Chapter 49 — Do Not Interfere

  Day 170

  Elder Fenris — POV

  I had been on my way to speak with Yuu.

  As I always did.

  And as always, that path was rejected.

  Not by me.

  By the will of the Primordials.

  I had guided the races of this world for centuries. Because of that, the will did not interfere often. It did not point, did not insist, did not correct every step I took. Most of the time, it remained distant.

  But when it did move—

  I listened.

  Not because I was forced to. I could ignore it if I wished. I always could.

  But what I wished for had never truly diverged from it.

  The will itself is not alive. It does not think, does not speak, does not feel. Yet it can still touch the world—still press against my choices, still refuse a direction without explanation.

  Perhaps because I have walked this world longer than most.

  Perhaps because I once guided those who survived when others fell.

  I did not receive this guidance often in the past. But every time I followed it, the outcome aligned toward the same end.

  The erasure of the Voidborn.

  Not immediately.

  Not cleanly.

  But correctly.

  I could see the shape of that future more clearly now. Not the steps—only the certainty that one direction endured while all others collapsed.

  So I trusted it.

  It no longer felt like coincidence.

  This guidance was something that could be trusted with everything.

  Since Yuu entered this world, it had become constant.

  And every time, it told me the same thing.

  Do not interfere.

  The situation around him is unstable. Volatile. Too easily disturbed.

  Even a single interference from me would skew it beyond what is ideal.

  And the will does not want that.

  So I do not interfere.

  The moment he arrived in this world, I noticed.

  Not because an unfamiliar aura flared within the territory I watched over.

  There was no such signal. There should not have been.

  He carried no presence that should have reached me at all.

  And yet—something shifted.

  It was not sight. Not sound. Not mana. Not life force.

  It was simply there, undeniable in its wrongness. A presence that did not belong, yet could not be ignored.

  I moved immediately.

  Instinct, older than thought, drove me toward the disturbance. I needed to see what had appeared.

  That was when the will first intervened.

  Not to guide me forward.

  But to stop me.

  Do not interfere.

  The direction was absolute. Not resistance—refusal.

  So I halted, and watched instead.

  He fought soon after. Clumsy. Untrained. Outmatched.

  A first battle that should have ended him.

  And yet, he survived.

  Unconscious. Broken. Still breathing.

  I moved again, intending to act.

  And again, the will rejected it.

  Do not interfere.

  That moment unsettled me more than his survival.

  He could die if left alone. That was clear.

  And still, the will demanded distance.

  Against my judgment. Against instinct. Against everything I had done for centuries.

  I obeyed.

  Later, when I attempted to approach him once more—to speak, to test, to understand—the same rejection remained. Not force. Not threat.

  Impossibility.

  Whatever had entered this world could not be touched directly. Not yet.

  So I watched from a distance.

  And I learned restraint in a way I never had before.

  ________________________________________________________

  Umbra — POV

  ________________________________________________________

  Yuu was improving at an unbelievable rate.

  His fight with the Darkthen had proven that much. And yet, considering that he had been trained by Fenrir-blooded, perhaps the outcome was not as unreasonable as it first appeared.

  Still, I could not deny it.

  His instincts bordered on genius at times.

  In battle, especially, he noticed things others missed. Even when facing opponents far stronger than himself, he identified weaknesses—small details I would have ignored without a second thought. He watched everything. Measured everything.

  And when it came time to apply what he had learned, he did so without hesitation.

  Those moments were always worth watching.

  Today, he would be training under me.

  I had already explained the fundamentals of dark mana to him once.

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  Back then, he had even attempted the conversion. The theory was sound—but his reserves had fallen short. His mana simply hadn’t been enough to sustain the compression.

  That was no longer the case.

  With sufficient focus, he could do it now.

  The first thing I intended to teach him today was aura masking.

  I sensed him approaching before I saw him. He returned from the stream, steps steady, posture relaxed in a way that spoke of real rest—not just recovered stamina.

  “You look energetic today,” I said. “Looks like you had a good rest.”

  He nodded.

  “Yes. I’m ready for the training.”

  Good.

  “Before, you failed at mana conversion,” I said. “This time, try again. Once you master that, I will tell you the next step.”

  He took a slow breath and centered himself.

  This time, he didn’t rush to gather mana. He waited until its flow steadied—until it responded without resistance. Only then did he begin to draw it inward, not compressing, not shaping, just denying it release.

  The change was subtle.

  There was no surge. No reaction from the world around him. But I felt it immediately—the direction of his mana falter, hesitate, then turn against its own instinct.

  His brow tightened. His breathing grew shallow.

  The drain began.

  He held it longer than before.

  Not by strength, but by restraint.

  The moment he succeeded, I gave the next instruction immediately.

  “Maintain that state,” I said. “Do not break it.”

  He obeyed.

  “Now,” I continued, “let it surround you.”

  “How do I—” he began.

  “Don’t,” I cut in. “Just let it exist outside your body. It will do the rest.”

  He hesitated, then followed the instruction.

  The dark mana slipped outward on its own, spreading without resistance, settling around him as if it belonged there. It did not drift away. It did not disperse. It remained—close, restrained, unmoving.

  For a brief moment, his aura vanished entirely.

  The masking held.

  Then he spoke again—

  “Nothing,” I replied. “It’s already done. You can release it now.”

  He did.

  The moment the dark mana dispersed, he bent forward slightly, breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling in uneven rhythm.

  “That was way easier than I thought,” he said between breaths. “Looks like the conversion itself is the hardest part. The rest feels… doable.”

  “That’s correct,” I replied. “But do not misunderstand what that means.”

  He straightened a little, listening.

  “Masking your aura is meaningless if you can only maintain it for a few seconds,” I continued. “Especially if it costs you all your mana to do so. In that case, it isn’t a skill. It’s a liability.”

  I watched him absorb that.

  “The real limitation,” I said, “is your core capacity. That will increase with training. So will efficiency.”

  I paused briefly.

  “Right now, most of your mana is wasted during conversion. As you improve, less will be lost. The ratio matters.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “For now,” I finished, “do it again.”

  He did.

  This time, the conversion held longer.

  “Move,” I instructed.

  He stepped forward.

  “I can feel it,” he said quietly. “It’s not drifting. It’s still around me.”

  Correct.

  He held it for several moments—longer than before. Long enough for an idea to form.

  I noticed it immediately.

  He glanced toward the trees in the distance, where Grey was resting, attention seemingly elsewhere.

  I said nothing.

  Some lessons are better learned directly.

  Yuu began to approach, careful with his aura, deliberate in his steps.

  Before he reached halfway, Grey’s voice brushed against my senses through our private link.

  Brother… what is he doing?

  “It looks like he plans to surprise you,” I replied.

  There was a pause.

  Huh? Surprise me?

  I was aware of him until just now.

  And… learning aura masking is impressive,

  but does he not realize his footsteps are still audible?

  Grey sounded genuinely confused.

  Yuu moved closer.

  Closer still.

  Then—

  Grey lashed out without even turning.

  His hind leg struck cleanly.

  Yuu went flying.

  He crashed into a tree trunk with a sharp, dramatic scream that echoed through the clearing.

  I did not intervene.

  The lesson had been delivered.

  Grey approached the tree Yuu had crashed into. By the time he reached him, Yuu had already healed most of the damage.

  “What were you thinking?” Grey asked.

  “Ow,” Yuu muttered, rubbing his side. “It hurt. I thought I could surprise you while you weren’t paying attention.”

  “I know what you were trying to do,” Grey said. “I’m asking why you charged in without focusing on stealth. Not just me—anyone would have noticed you.”

  Yuu frowned. “But how? I covered myself in dark mana, just like Umbra said.”

  “The problem wasn’t the mana,” Grey replied simply. “It was your footsteps. I could hear them.”

  Yuu blinked. “So… sound isn’t masked by dark mana?”

  “No,” Grey said. “You saw Umbra move without sound because he chose not to make any. That has nothing to do with mana. It’s physical control.”

  Yuu went quiet for a moment.

  “…So that’s how it is,” he said.

  He turned back to me.

  “So what’s the next step?” he asked. “When do I learn to store objects like you all do?”

  “That comes later,” I replied. “You need to get used to conversion first. Storage is a high-level application. It requires immense dark mana, and far more control than you have now.”

  Yuu nodded, accepting it without protest.

  “Alright. That can wait,” he said. “What I’ve learned already opens up a lot of battle strategies.”

  He paused, eyes narrowing slightly—not in calculation, but instinct.

  “But if I could learn how to move from one point to another,” he continued, “or even a failed version of it… my instincts tell me it would change the outcome of a fight instantly.”

  I studied him for a moment.

  “What you’re sensing is correct,” I said. “That ability is crucial.”

  I took a step closer.

  “Imagine an attack meant to end you,” I continued. “And instead of resisting it, you are simply no longer there.”

  His attention sharpened immediately.

  “That alone can decide survival.”

  I let the silence sit for a heartbeat.

  “But I cannot teach that in a single day,” I added. “Not safely.”

  Then—

  “I can, however, teach you its basics.”

  “I explained,”

  “You create a field of dark mana at a certain point, away from your body. Then you invalidate your current position and allow yourself to resolve inside that field.”

  I shook my head slightly.

  “But for you, that would be an impossible task for now.”

  I demonstrated it once.

  His eyes widened immediately.

  “That’s so cool,” he said without thinking.

  “There is an easier method,” I replied, “and at the same time, a far more demanding one. It suits you better.”

  I stepped closer.

  “You create a domain around yourself, purely with dark mana. You deny every position inside it at once—except the one you choose to reassert yourself in.”

  I watched his expression tighten as he processed it.

  “That is how you do it.”

  Yuu — POV

  I listened carefully to what Umbra explained.

  From what I understood, I was expected to create an entire domain using dark mana. Even surrounding myself with it for a few seconds had been difficult. And now this?

  I looked at him, unsure.

  “So… I won’t be able to do it today, then?”

  Before Umbra could respond, Grey spoke instead.

  “You could,” he said calmly. “If it’s only to experience what it feels like. I can lend you mana to convert.”

  I blinked. “Your mana?”

  “Normal mana,” Grey clarified. “You’ll still have to convert it yourself.”

  Umbra’s ears flicked.

  “That’s a good idea,” he said after a moment. “Go ahead.”

  He looked at me again, gaze sharp.

  “This way, you practice conversion under pressure,” Umbra continued. “And you experience the domain without attempting to create it alone.”

  Grey began pushing mana into my core.

  The moment it entered, I started the conversion.

  It was harder than before. Not because I didn’t know how—but because there was simply too much. The mana kept coming, steady and relentless, and every bit of it had to be turned inward.

  “Now surround it,” Umbra said calmly. “Just like before.”

  I did as he instructed.

  The dark mana spread outward, wrapping around me, clinging close to my body. My breathing grew shallow as I struggled to keep it stable.

  “More,” Umbra said. “Convert more. Increase the radius.”

  I obeyed.

  The pressure rose immediately. The dark mana thickened, pushing outward until it no longer felt like something I was controlling—but something I was containing.

  It felt overwhelming.

  Wrong.

  My instincts screamed at me to stop.

  Just how much mana did Grey even have?

  Before I could voice the thought, Umbra spoke again.

  “That’s enough. The domain is formed.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “Now listen carefully,” he said. “Do not breathe immediately before or after the shift.”

  I stiffened.

  “Let the air reassert itself. Let the blood stabilize. Only then do you breathe.”

  Stabilize?

  That single word made my chest tighten.

  I suddenly didn’t want to do this anymore.

  “No—wait—”

  “Yuu,” Umbra cut in sharply. “Don’t panic.”

  I felt his focus lock onto me.

  “I’m here,” he said. “If anything goes wrong, I will stop it. You won’t be harmed. Just brace yourself.”

  My hands were shaking now.

  He paused.

  “I’ll count to three,” Umbra said. “When I finish, you move.”

  I nodded stiffly, fear knotting in my chest like a child standing at the edge of deep water.

  “Got it,” I whispered.

  “One.”

  My heart pounded.

  “Two.”

  I shut my eyes.

  “Three.”

  I stopped breathing.

  The world vanished.

  There was no motion. No sensation of travel. Just absence—like the space I occupied had been erased.

  Then—

  The world returned.

  I opened my eyes and immediately staggered.

  Dizziness slammed into me. My vision warped, edges blurring and folding inward. Umbra’s voice reached me, but it sounded wrong—distorted, stretched, almost alien.

  “Don’t panic,” he said. “This is normal. It happens the first time.”

  I wanted to respond, but my stomach lurched. The ground felt unstable beneath my feet, like it was tilting.

  After a few seconds—maybe longer—things began to settle.

  Sound returned to normal.

  My vision cleared.

  I inhaled slowly.

  Only then did my body stop shaking.

  “…Did I actually do it?” I asked weakly.

  “Did I really disappear and come back?”

  Grey nodded.

  “You did,” he said. “You didn’t travel far—but the displacement was real. That was a success.”

  I looked down at my hands, still trembling.

  Umbra stepped closer.

  “Next time,” he said evenly, “you will do it using your own mana.”

  My chest tightened again.

  Not fear this time.

  Anticipation.