Icariel was far from the cave now.
He'd found two large stones resting beside each other, surrounded—as always—by the tall trees of the forest. It was quiet, save for the rustling leaves and distant chirps of birds. He stood there, the morning sun filtering through the branches, mana floating lazily in the air like forgotten snow.
"You'll train your fire and water on the stones," the voice in his head instructed. "And your wind spells on the trees. Are you ready?"
Icariel nodded slightly.
"Good. I'll give you scenarios that could happen—and you'll respond as if they were real. It won't match true experience, but we'll mimic it the best we can. You've seen Galien fight. You've been hunted by that woman. You've stared death in the face. That's worth more than twenty years of training."
Icariel didn't say anything—but his heart beat faster. He remembered her face.
"Let's start," the voice said. "That stone—the one on the right—think of it as Elektra."
Icariel's breath caught in his throat.
He tried to imagine the stone as her—the cold, hungry look in her eyes, the way her dark ponytail swayed like a blade ready to strike, her beast-like smile.
He started to tremble.
He raised his wounded hand—and cast. A powerful surge of fire burst forth, the flame so dense and searing it scorched the earth itself as it flew. It hit the stone and set it ablaze.
Then—
He ran.
Without hesitation, he turned on his heels and sprinted into the trees.
"Hey! What are you doing?" the voice asked, startled.
"Surviving," Icariel shouted back. "You told me to treat this like real life. I used what I learned—launched an attack—and now I'm buying time to hide, cover my tracks, and vanish."
The voice went silent for a moment.
"…Icariel. Stop."
He did.
The voice knew the boy didn't think like the others. He knew that better than anyone. But even now—he sometimes couldn't fully understand him.
"…Alright,"the voice said. "New scenario."
"The woman—Elektra—she's fighting someone else. Like back then. Just like when you threw the axe. It's your job to distract or injure her long enough so the other person can kill her."
Icariel slowly returned to the burning stone, still catching his breath.
"Oh. That's way better," he said, facing it.
He imagined her again—mid-fight with Galien. Her blade clashing, her body tense, her focus locked. He summoned a tiny flame—smaller than before—as the first blaze still sizzled on the stone from his earlier strike.
"This is my most precise fire spell," he muttered. "Not as destructive as the spear flames, but it burns hotter."
He closed his eyes. Focused. Then opened them again.
The moment was right. He hurled the flame.
It struck. The stone cracked, flames flaring across its surface. He imagined her scream. Imagined Galien striking the killing blow, both of them falling.
"I did it…" Icariel whispered. "The scenario worked. I succeeded."
"Good," the voice said calmly, observing.
But the fire wasn't stopping.
The stone was burning hotter. Flames were spreading—creeping toward the nearby woods.
"Now," the voice said firmly, "cast a water spell—put it out."
The flames were growing fast.
"You need to give a lot of your mana to the water spell," the voice said, watching the flames dance dangerously close to the trees. "Make sure it's enough to extinguish everything."
"Fine," Icariel replied, steadying his breath.
He focused, feeling the mana leave his body—and at the same time, feeling it flow back in from the air, cycling thanks to White Sense. From his hand, a ball of water began to form. It grew slowly—bigger, heavier—until it was almost the size of the stone itself.
"This should be enough?"
"Yeah, pretty much. Throw it now."
Icariel hurled the water orb at the burning stone. The impact was immediate. A loud hiss echoed through the clearing as the flames vanished under the weight of the water.
The stone smoked. The forest was safe.
"Water spells are usually for support," the voice said. "But who knows? They might come in handy one day."
Icariel looked at his hand. Then asked, "Why isn't water dangerous? Why is it only used for support?"
"Because it doesn't have properties like flame—which can burn someone alive—or lightning, or even that wind slash you learned. Water is… just water. Even when you attack with it, it barely scratches the skin. The only permanent danger it holds…"
"...is drowning," Icariel finished, his eyes narrowing.
"Exactly."
"That's why I asked," Icariel said, thinking deeper now. "Do you remember the time that unknown man came to our village?"
"The one Galien fought?" the voice asked. "Yes. He defeated him… though we never really learned why he came or threatened the village."
"But Galien mentioned something about torturing him," Icariel said. "Something about using water. About drowning him."
The voice went quiet.
"So… what if I trap someone inside this orb of water?" Icariel asked calmly. "What are the odds they'd survive?"
A heavy silence followed.
"A normal person," the voice eventually replied, "or even a mage without a suitable spell to break free—and a swordmaster without his sword—their chances would be zero. It wouldn't matter how powerful they were."
"See?" Icariel said, softly. "It's not just a support element."
"Why didn't you tell me that?"
Another pause.
"Because…" the voice hesitated. "I thought you wouldn't do such thing."
Icariel blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?" his voice turned cold, steady. "If the scenario comes, I will never hesitate to put myself before others you know that best."
The voice stayed quiet. Then finally spoke again—softer now.
"...Sorry. That was a mistake on my part."
"If that's the case, then from now on—I'll teach you how to use every spell you possess in every possible way."
"Does that sound good to you?"
Icariel gave a small smile. "Yeah. It does."
Nine days later—only four remained of the one-month training the voice had tasked Icariel with.
He now stood face to face with the boulders he'd spent countless hours fighting. His dark hair had grown slightly longer, his black eyes now sharper, more focused—hardened by experience.
One of the massive stones was already shattered, completely destroyed. From his hand, a flame spear launched forward with full force, slicing through the air and slamming into the second boulder. It pierced it like a blade through paper, splitting the stone and sending chunks flying.
"And that was the final scenario I put you through," the voice said.
"To be honest... SHOCK. That's what you gave me, Icariel."
Icariel cracked his fingers, his expression unreadable.
"I really wish I had that kind of opportunity once in this lifetime," he muttered.
There was a moment of silence.
Then, for the first time—unmistakably—anger flashed in Icariel's eyes.
What kind of scenario had the voice just put him through?
That would remain a mystery… for now.
"For the last four days,"the voice continued, "you'll train your wind spell. That will mark the end of your mage training."
"You can still learn or acquire new spells in the future, depending on what you face—but for now, this is all you need."
Icariel nodded.
"That's fine," he said. "I think it's enough for now. I've mastered my control over the flame spell perfectly. I've learned water well too."
He looked at his hand, then at the trees around him.
He exhaled, voice calmer.
"It was different from when I waited in the rain to acquire the lightning spell," he continued. "Back then, I was only learning the spell itself experimenting. Now, I've learned how to use them—how to fight, how to think, how to react."
He gave a faint smile, tired but proud.
"Even if they were just motionless stones… in my head, they were beasts. Enemies. Alive."
The voice seemed satisfied.
"Now, for wind—you only have one spell: Wind Slash. See all the trees around you?"
Icariel nodded.
"You'll use them as targets. I'll tell you exactly where to cut, and you'll train your aim—and your control over the spell's intensity."
"Fine by me," Icariel replied.
The voice pointed out a tree standing tall and alone in the middle of the clearing.
"That one. Cut it in half—in the middle. Not too weak, not too strong. Control it."
Icariel raised his hand.
Fwwhhh!
A slice of wind launched horizontally as he swung his arm.
The tree was marked—but only at the base, near the roots. A thin horizontal line etched into the bark.
"I told you—the middle," the voice said. "Not the bottom. Don't just cast it. Control it."
Icariel scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed.
"Guess I've still got work to do," he muttered, adjusting his stance.