20 advance chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
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Mark lay sprawled across his bed, arms spread wide, his breath shallow from exhaustion. The last hour had been a battle against calculus equations that seemed more like riddles from another dimension. If not for Solomon's patient assistance, he was certain he would've flunked the assignment entirely.
Grateful, he granted Solomon twenty points through the system. The King of Magic might have grumbled that it wasn't enough for his genius, but Mark sensed a quiet satisfaction behind his regal pride.
As the room dimmed into the soft hues of evening, Mark raised his hand and stared at his open palm. He fell deep into thought, his mind drifting to the memory of the boy he'd saved from being crushed by a truck. That surge of raw power,the way his body responded, the unnatural force that flowed through him had felt… incredible. But Solomon's earlier warning echoed in his thoughts like a haunting whisper: power without understanding could destroy him from within.
He needed control. Understanding. Mastery.
If every power demanded knowledge and discipline, then training was the only path forward. Solomon had demonstrated a profound understanding of the magical circuits.
With his guidance, Mark knew he could not only awaken those circuits again but also learn to channel magic properly and maybe even touch the power of Noble Phantasms.
Shaking off the fatigue, Mark forced himself to sit up in the center of his room.
A hush settled around him, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the wind brushing gently through the open window.
He closed his eyes, trying to recall the moment he had first activated the circuits,the desperation, the heat in his veins, the singular focus on saving someone.
That emotion had unlocked something primal. Now, with a calmer mind, he sought to touch that power again.
He sat cross-legged, took a deep breath, and tried to will the circuits awake.
Nothing.
No warmth. No spark. Just the usual quiet hum of his heartbeat.
Then, a notification blinked across his mental interface-the chat room lighting up with a familiar message:
[Solomon: You're doing it wrong. You must feel your life force—connect to it, become one with it. Let it flow through your body.]
Mark exhaled slowly, centering himself. He followed Solomon's advice, diving deeper inward. But still… nothing. Just the silence of his own thoughts.
Another message pinged in, this one less kind:
[Gilgamesh: Hah! The mongrel can't even sense the simplest of forces. What a pitiful effort.]
[Mark: It's not that simple!]
[Gilgamesh: To you, maybe. I offered you my ability to perceive time—an immense gift. You would've died asking for a Phantasm. Honestly, this is laughable.]
Mark clenched his jaw. Gilgamesh's arrogance always ignited something in him. But deep down, he knew there was truth buried under all the scorn. He wasn't doing something right.
Then, a softer message arrived like a breath of fresh air:
[Artoria: Don't worry if you don't get it the first time. Try again. I believe you can do this.]
Her encouragement grounded him. He took several more breaths and cleared his mind of all distraction.
This time, instead of chasing the energy, he listened.
At first, it was faint. A whisper beneath the skin. Then, like the gentle flicker of a match in darkness, a current sparked inside him. His awareness expanded—not only feeling the life within himself, but brushing against the pulse of the world around him.
And then it hit him.
A rush of energy spiked through his core, electric and alive.
[Solomon: You've done it! Hold that feeling. Keep your focus steady.]
Mark struggled to maintain it, sweat beading on his forehead. His breathing grew ragged as the circuits flickered with energy. But it was too much. The power slipped from his grasp, and the connection faded.
A new message chimed in:
[Ozymandias: Your body lacks strength. That's why you're losing control—your vessel is too weak to contain it.]
Ozymandias, as usual, had seen right through him.
[Mark: So that's why I felt like I was lifting an elephant...]
[Iskandar: Don't sweat it, kid! Tomorrow, we begin your training. We'll make you stronger. And after? We play God of War. Deal?]
##
The following morning was brutal.
Mark's legs screamed with every step as he pounded the pavement, finishing a 10-kilometer run before the sun was fully up. His arms quivered under the weight of a hundred push-ups, and his core burned from sit-ups. He could barely breathe. It was like training under Saitama's regimen—he just prayed his hair wouldn't fall out.
Despite the aches, he pushed through.
At school, things felt a little lighter. His connections with Raven and Kara had grown in unexpected ways.
Raven remained quiet and stoic, but Mark could see the vulnerability in her,someone burdened by a fate she never chose. Kara, on the other hand, carried a radiance that lifted those around her, though Mark could sense the pressure she carried, trying to live up to the legacy of her famous cousin.
After class, Kara approached him, her blonde ponytail bouncing slightly as she walked.
"Hey, Mark. Wanna hang out after school?"
He smiled at her—appreciative, but hesitant. "Sorry, Kara. I've already got plans."
She looked momentarily disappointed but gave a nod of understanding.
He'd made a promise to Raven.
Spending time with her had become a routine he looked forward to. In her own way, Raven had let him into her world. She shared her study books, even tutored him in the basics of magic. Her teachings gave him a clearer insight into how to wield his magical circuits—and how to strengthen them.
Weeks passed like this—study, training, repetition.
Eventually, he stood alone in the courtyard of his house. The evening air was cool, and the stones beneath his feet were warm from the sun's retreat.
This was his sanctuary. His place of growth.
He closed his eyes again.
Energy surged through him as the magical circuits activated, no longer flickering, but flowing steadily.
[Solomon: Good. Now, envision the construct. Shape it in your mind. Build it from the ground up.]
Mark inhaled deeply and held the image—each curve, edge, and glimmer of Avalon. He could feel it, not as something external, but as an extension of himself.
Light flared in his hands.
Avalon appeared.
His eyes widened in disbelief. The sword shimmered, ethereal and majestic. He gripped it tightly, stunned by the sensation of real power in his hands.
[Artoria: You've done it. Now, draw it into yourself—let it become part of you.]
Following her instructions, Mark took another breath and merged the construct into his body. The sword dissolved into golden light, absorbed by his circuits. A wave of warmth rippled through him.
More messages lit up in celebration:
[Gilgamesh: Hmph. Took you long enough. I thought you'd never wield even one.]
[Ozymandias: A rare achievement. Give the boy his due, King of Uruk.]
[Iskandar: Forget him, kid. You did amazing. Let's celebrate—order some pizza!]
[Artoria: Pi...zza!]
Mark chuckled to himself. Along with taste sharing, it seemed they could now enjoy his cravings too.
The joy lingered, but before he could get too comfortable, his mother's voice rang out from the house.
"Mark! Dinner's ready!"