"What?"
Icariel turned toward her, surprised by the intensity in her voice. He raised his left hand, wiping the sweat trickling down into his eyes.
"I asked you," she said again, silver hair catching the light. "How are you using magic like that?"
"Like what?" Icariel asked, genuinely confused.
Her eyes widened further. "You cast two wind spells—not just one, but two in an instant, one after another."
"That's not normal. Even more… your internal mana didn't decrease at all."
"No… it did." Her voice dropped as her pupils trembled. "It just… replenished right away."
"What are you…?"
Icariel blinked, unsure how to respond. No one had ever watched him train before. No mage, no swordsman, no superhuman. No one at all. The only guidance he ever had came from the voice inside his mind. All he knew about mages, casting, and combat came from old books and that presence.
He never realized just how different he was from the norm.
To him, it was simple: see mana, control mana, use it, repeat.
Only now, hearing the girl's reaction, did he realize what he had wasn't ordinary.
White Sense—the one the voice helped him acquire, as we all know—was always active. And Icariel knew it was different from the mages' Spirit Zones—far superior to theirs.
And that's what he thought made him special.
"You've really taught me something awesome, huh?" he muttered to the voice in his mind.
The voice replied in its usual tone. "I always give you the best possible cards… and White Sense is the most suitable card possible for surviving unknown encounters."
Icariel smiled. He thought that explaining would only raise more questions—questions he didn't want to answer. No one could know about the voice. Not her. Not anyone.
"I don't have anything to tell you," Icariel said, keeping his tone flat.
"That's impossible," she said, eyes locked on him. "What you just did… that's not normal. It's not even possible. Most mages—unless they're elite or born with exceptional talent—can't cast multiple spells in a row like that. The first spell might come fast, but the second always takes longer. Their bodies need time. Their mana needs time. That's why most mages fight from a distance—they can't keep up in close combat…"
Icariel looked at her, then exhaled through his nose, slightly annoyed. "You said you wanted to see how I train, right?"
She blinked, caught off guard by the change in tone.
"Then watch," he said, turning his back to her. "Ask your questions after. Just don't interrupt me again."
And so, she fell silent.
Time passed.
Icariel returned to his training, carving the air with sharper and more refined slashes. The wind sang as it was shaped by his mana, slicing forward in piercing arcs. The elf girl sat on a stone nearby, watching him intently, her small body still and focused—like a scholar dissecting a mystery.
Eventually, Icariel paused for a moment to rest. Sweat clung to his skin, but his breathing was calm. The mana within him swirled quietly—settled and full once again.
That's when she stood up.
Her expression had changed.
The look on her face wasn't innocent curiosity anymore. It was something sharper. More cautious. A hint of fear danced behind those silver eyes.
She stood slowly. Her eyes hadn't left him the entire time.
"I'm sure now," she said quietly, voice low and steady. "Your mana doesn't deplete like ours. And when it does, it begins to replenish itself immediately... inside your body. That's not something I've seen or heard—not in elves, not in humans, not in anyone. Only at..." She didn't finish her sentence or maybe couldn't.
Icariel remained silent.
Her expression turned serious—dangerous even. The wind shifted lightly around her as her aura grew dense for a moment.
"I'm asking you again…" She stared directly into his black eyes. "What are you?"
"And don't lie. You know I can tell who speaks truth and lies."
"Tch," Icariel thought brushing sweat from his brow. "She's asking questions that are making me question myself too…"
"Voice," he whispered inside his mind," how do I respond to her? I don't even understand half the stuff I have learned from you and about their origin and if I lie she will become more noisy."
The voice replied smoothly, "Just tell her this: you were born this way. Let her imagination do the rest. And don't worry about that lie detector—the conditions to activate it haven't been met this time."
Icariel exhaled slowly, then looked up at the elf girl, who still stared at him with that intense gaze.
"You want to know what I am?" he said calmly. "I'm just a mountain boy who was born this way. I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of something I've been doing for as long as I can remember."
The elf girl's silver eyes widened again. "Born this way…?" she repeated.
She took a step back, her brows furrowing in disbelief. "Don't tell me…"
Her voice dropped as her thoughts spiraled. "You were born with the most gifted body one can possess…"
Icariel blinked. "Huh? What?"
"The Infinity Body," she whispered, completely serious now.
"Infinity what…?" Icariel barely kept a straight face, internally sweating as she overthought his simple excuse.
"It only appears once every few hundred years," she said, her tone dead serious. "And it can manifest in any being—human, elf, monster, or otherwise. The one who possesses it… can become the ruler of the world, if trained properly."
"Ruler of the world?" Icariel thought, holding back a snort. "Sounds impressive," he said dryly. "But definitely not me."
"Those born with the Infinity Body can master anything," she continued. "They can become anything. They're exceptional at whatever they touch. They're beyond talented—supergenius-level beings that the world bends to."
She paused for a moment, staring straight into his eyes.
"If you truly were born that way… then it makes sense. But…" Her words trailed off, brows furrowed.
Icariel kept a calm expression, but in his mind, he was smirking.
"Voice," he thought, "you really did a great job putting her into overthinking mode from just one stupid sentence."
"It was necessary," the voice replied calmly.
"Yeah, yeah," Icariel responded. "If only she knew I spent most of my life sleeping, hunting, and reading broken books in the middle of nowhere, with zero clue what magic even was until recently."
Finally, the elf girl crossed her arms, shaking her head. "Yeah… no. It's not possible for two people with the Infinity Body to exist in the same generation. My father said the one born with it has already appeared. So... it can't be you."
"I agree," Icariel replied quickly. "No connection at all. Probably just coincidence."
"Right," she agreed after a pause. "Yeah, I think you're right. It just can't be. But…" She squinted at him again, skeptical. "Even if you don't have that body, the way you use magic still doesn't make much sense. But I guess if it's only low-level spells, it's possible you're just… unusually good at those."
"Exactly," Icariel nodded, quickly changing the subject. "Anyway, you still owe me something. You said you'd teach me your healing magic, remember?"
"Hmph." She turned her nose up slightly. "We elves always keep our word. Watch closely, because I'll only do this once, understand?"
"Fine," Icariel said, taking a seat on a nearby rock, eyes focused.
The elf girl sat down cross-legged on the forest floor. Her expression shifted—serious, focused. She placed her small hand over her arm, the same spot she had been injured before. A soft green glow began to shimmer from her palm, gentle and warm like sunlight through leaves.
But then she paused, her gaze flicking to Icariel's bandaged right hand.
"…By the way," she said, tilting her head. "What happened to that hand?"
Icariel glanced down at it, the white cloth now stained faintly with dried blood and ash. His expression darkened for just a second.
"Just… an incident," he said quickly. The flash of a memory surged through him—white lightning, wild and unstable, crackling from his fingertips as the spell turned against him. He buried the thought.
The elf narrowed her eyes slightly, unconvinced, but didn't press.
"Well," she said softly, "you did save my life. I suppose it's only fair I return the favor."
She rose to her knees and reached out slowly.
"I'll heal your hand. Does that sound good?"
Without waiting for an answer, she placed her glowing palm gently over his injured arm.
"Remove the bandages."
He hesitated, then began to unwind them carefully. Beneath, the skin was raw, marred by deep burns and scars that shimmered faintly with residual magic.
The green light from her hand brightened as it met the wounds, the warmth spreading through his arm like a summer breeze. The forest seemed to still around them, hushed and reverent.
"I will heal you," she murmured. "So pay attention—this is healing magic. And it's not something that can be learned easily… not even by us."