In the backyard training field of the Silver Dragon Sanctuary, Rossweise stood with her eyes slightly closed, her hands outstretched, palms facing each other.
Before long, a soft, milky-white energy began to gather in her hands, creating visible, shimmering air currents around her fingertips.
The energy continued to condense between Rossweise's palms, forming what was known as the "Primordial Force"—the potent, ancient energy source necessary to cast Primordial Magic.
She focused all her concentration, compressing the swirling Primordial Force into a small, dense ball no larger than a soybean. Only then did she allow herself a brief sigh of relief, a small victory in the arduous process.
In the past, this level of condensation would have marked the end of her training session for the day. Judging by the speed and efficiency with which she had gathered and compressed the energy today, her progress was, by any measure, impressive.
But Rossweise was not one to settle for just "good enough."
Now that Leon had procured an actual tome on Primordial Magic from his master, she was determined to push herself far beyond her previous limits. She couldn't let her husband's efforts and the risks he took go to waste.
Most importantly, her own, deep-seated desire to grow stronger burned within her. It was a quiet, relentless fire.
The Empire, in its secret collusion with renegade dragon clans, had far more sinister ambitions than merely hunting one man. Their conspiracy threatened the very fabric of the world she was sworn to protect.
Whatever dark design they were plotting, as the Queen of the Silver Dragons, Rossweise had a sacred duty to safeguard her people. In this increasingly chaotic and dangerous world, she needed to ensure her clan had an unshakable foothold. She would not, could not, let the coming tides of change sweep them away into oblivion.
Mastering Primordial Magic would be the crucial stepping stone she needed to reach the next level of power.
She had to become stronger—significantly, undeniably stronger than she was now.
After a brief moment to steady her breathing, Rossweise began to channel the gathered Primordial Force, attempting to manipulate it according to the foundational practice outlined in Soul Judgment.
The task, however, proved exponentially more difficult than she had anticipated.
Primordial Force was utterly unlike normal magical energy. It felt wild, ancient, and willful. Whether she was trying to manipulate its elemental aspects or simply adjust its form and flow, it resisted her control with a stubborn intensity.
According to the ancient text, mastering a spell like Soul Judgment required a practitioner to be "over five hundred years of age and possess strength at the Dragon King level."
With greater age came a deeper, more intuitive understanding and mastery of magic's fundamental principles, making the arduous training of Primordial Magic somewhat more accessible. And possessing Dragon King-level power meant having a deep enough well of innate energy and a strong enough spirit to fuel the practice without being consumed by it.
Rossweise comfortably met the requirement of Dragon King-level power. She even possessed the advantage of two Dragon Marks, which allowed her to store and channel far more magic than most of her kin. In terms of raw power, she was overqualified.
But the five-hundred-year mark...
That was a real and frustrating obstacle.
She couldn't just sit idly for another three hundred years, waiting for her age to catch up to the prerequisite. By then, not only would the flowers have long withered, but Leon, as he himself often darkly joked, might have already turned to dust.
So, Rossweise had devised her own, stubborn plan:
If she wasn't old enough, she would make up for it with sheer, relentless effort.
If a five-hundred-year-old dragon needed six hours of practice a day to make progress, she would practice for ten, twelve, or more.
Who said Noah inherited her relentless, overachieving drive solely from her father?
Her mother was just as much of a hidden perfectionist!
Besides, if Rossweise couldn't rapidly master this greater power, the perilous path she and Leon were walking would only become steeper and more treacherous.
There was no choice but to work harder. She had to push herself to the absolute limit!
A sharp, burning sensation in her palms abruptly pulled her back to reality.
She frowned slightly, beads of sweat dripping from her forehead and the tip of her nose onto the grass below.
Despite the effort and pain, the Primordial Force between her hands remained largely unchanged, still a raw, pulsating ball of pure energy, refusing to take the shape she willed it to.
"Damn it... this really is impossibly tough," she muttered through gritted teeth, the frustration evident in her voice.
It wasn't entirely surprising. Primordial Magic had faded from history in part because of its near-impossible difficulty and the immense personal cost of mastering it.
But the Queen of the Silver Dragons was not known for surrendering to difficulty.
She had always loved the feeling of "conquering."
If she could conquer that infuriatingly arrogant man, she could certainly conquer this unruly, ancient force!
The energy around her surged violently in response to her spike of emotion, lifting her silver hair in a shimmering, tempestuous dance. Her dragon pupils narrowed to slits, glinting with fierce, unyielding determination.
Iridescent scales began to appear faintly at the corners of her eyes and along her temples—a sign of a dragon's true nature emerging in moments of intense emotion or exertion.
"Come on, you stubborn thing! Give me some kind of reaction!" she demanded, pouring more of her will into the spell.
As if finally responding to her forceful complaint, the Primordial Force suddenly destabilized and exploded in her hands with a soft whump, the recoil sending her stumbling backward, off-balance.
Just as she was about to fall unceremoniously onto the grass, a familiar, solid presence appeared behind her, strong arms catching her before she could hit the ground.
Rossweise leaned into the support, her head tilting back to see Leon's concerned face looking down at her.
"Tch, it's one thing to call me a dog, but what's the point of insulting Primordial Magic? It's not like it can talk back," he chided lightly, a faint smile on his lips.
Rossweise shot him a half-hearted glare. "I'm angry, so I can curse at whatever I want. Got a problem with that?"
"What are you so angry about, exactly?" he asked, helping her steady herself.
"At myself. For being stupid."
"Well, yeah. You are a bit—"
"You—!"
Her temper, already frayed, flared up instantly.
It was one thing if she called herself stupid in a moment of frustration, but how could he agree with her so readily? Shouldn't he be offering comforting words, like, 'No, dear, you're not stupid at all. Let's just take a break, okay?'
"You forgot to wear the pendant your grandmother gave you this morning, didn't you?" Leon said, his tone shifting to one of practical concern. "Tell me that's not a little careless."
As he spoke, he pulled the delicate, crystal-adorned pendant from his pocket. "I remember you always wear this. Found it on the nightstand."
Rossweise paused, the wind momentarily taken out of her sails. She took the pendant from him, her voice dropping to a mutter. "Oh... that kind of stupid..."
"What did you think I meant?" Leon asked, genuinely curious.
"I thought you were calling me stupid because I couldn't master Soul Judgment," she admitted.
Leon let out a soft snicker and ruffled her hair affectionately. "There's no rush. Learning a completely unfamiliar and advanced form of magic takes time and patience. You're doing fine."
A blush spread across Rossweise's cheeks, and she was momentarily disarmed, almost ready to thank him for his unexpectedly comforting words—until a new thought struck her.
"Wait a second," she said, her eyes narrowing again. "Why does that tone sound exactly like the way you talk to Noah when she's frustrated with her studies?"
Leon shrugged, not denying it. "You're not wrong. I do talk to Noah like this a lot. It usually works."
Rossweise huffed, crossing her arms. "I'm not a child, Leon. You don't need to pacify me."
"But it works, doesn't it?" he countered, a grin tugging at his lips. "Look, your face is all red now instead of pale with frustration."
"I-It's only red because of the magical energy backlash heating up my face!" she insisted, flustered.
"Sure, sure. Whatever you say," he replied, his voice dripping with playful disbelief.
He gently brushed her silver hair aside, revealing the elegant line of her neck. "Here, let me help you put your pendant back on."
"...Fine," she acquiesced, her protest feeble.
A few moments later, the two of them were sitting side-by-side on the soft grass, the tension of the failed practice session slowly ebbing away as they discussed the magic.
"So, what exactly is Soul Judgment?" Leon asked, his curiosity genuine. "From the name, it sounds offensive, but is it? Or is it something else entirely?"
Rossweise thought for a moment, organizing her understanding from the tome. "Traditional elemental magic can be neatly classified as offensive, defensive, supportive, or utilitarian. For example, your Lightning God technique is purely offensive, while your Skeleton Shadow is primarily defensive. But Primordial Magic... it doesn't fit neatly into any of those categories."
Leon raised an intrigued eyebrow. "It doesn't?"
"No." Rossweise elaborated, "The effect—or perhaps I should say the 'power'—of Soul Judgment doesn't depend solely on the caster's intent or strength. It depends profoundly on the opponent."
"The opponent?" Leon echoed, his interest piqued.
"Yes. The spell reacts to and is amplified by the strength of the target's own emotions. The more intense and negative their emotions—rage, hatred, despair—the more potent Soul Judgment becomes. If successfully cast, it doesn't inflict physical harm. Instead, it purges and purifies those dark, negative emotions from the target's soul."
Leon's eyes lit up with understanding and appreciation at this description.
Most modern magic was fundamentally based on manipulating external elements, with battles often devolving into direct, brute-force collisions of elemental power.
But this Soul Judgment... it was an entirely different paradigm. It attacked the spirit, not the body.
Comparing the two, normal magic was like swinging a greatsword—direct and impactful. Primordial Magic, in this form, was like a greatsword subtly coated in a potent, spiritual agent.
One hurt when it hit you physically.
The other hurt and burned your very soul afterward.
"As expected of your ancestors' legendary magic," Leon remarked, a note of respect in his voice. "It's definitely got a unique and profound flair."
But Rossweise could only sigh softly, the weight of her failure returning. "It may be legendary, but what use is legend if I can't even grasp its basics?"
She raised her right hand, examining her palm where faint, livid burn marks marred her pale skin. The backlash from the unstable Primordial Force had taken its toll.
Getting minor burns was a normal, almost expected part of pushing one's limits in magic practice, so Rossweise didn't think much of it. It was a price she was willing to pay.
But just because she was willing to endure it didn't mean Leon would stand by and watch.
Wordlessly, Leon gently took her wrist, placing her injured hand on his knee. He pulled a small jar of soothing, green-hued ointment from his own pocket and began carefully applying it to the burns with a surprising tenderness.
Feeling the immediate, cool relief spread across her stinging palm, Rossweise let out a quiet, slightly embarrassed chuckle. "I've already told you, I'm not a child. This is nothing."
"I'm not doing this because I think you're a child," Leon replied without looking up, his focus on his task.
"Oh? Then what's your reason?" she challenged.
He finished with one hand and finally met her gaze, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand."
"..."
"This one's done. Give me your other hand."
Rossweise shot him a look that was equal parts exasperation and affection but obediently extended her other, similarly burned hand for him to treat.
"If you keep struggling with the solo training," Leon suddenly suggested, his tone turning serious again, "why don't we try a completely different approach?"
"Hmm? What do you have in mind?" Rossweise asked, intrigued.
Leon glanced around the empty training field before replying. "You're practicing in a vacuum, without a living, breathing sparring partner. It's like trying to learn to swim without water. No wonder you're finding it hard to make tangible progress."
Rossweise blinked, processing his words. "A sparring partner... that makes sense. But where am I supposed to find someone radiating such intense, negative emotions on demand for me to practice on?"
A confident grin spread across Leon's face as he turned fully to face her, his expression shifting into one of familiar, determined resolve.
"Leave that to me."