EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC34: Calia's Spirit
Chapter 34: Calia's Spirit
The energy in the room felt thick and unstable. Dangerous.
'Darkness and poison,' Fenric thought. 'If she forms a bond with this one, she'll follow a dual-element path. That's a good fit for someone with an assassin-type class.'
He turned toward Calia and motioned at the pedestal where the core floated above a glowing circle of runes.
"Step forward," he told her. "Hold your hand above the core—but don't touch it."
He handed her a scroll.
"Read this aloud. It will guide the Spirit's summoning."
Calia looked over the scroll, reading it quickly and memorizing the chant.
Then, without hesitation, she walked calmly into the summoning circle.
The closer she got to the core, the colder the room became. The temperature noticeably dropped.
She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
Then, she spoke clearly and confidently:
"I, Calia,
call forth a Spirit—
any soul tied to shadow, poison, or darkness.
If you hear me...
form a pact with me."
The runes flashed suddenly.
The sphere cracked.
And the summoning began.
The chamber shook as the ritual reached its climax.
A loud crack tore through the air—and from within the broken core, a sound echoed out. It was no cry of beast or man. It shook the circle like a storm, carrying a freezing wind and a poisonous mist.
From the shattered remains of the orb, something emerged.
It was massive.
A Wyvern—but not one anyone had ever seen before.
Its scales were black like obsidian, with glowing green veins running through them. Huge wings stretched wide, trailing shadows like torn cloaks. Its glowing green eyes stared directly at Calia with an intelligence far beyond a normal creature.
Every breath it took sent out a toxic mist.
Calia fell backward in fear, landing hard and staring at the beast with wide eyes.
Fenric's voice came steady and firm.
"Don't be afraid. Spirits won't attack unless you provoke them."
"He came because you called. Stand up—and accept him."
Calia looked at Fenric. She took another breath, forced herself to her feet, though her legs were shaking badly.
The Wyvern hovered above her, then dove down like a living storm.
She didn't flinch.
Just as it reached her, it stopped.
The runes burst into one final flare of light.
Without warning, the Wyvern shattered into streaks of darkness and light. They spiraled down into a single stream—and shot straight into Calia's chest.
She cried out. Her body arched backward. The ground cracked under her.
A long silence followed.
Then... she breathed.
Dark mist curled around her feet. A spirit sigil appeared over her heart—twin wings wrapped around a fanged serpent's skull.
Slowly, Calia raised her arms—and weapons appeared in her hands.
Twin daggers.
They hadn't been forged—they had been born from the pact.
The hilts were wrapped in black leather, and the curved blades glowed with an eerie emerald light. Shadows spilled from the metal like smoke, and glowing runes ran along the edges.
Each blade gave off a deadly mix of poison and darkness.
Fenric's eyes narrowed slightly, impressed.
"Dual Spirit Weapons," he murmured. "Spirits give two kinds of gifts—Spirit Magic or Spirit Armament. Yours gave you weapons."
He stepped closer, examining the daggers in her hands.
"That means your talent is focused on direct combat. These blades aren't just tools—they're a part of you now."
Then his tone shifted, curious.
"What are their names?"
Calia looked down at the weapons in her hands. Her grip was natural, and her face calm—like she had already accepted them completely.
"This one in my left hand," she said, lifting it slightly. "Is called Soul Piercer."
Then she raised the other, which glowed more intensely. "And this one... Blood Piercer."
Fenric raised one brow.
Calia's voice remained steady as she explained:
"Soul Piercer only harms the soul—it ignores the body completely. Blood Piercer does the opposite—it only hurts the physical body and does nothing to souls."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Fenric exhaled softly, the corners of his lips lifting just a bit.
"A perfect split between soul and body... That's sharp. Lethal."
He nodded with quiet approval.
"They're both rare—especially Soul Piercer. Very few things in this world can harm someone's soul directly. You've received something truly powerful."
Calia didn't smile, but her voice held quiet pride.
"My class evolved during the pact. It's no longer just Shadow Queen."
She glanced down at the daggers again.
"It's now Shadow Poison Queen. It's an Epic-tier class."
Fenric's eyes gleamed for a moment—clearly pleased.
"Good. That means the Spirit you summoned was a perfect match. That kind of change doesn't happen naturally—it was meant to be. You were chosen."
Then he added with a bit of humor:
"With a title like that, smart enemies won't even try to fight you. Only the stupid ones will."
At that moment, one of the others—Eiden—stepped forward.
"Your Highness," he asked nervously, "is it possible for us to form a contract with a Spirit too?"
He glanced at the others. Clearly, they were wondering the same thing.
Fenric looked at him for a moment, then leaned back into his seat, thinking.
"It's not that I don't want you to," he said, "but you need to understand something—Spirit Mages are very rare."
He waved a hand loosely.
"You are all my knights now, and I see greatness in each of you. But Spirits don't just come to anyone. Even among those who can use Aura, maybe only one out of a hundred can connect with a Spirit."
He let that fact settle over them.
"And across the entire Empire?" he continued. "There are only a few hundred Spirit Mages. Total. That's how rare this ability is."
He let his eyes sweep across the group.
"Calia was lucky... or maybe meant to receive her Spirit. Her class almost required it, and she had the right affinity. The rest of you..."
His gaze lingered on them.
"You might become warriors that shake the world. But if your soul doesn't resonate with the spirit realm, then no contract will ever form."
Despite his warning, he saw it—the fire in their eyes.
They weren't discouraged. They were motivated.
Fenric noticed.
He didn't say anything more, but the small nod he gave was enough to show he respected it.
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC35: Realms of Power
Chapter 35: Realms of Power
Fenric led the group through a long, echoing hallway until they reached a training chamber carved directly into the mountainside. The walls were covered in glowing magical runes, and the air was charged with all kinds of energy found throughout the world of Eldoria—mana, aura, spirit force—everything was present here.
He moved with a calm, confident air, and the others followed close behind. When they arrived, he gestured for everyone to sit.
Roman and Myria settled on either side of him, while the rest arranged themselves in a half-circle before him. Once everyone was in place, Fenric stood and faced them, arms crossed over his chest.
"Now," he began, his voice steady and commanding, "it's time for you to understand the true structure of power in our world."
Roman gave a small nod, as if this wasn't his first time hearing it. Myria, meanwhile, remained silent—her sharp gaze fixed entirely on Fenric.
Fenric continued.
"In our world, being granted a blessing and awakening a class is only the starting point. Just the first step."
"After that, you get something deeper—something that lies near your soul. It becomes your personal source of power. For me, it's a Mana Sea. For others, it can be an Aura Sea, or even a Spirit Sea. What you awaken is tied to your class. It develops in sync with your path."
He swept his eyes across the room, seeing the others nod in understanding.
"Now, some people will say one type of energy is stronger than another. That mana is superior, or aura is deadlier, or that spirit force is rarer. But that's just noise."
"It all depends on the user."
"If your mastery over your class and core ability is refined—if you truly control your own path—you can defeat someone even a full tier above you."
"But if you lack mastery, you could lose to someone ranked below you."
He took a breath and said, voice steady:
"So don't waste time thinking, 'I wish I had mana instead of aura,' or 'I wish I was a Spirit user instead of a warrior.' All three forms of power are equal. In the end, what matters is the one who wields it."
They all nodded silently, absorbing every word.
He gave a faint nod of approval, then turned back toward the center of the room.
"Now, back to the main topic."
"When you awaken your class, receive your blessing, and form a bond with your Spirit—or whatever gift fate grants you—that's only the beginning. You've merely stepped through the first door."
He pointed toward the staircase carved into the far wall of the room.
"To truly rise... to truly ascend... you must understand what lies ahead."
He gestured again, this time at the very base of the staircase.
"Everything starts with Mastery of Class. Your class is your foundation. But a class without mastery is like a sword without an edge—beautiful, but useless."
"You have to train, fight, and push yourself to unlock its potential. You will be tested. You will be challenged. You will be broken and reforged."
With a sharp snap of his fingers, glowing symbols began to appear above the stairs, pulsing with light.
"When you reach a point where your current tier no longer holds you—when you've mastered your class completely—you'll feel the pull to ascend."
"And by 'ascend,' I mean progressing through the Ten Stages of Power that form the core of Eldoris's strength system."
He turned back to them, voice steady and full of weight.
"These are the stages that define every warrior, mage, and spirit wielder in the world—regardless of their path."
Then, one by one, he began to list them aloud, each name echoing as a glowing rune etched itself into the chamber wall behind him:
1. Soldier
The starting point. You've awakened, and just begun walking the path of power. This is the beginning of your journey.
2. Knight
Discipline enters. Your energy stabilizes. Techniques become consistent. At this stage, you are considered truly awakened.
3. Low-Level Master
This is the turning point where a fighter becomes a force of nature. A warrior at this level can easily face a thousand Knights and still emerge victorious.
4. Intermediate Master
Your energy becomes a true extension of your body. This is also the stage where weapon-based aura users begin to master Aura Projection—the ability to do more than just coat weapons, bodies, or attacks in raw power, now you can release it. Even your swings become ranged techniques.
5. High Master
You can now freely manipulate your inner energy and project it outward. This level marks complete synchronization between body and energy.
6. Master
This is the realm of those remembered in stories. The title 'Master' isn't given—it's earned. At this stage, you've crossed the boundary of what's considered human.
7. Grandmaster
Few reach this level. You begin to distort space just by existing. Your presence alone changes the battlefield unless you suppress it intentionally. Your aura has gravity.
Fenric let the silence hang for a moment, letting the weight of the hierarchy settle into the minds of his students.
"There are stages beyond Grandmaster," he said finally. "But for now, you only need to concern yourselves with these first seven."
He looked each of them in the eye, his expression unreadable—but heavy with expectation.
"Also," he continued, "each of these stages is divided further into ten sub-levels. Right now, all of us here are just 1st-level Soldiers—the very beginning."
"To ascend, you must reach the peak—10th-level Soldier. Only then will you qualify for a Class Trial, a rite overseen not by men, but by the world itself. Pass that, and only then will you advance to the next stage."
He let that truth settle like iron on the floor between them.
"Memorize these stages. Understand them. This is the path you now walk."
"We understand, Your Highness," they all said in unison.
Fenric gave a small nod of approval, his eyes steady. "Roman, Myria—I'll leave them in your care for now. You can also call Elaine to assist you if needed."
Both knights nodded without hesitation, immediately stepping into their roles.
Fenric, meanwhile, moved to the side of the chamber and sat down cross-legged, slipping into a meditative posture. His breathing slowed, his presence grew still.
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC36: New Problem
Chapter 36: New Problem
Fenric, meanwhile, moved to the side of the chamber and sat down cross-legged, slipping into a meditative posture. His breathing slowed, his presence grew still.
And then—he closed his eyes.
The world around him faded.
When he opened them again, he was no longer in the training chamber—but standing at the edge of a vast, tranquil expanse.
The Cerulean Sea.
His Mana Sea.
Within the Cerulean Sea, the calm waves glimmered with quiet, radiant energy... but Fenric's eyes narrowed.
A ripple passed through the sea—followed by a massive shadow.
Then—
BOOM.
A gargantuan figure slowly emerged from the deeper part of the sea, so enormous it felt like the entire Mana Sea had shifted to make room for him.
Lying there casually, half-submerged in shimmering azure, was a dragon—but not just any dragon. His sheer size was ridiculous. His upper body was bare, carved from divine muscle, scaled arms folded behind his head as if he were lounging on a beach instead of floating in magical essence. Horns like obsidian thrones crowned his head, and his deep voice rumbled like thunder from beneath the ocean.
"You finally showed up," the dragon said lazily, his voice like a rumble of distant thunder—eyes still closed, head reclined as though he were resting on clouds instead of mana.
Fenric blinked, utterly unimpressed.
"...At least try to act like a majestic Ancient Supreme," he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Before him lounged none other than Duserdis, the Dragon King of Sloth—the strongest of his kind, whispered about in dusty tomes and forbidden chants.
"What in the hells are you doing here?" Fenric asked, stepping forward with curious eyes. "And why did you drag me into my own Mana Sea?"
Duserdis finally cracked a grin, his long tail lazily swirling arcs through the radiant ocean.
"I'm here because it's urgent, princeling. Though I'm also not here to teach you. It's a warning." He finally opened his glowing emerald eyes, and the air seemed to still.
"...You've got a big damn problem brewing."
Fenric's face darkened. "What kind of problem?"
Damn it, what now? Fenric cursed inwardly. Just when he thought he could finally do all kinds of magic without his life on the line, Duserdis came out with another big piece of news.
Just gimme a break, please,
he sighed.
Duserdis rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow. "The poison you've been receiving... the one that was slowly eating at your life?"
Fenric's eyes narrowed. "Is there still some of it left?"
Duserdis shook his massive head as he spoke.
"It has a hidden effect—subtle, but very beneficial. It doesn't just weaken you to the point of death. It forces your Mana Sea to expand and contract repeatedly. That unnatural cycling creates concentrated and Pure Mana... and over time, it stretches your Mana Sea far beyond what your current realm should have."
He paused, then shrugged. "Of course, most people die before they ever notice."
Fenric's gaze turned cold. "But I didn't die."
"No," Duserdis said with a faint smirk. "You got the Moon Cleansing Flames that purged the poison out of you, while my blessing fixed your body to peak condition."
He lifted a clawed hand and pointed at Fenric's chest.
"The result? You now possess a Mana Sea at the scale of a Super Human—yet your body is still only at the 1st Level of Soldier."
Fenric's brows furrowed. "...Isn't that a good thing? Bigger Mana Sea means more power, more fuel in the tank. I should be stronger, right?"
Duserdis nodded slowly. "In theory, yes. A larger Mana Sea means more potential, more spells, more brute endurance."
"But only if you can properly use it."
He narrowed his eyes.
"You've got the sea. You've got the storage. But tell me, princeling—do you know how to channel it? To shape it? To compress it into actual force without wasting 99% of it in every cast?"
He scoffed.
"You might look like someone with immense power, but until you master control, all you've got is a sword so big you can't even wield it properly."
Fenric's expression fell. He looked down at his hands. "So... doesn't it also mean I'll remain a Soldier until I learn to control this massive Mana? I mean, after all, to go to the next rank one needs to have control over their Energy Sea."
Duserdis nodded solemnly.
"Exactly. You've been gifted a divine wellspring... but until you learn to use it, it's a curse in disguise. One day, you'll face someone not half as gifted—but because they've mastered every drop, they'll bleed you dry."
He looked into his eyes, glowing with intensity.
"You can't afford that. Not anymore."
"...So what do I do?"
Duserdis leaned back with a knowing smile. "Step one? Purge the poison—and you've already done that. Now, step two: learn to control the mana, starting from one drop... until you can command the entire sea."
"Only when you can fully control and freely use every drop of your Mana Sea can you call yourself truly healed."
He folded his arms, scales catching the glint of magical light.
"And of course, as I said—I'm not here to train you. You have to figure out how to do it on your own. Until then... see you."
He began to fade, but moments later, his voice rang out once more.
"Oh, by the way—if you can complete it in just a year, I'll give you a reward. The faster you do it, the better the reward. But after a year... no prize."
Then silence.
Fenric looked into his Mana Sea and sighed. "No wonder my Mana Sea was so much bigger..." he muttered, sitting cross-legged at the center of the cerulean ocean, not sinking, just gently floating.
"I wonder how long this will take," he mumbled as he closed his eyes and began to meditate, while his book floated nearby.
He wondered if there was anything that could help him train with his enormous Mana Sea and help him control it faster. "I can always contract the spirit, but she needs a unique kind of Knowledge... I guess I need to go 'There', sooner rather than later," he muttered.
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC37: Solution
Chapter 37: Solution
"One of the easiest ways is to use a special summoning stone that connects directly to a beast realm," Fenric explained. "When the beast is summoned, it consumes a huge amount of mana right away, which might actually help me control my Mana Sea faster."
He continued, "Another option is the Beast Master path. Those that don't have a natural class use up way more mana to maintain a Beast. That would help me manage the mana overflow too."
He gave a slight shrug. "I could also use high-level class abilities—like those of a Lich Mage or a Sword King. They naturally burn through mana faster than usual. Most people avoid doing that unless they have a huge Mana Sea... like me."
"And finally," he added, "I could just study summoning the traditional way. I'd call a powerful creature that can bond directly with my Mana Sea."
Fenric fell quiet for a moment, thinking.
"The path of Summoning isn't the same as the usual summoner classes," he reminded himself. "Normal summoners are tied to one specific beast realm. But this path lets me summon from different ones—like aura beasts, spirit beasts, or mana beasts—depending on my affinity."
He gave a soft nod. "So... which one should I choose for now?" he murmured, before finally making his choice.
"I'll go with the Beast Master path."
A grin crossed his face. "With the amount of mana I have, I can get a strong beast easily. And since my main class is Sloth-based, I can sit back and relax while my beast does the fighting."
"Beast Master it is... for now," he whispered, closing his eyes and pulling his awareness back from his Mana Sea.
As his senses returned to his physical body, Fenric opened his eyes and looked around.
Roman was training the Aura users, demonstrating each movement with precision and strength—each swing clear and textbook-perfect.
Myria, graceful yet firm, was leading the mana users. Her voice rang out with clarity as bursts of elemental energy flared in carefully measured waves.
Nearby, Elaine stood quietly with Calia—the only one among them born with Spirit Magic. Calia was still struggling to hold a stable connection while a few playful spirit wisps floated around her, teasing her efforts.
Fenric stood and closed his eyes once more.
He saw them differently now. His vision shimmered faintly with golden light—he was trying something new.
He was attempting Soul Projection into Talent Appraisal. It was a technique he once practiced under Duserdis's guidance, but now he was trying it alone—without any help.
No guidance. No ancient dragon whispering tips. Just him.
Exhaling slowly, Fenric stayed still and focused his mind. Carefully, he extended a part of his soul—not the whole thing, just a projection. Like an echo.
The wave from his soul rippled gently outward. It was invisible to the eye, but it resonated with the life around him.
Come on... he urged silently. I'm not choosing the Beast Master path just because it's convenient. If I'm going to link my Mana Sea to a creature, I want the bond to be perfect. I need to sense and understand the others properly.
The wave brushed against the auras of Roman, Myria, Elaine, and even Calia. Their souls gave off subtle responses—tiny impressions of strength, nature, and attitude. It was rough and unrefined... but it was working.
And for now, that was enough.
Fenric stood still, letting the soul pulse continue, adjusting the frequency each time to better understand what he sensed in return.
Doing it without Duserdis made things much harder. But there was something satisfying about doing it all on his own—like hearing your voice echo in a quiet chamber for the first time.
Days passed. Then weeks. And eventually, months.
Three months of relentless practice.
And finally—Fenric succeeded.
He mastered Soul Projection combined with Talent Appraisal, just like Duserdis once had.
The very first time he pulled it off perfectly, Duserdis appeared again within his Mana Sea. The ancient dragon gave him a rare, approving nod.
"Well done. Just as I expected—you mastered it in time," Duserdis said, his emerald eyes glinting with pride.
Fenric gave a wry smile and rubbed his neck. "Three months of frying my soul every night. I think I've earned the right to brag."
Duserdis chuckled. "You should. Most wouldn't dare attempt this technique, let alone succeed. As promised, I'll personally help you pick the right beast."
When they first started training, Duserdis had laughed at him, saying it would take a year or two at least. But Fenric smirked and said he'd do it in half the time.
Duserdis made a bet: "If you can learn it in less than a year, I'll use my max-level Talent Appraisal to help you find the perfect beast myself."
Fenric agreed.
There was also a punishment waiting if he failed to meet the deadline... but since he succeeded, there was no need to talk about that.
After giving his promise, Duserdis faded back into the Mana Sea.
Soon after, Fenric took Roman and left Myria behind to continue teaching the others. Roman focused purely on Aura cultivation, while Myria was skilled in both Aura and Magic. That made her the perfect leader to guide both groups at once.
Myria gave him a calm nod. "Don't worry, Your Highness. I'll train them with everything I have."
Elaine also stepped in to help. With her rare gift in both Mana and Spirit Magic, she was ideal for helping the Spirit users—especially Calia.
And so began the next Chapter in Fenric's journey: finding and bonding with a beast powerful enough to match the vastness of his Mana Sea.
With Roman walking quietly behind him, Fenric passed beyond the tall walls of the Imperial Castle—the first time he'd stepped outside in weeks. The air felt different out here. Lighter. Unburdened by court politics or royal responsibilities. Sunlight spilled across the cobbled streets, where the city's heartbeat could be felt in every corner.
This was Drakensholm—the capital of the Vareldis Empire.
Wearing a deep navy cloak with the royal crest barely visible, Fenric moved calmly through the lively streets. Roman walked beside him, arms folded, scanning the crowd in silence. He rarely spoke, but his presence alone kept any thief or spy far away.
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC38: Choosing a Beast
Chapter 38: Choosing a Beast
Their destination? The most famous beast trader in the entire capital—Eldrun Beastmark. Though few had seen him in person, his name was well-known among nobles. It was said he had contracts with everything from elemental wyverns to shadow hounds. His shop was not for commoners, and only those with high status or rare qualifications could even enter.
Unlike the usual merchant areas, the shop was hidden between two noble districts, protected by a large, warded gate. Strange runes carved into the iron shimmered faintly with mana.
As they approached, Roman glanced sideways at Fenric. "Your Highness... what are we doing here?"
Fenric gave a small smile. "Getting a beast."
Roman paused, then asked, "...When did you receive a blessing?"
It was widely known in the palace that Fenric, due to his weak body, had never been granted a proper blessing. The idea that he could now tame a beast strong enough to match royal standards genuinely surprised Roman.
Fenric didn't answer the question. He simply kept walking, calm and steady—his steps carrying the quiet confidence of someone wearing half a mystical armor set gifted by the Emperor himself.
When they reached the gate, the ancient runes pulsed as if recognizing him. With a low creak, the gate opened.
Roman looked impressed, but Fenric walked through the gate without saying a word.
"I haven't received any blessing," Fenric said casually.
It was a lie—but a necessary one. Thanks to Duserdis's unique blessing, granted by a living Supreme, no one could sense whether Fenric was truly blessed or not. It cloaked his presence perfectly, allowing him to move unseen by the usual divine senses. So he hid the truth, choosing silence over revelation.
"...It's just a beast," he added with a shrug. "Nothing more than a pet."
Roman nodded, accepting the explanation. He quietly probed Fenric's aura, and as expected, found no sign of divine blessing. That seemed to settle the matter for him.
Perhaps, he thought, the prince really was just here to get a pet. Nothing more.
But deep within Fenric's Mana Sea, where legends stirred and ancient power pulsed, another truth quietly burned.
The moment they passed through the warded gate, the air changed.
It was thicker—charged with wild mana and the scent of fur, feathers, smoke, and something more primal. Magical lanterns floated above the path, casting soft light across a courtyard filled with reinforced pens, shifting cages, and habitats far more elaborate than anything in a noble's zoo.
Creatures both familiar and arcane stirred behind magically bound walls—scaled lizards with ember tongues, translucent wolf-like beasts with flickering eyes, even a silver-plated hawk that shimmered in and out of reality.
Roman whistled low under his breath. "This place is... serious."
Fenric didn't reply. His focus was forward, toward the central pavilion where a wide platform rested beneath a canopy of glowing beastwood. At its center stood a man with silver hair, draped in long robes made from stitched wyvern-hide and star moth silk. His right eye glowed with an artificial lens, and his left arm was clearly a grafted limb—sinewed with dragonbone and spiritwood.
He looked up as they approached.
"You must be Fenric," the man said, voice low but resonant. "I felt your mana the moment you passed the threshold."
Fenric stopped a few paces away. "And you must be Eldrun Beastmark."
The man smiled faintly. "That's what they call me. So, Prince... what are you here for?"
Roman subtly stepped behind Fenric, eyes sharp and scanning every movement.
Fenric replied calmly, "I'm here for a beast. Nothing more."
Eldrun chuckled and stepped down from the platform, his footsteps echoing like slow drumbeats on the warded stone floor. "Then let's not waste time."
With a snap of his fingers, the courtyard transformed. Runes embedded in the floor glowed to life. Cages shifted and realigned. Illusions peeled away like layers of smoke, revealing dozens of majestic and powerful creatures—each one exuding a unique aura: fire, lightning, silence, shadow, radiant light, and even raw void essence.
"These," Eldrun said with the pride of a master showman, "are not tamed. They're bound only by temporary contracts—just enough to keep them civil. If you want one... you'll have to earn it."
Fenric's gaze swept across the array, his eyes narrowing with focus.
"I'm not looking for something ordinary."
Eldrun smirked. "Good. Because nothing in this yard is."
Roman leaned slightly toward him. "Do you even know what kind of beast you want?"
Fenric didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, mana pulsing softly from his body like a rhythmic tide. The reaction was immediate—some beasts flinched, others bowed their heads instinctively, and a few lifted theirs, drawn by his presence.
"I'll know it... when I see it," he said quietly.
Eldrun raised a brow at that. "Very well. You're free to examine my entire collection. Just call if something catches your eye."
Fenric nodded in acknowledgment.
He exhaled once, then slowly closed his eyes. A thin golden ring formed around his pupils as shimmering lines of Soul mana etched across his irises. Soul Projection—his own version—began to manifest.
From deep within his consciousness, Duserdis stirred.
{Hmm? You're already here? Good timing. Very well—since you're serious, I'll lend you my full Talent Appraisal version of Soul Projection. Max-level clarity. You've got 24 hours. Use it well.}
The voice echoed in his mind like an ancient gong ringing across mountains.
Fenric's breath deepened as his Soul Projection activated at full strength—his spiritual presence shimmering into the air like a golden veil. A platinum hue briefly crossed over his eyes, tinged with streaks of divine fire as Duserdis' power synchronized with his.
One by one, he turned toward the beasts—not with his eyes, but with his soul.
He wasn't just looking anymore.
He was seeing.
Not with the eyes of a prince, but through the lens of divine perception—through Soul Projection empowered by a Supreme. He was peering into the core of each beast. Their temperament. Their spirit resonance. Their potential—the dormant greatness they didn't even realize they possessed.
'Let's see if I can find a hidden gem... or else I'll just go with the strongest one available.'
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC39: Choosing a Beast II
Chapter 39: Choosing a Beast II
Beasts have different rankings of power from rank 1 weakest to Rank 10 Strongest.
***
The beasts stirred as his projection swept over them like a silent tide, instinctively reacting to the presence pressing into their essence.
Lines of light shimmered before his vision, forming spiritual sigils above each creature. Data flowed. Appraisal readouts manifested as if the very world was responding to his soul's gaze.
[Glazed Crystal Wyvern]
Potential Rank: 7
A majestic, sapphire-scaled wyvern lounged behind an enchanted warding stone, crystalline patterns glittering across its wings. Its current aura was imposing—but not fully awakened. Beneath its sleek form, Fenric could feel the limitations. It had talent, but the ceiling wasn't infinite.
"Not bad... but it's already plateauing. A safe pick. Not a great one."
He moved on.
More names, more readouts:
[Duskhowl Fenrir Cub]
Potential Rank: 6
[Ashen Skydrake]
Potential Rank: 8 (Fire Affinity)
[Stormjaw Basilisk]
Potential Rank: 7.5 (Electric Variant)
Each one powerful in its own right. Each one filled with promise.
But promise wasn't enough.
Fenric wanted depth.
He wanted something that could evolve with him—like his mana sea: vast, relentless, and terrifying in its boundless potential.
An hour passed.
His gaze drifted across beast after beast, until he found himself drawn to a different part of the courtyard. It was quieter here, dimly lit, shielded by several layered wards.
A pen filled with... eggs.
Smooth, scaled, furred, cracked, glowing—dozens of them. Each was different, some pulsing faintly with latent mana, others as still as stone.
Eldrun stepped up beside him, his voice low and measured. "Ah, the prince's curiosity leads him to the Nursery... These are all unhatched. Collected from wild nests, some salvaged during border hunts. Untouched by appraisal."
Fenric tilted his head. "No way to identify what's inside?"
"Not without binding them," Eldrun replied. "There's always risk. You could get a mythic creature—or a glorified lizard. Unhatched eggs are mystery incarnate. Most nobles don't dare."
"I'll still examine them," Fenric said without hesitation.
Eldrun studied him for a moment, then simply nodded. "Very well. This way."
He led Fenric into a reinforced structure hidden beneath an arched gate—a low, domed chamber lined with glowing moss and enchanted runes. The temperature was warm, humid. Dozens of caretakers worked quietly, tending to the eggs with surgical precision. Rotating them gently. Monitoring cracks. Infusing mana.
"The Nursery," Eldrun said softly. "Every egg here is turned thrice a day. Tended with spirit-thread cloth. Bathed in harmonized mana. All to ensure the hatchlings come out without deformities... or worse, fatal flaws."
Fenric stepped forward, letting his soul projection drift gently into the room—his golden appraisal threads barely visible, weaving through the space like divine silk.
Fenric moved slowly through the Nursery, his soul projection gliding across each egg like golden silk threads tracing unseen paths. The golden pulse of Appraisal gleamed in his irises as he began inspecting them one by one.
Dozens of eggs.
Each time he focused, a translucent window shimmered in his sight:
[ Azure Feather Serpent Egg ]
Potential Rank: 4 – Agile flier, weak elemental base.
✦ Incompatible – Light affinity too weak.
Next.
[ Obsidian Molehound Egg ]
Potential Rank: 3 – Excellent burrower. Mundane class.
✦ Rejected – No synergy.
And again.
[ Cloudscale Phoenixlet Egg ]
Potential Rank: 5 – Strong healing potential.
✦ Possible – Spirit affinity, low growth ceiling.
Hour after hour passed.
Roman leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching as the prince tirelessly analyzed each one, sweat on his brow but his eyes sharp and resolute. Even Eldrun, initially skeptical, now watched with a measure of respect.
Then—
A pulse.
Golden light surged from Fenric's projection. His breath caught as a resonance—deeper, older, stronger—hit back like a pressure wave in his soul.
[ Volcanic Wyvern Egg ]
Potential Rank: 8— Fire-Earth Dual Affinity—
Mutated Core: Draconic Heart-Scale Variant—
Class: Pseudo-Dragonkin—
Status: Dormant... but Awakening
Fenric blinked.
A heartbeat echoed faintly from the egg's shell.
Ba-dum.
The runes around the obsidian-red shell pulsed hot—almost like lava veins—before dimming into a dull glow.
Eldrun, noticing the flicker, stepped closer. "Does Your Highness favor this one? It's a Volcanic Wyvern—our best of its kind capped at peak Rank 6. A fine pet for someone of your... station."
Fenric nodded, lips tight to mask what he truly knew.
"Mutated core, draconic bloodline... It just needs a few drops of the right catalyst, and it will evolve—no, ascend—into something far beyond a simple wyvern," he thought, eyes locked on the egg.
"Yes," he said aloud, calm and resolved. "I'll be taking it."
Eldrun gave a satisfied smile and gestured with one hand. "Then follow me, young prince. We'll begin the binding ceremony. But you'll need to choose the nature of your contract."
As they walked through a rune-etched corridor into a low-lit chamber lined with elemental crystals, Eldrun explained further.
"There are two standard types of pacts—Master and Equal. If you choose a Master bond, the beast will obey every command without resistance. But if your will falters, or if the beast is mistreated, the pain can rebound onto you. Equal bonds, on the other hand, offer no command authority—you must earn respect. But it offers greater long-term growth."
Fenric paused. "What about an Equal Bond?"
Eldrun raised an eyebrow, then gave a slow nod. "A solid choice. In an Equal Bond, the beast isn't forced to obey—it acts alongside you, not beneath you. It can grow stronger that way... but only if you earn its respect."
Fenric nodded. "That's the one I want."
Eldrun smiled faintly. "A perfect choice, Prince Fenric."
He raised his hand, and the crystal-lit chamber shimmered. A binding circle appeared beneath the volcanic wyvern egg, glowing with golden runes that spun slowly like a sunwheel of fate.
"Place your hand on the shell," Eldrun instructed. "Offer your mana and speak your intent."
Fenric stepped forward, knelt, and pressed his palm gently to the warm, pulsing surface of the egg.
"I am Fenric Vaelthorn Vareldis," he said softly. "I'm not here to command... only to walk forward with you. As partners."
The runes flared in response. The egg gave a slow, heavy pulse—almost like a heartbeat.
And in that moment, the bond was formed.
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC40: Ragna
Chapter 40: Ragna
Eldrun folded his arms, the glow from the binding circle slowly dimming. "That beast will hatch within the next twenty-four hours," he said. "Until then, keep it near. Let your mana settle around it."
Fenric nodded, scooping the egg into the special velvet-lined container provided. Its surface still shimmered faintly—warm to the touch, alive with anticipation.
Roman silently stepped beside him. The two left the chamber, and Eldrun gave them a parting nod of respect. "Good luck, Prince. You'll need it."
Later that day...
Fenric, rather than returning straight to the palace, decided to detour. He hadn't eaten since morning, and the soft hum of mana usage left his body aching for something real. Something warm.
He stopped at The Sun King's Rest, a renowned high-tier restaurant nestled between noble plazas. Built with radiant goldwood beams and sun-crystal windows, it was famous not only for its cuisine, but for its private upper floors, which catered to the elite.
He entered, cloak drawn low, and spoke to the maître d'.
"I'll dine alone. A private room, second floor."
"Yes, Your Highness," the host bowed deeply. "We have a corner balcony open."
Within minutes, Fenric was seated atop the second floor, shaded from the bustling midday crowd, sipping a warm citrus elixir while waiting for his order. The palace could wait. For once—he wanted quiet.
But the gods were not kind today.
The door to the private floor suddenly slammed open. Loud footsteps echoed as a group of laughing nobles barged in without grace or invitation. At the center of the group was Lex Granda, second son of the Grand Duke from the Fourth Seasonal House—House Siehus, famed for their winter-dominant Aura and sharp politics.
Lex froze the moment he saw Fenric.
Then he grinned, the kind of grin only a man born into security and arrogance could muster.
"Well, well," he said loudly, just so the entire floor could hear. "If it isn't His Invisible Highness. The third prince... or was it third wheel?"
A few of his cronies chuckled, although Roman—who had silently taken a seat two tables away—did not.
Lex strolled closer, arms spread like he owned the sky.
"Dining alone, Fenric? No guards, no knights, no royal decorum? You must be celebrating something. Or hiding something."
Fenric calmly sipped his drink, not even raising his eyes. "Some of us enjoy peace and quiet, Lex. You should try it sometime."
Lex snorted. "Peace and quiet? Is that what the unblessed call it now? I heard you finally left the castle. We thought you'd grown roots in the royal garden."
A low snicker followed from his entourage.
Fenric finally raised his eyes. They gleamed with calm disinterest—but there was something sharp beneath the surface. Something dangerous.
"I see your tongue still outruns your mind," he said coolly. "Must be exhausting."
Lex's smile twitched—just slightly.
He wasn't used to getting pushed back. Especially not from Fenric, who was once nothing more than a sickly royal footnote.
But this Fenric... seemed different.
Lex's smirk twitched again, faltering for the briefest moment. But arrogance, like old wine, was hard to let go of. He leaned on the edge of Fenric's table, uninvited, eyes scanning the velvet container resting near the prince's hand.
"What's this?" he asked, tapping the box lightly. "Don't tell me you bought yourself a plaything. How adorable. Does the palace not offer you enough company?"
Fenric didn't flinch. He merely placed his hand atop the box, fingers resting lightly on its edge. "It's fragile," he said. "Much like your reputation would be, if you keep testing my patience."
The air shifted.
Subtle, but sharp—Roman's aura flared just slightly from where he sat, a silent warning to the wolves.
Lex laughed, but it was tighter now. "You think you're someone important just because you're carrying a beast egg? Even if it hatches, what are you going to do with it—paint it?"
Fenric stood, slow and measured. Not rushed. Not rattled. He looked Lex in the eye, and this time, his presence didn't feel like that of a prince ignored.
It felt heavy.
Intentional.
And something in his gaze made Lex hesitate—for just a second.
"I didn't buy it," Fenric said quietly. "I earned it."
He paused, then added casually, "You must've heard of Eccentric Eldrun? I got it from him."
A sharp murmur rippled through the crowd. The nobles standing behind Lex looked stunned. The name Eccentric Eldrun carried weight—absurd, chaotic, unpredictable weight. The man was infamous for his erratic behavior. One day he might sell a wyvern egg to a king... and the next, gift a phoenix feather to a beggar just because he liked the way they walked.
But one thing was universally known—he never sold his top-tier eggs unless he felt the candidate was worthy.
Even Lex had once tried to secure a beast from Eldrun and failed.
And now this "forgotten prince" had one?
The irritation across Lex's face deepened into a scowl.
He snorted. "You talk like a hero in a bard's tale," he scoffed, grasping at the last shreds of his dignity. "But you'll always be the one they forget to mention."
Fenric turned slightly, his voice low but certain.
"Then be sure to remember me," he said. "Because history won't be kind to those who mocked me before the fire rose."
He walked past Lex without another glance. Roman followed behind him, offering only a brief nod to the stunned nobles.
As the two descended the steps, silence fell across the upper hall like an unexpected frost. No more laughter. No more snide comments.
Lex didn't say another word.
He couldn't.
Because for the first time... he wasn't sure he was looking at the same Fenric.
"What was with that bastard?" a sharp voice muttered.
It came from a tall youth with crimson hair, lounging with one leg crossed over the other. He wore the blazing crest of House Ignivale, the Western Seasonal House—Autumn's Blaze, renowned for their aggressive combat styles and fiery tempers.
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC41: Ragna II
Chapter 41: Ragna II
It came from a tall youth with crimson hair, lounging with one leg crossed over the other. He wore the blazing crest of House Ignivale, the Western Seasonal House—Autumn's Blaze, renowned for their explosive combat styles and fiery tempers.
The one speaking was Cael Ignivale, third in line to the duke and known for picking fights the way others picked wine. His narrowed eyes glinted with irritation as he watched Fenric leave the chamber.
"Yeah," another voice chimed in, light but laced with scorn. "I remember him being cold-headed—but a coward when it came to standing his ground."
The speaker was a noble girl with sun-kissed golden hair and eyes like polished sunfire. Draped in loose silk lined with woven sigils of flame, she bore the unmistakable crest of House Solmere, the Southern Seasonal House—Summer's Brand. Her name was Siena Solmere, niece of the Southern Duke and infamous for her blunt tongue and dueling reputation that left most would-be suitors in bandages or silence.
She tilted her head slightly, watching Fenric's retreating figure with mild curiosity. "Looks like he finally learned how to walk in a straight line. Still doesn't mean he's worth following."
The last voice didn't speak—only watched.
A girl with pale olive eyes and short-cut dark hair remained silent as the others jeered. Her expression was unreadable, thoughtful. She wore a muted green robe embroidered with coiling vines—the symbol of House Verdanthe, the Eastern House—Spring's Thorn, a lineage that prided itself on cunning, patience, and long-term plays.
That was Elya Verdanthe, known within certain circles for her scholarly accolades and the quiet, precise manner in which she dismantled her opponents. She didn't insult Fenric. She simply studied him, as one might study a blooming sprout after a long drought—wondering what it might one day grow into.
Meanwhile, Lex Granda, seated at the head of their informal gathering, remained still.
He was the second son of the Grand Duke of House Granda, the Northern Seasonal House—Winter's Lance. Calm, cold, and cut from imperial steel. Lex's pride had already been bruised by Fenric's earlier defiance, and now, his silence was the stillness of a sword waiting to be unsheathed.
One thing was certain to them all:
The Third Prince was no longer invisible.
He was a variable.
And variables were dangerous.
The Four nobles gathered in that room—Lex Granda of the North, Siena Solmere of the South, Cael Ignivale of the West, and Elya Verdanthe of the East—weren't just idle nobility. They were the castoffs and untamed offshoots of the Four Grand Dukes. Not the prim heirs raised for succession, but the overlooked—those born from second wives, concubines, or inconvenient alliances.
Not heirs to etiquette and polish, but to instinct, brutality, and raw notoriety.
Where their older siblings were raised to rule, they were raised to survive. Forged not in marble courts, but in garrison outposts. They didn't dine with counts—they cracked ribs with mercenaries. They didn't parley. They pounced.
And in the capital?
They were infamous.
Not for any grace, but for chaos. For turning noble balls into battlegrounds and tearing diplomacy apart with a smirk and a stomp.
So when Fenric—the Empire's forgotten Third Prince—returned from a visit to Eccentric Eldrun with a rare beast egg in hand?
That wasn't a curiosity.
That was a declaration.
A move so audacious it shattered every unspoken rule of their tightly wound hierarchy. A silent challenge hurled from the bottom of the ladder—daring the top to react.
Siena leaned back, sipping her plumwine with an arched brow, a smirk ghosting across her lips. She muttered under her breath—an old saying from the southern borderlands:
"When the flock shifts... the hawks begin to circle."
In that instant, all four of them—Lex, Cael, Siena, and Elya—locked eyes.
The silence cracked like ice beneath a soldier's heel.
Lex Granda leaned forward at last, swirling his goblet as a grin slowly carved its way across his face. It never quite reached his eyes. "You know," he began in a low, deliberate drawl, "word is—the Fourth Prince has taken quite a liking to Fenric lately."
Siena lifted a brow. "The Fourth Prince? Drake?"
"The one and only," Lex replied, his voice laced with malice and amusement. "And rumor has it, anyone who knocks that little ghost prince off his temporary pedestal might catch Drake's attention. Maybe even earn a little reward."
Cael gave a low whistle. "Treasure? From Drake himself? That conniving bastard doesn't even tip his stablehands."
"It's not about coin," murmured Elya, her tone velvet-smooth. "If Drake favors you... you don't need gold. You get invitations. Leverage. Whispers. Access."
Their eyes lit up—equal parts ambition and malice.
Favor from the Fourth Prince of Vareldis wasn't a simple bribe—it was a ladder. And all they had to do was kick down the one boy bold enough to climb it.
Lex chuckled again, the sound dry and jagged. "And here's the best part—Eccentric Eldrun? He didn't hand that beast egg to Fenric because he saw potential."
Siena narrowed her gaze. "...Then why?"
"Because he was bored," Lex said with a sharp smile. "Because Eldrun enjoys chaos. He gave the egg to the weakest prince just to watch him flounder in front of the court. It's entertainment to him."
He leaned back with the air of someone holding all the strings.
"Well, I plan to give him a show," Lex said. "A stage. A spotlight. Let everyone gather. Let them watch."
"And then?" Cael asked, voice tinged with anticipation.
"Then," Lex said, lifting his cup with cold certainty, "we make him crack. And remind the capital why the border dogs still bite the hardest."
Their cups clinked together, sharp and final.
And somewhere beneath the chandelier's flicker and the low hum of distant revelry... a storm began to churn. Quiet, precise, and cruel.
The game was on.
Meanwhile, Fenric was dining quietly in another high-end restaurant tucked away in the Velvet District—glass walls, floating lanterns, and food that came with names longer than the knives used to cut them.
His gaze drifted toward the Beast Egg resting in its runed cradle beside him. Smooth and matte-black, veined with flickers of ember-like red. It pulsed faintly—alive, waiting.
I wonder what Eldrun's face will look like... Fenric mused, lifting a spoon of delicate saffron broth to his lips, when I one day bring the Black Lava Dragon to him, fully hatched, fully bonded.
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC42: Hatching
Chapter 42: Hatching
Fenric returned to his prince's manor beneath the indigo evening sky, the streetlamps flickering to life one by one like watchful eyes.
The guards at the gate straightened as he passed. He gave them nothing but silence.
This place—his so-called "estate"—was too quiet, too clean. A gift from the imperial coffers, but more like a forgotten corner of the chessboard where nothing important ever happened.
At least, until now.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he exhaled, shoulders loosening.
No servants came to greet him. He preferred it that way.
He climbed the staircase, boots soft against the velvet runner, until he reached the upper floor. His room—spacious, spartan, and silent—awaited.
He placed the Beast Egg gently on the small table beside the bed. The runes flickered faintly in response to his presence.
Then he sat down.
Straight-backed at the edge of the bed, eyes half-lidded, hands clasped loosely in his lap.
And slowly, steadily, he sank inward—into his Mana Sea.
It welcomed him like a storm held in suspension. Deep. Vast. Quiet.
Not far off, floating above a glowing arc of mana, was Duserdis.
Since seeing the scale of Fenric's Mana Sea, the ancient spirit had decided to take up residence here—leaving the Fairy Ring behind. "More comfortable," he had said lazily.
Now, Duserdis cracked one glowing eye open.
"What do you want, princeling?" he yawned.
Fenric looked at him seriously. "I want the Dragon's Breathing Art."
At that, the dragon snorted lightly in its sleep. Duserdis raised an eyebrow.
"You do remember I'm not going to spoon-feed you every answer, right?" he said dryly. "Unless you bring me a damn good reason, I'm not handing you anything."
"I figured you'd say that," Fenric muttered.
Duserdis sighed and waved his hand. "leave then."
Fenric nodded and slowly pulled his soul back into his physical body. As he opened his eyes, he yawned.
"Well, I tried," he murmured.
Fenric glanced at the Beast Egg resting beside him on the table.
"It seems I'll have to put in real effort to help you evolve into a true dragon," he murmured, his tone soft—like someone trying to comfort a crying child. His fingers brushed the egg's surface lightly, feeling its faint warmth.
Then he sat cross-legged on the bed once more and closed his eyes.
He began to circulate his breath.
The Flowing Moon Breathing Art. A technique passed down through the Vareldis Imperial Lineage—quiet, refined, and precise. It allowed one to absorb ambient mana from the world and gently refine it into their Mana Sea.
Even if the increase was minimal—just 1%—for someone like Fenric, whose sea was already vast, that 1% was still monumental.
Mana began to flow.
Invisible strands of energy threaded through the air, drawn into the channels opening within his body. He welcomed them with calm control, guiding them inward, where they would condense and settle.
Time moved slowly.
A knock eventually came at the door.
A gentle voice murmured something through the wood. Fenric didn't open his eyes, but spoke clearly. "Come in."
The door opened with a whisper of hinges.
A maid stepped inside, pushing a silver-handled food cart. She was young and beautiful, her movements practiced and serene. Without a word, she began setting out the evening meal—one dish at a time, neatly arranging them on the table.
Fenric rose from the bed and walked over, pulling out the chair. He sat down.
The maid remained standing beside him as he began to eat. She said nothing, only occasionally glancing his way with practiced poise.
Once he finished, she quietly cleared the plates and returned them to the cart. As she wheeled it toward the door, she paused, bowing lightly.
"Your Highness," she said in a calm, measured voice, "do you require a maid for night services?"
Fenric blinked.
His expression didn't change. "No."
She nodded. "As you wish." And with that, she exited and gently closed the door behind her.
Fenric stared at the door for a moment longer, then muttered to himself:
"Why is everyone so eager to sleep with me?"
This wasn't the first time. Even some of the senior staff had casually offered the same. He hadn't thought much of it at first, but now it seemed... routine.
"Probably because the other princes make a habit of keeping a different maid every night," he mused.
With a sigh, he returned to the bed and resumed his meditation posture.
Mana flowed again, weaving through his core. His breathing synchronized with it. His entire body pulsed subtly with the rhythm of his cultivation—warmth, cold, pressure, release. Like tides beneath his skin.
A faint tingling crawled down his spine.
Then a flash of energy lit up behind his eyelids—and something inside him shifted.
He opened his eyes slowly.
"...Fifth stage of Soldier Rank," he murmured, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
Another breath. Another breakthrough.
Not bad.
He leaned back on the bed, exhaled deeply, and let his body sink into the mattress.
Sleep came not as a command, but as a reward.
He continued to sleep soundly, when suddenly his eyes snapped open..
It was well past midnight when the sound came.
Crack.
A sharp snap echoed in the quiet chamber.
Fenric jolted upright, breath caught in his throat, eyes snapping open. He scanned the dark room—still half-draped in moonlight—his senses sharp, trained.
Crack.
There it was again. A dry, brittle sound. Like bones breaking or wood splintering.
His gaze shifted—then landed.
The egg.
The Beast Egg was glowing faintly, the runes on its surface pulsing in rhythmic, uneven beats. Small fissures ran along the obsidian-black shell.
Fenric sighed, shoulders relaxing slightly. "So it's just you... choosing now of all times to get dramatic," he muttered, voice drowsy but laced with dry amusement. "Not even a moment's peace."
Still, he got out of bed and sat at the edge, eyes locked on the egg.
This was it.
The moment the Volcanic Wyvern would hatch.
He could feel the mana swirling—thickening around it, heat radiating in waves. The very air in the room was starting to shimmer faintly, like distant mirage heat over sun-baked sand.
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Chapter 43: Hatching II
He could feel the mana swirling—thickening around it, heat radiating in waves. The very air in the room was starting to shimmer faintly, like distant mirage heat over sun-baked sand.
Another crack split the shell, more decisive this time.
Tiny fragments crumbled and fell to the table like ash.
And then, like a hand reaching toward its first breath of freedom, a small, clawed limb pushed out—scaly, dark crimson with molten-gold streaks running like lava under its skin.
The egg shuddered.
And then, with one last pulse of heat—
Crack!
The shell shattered outward in a ring of glowing shards.
What emerged was a creature no larger than a house cat, but already pulsing with draconic pride. Its wings were tucked tight against its sides, membrane thin but etched with ember-like veins. It had two short, forward horns on its head and a tail tipped like a flaming whip. Its scales shimmered like freshly forged obsidian.
The Volcanic Wyvern blinked.
Then it sneezed—a tiny spark flaring from its nostrils.
Fenric raised an eyebrow.
"...You look like trouble."
The wyvern gave a high-pitched squeak and stumbled forward, legs wobbly, before crawling directly into Fenric's lap without hesitation.
Warm.
Too warm.
He winced slightly. "Okay. Definitely trouble."
But he didn't push it away.
Instead, he gently ran a hand down its back. The creature let out a satisfied little trill and curled up into a scaly ball, tail flicking lazily.
Fenric stared down at the curled-up creature resting in his lap. Despite its draconic lineage, it looked far too peaceful for the destruction it would one day unleash.
"From now on... your name is Ragna," he murmured, voice soft but resolute.
The name carried a weight. A promise.
This was no ordinary beast. Ragna was a mutated pseudo-dragon—one last step away from becoming a true Black Volcanic Dragon. All it needed was the final catalyst, and it would ascend.
Fenric ran a finger along the wyvern's curved horn. "Don't worry, little Ragna," he whispered. "I'll make sure you evolve. A real dragon deserves a real future."
Ragna twitched gently in response, releasing a soft squeaking breath. The bond between them pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat shared between two souls.
Without a spoken word, Fenric activated the bond.
The sleeping wyvern shimmered—its small body dissolving into a stream of glowing embers—and vanished into his Mana Sea.
It was common among tamers or beast-bound cultivators. One could house their companion in their Mana Sea, Aura Sea, or any energy reservoir they have.
In Fenric's case, his Mana Sea was vast, controlled, and very pure too. A perfect sanctuary for an beast like Ragna who need high amount of pure mana.
As soon as Ragna manifested in the depths of that endless inner world, the young wyvern jolted slightly, sneezing once as it landed in the shallows. Then, slowly, it coiled in on itself, tail curling under its snout, basking in the wet warmth of the glowing mana tides.
Ragna's tiny wings fluttered once, then it slipped into slumber again—this time curled comfortably on the glowing Cerulean Sea.
Fenric could feel its contentment radiating back through the bond. The moist sensation of his Mana Sea no longer seemed to bother the hatchling. In fact, it... liked it.
With a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Fenric withdrew his awareness from the Mana Sea and exhaled.
He reached for the now-fractured egg shell, gathering its pieces carefully. The inner lining shimmered with residual vitality—still warm. In the wild, it was said that subspecies dragons often consumed parts of their egg for nourishment, especially right after hatching. But since Ragna had been transported directly into the Mana Sea and passed out like a drunk noble at a wine party, Fenric decided to store the shards in a preservation rune.
"I'll feed it to you later," he said, sealing the fragments in a glowing stasis orb and setting it beside the bed. "Once you're up and wobbling again."
He paused.
Then turned to the window, where moonlight spilled in like strands of silk across the floor. The horizon beyond was just beginning to glow with the blush of morning.
"...Guess there's no more sleep for me."
Fenric stood, stretching his back with a muted grunt. His sleep was already broken—no point forcing it. The sun had only just begun to rise, yet the quiet restlessness in his chest demanded motion.
He changed into a simple training tunic and stepped into the rear practice hall of the estate.
It was much smaller, and not the one where others practice, it was more like an Private one.
The space was empty—unused by others and, until recently, ignored even by him. Dust clung to some corners. Practice dummies leaned like lazy drunks against the walls. But the floor was solid. The space was wide. And most importantly... it was his.
He walked to the weapon rack, took up a wooden practice sword, and began his drills.
Basic cuts.
Simple slashes.
Clumsy.
Stiff.
But honest.
His footwork stumbled, and his grip was still wrong in a dozen ways—but the raw, innate talent within him showed even through the clumsiness. Each swing refined itself a little more than the last. The movements became less awkward, less forced. It wasn't the polish of a trained swordsman. But it wasn't nothing.
If an expert had been present, they might've even been quietly alarmed by how fast the prince was adapting.
An hour passed.
And Fenric collapsed onto the floor like a dying dog under the summer sun.
"Haah... I... need... to work... on... my stamina..." he muttered between heavy pants, sweat soaking through his shirt and dripping from his chin.
Technically, he was a Soldier-rank Blessed Awakener now. Which meant more strength, endurance, and mana than an ordinary mortal.
And yet...
Just an hour of practicing basic sword movements had left him sprawled out like a drowned rat.
Pathetic.
He lay there for a few more moments before forcing himself upright.
"...Again," he whispered to himself. Then louder. "Again."
This time, he switched to a steady jog—running slow laps around the training yard, wooden sword in hand. Each footfall echoed in the morning silence. Each step a stubborn defiance of his own weakness.
He wasn't just training form anymore.
He was building endurance.
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC44: Training
Chapter 44: Training
The sun was already up, shining through the windows and lighting up the training yard.
Fenric stood in the middle of the yard.
There was no one around. No servants. No instructors. No one watching him.
Just him and his breath.
He held a wooden sword in his hands. It wasn't heavy, but after enough swings, it started to strain his muscles.
He swung it again. A diagonal cut.
Then again.
He stepped forward, pivoted, then stepped back.
He repeated the basic moves over and over. At first, he felt tired fast, but after a while, his breathing became steady. His arms still hurt, but they weren't shaking anymore.
Sweat soaked his shirt. A drop ran down his face, but he didn't wipe it.
His focus stayed on his body and his movements.
Strike. Reset. Step. Block. Breathe.
He wasn't fast. Not yet. But his moves were smoother than before. He was improving. Slowly.
He didn't use any special technique. Just the basics.
He was training his body to follow orders. To work without wasting energy.
After a long time, he stopped. The sun was high above now.
His chest moved slowly as he took deep breaths. His shirt stuck to him from sweat.
He put the wooden sword down. Not carefully, just normally.
He stood still for a bit, letting his body calm down.
His legs were sore. His arms and shoulders were stiff. But it felt right.
He wasn't strong yet.
But he was getting there.
And for now, that was enough.
It had become Fenric's daily routine.
He woke up at 4 a.m. every day, started with body training to wake himself up, then got ready for his usual royal duties. After that, he visited the Royal Library, and often spent time observing the Royal Academy to keep things running smoothly.
He also dedicated time to meditation, mastering his Dragon Tongue Magic, and training his mana control. With a mana sea as large as his, controlling it wasn't easy. Sometimes he used too much mana, other times too little. It was exactly the kind of difficulty Duserdis had warned him about—a big mana sea was powerful, but hard to manage.
When he wasn't training, he spent time reading and learning in the library, or quietly watching Roman and Myra train others. Somehow, even without asking questions out loud, he often got his doubts answered just by observing them.
And like that, six months passed.
While Fenric was still at the peak of the Soldier rank, the other former slaves he had brought in—those who had sworn knight oaths to him—had already advanced to the early stages of the Low Master realm. Unlike him, they had average-sized mana seas, so forming the foundation of their energy sea was much easier. That made progressing to the next rank faster for them.
But Fenric didn't mind. He kept working hard, focusing on refining his massive mana sea.
Then one day, as he was quietly studying in the Royal Library, he sensed a familiar presence.
A figure stepped into view at the end of the aisle, arms crossed and wearing a lazy smirk.
Mavis looked around the library and nodded after seeing everything perfectly in order.
"God, you didn't make a mess out of this place while I was gone," Mavis said as she stared at him. Fenric gave her only a brief glance and nodded, his expression cold and indifferent.
Seeing his nonchalant attitude, she added, "You do realize I got bailed out long before my imprisonment, right?"
She had come here hoping to see some reaction on his face, but his icy expression remained indifferent. However, unlike last time, Mavis now looked at him more favorably—especially after he had saved her when the Dark Empress planned her execution.
Though it probably wouldn't have happened—she was the Emperor's senior sister, and both shared the same master—he had acted before anyone else could intervene. She didn't need the help, not truly. But in the Imperial Castle, a den of wolves and snakes all vying for their own gain, it was the first time she looked at someone and saw a human
—not just another predator.
Especially after he spun the tale of her being his "mother-like figure" to protect her, it had left an impression.
"So, my adopted son... are you going to greet me properly or not?" she said with a playful smirk as she approached him from behind.
"It was only to help you at that time," he replied coldly. "After all, if you were removed from your position as Royal Librarian, I wouldn't have the leisure to study here. Not with the Dark Empress placing her pawns everywhere."
She rolled her eyes at his words but leaned in slightly, clearly amused.
In Fenric's mind, however, he was quietly shaking.
'This damned witch... she's probably already plotting something. She always acts friendly, but I know what she's like underneath. A poisonous snake in silk.'
He wasn't surprised she had been bailed out before her sentence was up. In fact, he was surprised it had taken this long. He could only assume her master—one of the hidden guardians of the Vareldis Empire—had been away all this time and had just recently returned.
He also remembered her character from the Light novel. She would often speak sweetly to men who flirted with her—only to burn their private parts the next second, all while smiling. She was a sadist when it came to revenge, no matter how small the reason.
Just like the time she burned a student alive simply because he called her a bitch.
He kept his expression unreadable—calm, cool, and composed—even as a low current of fear simmered beneath the surface.
'She's just here to mess with me... Is this her way of getting back at me for suggesting that five-year imprisonment?'
His fists remained loose, but his instincts were razor-sharp. With Mavis, it paid to always be alert.
Meanwhile, Mavis—who had no such intentions at the moment—sat casually on the desk and looked him over.
"My, my. Now that I look at you... you've grown into quite the handsome prince," she said with a teasing smile.
Fenric, without replying, instinctively clasped his legs.
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC45: Master
Chapter 45: Master
"My, my. Now that I look at you... you've grown into quite the handsome prince," Mavis said with a teasing smile.
Fenric didn't reply. Instead, he instinctively clasped his legs together.
Mavis tilted her head, clearly amused by his discomfort. "Oh? No witty comeback? That's not like you, Fenric."
She let the silence stretch, crossing her legs elegantly as she leaned back on her hands atop the desk. Her gaze swept over him—not just his face, but his posture, the tension in his shoulders, and the quiet intensity he now carried. He felt heavier somehow. Sharper. Dangerous.
"You've changed," she murmured, mostly to herself. "You were always clever... but now there's something else. Less bark, more bite. I wonder..." Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of monster are you becoming, little prince?"
Fenric's expression stayed cold, but the air around him seemed to shift—like the calm just before a lightning strike.
"I'm not interested in proving anything to you," he said flatly. "If you're here to test me, don't bother. I won't entertain you."
Mavis laughed. A light, melodic sound—yet there was something unsettling beneath it.
"Oh, I don't doubt that," she said, brushing invisible dust from her lap. "But I'm not here to test you. I'm just... curious."
She hopped down from the desk, landing silently like a stalking cat.
"I've only been locked away for a few months, Fenric," she continued casually. "And yet when I returned, I found a prince who was supposed to be dead... walking around like nothing happened."
Fenric narrowed his eyes. "Do you really think killing a prince is that easy?"
She smirked. "Oh, I wasn't talking about assassins or blades. I meant the slow poison... the one that was eating you from the inside."
At her words, Fenric felt a strange twinge on his temple. It was faint—like a phantom touch—but gone in an instant.
It was her. She had checked his body in less than a second.
"There's no trace of it now," Mavis said, her eyes gleaming. "Not a single thread left in your body."
She stepped in close, eyes locking with his. "That's completely unexpected. Even I couldn't purge that poison... and yet you, a Soldier-level brat, managed what a Sun-ranked powerhouse like me could not."
Her hand rose to his cheek, fingers warm and firm. She turned his face toward her with a soft but commanding grip.
"That kind of anomaly makes me... very curious."
Then—without hesitation—she leaned forward and slowly licked his lips.
Fenric flinched, instinctively trying to pull away, but her grip didn't budge. She smirked again, licking her own lips afterward like she was savoring a rare wine.
"How about this," she purred. "Let's balance the scales. Take me as your master. Think of it as me repaying a debt."
She didn't let go of his face. Her eyes never left his.
Fenric's fists clenched at his sides. His heart thundered like a war drum, and his abnormal-resistance skill was working overtime to keep his emotions buried. But even that wasn't enough.
Still, his voice came out calm. Cold. Emotionless.
"Fine. I'll be your disciple."
"Oh?" she said, her grin widening.
He added firmly, "Only for the sake of training. Nothing else."
Inside, he was screaming. She was a Sun-ranked monster. A sadist. A schemer. And now... she was going to be his teacher?
Mavis chuckled, sensing the fear beneath his words.
She leaned close again, her breath warm on his ear as she whispered, "This is going to be fun."
Then, without asking, she sat down on his lap, her slender frame settling atop him with ease. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she stared directly into his eyes.
"You know," she said softly, "I've never taken in a disciple. Never touched a man either."
Her fingers slid slowly down his chest. "And yet, you... of all people... you interest me, Fenric. It feels like something's pulling me toward you. Like something greater is moving the strings."
Her voice lowered even more. "Tell me, what exactly happened while I was gone?"
Fenric paused. He knew better than to lie to someone of her level.
"...I made a contract with a spirit. A rare one. King-grade. She left behind her Moon-Cleansing Flames... and those flames helped purge the poison from my body."
Mavis raised an eyebrow, then slowly nodded.
"Oh? So that's it."
She leaned back just a bit to study him again. "You carry the aura of a spirit now. No wonder I noticed something off."
Her smirk returned—slow and predatory.
"Well then... my dear prince, this might just be more fun than I thought."
She gave a satisfied sigh. "Now, let's see in which area you need improvement."
Mavis shifted slightly on his lap. Her fingers moved slowly down his arms as her expression changed again—no longer playful, but thoughtful and sharp.
"Sit still," she said, her tone slipping into something more professional. Like an alchemist inspecting a rare material—or a predator about to dissect something valuable.
She placed her palm gently on his chest, and a pulse of golden spirit energy passed into him. Fenric felt it enter his body like warm liquid—comforting, but clearly meant to probe deeper. He tensed but didn't stop her.
"Hmm..." she murmured, eyes narrowing. "Your body is weak. Not naturally... but because of what the poison did. Its effects lingered. It made your foundation brittle."
She traced the meridian lines across his chest, her fingers icy-cold and precise.
"But now that the poison is gone... we can start fixing it."
She gave him a small smile.
"Body-forging elixirs. Spirit-infused herbs. Even some alchemical tonics that would make Grandmasters lose sleep. We'll rebuild what you lost. And maybe... even make it better."
Fenric tensed again. But she wasn't finished.
Her hand slid slightly lower, and her eyes suddenly widened. Her breath caught.
Then, without a word, she sat up straight and looked into his eyes. Her pupils glowed with a golden sheen, lips parting slightly in disbelief.
"...Your mana sea."
She blinked once. Then again. And then she let out a low whistle.
"You little monster..." she whispered. "How in the hell is your mana sea this vast?"
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EXTRA SURVIVAL GUIDE TO OVERPOWERING HERO AND VILLAINC46: Master II
Chapter 46: Master II
"You little monster..." she whispered. "How in the hell is your mana sea this vast?"
"Dunno," Fenric replied with a shrug, his tone dry. "But it's probably the reason I was targeted by that bitch of a Dark Empress."
Mavis raised her brow, stood up from his lap, and began pacing. One hand rested under her chin, thoughtful.
"Hmm... you might be right. This could be the reason," she muttered. "After all, your talent was never fully evaluated. If she sensed that your potential surpassed her own child's, she may have decided to eliminate you in secret... using that slow-acting poison."
Fenric nodded slightly, though inside he scoffed.
Like hell he was going to tell her the truth—that the poison was actually the reason his mana sea had become this vast. Knowing this woman's twisted tendencies, she might decide to feed him even more poison next time... just to 'help him grow.'
"Hmm, still... your mana sea feels as if it's been tempered," she said.
Fenric rose from the chair, brow furrowed. This was a new term to him—something he hadn't encountered in the original book."What do you mean, tempered? Can someone even temper their mana sea?" he asked.
Mavis nodded. "I wondered the same. I just read about it in an ancient book I found in a ruin. It described how some Blessed used to temper their three origins: body, soul, and thier Energy sea."
"Tempering each of them made those origins stronger and more resilient than others," she explained.
Fenric nodded slowly, deep in thought.Duserdis did say my mana sea had been condensed and expanded. And my mana purity was also increased because of the poison... This does sound a lot like mana sea tempering, he thought as he looked at his hands.
Mavis stopped pacing and turned, arms folded, her golden eyes locked onto his face.
"I think, its most likely due to the Poison, it might have tempered you mana sea due to your energy sea rejecting and fighting back the poison"
"It was after all an slow acting poison so it was enough to push and pull your Mana Sea" She said looking at him.
While Fenric was having an heart attack' whyis this bicth so obervant?' he inwardly asked while his face remianed same cold expression he usually have.
"You really are a dangerous little thing, Fenric," she said with a strange note of admiration. "Most people would be rotting in a grave with that kind of curse clinging to their soul. But you? You turned it into strength."
Her lips curled again into that signature grin—equal parts amused and intrigued.
"Tell me... how much of this was luck? And how much of it was something else?" she asked, tilting her head. "No... don't answer. I'll find out myself eventually."
Fenric didn't respond. His face remained calm, but his mind was racing. Mavis was clearly too sharp for comfort, and far too observant. The less she knew about the Duserdis's influence, the better.
She took a step forward, the air shifting slightly around her. The scent of lavender and some other feminne scent lingered faintly as she leaned close again.
"I'll be honest, Fenric," she said, voice softer now. "I wasn't expecting to find someone like you. Not in this palace. Not with your Willpower."
She touched a finger to his chest again, tracing lightly over where his heart was.
"This power of yours... it's not just big. It's refined. Tempered. Like steel folded a hundred times. That's not the mark of someone who just survives. That's the mark of someone who fights back."
Fenric's gaze remained steady. "If you're trying to flatter me, it won't work."
"Oh, please," Mavis laughed. "You think I care about your ego? I'm just excited."
She turned her back to him and stretched, arms high over her head, her tone becoming casual once again.
"Still... I'll need to rework my training plans for you. You're no ordinary disciple. A mana sea like yours? We'll need to design a regimen meant for monsters."
Then she turned over her shoulder with a teasing wink.
"Congratulations, Fenric. From this moment on, your life is officially going to be hell."
Fenric let out a slow breath. "Looking forward to it."
Inside? He was already regretting every life choice that led to this point.
Mavis gave him one last amused look, then stepped away from him entirely, brushing off the front of her dress like she'd just wrapped up a routine check-up on a very interesting lab rat.
"Well, I've seen enough," she said, her voice light and breezy again. "Your foundation is salvageable. Barely. But don't worry—I'll fix that too."
She walked toward the door, her boots clicking against the marble floor with quiet authority. Before leaving, she glanced over her shoulder.
"I'm heading out to gather a few potions and alchemical treatments—things to rebuild what that poison took from you. Strength boosters, marrow restoratives, body-forging compounds... the usual cocktail for someone who's been living on the edge of death since birth."
She smirked. "Don't get too comfortable. Once I'm back, we're beginning your training—and I don't go easy on monsters, no matter how pretty they look."
Fenric watched her go, his face unreadable. As the door creaked open, Mavis added one last remark without looking back:
"Oh, and Fenric..."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Try not to die while I'm gone. I hate wasting rare materials."
With that, she slipped out, leaving behind only the faint scent of spirit energy and the lingering weight of her presence.
The silence returned, but it wasn't peaceful. It was heavy—like the calm before a storm Fenric knew was coming straight for him.
He let out a long breath and muttered under his breath.
"...I'm so screwed."
"Why does she even want to take me as a disciple...?" Fenric muttered to himself, now sitting back on the chair. It wasn't like she lacked options—she was powerful, influential, feared. If she'd wanted a student, she could've had her pick of prodigies from every corner of the empire.
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