Chapter 6
Olivia still stood there in shock, frozen like a statue of fury and disbelief.
Her eyes widened at first—but then, second by second, her expression began to change.
The surprise melted into something colder… darker.
Her lips curled slightly as her brows furrowed, and the trembling of her shoulders wasn't from fear—it was rage.
Then, finally, she spoke.
"You damn bastard," she hissed, voice trembling with intensity.
"After everything you've done—after destroying my life, controlling every step I took, ripping away even the slightest chance for me and my family to rise to Duke—you come to me and say 'I'm sorry'?"
Her words pierced like daggers, each one sharper than the last.
"You think that fixes everything? You think your apology will patch the ruins you left behind?!" she barked, stepping closer, eyes blazing.
"I wish my sister had finished you off two days ago. I really do. What words could you possibly say that would make up for what you did to me?"
She was shaking now, her hands clenched at her sides. Her voice cracked, but not from weakness—from the sheer weight of the emotion pouring out of her.
"Pathetic.
That's what you are.
I don't care about your 'sorry' or any apology.
You bastard.
You can go and f**k yourself."
Then, without waiting for a response, Olivia spun around.
Her boots echoed sharply against the marble floor as she stormed out of the hall with burning dignity, her long coat flaring behind her like a banner of wrath.
The air she left behind was thick with tension and heartbreak.
I didn't move.
I just stood there, stuck between guilt and dread.
My relationship with her was fractured—no, shattered.
Trying to chase after her now would only make things worse.
She'd attack me out of rage, and I didn't have the strength to stop her.
Not yet.
Her anger would drown us both.
But still… I saw something.
Hidden behind all that rage, there were tears—tears of pain, not just fury.
For a moment, I thought I saw guilt in her eyes too.
Not directed at me, maybe not even at herself—but it was there, faint, buried beneath the storm.
And that's when I remembered the other threat.
Olivia's sister.
The one who loved her obsessively, dangerously.
The one whose hands ran part of the underworld—and who answered directly to the man the previous Lucas had offended.
A man whose strength was spoken of only in hushed tones.
A man who could make eight Tier-4 warriors—mages and knights alike—kneel just by walking into a room.
He was the reason Lucas hadn't returned home these past two days.
If that man truly wanted me dead, he could appear inside the manor, kill me, and vanish before anyone even noticed.
Or worse—send one of his Tier-4 agents to do it in his name.
He was too powerful.
Too quiet.
Too present.
And now, with Olivia's sister mixed into all this… this was more than a ticking time bomb.
This was a sword hanging over my neck, and all it would take was a whisper for it to fall.
Leaving Olivia behind meant leaving a door open to death.
I needed to fix this.
I had to.
Not just for my survival, but for what came next.
I had a plan, one I'd already begun to shape.
This outcome was expected.
I only hoped she hadn't told her sister to kill me before today's encounter… before I said what I said.
If she had, then maybe—just maybe—today's words might sway her to cancel that order.
But I couldn't rely on that.
I had to prepare.
This world didn't care if I rested.
Even for a single day.
Then again, maybe that's what made it all the more thrilling.
Especially if they decided to send a mage.
Going to the party was a risk, yes.
There were places along the route—both on the way and back—that were perfect for an ambush.
Dangerous zones where shadows could move freely.
I didn't know the exact spot, but I could feel the tension in my bones.
My fate lines, from my skill [Fate], and my fortune pool, from [Fortune], pulsed with warning… and promise.
If I survived what was coming, my skills told me great rewards would follow.
My fortune whispered of wealth—riches beyond imagination.
My fate declared that change was coming—monumental, world-bending change—for the better.
And both of them, fate and fortune, were pointing me forward.
Toward one thing.
Survive this challenge.
There were three keys to that survival:
My [Mana Eyes].
Evolving my Mana Core to Tier 3.
And… Olivia—my wife.
That's why I said what I said.
Because I meant it.
And lastly, the party.
I didn't know why both my fate and fortune were pointing so strongly toward the party.
Why that was the path forward for my maximum chance of survival. It didn't make sense—at least, not at first.
But then… something changed.
When I blinked, my reflection in the nearby window showed something breathtaking: my eyes had turned a radiant cyan, like glowing liquid mana was swirling within them.
It shimmered with other colors too—violet, silver, and hints of crimson—but the dominant shade was that ethereal cyan, bright and clear like an enchanted ocean.
I slowly raised my hand and placed it over my eyes.
"[Understanding]," I whispered.
The spell consumed all my mana in a single cast, leaving me breathless and drained. But what I saw… what I understood… it changed everything.
In that moment, everything clicked into place.
The reason fate and fortune had both chosen this path.
The secrets hidden within my Mana Eyes, the dormant techniques buried within them—they weren't just powerful.
They were legendary.
Power beyond comprehension.
The kind of strength that could carve paths through impossible odds.
With these eyes, my path forward became clearer—easier, even.
But there was a problem.
To use these techniques properly, I needed a stronger Mana Core. Much stronger.
I only had five hours before the party… and that wasn't nearly enough time.
But I had no choice.
I sighed, and a shimmering bottle appeared in my hand—a mana recovery potion. I downed it in one gulp.
Even without the potion, my mana regeneration was already abnormal.
I could fully recover in ten minutes on my own.
With the potion, that recovery time dropped significantly.
The air around me began to shift.
Thicken.
Mana in the atmosphere gathered toward me like a storm pulled toward its eye.
I sat down cross-legged, focusing entirely on my cultivation.
I activated the 500% cultivation boost—pushing my limits to the maximum—and entered a deep trance.
The higher a mage's Tier, the stronger their spells.
But it wasn't just about the size of the mana pool—it was about quality.
The density of mana in the core. To reach higher Tiers, both must improve.
The previous Lucas, His talent was monstrous.
If he had chosen to focus on cultivation, he would've reached the peak of Tier 3 in just a month.
But he didn't.
He didn't have to.
For him, what took others years could be achieved in moments.
That was his reality.
But my reality was different.
What would've taken the old Lucas a month…
What would've taken me a week or two…
Now, after using [Understanding] on my Mana Eyes, I saw a shortcut.
A way to compress mana and cultivate into a few brutal hours.
A method so intense it would put tremendous stress on my eyes—but it would work.
The pain was unbearable—sharp, searing, constant—but manageable.
I welcomed it.
Because if I didn't feel this pain now, death would find me fast and without warning.
The mana density in the manor began to shift unnaturally.
Even the mages across the estate stirred, sensing the rapid concentration of power in my chamber.
Knights couldn't sense mana directly—but they felt something else.
The rise of ki.
The two forces—mana and ki—were converging around me, responding to my presence.
And time was running out.
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Author note
Hey there!
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