He couldn't focus. His appointments with estate officials came and went, but he couldn't remember a single word they had said.
"This won't do," Jack thought, pushing himself up from the plush chair and striding out. He made his way through the manor's hallways, heading toward the only place that gave him clarity—his training chamber.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, exhaled slowly, and conjured a flame in his palm.
His thoughts wandered back to the meeting with Seraphine.
Back then, something strange had happened. He could feel his mana moving—gathering, condensing. The air around him had grown hotter with his rage. At the time, he hadn't cared much. But now that he recalled Lucy—his maid—she had been drenched in sweat after the encounter, even though she had stood a fair distance away.
The room had been sweltering. Yet Jack, the very center of the heat, had felt nothing. No discomfort, no sweat, no heat—just pure focus and fury.
Now, staring at the flame in his hand, he could feel the warmth against his skin. But it was different than back then. That time, he had been the source—but also untouched by it.
"How is that possible?" he muttered.
It didn't make sense. If the heat was coming from him, how could he be shielded from it?
And then—an idea struck.
What if... he could isolate the fire using his mana?
Jack narrowed his eyes, then willed his mana to form a sphere. That part was easy. Next, he cast fire magic inside the sphere, enclosing the flames within an invisible shell of mana—like a container.
A perfectly round orb of fire now hovered in his palm. The flames danced, yet made no sound, their shape unnaturally smooth—suspended, tamed by the surrounding mana.
He hurled the ball across the room.
The moment it struck the wooden floor, the outer mana layer burst, and flames exploded outward, licking the wood for a brief second before fizzling out—leaving behind a deep scorch mark.
Jack smirked.
"Well… it worked. I should've separated the flames from the core too."
Jack muttered to himself, grinning as he sat up, bits of smoke still curling off his scorched sleeve. The rush of discovery was too strong to resist. He dusted himself off and got to work again—eyes gleaming with obsession.
Step by step.
First, he formed a small sphere of mana—dense and concentrated. Around it, he cast a tight mana barrier, a shell to keep the core stable. Then, carefully, he shaped a larger sphere, placing the smaller one precisely at its center.
A fire spell ignited inside the outer sphere, but this time… no explosion.
Success.
The raging orb hovered inches above his palm, spinning with a contained ferocity—flames dancing inside like a caged beast.
Jack stood, ready to throw the sphere toward the far wall of the training chamber for testing. He took aim, his muscles tense, eyes locked on his target—
BANG!
The doors burst open.
Several guards rushed in, weapons half-drawn, expressions urgent.
Jack, startled by the sudden intrusion, instinctively flinched—and in that split-second of reflex, he threw the fireball.
Towards the sound.
Towards the guards.
His heart dropped.
"RUN!" he roared, voice cracking with panic.
But it was already too late.
One of the guards, acting purely on instinct, unsheathed his sword in a blur of motion and slashed at the glowing orb.
The blade cut through the sphere—right through the core.
BOOM!
The explosion ripped through the chamber like a shockwave.
The guard who struck it was hurled across the room, his body colliding with a pillar before crumpling to the ground. The rest staggered back, knocked off their feet by the force, their ears ringing with a high-pitched buzz, smoke swirling in the air like mist from a battlefield.
Then more footsteps. Heavy. Rushed. Angry.
Captain Garren stormed in with his elite unit.
His eyes scanned the room—guards sprawled on the floor, the thick smell of burning mana, Jack standing in the middle with burn marks on his robe and a panicked expression.
Garren froze.
"…What happened here?"
Jack didn't answer right away.
Instead, he rushed over to check on the unconscious guard, muttering curses under his breath. His hands trembled as they hovered over the man's chest—still rising and falling, though shallowly.
He's alive.
But that didn't calm Jack's mind. If that core had exploded a moment earlier… if the sword had struck it differently…
This was too much.
This explosion—it wasn't like the one that had knocked Jack back earlier. This had force. Raw, compressed energy that blew apart everything in front of it. Jack had made the core larger, more dense, expecting a bit more power. But this…
It had surpassed even his imagination.
He turned to face Garren. His throat dry. His face—usually filled with fire and confidence—now bore traces of guilt and raw adrenaline.
"I… I was training," Jack said, voice low, hesitant. "It wasn't supposed to hit them."
Garren walked slowly into the ruined room. Each bootstep echoed louder than the last. His eyes didn't scan the damage first—they looked straight at Jack.
Then, his gaze moved to the cracked walls. The burn marks. The unconscious guard.
Finally, he spoke. "And you thought no one needed to know?"
Jack looked away.
"I didn't think it would go this far."
"That's exactly the problem." Garren's voice was like gravel—rough and cold. "You didn't think."
One of the conscious guards nearby spoke up, groaning, "Commander… the blast—it wasn't normal. There was pressure behind it… like it punched the air itself."
Garren raised a hand. "I noticed."
He walked over to the scorch mark on the floor, crouched beside it. Ran a hand over the charred wood. Mana still lingered in the air like a storm cloud refusing to leave.
"Jack." Garren stood again. "Whatever you created here—this isn't a spell they teach in the academies."
"It's not from the books," Jack admitted. "I was trying to control my fire. Shape it. Give it form and containment."
Garren raised an eyebrow. "Containment?"
Jack nodded slowly. "I made a core. Dense mana at the center. Enclosed it with a shell. The fire was meant to stay inside, and when the shell broke, the flames would surge outward." He paused. "But it didn't just surge. It exploded."
Silence stretched again.
"You're experimenting with magic that could level walls," Garren finally said. "And you're doing it alone. Unwatched. Unchecked."
Jack felt his ears burn. He wanted to argue—say that he needed this. That the fire inside him was pushing him to evolve. But his lips wouldn't move.
Because deep down, he knew Garren was right.
Garren let out a long breath, his tone finally easing—but only a little. "You're not a child anymore, Jack. And you're not a soldier either. You're a leader. If something happened to you—or if you caused it—it would start a wildfire none of us could stop."
Jack clenched his fists.
"I'm trying to become strong enough to stop what's coming."
"Then don't destroy yourself getting there," Garren said sharply. "Next time you want to reshape the laws of magic —do it under supervision."
He looked to his men.
"Clean up this mess. Get the injured to the infirmary."
Then, to Jack—quietly: "And tomorrow morning, you'll report to me. We're setting up a controlled testing ground. You want to train like this? Fine. But not alone. Not again."
Garren turned without waiting for a reply and walked out.
Jack remained, staring at the cracked floor, the flickering flames now fading away.
"Damn it all…"
He muttered curses under his breath—quiet, bitter.
Of all times…
They must have heard the first blast and rushed in to check what had happened. It was natural, expected even. But still, the timing couldn't have been worse. He had almost perfected it. Almost. And now he had a half-burnt training hall, an unconscious guard, and Garren's eyes filled with unspoken warnings to deal with.
He let out a slow breath, willing the embers on the floor to die out.
With one final glance at the scorch marks and the unconscious man being carried away, Jack turned on his heel and followed after Garren, boots crunching lightly against fragments of burned wood.
--
Tracy returned from the training hall, brushing soot off her armor. Her pace was quick but steady. As she entered Seraphine's chambers, the Princess was seated at a desk, quietly reviewing some documents.
"He created a blast strong enough to throw a grown man across the room," Tracy said, closing the door behind her.
Seraphine didn't look up. "Anyone hurt?"
"Nothing life-threatening. Garren has it under control."
Seraphine nodded once. "And Jack?"
"He looked… shaken. More by what he did than the guards he hit."
Tracy waited a moment before speaking again.
"You keep pushing him. Even now."
Seraphine set her quill down and leaned back. "Because he doesn't know what he's capable of yet. And he needs to."
Tracy's brows furrowed. "You speak like you know him better than he knows himself."
"I know his bloodline," Seraphine said quietly. "More than he does."
That made Tracy pause.
Seraphine's gaze sharpened. She spoke calmly, but there was weight behind her words.
"His line traces back to the Emberborn—the first humans said to have survived the Breath of the World Dragon. They didn't just wield fire. Fire obeyed them. It sought them out."
Tracy's eyes narrowed. "Is that even real? Or a myth?"
Seraphine looked at her . "When I was young, we were taught not just to respect Ignis nobility—but to fear them. There's a reason my father ordered that attack all those years ago. He feared what a full-blooded heir of Ignis could become if left unchecked."
Tracy frowned. "I thought your father saw all nobles as threats."
"He did. But Ignis was different. Their power wasn't just political—it was old, tied to something deeper. Fire wasn't just a tool to them. It was a legacy."
She stood, walked over to a nearby shelf, and tapped her fingers against a leather-bound ledger.
"Jack is the last one with that legacy. He's grown up in the ashes of it, never knowing what it really meant. But if that power wakes up now, without control, without purpose—"
"It becomes a danger to everyone," Tracy finished.
Seraphine nodded. "That's why I'm here , to make sure he understands what he is. Before someone else does."