A small smile played on Icariel's lips. "Guess I should pick up the axe again and run my arms through hell, huh?"
"Unfortunately," the voice replied flatly.
A while later, he returned to the forest training spot, axe in hand—its edge worn. Without hesitation, he brought it to his arm and made a shallow cut—not too deep, just enough.
"Tchh—" Blood trickled down, splattering faintly onto the grass.
"Now what..." he muttered.
The voice answered, unwavering as always.
"Today marks the final day of your one-month training,"the voice said."You've already mastered three elemental spells. If you can learn healing today, it'll become one of the best cards for your case… but don't expect it to be easy. The girl explained it surprisingly well. Do as she said—place your hand over the wound. Close your eyes. Calm. Desire. Sacrifice."
Icariel nodded once, sat down cross-legged again, and pressed his palm gently over the wound.
"Calm... Desire... Sacrifice," he whispered, repeating her words like a mantra.
His eyes closed.
He focused but nothing happened the mana around him didn't stir not a flicker. Not a pulse.
Icariel sighed. "It didn't work."
"Don't expect it to," the voice said. "Like the elf girl mentioned, it can take hundreds of tries. Thousands, even. And many still fail. This spell doesn't bend to control. It must answer you."
"I have to learn it," Icariel muttered. "I must."
"Then try again."
And so he did.
Again.
And again.
Time passed. The forest grew warmer under the rising sun, but Icariel's focus didn't waver. By midday, he was still sitting there, arm bleeding, frustration boiling inside him.
"Ahhh—! I'm going crazy!" he snapped, raking his hands through his dark hair. "What is this nonsense? Mana has ears now? It can hear my feelings?"
He gritted his teeth, breathing hard.
Just then, the elf girl returned, chewing the last of a leaf lazily. "Ahh, I'm full," she said, wiping her mouth and walking toward him. She glanced at his arm. "Oh. I guess that means… you didn't succeed."
"Not even close," Icariel muttered.
"I figured." She smirked. "This just proves it—you don't have the Infinity Body either. If you did, you'd have already learned it by now."
"I told you before," Icariel said, clearly annoyed. "That whole 'ruler of the world' thing has nothing to do with me."
The elf girl chuckled in her small frame, clearly pleased her teasing had hit the mark.
"Well, I'm gonna sleep. My stamina's drained from using healing magic on a wound like that," she added with a yawn, waving lazily as she headed back to the cave.
"Try again." The voice echoed in his mind once more.
Icariel only paused long enough to eat what was left of the roasted rabbit. Then he sat again, pressed his hand to his wound, and tried.
Again. Again. Again.
Even as the sun began to sink low behind the trees, and golden rays bathed the forest in firelight, he sat motionless. His lips barely moved, his breathing even.The elf girl lazed around nearby, watching the sky.
"I quit," Icariel finally muttered, voice low. "I'll continue tomorrow."
Then the voice spoke again, low and unwavering:"You never know what tomorrow has promised. Do it again. Now."
Icariel didn't respond right away. He sat still, eyes dimmed with exhaustion, breath steady in the cool evening air. But his thoughts churned.
"This voice—the same one that's guided me since I was born—must have had a reason for giving me this one-month training. Before, it promised me nothing would appear in the forest near me—no danger, no dungeon, no monsters, nothing. But then… right before the training started, it changed its answer to maybe."
"Is there something the voice knows and is not telling me?" he wondered. But still, his hands curled into fists. His eyes, bloodshot and heavy, burned with determination.
"I should continue…" And so he did.
An hour passed.
Still nothing.
The forest darkened more, the stars blinking into view like silent watchers above. Then came soft footsteps through the grass.
The elf girl approached him again, arms crossed, her silver eyes tired. "You should come back to the cave," she said. "It's no use right now. You can try again tomorrow."
"Go first," Icariel replied, not even opening his eyes. "I'll come later."
"Fine, as you wish," she said with a small shrug. Then paused. "But… could you come light the fire inside before that? I couldn't find anything to light a fire."
"What? Why can't you do it yourself?" Icariel asked, glancing at her with a furrowed brow.
"Huh, I thought you knew already," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know any spells—except for earth, trees… and healing."
Icariel blinked. "Really?"
"Yes, really." She sighed. "Only special-case elves get trained in other spells and become proper mages. I'm not one of them."
"Good to know," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. Then after a pause, he turned back to her. "By the way… I've been meaning to ask. How do you even see and feel mana? Do you… possess something like a spirit zone or what?"
She tilted her head, looking almost amused. "What? No. Of course not. We elves—since we're born—our eyes are... enhanced. Blessed by nature, you could say. We see mana as part of our vision. It's like… always there. In everything. But only elves are born with that insight."
"Interesting…" Icariel murmured, then reached inward. "Voice, do they possess something like White Sense?"
"Nope," the voice in his mind replied instantly. "Not even close. Just in terms of seeing mana, it's somewhat similar—but weaker. Elves are born with that natural perception. The White Sense? That's something else entirely. What you have… goes beyond."
Icariel nodded subtly, filing that away as they walked back to the cave together in silence. The elf girl had already prepared a neat stack of dry wood while he was training. Icariel knelt, summoned a small flame, and lit the fire with ease.
He teased her before going. "You've gathered woods and even asked me to burn them—just in two days and you're already changing."
"You jerk, they were already fallen on the ground by themselves! I didn't cut them like you..."
"Sure, sure," Icariel said.
He stood and said to her as he was leaving the cave, "Good night."
"Good night," she replied quietly.
Back at his training spot, the midnight hour had passed. Icariel sat alone again, his palm pressed to the shallow wound on his arm.Still… nothing.No glow. No warmth. No response from the mana.
Then the voice returned. "To be honest… I thought you'd learn it faster."
"What?" Icariel muttered tiredly, dark circles haunting his eyes.
"Because of your fear of death," the voice continued. "I thought your desire to live would've made it easier. But it's taking far too long."
"Then what?" he whispered.
"I have a suggestion," the voice said. "But I don't know if you'll accept it."
Icariel didn't hesitate. "I'll accept it."
He wasn't even sure why. Maybe he was past the point of caring. Maybe he was too exhausted to argue. Maybe… he simply believed the voice like always.
His eyes fluttered half-shut. His breaths were shallow. He hadn't slept in nearly a full day, and his body was paying the price.
"Do you see that stone?" the voice said. "Near your left side—a thin, sharp one."
Icariel turned his head slightly.
There it was. A small, arrowhead-shaped stone. Jagged on one side, but sleek and pointed like a weapon. The size of his hand.
"Grab it," the voice said. "And stab your leg. As many times as needed."
Icariel froze.
"It won't risk your life. But the pain, the damage—it'll be bad. Still… it might be what you need. The greater the wound, the greater the desire. The desire to survive will roar inside you. It may be the only thing that finally allows the healing spell to answer."
"Will you do it?"
"Yes… I'll do it," Icariel whispered, gripping the sharp stone tightly in his hand. "You sure It's not risking my life, right?"
"Always," the voice replied.
"Then it's worth it. If I can gain healing… if I can recover from any injury—any danger—it'll be like a dream."
If this wouldn't endanger his life, that was enough for him to give it a try.He stood up, barefoot on the forest floor, the stone cold in his grip.His breath came slow.He pointed the jagged edge at his left thigh. The muscles there were tense, ready. His hand trembled, but he raised it without hesitation.
One second passed.
Then two.
His vision swam—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from lack of sleep, he didn't understand. His knees buckled. He staggered.The stone slipped from his intended aim and plunged just above the hip.
Pain exploded through his body like fire, hot and cruel.
He dropped to one knee, the blood already soaking into his pants, hand clenched over the wound.His scream never left his lips, swallowed by the fire blooming in his gut.