Chapter 277

Volume 2 Ch 20: Replenishing Mana

“Mana?” Ryan frowned slightly and tried to sense what was happening inside his body.

Just as he had said before, he had recovered—but not completely.

The power he could call upon felt abundant, even stronger than before, yet that clear sense of control over his own Mana reserves had grown vague.

It was like a still pool turning into a flowing river. You knew the water was moving, knew the force was there, but could no longer say exactly where the waterline stood.

“It does feel different,” he said slowly. “Using Magic doesn’t seem to be a problem. If anything, it feels smoother. But after I cast, the sense of being hollowed out, of needing to refill, becomes especially obvious. If I don’t replenish it immediately, I might collapse again like I did before.”

Iruya understood at once.

This was most likely another change brought about by the Gospel—or rather, by that scale.

Ryan’s Mana system had probably been restructured. It was no longer a traditional store-and-release model, but had become some kind of highly efficient, far greedier system of instant conversion and release.

He could unleash formidable power, but every eruption would directly draw vast amounts of energy out of his body’s reserves. Afterward, he had to replenish it immediately, or else he would fall into an extreme state of depletion.

In other words, after battle, Ryan had become someone who urgently needed his Mana replenished—and in terrifying quantities.

That exaggerated eating just now was his body’s own instinctive attempt at emergency energy replenishment.

“It seems,” Iruya said slowly, looking at the plate before him that had already been reduced by half again, “that from now on you’ll need to keep a large supply of high-energy food with you. Or else... find a more efficient way to replenish Mana.”

Ryan fell silent for a moment, then picked up his fork again and speared a large piece of steak.

“Mm,” he answered simply, and put the meat into his mouth.

...

The night had deepened, but the stars were dim, and the streets of the Royal Capital had not yet fully gone to sleep.

Only two days remained before the grand investiture ceremony, and the entire city seemed strung taut like a drawn bowstring.

Horseshoes struck the smooth stone road with crisp, rhythmic clacks that sounded especially clear in the relative quiet of the night.

A cavalry patrol was making its rounds through the streets.

They wore standard silver-gray light armor, its lines clean and flowing, the key sections engraved with the royal gryphon crest of the Empire, gleaming coldly beneath the magic streetlamps.

Beneath their helmets, the young faces were taut with vigilance. Their eyes swept the shadows along both sides of the street, the shuttered doorways, and the occasional late passerby hurrying along with lowered head.

Their mounts were well-trained warhorses, steady in step, white breath steaming from their nostrils.

The squad leader rode at the front with one hand resting loosely over the hilt of his sword, ready to respond to any sudden disturbance.

With the ceremony so near, the Emperor and a host of ministers and nobles would all be present. Any suspicious sign had to be crushed before it could take shape.

The Royal Capital was prosperous, yes—but its dens of pleasure and its dark alleys never lacked shadows. During these last few days, patrols had been tightened severalfold compared to normal, all in the name of leaving nothing to chance.

The patrol rode out of the more common districts and gradually entered the Upper City, where nobles and wealthy merchants resided.

The streets here were broader. Tall trees and neatly trimmed hedges lined both sides, while mansions of varying styles stood hidden behind walls and greenery. Few were brightly lit; most showed only a handful of lamps marking their gates, leaving the district quiet and deep in shadow.

As the patrol passed one particular residence, the squad leader could not help glancing at it a second time.

It was not among the most ostentatious of mansions, but its location was exceptional, and its design distinctively elegant.

Its white stone outer walls looked refined beneath the moonlight. The pointed roofs and arched windows carried a touch of classical grace. Even at night, one could make out the careful contours of the garden landscaping through the shadows.

Most importantly, one room on the second floor was still warmly lit, standing out clearly amid the dimness of the noble quarter.

This was none other than Royal Princess Cecilia’s private residence in the capital.

Unlike most members of the imperial family, who lived primarily within the palace, Cecilia possessed more than one property beyond its walls. This residence was one of the places she used most often.

At first, the Emperor had regarded her enthusiasm for managing various little businesses with amused indifference, as though it were merely a princess amusing herself. He had even treated her request to open refined shops within certain parts of the imperial palace as simply another kind of aristocratic salon game, and had granted it generously.

Yet after several years, this princess—who seemed to possess no particular brilliance in politics or military affairs, and who appeared far more absorbed in tea gatherings and artistic salons—had quietly built a surprisingly profitable commercial network centered on high-end perfumes, custom jewelry, exclusive fabrics, and art salons.

These businesses operated under the name of the imperial family, but in practice both their operations and the greater part of their profits remained firmly in Cecilia’s own hands, making her the wealthiest of the younger imperial generation and the least dependent on palace stipends.

Recently, on the one hand, the palace itself had been fully occupied preparing for the ceremony, with people and affairs tangled in disorder.

On the other hand, the Emperor had entrusted her with a special task: organizing a research institution connected to the Elven ruins and ancient relics. Much of the preliminary work for that project needed to be carried out beyond palace walls, where secrecy and freedom of movement were easier to maintain.

And so, in recent days, Cecilia had been staying in this residence.

The sound of the patrol’s horses gradually faded into the night.

Behind the illuminated second-floor window of the residence, a figure could occasionally be seen passing by.

In the garden, carefully designed magical lamps cast a gentle, non-glaring light over the winding stone paths and several elegant scenic corners, ensuring convenience and beauty at night while also subtly preserving the privacy of the estate.

And yet, anyone truly proficient in the study of Magic Arrays, if they observed the grounds carefully, would notice that the layout of the garden—though graceful and seemingly casual—actually concealed a deeper design.

The ornamental stones placed at measured intervals, the trees planted at particular points, even the arrangement of the lamp posts, all faintly followed a hidden pattern, forming the foundational nodes of a vast and exquisitely precise composite defensive Magic Array.

Part of it had undoubtedly come from the work of royal court mages, ensuring a level of protection sufficient to resist most conventional attacks and prying eyes.

But another part had been added later by the mistress of the residence herself: Cecilia’s own distinctive refinements.

Because within the Royal Capital, even a noble’s residence could never be guaranteed absolutely safe.

Necessary protections were the foundation of survival.

The night deepened. The moon shone bright, though the stars were few.

The Magic Array continued its work in silence, filtering away needless noise and unwelcome scrutiny from beyond its bounds.

Within the garden, aside from the fixed magical wards, guards dressed in ordinary clothes but moving with sharp precision patrolled silently through the shadows. They were the second layer of security.

All movement and sound remained carefully contained within the estate itself.

Following the path of moonlight and lamplight through the still garden, one’s gaze would finally come to rest on a window on the second floor from which warm light spilled softly.

That was the study.