It wasn't that Zald couldn't beat Alfia.
In fact, under equal conditions, almost every mage loses to a heavy frontliner. A mage's primary weapon is always magic—and the stronger the spell, the longer the chant. Buying a mage time to chant is practically a heavy warrior's job description, and with Zald's overwhelming defense and attack power, he could endure all kinds of pressure, including Evangelion.
So why did he back off so quickly?
Mostly because after all these years, he'd taken care of Alfia like she was a troublesome niece. Starting a real conflict with her just wasn't something he wanted to do.
For Duncan, being injured was rare "vacation time"—as long as it was an injury this serious. Minor cuts and bruises didn't qualify for slacking; if he complained, Alfia and Zald would simply "adjust the dosage."
Alfia also wasn't worried they'd intentionally get beaten half to death just to dodge training. First, deliberately taking a heavy injury for rest was the kind of deal that no sane person would choose. Second, neither of them had the personality to do something that petty.
As their levels and stats rose, and as Zald and Alfia refined their training routine, Duncan and Bell got fewer and fewer moments to breathe. Every day ended with them scraping right up against their physical limits—maximizing training while still ensuring they could recover.
The results were obvious.
When you keep forcing yourself to the brink, there are only two outcomes: you break through—or you break down.
Bell had endured this far thanks to Alfia's "loving encouragement," Zald's stories of the Zeus Familia's heroes from the old era, and everyone's support. As for Duncan… if a real seven-year-old could grit his teeth and keep going, then Duncan had no excuse to quit.
Because his body hadn't fully recovered yet, Duncan couldn't do much beyond sitting and revisiting the feeling of his new skill.
Keen Swift Advance had terrifying power, but it clearly wasn't as easy to control as Silence. Spending huge mental effort to maintain it in a chaotic battlefield was unreliable—especially since Duncan wasn't a backline caster. He was a frontliner.
Charging and chanting from safety was a mage's privilege. A frontliner—especially one who relied on agility rather than raw tanking—needed tools that were quick, convenient, and ready in an instant. In that sense, rapid-strike and short-chant magic were the most suitable attack methods he could ask for.
He sat cross-legged on a chair, felt how his body responded, then—finding the posture awkward—shifted onto the wooden porch. He laid the spear across his thighs.
It wasn't that this stance boosted his success rate or anything. It just calmed him down.
He'd been a high schooler, a college kid—then suddenly tossed into a brutal world where every day was training, and every "adventure" could cost him his life. The pressure was constant, crushing. He needed something to let his emotions breathe… or at least to quiet the noise inside his head.
Pure venting didn't fit his temperament. And the more time he spent with them, the more he understood how precious the word familia was in this world—how much it meant to truly have people who treated you like their own.
A lot of adventurers lost their parents young and were raised by elders in their familia. They genuinely saw their familia as family.
Duncan wasn't made of stone. With caretakers this kind, he couldn't justify dumping his frustration onto them just because he'd been dragged into this life.
So he'd found this method instead.
…Even if he still desperately wished they'd hit a little lighter.
Keen Swift Advance.
With his mind steadied, Duncan silently called the skill's name.
That familiar force surfaced again.
This time, instead of letting it roar out, he kept it wrapped tightly within his body.
Even so, a faint swirl of wind stirred around him—evidence that a tiny leak of that power was escaping his skin.
Like the "small and great circulation" described in cultivation novels, Duncan tried guiding the force to flow slowly through his entire body, letting his body acclimate to it until he could control it completely. Moving it into the weapon would be a later stage of training.
The experiment went well.
The power circulating inside him was obedient—responding cleanly to his intent.
To an outsider, that might sound obvious: your power, your body, of course you can control it.
But Duncan, who'd already experienced just how violent that force could become, understood the risk.
Mana that accumulates too much can explode.
Who was to say this force wouldn't riot inside him the same way?
So he only dared to use the thinnest thread of it—like a trickling stream running through his body. Each cycle deepened his understanding, bit by bit.
Time slipped by.
Before he knew it, the sun had set.
Only when Zald called him back for dinner did Duncan realize how long he'd been there.
Compared to last time—when he'd ended drenched in sweat and barely standing—this restrained approach placed far less strain on him. He was still exhausted, but the improvement was obvious.
"Warming the power instead of venting it, huh?" Zald patted Duncan's shoulder in approval. "I remember someone in the familia who was good at this kind of thing too—black hair, black eyes, like you. But… forget it."
He clearly didn't want to step into old grief, and he forced his tone back to casual.
"Come eat. Then go wash up and change. If you walk around in that state, Alfia's going to lose her temper again."
Dinner wasn't extravagant, but it was delicious: white bread with thick pan-seared meat.
The meat changed every day depending on what they'd hunted. Around the outer edges of the Great Tree Labyrinth, plenty was scarce—except wild beasts. And with everyone here being upper-tier adventurers, even Bell could handle fierce animals that seasoned hunters avoided like the plague. So meat was never a problem.
Zeus, Zald, and Alfia even had wine with the meal. Duncan insisted—again—that his mental age was already adult, but the three of them treated him like a kid and waved him off without discussion.
After dinner and a bath, there was nothing left but rest.
Out here in the deep wilderness, nighttime entertainment didn't exist.
That was why Bell's favorite part of the day began.
He'd go to Zeus's big library, pick out an adventure tale, and bring it to Alfia—who would read him a bedtime story.
Zeus used to do it. Once Alfia arrived, she shamelessly seized the position and never gave it back.
"…Um, Alfia," Duncan said, forcing a strained smile. "I've told you—my mental age is already adult. I'm long past the stage of needing bedtime stories to sleep."
This was a social death sentence.
If anyone found out he still listened to bedtime stories at his age, he'd never recover.
He shot pleading looks at Zeus and Zald—both of whom instantly pretended they couldn't see him. When Alfia's "mom mode" activated, neither of them dared to get in her way.
Alfia opened her eyes.
"Are you coming or not?" she asked, voice flat, threat embedded in every syllable.
"…Fine."
Faced with a choice between social death and literal death, Duncan obediently chose the former.
....
My Patreon : patreon/RuneA
If you want to read the novel in advance, you can subscribe for early access. I also have many more novels in my collection that you might be interested in
I upload ten novels a day, with 3 to 4 chapters per title depending on the length. If you're following a particular series, please wait your turn a little
If there's a particular novel you're enjoying on Patron, please give it a 'like' so I know to focus on it