Extra's Ascent

Just maybe… could it be?

"A Lord, huh? Doesn't sound so bad."

Aldrich mumbled through clenched teeth, his voice strained beneath the pain radiating from the gaping wound at his waist and the sword still lodged in his shoulder joint.

Or perhaps… none of it mattered. Perhaps Paul's insatiable hunger for greatness had never vanished, only buried, waiting for a moment like this to claw its way back to the surface.

Aldrich's eyes rolled back, not in defeat, but in transformation. The blue sclera stayed steady, yet the silvery pupil shaped like a clover began to spin. It turned rapidly, unnaturally. This was no ordinary eye movement.

When the motion finally stopped, a clear and startling change had taken place.

What had been a single-leaf clover-shaped pupil now bore an identical twin.

"A… two-clover?" Kyle muttered, genuinely stunned.

But Aldrich gave him no time to linger in shock. He reached up with both hands, seizing Kyle's arm just below the elbow, the one gripping the embedded blade and he twisted it hard. The move disrupted Kyle's control of the limb, forcing him to loosen his grip.

Then, with a sharp strike to Kyle's chest, Aldrich pushed him away with unexpected force, creating much-needed space between them. It was a brief reprieve, but enough.

Breathing heavily, eyes steady despite the pain, Aldrich reached for the sword hilt protruding from his shoulder and, with a guttural groan, yanked it free. Blood spilt, warm and thick. To that, he barely flinched.

His glowing pupils shimmered with purpose as he turned his gaze on the wounds. First his shoulder, then the gash at his waist. And then, something incredible happened.

Both injuries began to close.

Rapidly.

Muscle and flesh mended at an unnatural speed, tissue knitting itself back together as though time itself bent to his will.

The crowd looked on, dumbfounded.

"Is that…?! Regeneration?!" Mary gasped, disbelief shaking her voice. "Instant regeneration without a single chant or signal?"

She could hardly believe her own eyes.

Regeneration? A true, immediate tissue recovery, was a skill known only to the Lords. A power bestowed upon an elite few, either by ascending to that fabled rank or through the blessing of an ancient bloodline. It was not something one could train into. It was beyond learning.

At least, that had always been the consensus.

"No, Mary. Look again. Don't just see. Feel it," Callum said, guiding her, his tone calm yet expectant.

Mary narrowed her gaze, focusing not just on the visual but the sensation that rippled through the mana in the air.

And then, realization struck.

"Is he... Don't tell me! He's using his mana to accelerate his natural recovery! Like a healer!"

"Bingo," Callum replied, a spark of admiration in his voice.

Typically, when a body is wounded, the white blood cells activate, working to repair the damage. Healers mystics who specialize in restoration intervene by infusing mana into the cellular response, amplifying the natural healing process.

But Aldrich wasn't using the conventional method. He had bypassed biology entirely.

He wasn't amplifying the white blood cells.

He was replacing them.

Aldrich's mana was directly reconstructing the damaged tissues, consciously, efficiently, and frighteningly fast. The technique mimicked instant regeneration, but in truth, it was an advanced cognitive application of mana control. No chants. No external help. Pure mastery.

"It's the same method Dwayne Aldaman uses," Callum muttered, memories surfacing.

"But… that's impossible!" Mary exclaimed. "Aldrich Aldaman's record shows he's a first-year! His mana only awakened this year. There's no way he's already learned to mimic the techniques of high-level healer mystics, especially not Dwayne's!"

Her disbelief was justified. Anyone watching would have thought the same.

The Pendragons, after all, were revered as the pinnacle of mystic evolution. Their bloodline is said to trace back to the first mystics, those chosen by fate itself. In ancient texts, they were described as the beginning and the apex of mystic kind.

And yet?...

"People praise the Pendragons for their lineage, for the legacy they've left behind," Callum began, a strange glint forming in his eyes.

"But I see things differently."

A slow, crooked smile spread across his face. Mary looked at him with growing concern, unsure whether he was enlightened or unravelling.

"You think… the Aldamans are greater than the Pendragons?" she asked, cautiously.

Callum chuckled.

"No, not greater. That would be foolish, statistically, historically, even mythologically speaking. The Pendragons are in every way above all other mystic clans. But…"

He turned to face her fully now, the intensity in his eyes dialled to madness.

"Just think, Mary. A clan born with eyes that can see mana, not sense, not feel, but see it in its rawest form. A clan that can, with a single glance, understand and replicate techniques that take others years to master."

His voice grew louder, impassioned.

"While the Pendragons were the first, the Aldamans might just be… the most complete. Those pompous eyes of theirs, that mocking silver glow? They're divine. They allow one to shape mana directly, to bypass the cumbersome rituals and channels the rest of us rely on."

No mystic, at least, none outside the Aldaman line could truly see mana. At best, they felt its presence, guided it with experience and practice. But the Aldamans?

They wielded clarity. Precision.

"With that kind of sight," Callum continued, "they don't need incantations or formations. To them, our grand techniques are little more than child's play, parlour tricks meant to impress the uninformed."

His grin stretched further, unhinged with awe.

"To the rest of us, the conjuring of Art is science. To them, it's instinct."

Mary fell silent, the truth pressing heavily upon her.

For all the reverence given to the Pendragons, perhaps it was the Aldamans, those who saw through the very core of magic were the true monsters beneath the surface.

And now… Aldrich, a mere first-year by record, stood regenerating like a Lord.

Not through bloodline.

Not through favour.

But through sight, will, and understanding.

Deducing all of this, a mad grin appeared on Callum's face widened in bewildering astonishment.