Jack and Aeris sat in the middle of the training room as Aeris guided him on how to relax his muscles and feel his mana core. The warmth in the room and the soft glow of the white lanterns gave their session a mood.
"This is the most important part of each person's magic possession." She opened her eyes slightly to see Jack still deep in meditation, a little smile playing on his lips. Seeing this, she smiled too and let her eyes drift closed again.
The memory of Raiden being perpetually stuck on this exercise flashed through Jack's mind, making him bite back a laugh at how pathetic that seemed.
"To possess any ability or maintain it, managing your mana core and increasing your mana pool is paramount. Try to sense it within you, pulsing like a heartbeat. Yes, it is the very heart of your magic."
Jack remained quiet. Meditation sessions were familiar territory for him—in fact, they were the only training he'd ever found enjoyable. This would be simple enough as he absorbed Aeris' words.
"Feel your mana…"
Jack nodded, and slowly Aeris' voice became distant as he turned his attention to his heartbeat. An hour passed in concentration, yet he still couldn't feel his core. He plunged deeper into himself until he could sense his heartbeat in every extremity, even his toes, but his mana core remained elusive.
"It is getting late… you need to return to the library and protect the book," Aeris said, gently drawing Jack out of his trance.
Jack looked at her with bewilderment, then glanced back at his shoulder. Aeris seemed genuinely afraid of just the look he'd given her. Where he came from, interrupting meditation could cost someone their life. Seeing her cautious reaction, the reality of her words hit him with the force of a gut punch.
He rose silently, stepped outside the door, turned right, and headed for the library through the stairwell. The palace's design ensured that wherever the bookkeeper might be, getting to the library was always straightforward—corridors throughout the building were specifically laid out to lead there.
The moment Jack left the room, however, his steps became sluggish as his mind raced. If he wanted to reclaim his life soon, he couldn't put all his faith in Aeris alone. He started digging through Raiden's memories about the mana crest.
But unfortunately, he could only access fragments of those memories. Nothing came through clearly.
There has to be something written in those notes on his desk.
Finally picking up his pace, he entered the library and systematically examined every sheet on the desk. The majority contained Raiden's personal regrets, which served no purpose for Jack. He tossed page after page aside until at last he found something useful.
Raiden had studied numericals—analysis and statistics discipline—at Persian University. However, as the sole heir of the Night family, he'd been taught languages from childhood to enhance communication and formal protocols befitting high-class nobility.
So what Raiden had written on the sheets was in fragments of various languages—everything except Persian. Even so, Jack could read it all as easily as if he'd written it himself.
"Interesting… he understood everything theoretically but just couldn't put it into practice," Jack smirked, cleared the desk, and sat on it as he began to meditate.
Just as Aeris had said, the mana core was no different from the heart—exactly what Raiden had written, but with far more detail. This helped Jack understand it better, and with that clarity, he knew exactly how to approach it: through his own way of understanding.
Jack let his body relax completely again, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. Everything settled as his heartbeat resonated through his entire being, synchronized with the rhythm of his blood.
Whether killed by magic, stabbed through the heart, shot in the head, or crushed by broken bones, death was always confirmed the same way—by the heart.
And if anyone knew precisely what stopped a heart and could recognize when it no longer beats, it was him. But in this instant, he was preparing to do the complete opposite of what he'd been born to do: resurrect a dead heart.
Raiden had always believed his core was beyond repair—seventeen years of neglect had dimmed it because of his cowardice, and his inability to push himself athletically. As Jack saw it, the core was effectively dead and would need to be brought back to life.
After listening to his heartbeat echo through his body for some time, Jack began to tune into the silence that existed within the chaos.
He remembered his father, Jake Grim's teaching: "Before any trigger is pulled, before any blade strikes, a moment of silence passes." This wisdom had been meant to help him truly know his weapons and develop an unbreakable bond.
Jack used this same approach. Between his heart's rapid beats was silence, and he listened to those quiet intervals while directing all his focus to his chest where the core lay dormant.
Just as there's silence before a firing pin strikes, he mentally recreated that split-second moment repeatedly. And in that brief space—like the spark generated when a striker contacts gunpowder in a cartridge—he kept producing those same sparks over and over.
Jack's body began to perspire as he maintained his position, but he dove so deeply into concentration that his surroundings ceased to exist. A thousand assassins could have struck him down without his knowledge. Yet his determination never wavered.
Though his current approach was failing, surrender wasn't in his nature—that relentless drive had always been his strength as an assassin. He would keep trying until he got it right, just like every mission before.
Nearly six hours passed with Jack sitting in perfect stillness, only his quiet breathing indicating he lived. Then, at last, he began to feel tiny sparks—reminiscent of that split second when a firework first ignites.
The instant he felt those sparks, his motivation surged. He gave himself over more fully to the silence, stretching his imagination to create what felt like veins of quietude—conduits that would strengthen the chain reaction and make it catch fire more quickly.
He persisted for nearly two hours more until at last, it occurred. Something sparked to life inside him, causing chills to ripple through his body, inside and out. A blue light appeared—tinier even than a lighter's flame.
It flickered exactly like a flame, dimming whenever Jack's concentration wavered and brightening when he refocused. At this point, it was like trying to light a fire in windy conditions—the flame had to be shielded from the wind to grow.
So Jack refused to emerge from his deep meditative state until the fire was strong enough to withstand any disturbance.
Like a devoted monk, he maintained his position without moving. The morning dissolved into the afternoon. Both his mother, Yara, and Aeris came to check on him, yet he remained perfectly still in that same place, waiting for his core to kindle into a strong enough flame.
Soon, his body started to give out. Jack had endured weeks without food or water many times before, making this seem like it should be simple. But Raiden's body was nothing like his—his stomach had begun growling, and even worse, exhaustion was setting in. Jack visibly swayed back and forth; rest had become a necessity.
Still, Jack noticed none of this because his awareness had shifted to a plane far beyond his physical form's reactions.
It wasn't long before he collapsed sideways, slumping onto the desk. Jack felt none of the physical impact, but there was something he couldn't avoid. His senses started to waver and his flawless focus began to crumble.
He felt himself slowly drifting away from the core. He couldn't react, speak, or even form coherent thoughts, though he watched himself fracturing from somewhere far away.
In an instant, he was out cold, slumped over the desk and sleeping as though he hadn't closed his eyes in weeks.
Before long, Jack stirred awake, annoyed at what he might have missed as he attempted to lift his frail body. Yet when he saw how violently he was shaking, weakness coursing through each limb, he realized he needed sustenance before it was too late.
It was well into the night, shortly before dawn would break, but with his stomach growling so insistently, he couldn't afford to ignore it. Leaning on the desk and shelves for balance, he slowly made his way toward the kitchen.
For the first time since transmigrating, Jack found himself in the grand hallway that led guests to the throne room. He knew from Raiden's memories that the palace was over 900,000 square feet, but this was Jack's first actual view of it.
The floor and ceiling alike were adorned with portraits showcasing ancient art, epic battles, and great victories—living history painted on every surface.
White stone, golden details, and lush greenery wove together with cascading flowers. To his right stretched the main corridor toward the entrance, an area that could rival any museum. Flowers bloomed in geometric patterns, punctuated by masterfully carved statues.
This place was nothing like the hell I'd imagined…
As he approached the throne entrance, he signaled to a guard in full armor who was standing watch and instructed him to bring him something to eat.
He didn't bother waiting for an answer before spinning around and making his way back to the library. His annoyance was unmistakable—partly from his frail condition, but mostly from how lax the kingdom's security was around the book. He had complaints to make, just not at this moment.
As soon as he returned and positioned himself on the desk, his food arrived within a minute. The moment he finished scarfing it down, he immediately returned to his meditative state.
Luck was on his side—the core remained as he'd left it. But this was still an issue. Similar to how the heart's rhythm could be felt anywhere in the body, the core should have had that same presence, yet its weakness meant it was only perceptible in deep meditative states.
'The most important part of each person's magic,' yet his body was past its prime for this development—others had awakened their cores almost ten years earlier. But this was the hell he deserved, perhaps karma for all his killings.