Dawn broke across the sky, and Ares had begun absorbing the ambient mana in the environment as he had been doing religiously for the past month, his tiny body already showing the subtle signs of supernatural conditioning.
"It's becoming relatively easy to absorb mana now. I can tell because I hardly break a sweat while channeling the energy anymore," Ares thought with satisfaction as he recalled the agonizing difficulty of his initial attempts. Back then, every session had left him trembling and drenched in perspiration, his infant body pushed beyond its natural limits.
"It's about time—Junia should be coming soon to give me a bath." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the interior of his chamber with growing unease. The young masters were housed in separate quarters, and presently, Ares' room was painted an ominous black that seemed to swallow light itself. It was deeply unsettling—children should be placed in bright, well-lit spaces where they could be properly monitored, but as usual, the Eisenklinge were weird.
"The books didn't lie about this place. This isolation is why most of the family end up either crazed, bipolar, or socially maladjusted," he mused darkly as Alaric's stern, emotionally distant face flashed through his mind.
The room was adorned with pulsing crystals that cast eerie shadows across the walls, and an ornate artifact clung to the ceiling. It resembled a disc plate with a green crystal at its center, pulsing with rhythmic emerald light. Ares could feel the artificial wind flowing from the device, providing the chamber's only source of circulation.
"So that's this world's version of a fan—actually quite ingenious," he observed, turning his head as much as his infant body would allow. His movement was severely limited, a constant reminder of his vulnerable state.
Several minutes passed in contemplative silence before the doors to his chamber swung open with a soft creak.
Junia entered wearing her pristine maid attire, moving directly to his bedside with practiced efficiency. She lifted him with gentle hands while speaking in her characteristically warm tone: "Good morning, young master. Let's get you bathed and ready for the day ahead." Her smile was sweetened with genuine affection, though worry lingered in her eyes.
She carried Ares to the communal washing area where the young masters received their daily ablutions. As she began the bathing process, she discovered that his diaper was thoroughly soiled, which prompted immediate action. When Ares realized she was cleaning his bum after his infantile business, waves of mortification crashed over him.
After several minutes, she had finished bathing him and changed him into a fresh diaper and clean garments. She then fed him warm milk, patiently waiting until he burped before allowing him to drift into peaceful slumber for exactly one hour.
Precisely sixty minutes after Junia had departed, the doors burst open with ominous purpose. Outside stood two figures that made the air itself seem to thicken with tension. The first was Veltrissa, her imposing presence filling the doorway. The second was a man bearing the trademark obsidian hair of the bloodline—he wore a training gi that emphasized his brawny, battle-hardened physique. His demeanor was calm as he followed silently behind the High Matron.
"Drenar! That's him—the latest young master from our patriarch. He's called Ares," Veltrissa announced. "See to it that he doesn't get burned alive, or the Lord will skewer you and your entire bloodline!"
Her taunting words were punctuated by a forceful shove that sent Drenar stumbling forward. The man's face paled with terror as he carefully lifted the infant from his cradle before stepping out of the room with measured steps.
Drenar carried Ares past the doors of other young masters' chambers, their muffled sounds hinting at similar ordeals taking place behind closed doors. They exited the residential tier and walked down a corridor that seemed to stretch on before finally emerging from the central building into the courtyard.
Around them stood six imposing structures that circled the castle, each one radiating its own unique aura of elemental power. Drenar moved toward the right, approaching a building that seemed to pulse with barely contained fury—the crimson shrine of fire.
As they drew closer, the structure's true magnificence became terrifyingly apparent: a towering crimson-red edifice constructed with blackstone pillars veined with glowing ember runes that writhed with energy. Its roof arced upward, constantly emitting gentle wisps of heat and dancing sparks that painted the air with orange light.
Ares could feel an alien energy emanating from the shrine, its power washing over him in waves that made his infant skin tingle with premonition. "This is the fire shrine—exactly as the author described it. Dear gods, why did they have to start with fire of all the elements? Couldn't they begin with something less likely to incinerate me?"
As these desperate thoughts raced through his mind, they finally arrived at the shrine's entrance. Drenar pushed open the ornate red door, its surface carved with intricate flame motifs that seemed to dance in the flickering light. The moment they crossed the threshold, Ares began frantically scanning the interior with wide, terrified eyes.
"The Heartforge," he whispered mentally, recognizing the massive, cauldron-like chamber where fire mana pulsed through the air. The Heartforge was constructed of obsidian and redsteel that radiated intense heat, surrounded by layered volcanic stone platforms arranged in concentric circles. This was the primary training ground where young Eisenklinge would either be forged into weapons or consumed by their own ambition.
Drenar continued walking forward with measured steps, each footfall causing the ground to pulse with accumulated heat. Waves of scorching air rose from the stone beneath them, and Ares immediately became acutely uncomfortable as the temperature climbed toward unbearable levels. Through his growing distress, he spotted Drenar's intended destination and felt his infant heart skip a beat.
"The Ignis Podium," he analyzed with growing dread, taking in every terrifying detail. It was a large, raised octagonal platform positioned at the very center of the Heartforge—a place where young Eisenklinge children would stand or meditate to absorb potent elemental fire energy directly into their vulnerable bodies. The podium was infused with ancient runes that allowed it to synchronize with the user's mana signature, gradually releasing controlled bursts of elemental fire to test and temper their natural affinity.
Upon reaching the podium, Drenar gently placed Ares upon its surface before stepping back with visible relief. The baby immediately felt the scorching heat through his thin clothing—the platform was intensely hot. "No! I want out of here!" These desperate thoughts raced through his mind, but externally he could only produce sounds of infantile displeasure that drew Drenar's concerned attention.
"Oh! I know, I know it's hot... but I promise it will only get better from here. Just endure it for today," the Flame Warden said with genuine pity coloring his voice. He truly felt sympathy for the young one, but his hands were tied—he was merely a branch family member with no authority to alter the patriarch's training regimen.
After several minutes of panic, Ares forced himself to calm down and gather his scattered thoughts. "I have to start cultivating immediately. There was once a casualty—a young master died during his time at the Cradle and was posthumously branded as weak and unfit for the family legacy. I absolutely refuse to become a second anonymous corpse."
Ares finally collected his resolve and steadied his racing mind. Yes, the training was brutal and the heat was nearly unbearable, but the fact that he had awakened as a novice cultivator provided some small buffer against the discomfort. He began to meditate, feeling the raw energy of the podium beneath him—pure, concentrated flame energy that stung rather than burned, though for a child with no resistance whatsoever, even a sting could mean losing a limb.
He immediately began drawing the energy into his tiny body, and the real agony began. It felt as though molten lava had been injected directly into his veins, liquid fire coursing through his bloodstream. He drew the energy in gradually, guiding it up his arms and channeling it toward his core, which spun before distributing the refined energy throughout the rest of his body. The energy would then bounce back to his core in a continuous rhythm, creating an internal circulation system that grew stronger with each cycle.
After some time, Drenar noticed something extraordinary—the infant had gone completely silent. "He's quiet... is he dead? Oh no, does this mean I'll be executed for negligence?" Panicked thoughts raced through his mind as he steeled himself to check if Ares had perished, but what he witnessed left him thunderstruck.
"How can this be possible?!" he gasped in disbelief.
As an expert-rank cultivator, perceiving energy flows was as natural as breathing to him. He could clearly sense the flame energy being steadily absorbed into Ares' body—an anomaly that defied all logic and reason. "How can an infant cultivate this smoothly and efficiently? This shouldn't be humanly possible!"
What he had witnessed left him completely stunned and deeply unsettled. "I need to report this to the High Matron immediately. I don't want to become too deeply involved with family secrets that could cost me my life," he resolved, making a mental note to inform Veltrissa about this unprecedented phenomenon the next time their paths crossed.
Ares, meanwhile, was rapidly approaching his physical and mental limits. He had been cultivating for four grueling hours straight, his infant body pushed far beyond its natural capabilities. Just as he was about to surrender to the overwhelming pain and exhaustion, he forced himself to persevere—the alternative was being burned alive by uncontrolled flame energy.
Finally, mercifully, afternoon arrived, and Junia appeared at the shrine's entrance to collect him for his midday meal and rest period.
---
After a brief respite where Junia lovingly fed him and allowed him a precious hour of recovery, Ares steeled himself for what he knew was coming. The afternoon training session would be even more intense than the morning's ordeal.
True to the Cradle's merciless schedule, Drenar returned to collect him for the second round of elemental conditioning. This time, however, Ares noticed something different in the man's demeanor—a mixture of awe and fear that hadn't been there before.
"Time for your afternoon session, young master," Drenar said quietly, his voice carrying a new note of respect that bordered on reverence. As he lifted Ares from his brief sanctuary, the infant could see uncertainty flickering in the man's obsidian eyes.
The return journey to the Heartforge felt difficult, but Ares had made his peace with the pain. He needed to survive the hellish training.
As they approached the crimson shrine once more, its ember runes pulsing with energy, Ares closed his eyes and prepared to dive once again into the crucible that would either forge him into an unstoppable weapon or consume him entirely.
The flames were waiting, patient and hungry, ready to test whether he truly belonged among the legendary Eisenklinge bloodline.