Alan let out a helpless chuckle.

He could still vividly remember the bone-chilling cold that had emanated from his sister’s body whenever her illness flared up.

That kind of cold wasn’t something any ordinary person could endure.

And yet Isabella, at such a young age, had already endured it so many times.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that her body’s natural defense mechanisms had altered her perception over time—

—to the point where she had started crafting comforting fantasies for herself.

Alan crouched down so he was level with her and gently rubbed her delicate cheeks with his palm.

“If that’s really the case,” he said softly,

“then maybe that invisible, untouchable God of Frost is merely testing you.”

“I’ve heard,” he continued, weaving a story to comfort her,

“that many deities from the churches often test the purest of their believers.

And once they pass the trials, they receive powerful blessings in return.”

He was well aware that such words wouldn’t truly help Isabella’s condition—

—in fact, he was almost certainly exaggerating.

But that didn’t matter.

If it could bring a little happiness to his sister, Alan wouldn’t hesitate to make up an entire church doctrine on the spot.

Feeling her brother’s warmth and care, Isabella didn’t argue any further.

She simply buried her head deeper into Alan’s chest, nuzzling against him.

In the silent night, a boy who still hadn’t fully shed his childhood innocence embraced a girl even younger than himself,

and softly began humming a lullaby from their distant homeland.

For so many years, it had been just the two of them, relying on each other to survive.

The bond between them had long since surpassed even the closest blood relations.

“Mom…”

Isabella murmured drowsily, her voice barely a whisper.

For a brief moment, she had mistaken Alan for their mother.

Alan smiled and lightly tapped her little nose with a fingertip.

“Not Mom, silly. It’s your big brother.”

Isabella giggled softly, rolling over to snuggle against Alan’s arm.

In a small, spoiled voice, she said,

“Sorry, brother. It’s just that… when I was little, I remember Mom singing this lullaby to me.

Did she ever sing it to you too?”

Alan didn’t respond right away.

He stared up at the ceiling, lost in hazy memories.

He had only the faintest recollection of that gentle melody—

—and even less memory of who had sung it to him.

Seeing her brother slip into a daze, Isabella quickly backtracked,

“It’s okay, brother.

Even if Mom didn’t sing it to you… from now on, you can sing it for me instead, right?

Can I hear it a few more times?”

“Of course,” Alan said warmly.

He tucked the blanket snugly around her and resumed gently patting her shoulder, continuing to hum the lullaby.

His pitch wasn’t particularly refined, and his singing technique was quite rough.

But even with its imperfections, the simple lullaby soothed Isabella into a sweet, peaceful sleep within moments.

The next morning, Alan climbed carefully out of bed, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping girl.

After a quick wash, he hurried back toward the training grounds.

To his surprise, the rubble scattered across the area had reassembled itself into the form of stone golems once again.

Alan couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps their “true” state was just a pile of debris—

—only shaped into golems through some forceful magic, just for the sake of practicing mana Overpressure.

But that wasn’t important right now.

The critical thing was to consolidate the mana Overpressure he had managed to grasp yesterday.

Currently, Alan could only invoke mana Overpressure when he released massive amounts of mana or when his aura peaked at its highest intensity.

He could pull off the powerful Mana Rupture attack…

…but only occasionally, and not reliably.

Sure, it made for a brilliant surprise move in battle—

—but Alan didn’t feel secure relying on spur-of-the-moment inspiration.

What if he needed it in a critical fight, and it failed to activate?

He didn’t dare to gamble.

In real combat, every miscalculation came with the cost of one’s life.

Thus, he had to forge his control over mana Overpressure to the highest possible degree.

Not necessarily achieving the monstrous level of Alice—

—who could maintain Overpressure constantly and effortlessly—

—but at least reaching a point where he could summon it whenever he truly needed it.

Moreover, Alan believed his earlier grasp of Mana Shaping was still far from complete.

At present, he mainly used it to coat his primary spells with razor-thin edges, boosting their lethality.

But Alan was convinced that Mana Shaping’s potential wasn’t limited to just enhancing offense.

No—he believed it should be something closer to a highly functional auxiliary skill, like Mana Tether.

Merely using it for slashing power seemed like a massive waste.

Thus, Alan devoted an entire day solely to refining these two newly-acquired techniques.

His skill and strength advanced steadily with every passing hour.

Meanwhile, Fort and Francis were throwing themselves into their training with desperate intensity.

Fort had even abandoned regular meals and sleep altogether, spending every waking moment devouring solid chunks of metallic element.

Eventually, nails became too small for him.

He moved on to gnawing on the academy’s iron fences, old metal bookshelves from storage rooms,

and even the academy’s front gate sign—

—all of which, by now, bore clear bite marks!

As for Francis—

—although he grumbled constantly, he never once slacked off on the grueling training regimen Old Gayle had assigned him.

Everyone at Sirius Academy had their reasons for being there.

None of them had the luxury of failure.

Over time, both Fort and Francis had developed a deep attachment to the academy.

Old Gayle, despite always being drunk and disheveled, had proven himself dependable in times of crisis,

protecting the students like a true guardian.

Blanche, though often taciturn, had also offered them quiet help and support many times, like an ever-reliable big sister.

And as for Alan and Isabella—

—both Fort and Francis had long since regarded the siblings as true friends.

Most importantly, Sirius Academy itself had no way back now.

If the students failed…

…not only would they likely lose their lives, but the entire academy could face complete annihilation.

None of them wanted to see that happen.

That was why they were pushing themselves so relentlessly.

In the blink of an eye, a week passed.

Throughout that week, the Sirius students had barely slept.

The moment they opened their eyes, it was back to relentless training, again and again, without pause!

Meanwhile, an odd event was unfolding near the gates of the imperial capital.

Three strange figures approached the city entrance, attracting immediate attention.

Each wore a wide-brimmed, curled cowboy hat and a brown leather jacket,

riding peculiar four-legged beasts unfamiliar to the local populace.

The soldiers stationed at the gates immediately noticed these bizarre “cowboys” and rushed forward, weapons drawn.

“Who goes there?!” barked one soldier sharply.

One of the riders, a blond man with blue eyes and a thick walrus mustache, casually dismounted.

He swept an arrogant glance across the soldiers, then sneered,

“Didn’t expect the Plantagenet Kingdom’s gatekeepers to be such a bunch of blind fools.”

“What did you just say?!”

The soldier, instantly enraged, raised his regulation longsword, prepared to teach this rude foreigner a harsh lesson.

But before he could act, the mustached cowboy moved with lightning speed.

In one smooth motion, he drew a gleaming silver flintlock pistol from his belt—

—and pulled the trigger straight at one of the guards!