Inside the room, a fireplace adorned a round table surrounded by two lavish, comfortable-looking black leather couches, and a matching throne-like chair. Three people occupied the couches—a man and two women. One of the women, the same age as Athra, was his twin. The man, Desta, was the eldest sibling, radiating a striking appearance and a dangerous aura—a testament to the years he had spent perfecting his craft as a spell blade. The older sister, Alynna, possessed a slender but curvy frame similar to their mother, with a practically perfect face that drew the attention of many young noblemen.

Athra's twin, Diarra, shared a striking resemblance to him, with their frames being almost identical. The most noticeable difference was their height—Athra stood around 185 cm, while Diarra was about 170 cm. Desta, the tallest sibling, measured around 180 cm, and Alynna, fitting between Athra and Diarra, had a height of 175 cm—the same as their mother.

Upon seeing their brother, the siblings were delighted, especially Diarra, who had not seen him for a few more years due to her training at the temple of Lumina as a potential holy sword dancer of the goddess. As twins, they were not accustomed to being separated for so long, and she was not pleased with Athra for pulling such a stunt.

As if understanding their unspoken thoughts, their mother, Alenea, spoke, "First, we take care of what needs to be discussed, and then you can catch up." Her tone left no room for arguments. Desta and Alynna sat together on one couch, while Athra and Diarra took the other, with Alenea sitting on her 'throne.' Her gaze, after a quick glance at everyone, settled on Athra.

"So, my son, care to explain how you managed to come close to your siblings in terms of your mana reserve suddenly?" Her melodic voice carried a slight hint of threatening urgency.

Athra, knowing that rejection was not an option, spoke a half-truth, hoping it would be enough to misdirect his mother. "I have found a way to activate what was already dormant in my blood." His voice did not betray him this time, as the surprise of seeing his mother was not there to rattle him.

Alenea scrutinized her son, her gaze unwavering, hoping to see any hint of uncertainty, any clue to determine if he was being truthful. Satisfied with her findings, she let it go. After all, she still had a couple of millennia before she would desperately need a power-up. For now, she was content to keep an eye on her son and see if he'd make any further progress in increasing his potential. For the first time since his birth, Athra was in his mother's mind, just like the rest of his siblings.

Satisfied with his mother not pressing him further, Athra was none the wiser to her inner thoughts. The fact that she did not even ask for details seemed strange, but even if she was doubtful, as long as he did not have to disclose things, he wouldn't. One thing he knew was that it was usually better to keep your eyes close to your chest if you did not trust the other person, even if they were family.

After some idle chat, Alenea left the room for the siblings to catch up. She knew she was not exactly in good books with Athra, and as a result, the siblings were tense, even though they were trying to hide it. She was upset by her own children not wanting her there, but she understood the reason behind it.

With their mother gone, Athra turned to his siblings and spoke with a relieved voice, "I have an odd request to make of you guys, but trust me; it is for the benefit of our house and kingdom. I would like each of you to give me a vial of your blood. I believe it will help me confirm some suspicions and ensure I am on the correct path." He felt bad for not explaining everything, but he could not involve his siblings in his heretical theory, not until he was sure of himself.

The siblings found it an odd request, but they did not care. What was a vial of blood if it meant their brother could have a shot at having his turn in the limelight instead of being overshadowed by them in the eyes of the kingdom? They knew that if Athra had received their familial inheritance of mana earlier, he would potentially outshine them all. They had seen him behind closed doors, and the amount of control over his spellcraft was second to none. He truly was a genius, capable enough to create his own original spells and even modify already existing ones on the fly to boost their efficiency. Sadly, due to his own limitations, he couldn't do those things on his own and only was able to teach his siblings the improved spells. This was one of the reasons why in the last few centuries, Desta and Alynna had garnered even more respect. It was also why Diarra had swiftly entered contention for the position of the Lady's holy sword dancer. To them, just a vial of blood seemed like a cheap price to pay.

With the meeting of the family concluded, Athra made his way to the courtyard, where he could spar with some of his old tutors or maybe even guards. He still needed more practice controlling his mana output due to the increased reserve he now possessed. He did not have to walk around for long as he spotted a tall, muscular man with a striking presence and short auburn hair—the master-at-arms of the manor, Rylorian.

"Care to spar, Rylorian?" Athra asked without wasting time. The ever-present confidence in his voice was there, even though he was less sure of his victory than he would've been against the guards. But his pride would not allow him to pass up an opportunity to spar with the man who had taught Desta and Diarra—two of the best spellswords currently alive.

Rylorian raised a single eyebrow as he recognized the voice. Surprised, he turned around to face the young prince and, with a smile, said, "I have never been known to back out of a challenge, young lord. But are you sure you want to?" His tone was confident, and his towering frame exuded unwavering belief in his abilities—and rightfully so. In his 5000-year life, he had only been bested by the current queen. Such a young man was not a fair challenge in his eyes—even if it was a D'Lora.

Athra had an inkling of what the man was thinking, which annoyed him as he hated being underestimated. He always thought that he had a chance to win, especially after increasing his reserves—unless he was to face his mother. However, he could understand where the man was coming from. Rylorian had not seen Athra fight even once, as he was not one of his tutors. His mother did not think him worthy of being trained by one of the best, as she believed he lacked the potential to benefit from it.

"I am in need of a sparring partner, and I believe you would be the best man for the job. So unless you are afraid of losing to me, I see no reason not to be sure of my decision." As soon as the words were heard, Rylorian's black sword was in his hand, signaling that he was ready to fight. Athra thought maybe, just maybe, he might have overdone it with the taunting, but he needed the man not to hold back. He wanted to see if he could truly go toe-to-toe with one of the best.

"Serve me, Ulrio," he commanded, and the bastard sword obeyed. Hearing the name of the blade, Rylorian furrowed his eyebrows. To his knowledge, Athra simply lacked the immense mana to have a soul-bound weapon. But the evidence to the contrary was right there in front of him. This was a pleasant surprise to him, as it meant maybe he would get to have somewhat of a decent fight and did not need to hold back quite as much as he thought he would need to prior. A satisfied smile crept upon his face. Athra unknowingly had given him even more motivation.

The duel commenced, and Rylorian swiftly proved that he was leagues above Ledros. Athra quickly became the one on the defensive side. He had cast foresight and haste as soon as he could, but even with the two buff spells, he was having trouble keeping up with Rylorian, despite him not having cast a single buff spell. His skill alone was that overwhelming. Rylorian danced around the young prince, making him parry and dodge at weird angles, throwing off balance. As expected, the difference in weapon mastery and experience was evident. He was still impressed that the young prince had gone unscathed this long, which was far longer than he had anticipated. He could see as the spar carried on that Athra was getting better at reacting, as well as managing to integrate some spells into his swordplay. Rylorian, for the first time, saw Athra for what he was—a born talent when it came to combat, an incredibly astute and fast learner, a gem waiting to be shaped. Soon enough, Athra stopped being off balance and even went on the offensive a few times, skillfully casting spells such as the rain of blades to limit the superior opponent's movements, making up for the difference in agility. Rylorian was pleased, but he believed the arrogant prince needed a reality check, a glimpse at what a true spellsword could look like, and cast haste upon himself. Within moments, Athra's sword was on the ground, laying next to the young prince, who was covered in small cuts. He couldn't even react, despite anticipating the strikes thanks to foresight—the speed was simply overwhelming. Rylorian did not have the impressive mana D'Loras had, but he was still among the best. The reason was that his skill with the blade, coupled with his training and experience, was simply unmatched by anyone. One could say that in a duel of only swordplay, he would not be bested by anyone, and they would most likely not be proven wrong.

Athra woke up a few days later in his room. His wounds had just done healing, as even though they were shallow cuts and not threatening, there were still many of them—too many to count. He was upset that he had spent most of his time during his leave in his room, but he considered it a fair price for the swift but beneficial lesson he had gotten. His swordplay had improved, and more importantly, he had been reminded that no matter how strong he thought of himself, he should always strive to get stronger, which made him even more eager to return to his study and continue experimenting. He had a goal, he had the determination, and now, with the blood samples from his siblings, he had the means to test his theory. All he needed now was time, and he had that in abundance. But he also promised himself to attend the sparring practices this time. He had realized that if he wanted to improve, he would need to fight without relying on his immense mana against opponents of lower skill. Within the next few hours, he spent more time with his siblings and said farewells. It was time to go back to the academy. He made a portal back to his study within the academy grounds and stepped through. He was now once again inside the room he had spent a century in