?Chapter 15: The Mana Awakening and the Echo of Legends

  ?The winter in the Vermilion territory was not a meteorological phenomenon; it was a military siege. The piercing wind that descended from the Northern mountain ranges howled between the cracks of the stone cell, carrying with it the breath of white death. For any six-year-old child, that cold would be the prelude to hypothermia. However, for Ren Valerius — or rather, for the soul of Keinji that inhabited that small body — the ice was an old adversary in uniform, an implacable instructor he had already faced in another life.

  ?While his small hands, now calloused and marked by inhuman effort, pressed against the stony ground, Ren maintained a hypnotic rhythm of push-ups. With each ascent, he released his breath in a controlled manner, observing the dense vapor exiting his lips. His mind, armored by decades of discipline, traveled back to the barracks of the 14th Light Infantry Battalion (14th BIL).

  ?He remembered the weight of the rifle, the smell of lubricating oil, and the iron discipline of the mountains in Minas Gerais. Keinji had spent only one year in the Brazilian Army, but it had been the densest year of his life. His relentless effort earned him recommendations for training with elite squads, participating in six months of intensive drills: the jungle warfare stage at CIGS, in Manaus, and the mountain platoon training, including the rigorous exchange with Chilean forces in the Andes.

  ?It was there, on the peaks where oxygen is a luxury and the wind can knock down a horse, that Keinji learned "thermal combat breathing." He learned to contract the core muscle groups to protect vital organs and use the mind to silence the agony screams of frozen nerves.

  ?— Um... dois... um... dois... — he counted mentally in Portuguese, the language he used to keep his original identity alive.

  ?The pain in his leg, the result of the poorly healed ambush wound, throbbed with every movement. But, compared to the forced marches with a 30kg backpack in the cold mountains of Chile, that pain was just statistical noise. He was not a victim; he was a soldier of the 14th BIL in enemy territory, performing a survival TFM (Military Physical Training).

  ?In recent months, Ren had pushed his body to the breaking point. After spending the day under the vigilant gaze of Marth Vermilion, teaching "theoretical poison" to Eduard and Julius, he returned to the cell and began his second journey. Recently, he started training without the slave tunic, exposing his chest and back to the frigid air of the dungeon. He wanted to forge his skin as if it were runic leather. What he still did not fully grasp was that the combination of an elite veteran’s mind and the biology of a powerful noble lineage child was generating an unprecedented anomaly.

  ?By the natural law of this world, the awakening of the mana core occurred only at seven years old, when the runic channels were mature enough to withstand the pressure. But Ren was still only six. The brutal thermal stress of the Northern winter, added to the insane physical exertion, forced his system. To prevent Ren’s heart from stopping, his runic center awakened prematurely, acting as a high-octane fuel to keep him alive. The steam coming off his body was not just sweat; it was excess magical energy burning the impurities of his system in an accelerated self-regeneration process.

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  ?George and Erina observed him in a reverent and terrified silence. To them, Ren looked like a small demon wrapped in thermal mist.

  ?— Why do you do this, Ren? — George’s voice broke the silence, hoarse and weighed down by years of servitude. — Marth will suck you dry until nothing is left if he notices you have this strength.

  ?Ren stopped in the plank position, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and sissing as it touched the cold stone. He turned his face toward George, and the glow in his eyes was not that of a child, but of a sergeant about to lead an invasion.

  ?— If I rest, George, I accept the collar. Each push-up is a step out of this castle. I am going back to my family. I will find my father and my brothers, and I will ensure that whoever did this pays with interest.

  ?George let out a heavy sigh.

  ?— You talk as if it were easy. Marth Vermilion is not just a noble. He is a master of flames. His power is only comparable to what the legends say about the Lady of Frost.

  ?The name made Ren’s senses go on high alert. He sat on the frigid floor.

  ?— Lady of Frost? Who is this woman, George?

  ?George adjusted Erina in his lap; the girl was already starting to doze off.

  ?— My mother was a royal historian, Ren. She studied the history of this continent to pass it to magic institutions. She told me about her. The Lady of Frost was an adventurer and elite knight from Eritineos. She had silver hair and crystal blue eyes that could freeze a man’s blood.

  ?Ren felt his heart skip a beat. Iris.

  ?— She was known for destroying slave-trafficking groups across the continent — George continued. — But the myth was born in the Great Lakes of the south. There was a nest of Water Dragons that terrorized the region. To take down a single dragon like that, two hundred veteran warriors and ten Class-A court mages would be needed. Well... the Lady of Frost went there alone. She slaughtered thirty-two dragons. That level of power... is equivalent to an Ancient Dragon.

  ?Ren absorbed every word. He remembered his mother at the ball, how the guards trembled before her. The contrast was brutal: the affectionate mother was a force of nature capable of decimating legendary beasts.

  ?— What are these Ancient Dragons? — Ren asked, his voice low and analytical.

  ?— They are beings that do not belong to our time — George replied. — They are triple the size of a normal dragon and possess superior reasoning. Many have lived for over ten thousand years, since before the Elven Wars. They guard secrets of past technologies and magias considered impossible today. They are peaceful, but if someone tries to irritate them, it would be the end of the world. The Lady of Frost facing something like that and emerging victorious... that is why Marth Vermilion would never dare attack the Valerius openly. He needed betrayal and shadows.

  ?Ren felt a deep agony. His mother was a legend, but now she was a Marquise over thirty years old. She was trapped by treaties, by politics, and by time. Would her reflexes be "rusty" from palace life? She was a monster, but she was caged by bureaucracy and the lack of information about where he was.

  ?— Wisdom... — Ren whispered, remembering Arthur. — Wisdom can make people arrogant, George... but now, it is the only way for us to escape this sad reality.

  ?Erina slept deeply, her serene face contrasting with the lugubrious environment. Ren returned to his training position. He felt the mana circulating through his arms, now warmer. He was no longer just the sergeant of the 14th BIL, nor just little Ren Valerius. He was the bridge between military science and legendary magic.

  ?Marth Vermilion thought he had bought a prodigy slave. He had no idea he had brought home the son of the Lady of Frost, a soldier forged in Chile and the Amazon, who was transforming every fiber of his body into a biological vengeance weapon.

  ?Ren blacked out hours later, in the push-up position. In his dream, he saw the mountains and the figure of a silver-haired woman waiting for him to become strong enough to break the ice that separated them.