Deus.Ex.Machina Chapter 16

I sat cross-legged in the middle of the underground training room, staring at my open palm like I was expecting it to suddenly catch fire.

"Alright," I muttered, taking a slow breath. "Let's try this again."

Now? It was ti to explore the other perks of the elixir, 'generates vast amounts of mana simply by breathing' part.

I left it alone, as I focused on the physical changes.

Ever since I drank the Dragon's Elixir, it had been there, besides when I used Mana burst.

I focused. Reached inward. The mana was there, but to control it was another story.

I exhaled slowly and tried to gather the mana into my palm. Focus, will, intent. That's what all the fantasy books said, right?

Fireball

Nothing.

I frowned.

Okay. Again.

Closed my eyes. Tried to feel it. Not brute force, just… guide it. The mana stirred—it always did—but it wouldn't move. Not in the way I wanted. Not yet. It just humd there. Waiting.

Still nothing. No glow. No heat. No spell. Not even a puff of smoke.

"Seriously?" I muttered.

I knew I had mana. That was the difference between and the magicians in this world.

Most of them had to draw mana from their surroundings. They reached out, borrowed power from the ambient flow of energy in the air. From other beings, but ? I didn't have to.

I opened my eyes and sighed, hand still empty.

So much for dramatic breakthroughs.

No fireballs. No glowing circles. Not even a spark. Damn it

It's decided.

Next manifestation: magic-focused.

After that, I tucked the thought away—magic could wait. For now, I decided to focus on sothing that was actually working: cultivation.

My progress with the Body of the Everfla had been steady. No shortcuts. No miracles. Just grit, pain, and slow transformation.

And it was paying off.

I am stronger now. Faster. My strikes hit harder, my reflexes sharper, my body more responsive. Muscles coiled tighter, denser, more efficient than any regular workout could ever achieve.

Suffice to say, it doesn't even compare.

It was alive inside , tempering from within.

Hmm.

Maybe after the armor's finished, I'll try hunting a few stray devils. Nothing too flashy—just enough to get a read on where I actually stand.

Because honestly? I had zero clue where I stood in this world. Zilch. Nada.

Sure, I'd trained. Crafted. Cultivated. But theory wasn't the sa as experience. And while I felt strong, durable, fast—none of that ant anything until I tested it in a real fight.

So far, I hadn't even co close to using my full strength. Not once.

Part of that was caution. The other part? I didn't know what would happen if I really let loose. How much force I could generate. What kind of damage I'd cause.

I an, what if I accidentally turned soone into paste?

Or worse—what if I wasn't strong enough?

I could train in isolation all day, but this world didn't care about my routine.

It cared about results.

So yeah.

Once the armor's done—four more days—I'm suiting up.

—

After training, Hayama called for dinner.

Truth be told, I didn't need to eat anymore.

My body ran on mana now—constantly regenerating, self-sustaining. No hunger. No thirst. No need for sleep, even if I really pushed it.

But I still ate.

Maybe it was the taste. The comfort. The simple joy of warm rice and miso soup. Or maybe it was the ritual—sitting down, using chopsticks, pretending for a mont that I was just a normal sixteen-year-old with a weirdly overqualified butler.

Yeah. That sounded right.

I ate because I wanted to. Because choosing to do sothing pointless, sothing unnecessary—that felt human. That reminded I still was one.

Or… mostly one.

I didn't want to give that up. Not for strength. Not for safety. Not for anything.

Because I knew how easy it was to forget. To slide, bit by bit, into sothing else. Sothing colder. Detached. Efficient.

Power demanded sacrifices. That's how the world worked. But I wasn't ready to offer up my self.

Never.

So I sat at the table, picked up my chopsticks, and took a bite.

It was good. A little too hot. The fish was seasoned just right.

I took another bite, steam rising from the rice as Hayama set a small bowl of miso soup beside .

After a beat. Hayama spoke.

"…Young Master," he said, voice calm but a little too careful. "Are you perhaps aware… of the supernatural?"

I paused. Chopsticks halfway to my mouth.

"…Huh?"

He folded his hands behind his back. "I've served the Mishima family for over three decades. I've seen a great many things. But watching you train—what you were doing down there… That wasn't normal. That wasn't sothing a human should be able to do."

Ahh right. Of course he will ask questions.

Wait..

"Wait. Are you telling you also know about it?

Hayama didn't smile. He didn't even flinch.

"My youth was… complicated. I encountered it by chance. Now thinking back, I realized how lucky I am to have survived."

For the first ti I saw emotion on his face.

"I see."

After that, silence settled between us, thick and heavy. Hayama didn't press the topic any further, but I saw it. I saw the worry in his eyes.

Is he worried about ?

It was a strange thing to witness in soone like him. He'd always been composed, distant even. But now, there was sothing vulnerable in his gaze.

I wanted to brush it off, tell him not to worry, that I could handle whatever ca my way.

"Hayama," I said after a pause, my voice a little quieter than usual. "Thanks for, uh... looking out for ."

He didn't respond imdiately, but I could see the faintest twitch of his lips. It wasn't much, but it was there—a rare, almost imperceptible smile

"You're welco, Young Master," His expression softened just a bit more. " Please be careful."

"I will."