarios, working as a supplement to his cognition.
Hence, the command trigger:
"Guideline Protocol."
'How lucky that a familiar ability cropped up just in time for a test run,' Reoloy chuckled, before catching himself. 'But this isn't about that. I'm recruiting personnel right now.'
Contrary to his self-correction, he grabbed Graham by the hair mid-lunge and drove a knee into his face.
Using telekinesis, he yanked Graham back mid-motion and drove a backhand across his face. The follow-up came instantly as mental force slammed down, pressing him into the dirt like a weight that refused to lift.
"Give up," Reoloy said coldly. 'Please don't! This is actually pretty cool!'
Graham glared. "Shut up."
He wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve and released more mana.
It erupted from his body in a half-metre surge, the outer layer turbulent and unstable while the mana closest to him condensed into a white, flame-like appearance.
Reoloy's eyes widened slightly.
He checked the relevant data just to confirm what he already suspected, then smiled nervously.
"This guy is crazy..." he muttered. "The other bastard didn't reach this level until he was twenty..."
A faint sigh escaped him as he pulled up his stats.
"Time to stop pulling punches then."
In a burst of casis, he thrust the teen a good thirty metres into the air, then let him fall.
Graham's body stalled at the apex for a fraction of a second—weightless and exposed—before descending with fewer options than he liked.
Thinking quickly, he spawned swords around his body in a porcupine-like formation, halting his fall just ten metres above the ground.
He let out a sigh of relief, lowering himself safely and dispelling his mana constructs.
Then blinked to a fist crushing his nose with what felt like three consecutive impacts.
"Nailed it," Reoloy said, already running after him.
Graham hit the ground and tried to rise, only for the impact of Reoloy's follow-through to drive him back down before his knees fully set.
The earth fractured under the force, dust exploding outward in a tight ring as Reoloy didn't slow his momentum.
He stepped through the settling haze and caught Graham mid-recovery, repelling him with a glowing open palm and dragging him through the trees in a sustained, violent arc.
Graham's body snapped against trunks and stone with sharp, disjointed cracks as Reoloy laughed.
"Fight back."
He pulled him back toward himself and levied an enhanced punch in his gut.
"This is too easy," Reoloy complained, a manic grin spreading across his face. "Empowering my blows isn't nearly as convenient as it is for you mana and ki users. I have to use telekinesis to add force to my hits. It gets very technical in high-level fights. You were supposed to help me get used to it."
A kick snapped Graham's head sideways.
"Get up."
A sweep took his legs out again the moment he tried.
"Again."
Some of the spectators flinched at each impact, turning toward Laurencia.
"Shouldn't you stop this?" Amali asked, wincing at a particularly harsh uppercut.
Laurencia, unlike before, looked entirely grim. None of her usual careless, self-absorbed demeanour remained as her gaze stayed fixed on Graham.
"I don't think he would let me even if I tried."
"What?"
"Look at that guy," Avron said, a subtle respect in his eyes. "He's not trying to defend himself or run. He's still trying to fight and win."
Amali's head snapped back to the fight, and absurdly, it was true.
Graham refused to stop moving.
Even as his body failed him, even as every attempt to rise collapsed into pain and imbalance, something in him kept forcing motion forward. His limbs shook under their own weight, but they still answered his intent.
Each time Reoloy knocked him down, he tried again a fraction faster, weaker, but still unwilling to accept defeat.
Blood ran down his face, yet his eyes stayed locked in, tracking, calculating, refusing to lose sight of the opponent who kept tossing him around with just a wave of his hand. Every breath was a struggle, but they were taken with purpose.
'He's going to punch right...' he thought weakly.
Instead, he was lifted into a chokehold and slammed down.
'A... kick...'
A slap cracked across his cheek, sending him stumbling backwards as Reoloy calmly walked him down.
'...A... pu...nch...'
As the fist cut through the air, a spark of life flared in Graham's eyes.
In that instant, he weaved into Reoloy's guard.
Leaning back just enough, he twisted through the motion and drove his elbow upward toward his opponent as a white mana construct flashed into existence between breaths.
A heartbeat of pause was enough to cost the reincarnator—a spear tip tore through the space where his head would have been if it hadn't been for Gaiskas's silent interference.
'Shit!' Reoloy cursed, sweat drenching his back from the close call. 'That almost looked like...'
A dark-haired figure surfaced in his mind—tattered trench coat, a massive casket strapped to his back, and piercing blue eyes.
'The posture was almost exactly the same,' he mused, falling onto his butt. 'If I play my cards right, he could be just as useful as Selene.'
"Are... you... giving up?" Graham rasped, struggling to even stand in place. "Get... up. I'm not... done with... you... yet."
Reoloy stared. "Man... look at yourself. If I kept going, I would start to look cruel."
"Too late for that!" Selene chimed from the sidelines.
He frowned, but ignored her.
"What does the name Coffin Maker mean to you?"
Graham blinked, then tried to surge forward—only to collapse halfway, face hitting the ground.
"Is he your brother or something?" Reoloy continued, unbothered. "I thought you looked familiar when I first saw you, but when I looked at your abilities, it jogged my memory a little bit."
"I don't... know what... you're talking about..."
"The bloodline trait Mana Phantom is a prerequisite condition for learning and bringing out the full potential of that mana art you're flinging around. Aside from having his face, you have that too. So what's your relation?"
Graham didn't answer, his expression twisting.
"You might be talking about his cousin, Stephan," Cisco said from beside Lohan. "He was older than us by quite a bit, but he was also at you-know-where."
The ashen-haired teen glared weakly in the direction of the spectators, unable to lift his head.
'The Coffin Maker was at Cube?' Reoloy thought, surprised. "The plot grows darker..."
He logged the information into his guide, making a mental note to make a chart just for the day's discoveries alone.
"Alright, here's the deal, fight's over," Reoloy clapped, standing. "You won't give up, we both know that, so instead, I'll knock you out pretty violently and make it up to you when you wake up."
Graham scoffed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, I'll make you stronger than your serial killer cousin."
"...Wh—"
The words didn't fully register before Reoloy's hand came down, the collision shutting everything off at once.
He then looked at Laurencia expectantly.
"...Reoloy wins."
---
~ One Hour Later ~
- Outside Gordoi's House/Workshop -
"There's always something going on with you," Gordoi said, shaking his head at the sight of Graham's body being hauled to the side.
"Would you believe me if I told you I dominated this time?"
The craftsman raised a brow and looked toward his daughter.
"He made us watch him bully the grey guy," Lavere replied simply.
"...That's a weird hobby you have there."
Reoloy frowned but didn't bother defending himself. The rumours had probably spread too far already for that to accomplish anything.
'That was a close call at the end there.' He looked at his hand, a sputtering green tint forming. 'I ran out of casis before I knew it and had to be saved by Gaiskas... The freaks at Aldain will have a field day with me if I stay like this.'
His reserves were increasing, slowly but steadily. If he kept training and raised the intensity as he improved, he would be decent by the time they arrived.
But—
"Lavere," Reoloy called. "This honestly has nothing to do with you and—"
"Ask the favour or don't," she interrupted. "Don't be weird."
"Get a couple of the others—preferably not Roy or Amali this time—and come down to the surface with me and those idiots," he asked, looking at the Cube fugitives. "I'm going to recruit someone, and I might need some help."
"Oh? Why not ask m—" Gordoi began before stopping short.
Lavere's expression had darkened ever so slightly at the boy's request.
"...Never mind," he corrected himself, quietly retreating from the conversation.
'He certainly keeps things interesting,' the older man mused.
Completely oblivious to the change in her demeanour, Reoloy tilted his head.
"So?"
Lavere let out a small sigh.
"I'll do what I can."
"Great," he said, smiling. "You guys help me out more than you can imagine. Thanks"
---
- Lindis Capital: Anselt -
- The Castle -
"Cale!"
A white-haired teenage girl rushed to her younger brother's side as he collapsed into the garden path, blood staining the hand pressed against his mouth.
"...I'm fine," he said dismissively, forcing himself back to his feet. "I just did it wrong. Once I figure it out, things will get better."
Princess Wynn scowled.
"We both know what's actually happening—"
"Shhh!"
Prince Cale silenced her immediately, glancing around despite the emptiness of the royal gardens.
"Don't lose your head," he whispered. "We don't have allies right now. If our enemies decided to stop playing nice..."
The Lindis royal succession was a bleak thing to behold.
The First Prince was a philanderer.
The Second Prince, a drunkard.
The First Princess remained trapped within the trauma that had long since isolated her in a castle far away from the capital.
The Second Princess was a bloodthirsty egomaniac.
That left the youngest two.
Caught in a labyrinth of ambition, paranoia, and shifting allegiances, they were forced to navigate siblings who all desired the throne enough to kill for it—including each other.
"Maybe..." Cale began quietly. "Maybe we should accept the Alonbrights' offer."
"No," Wynn replied instantly.
She grabbed him by his shoulders, locking eyes—pink on blue.
Cale lowered his gaze.
"You're going to become king," she said firmly. "Depending on them would be the same as accepting that they can walk all over us whenever they please."
He sighed. "What choice do we have?"
"...Give me time." Wynn bit her lip, fists clenching in frustration. "I'll find the support we need... Just trust me."