I woke up in the middle of the night, the room bathed in the soft glow of fireflies as I resumed refining my lung with practiced precision. Each breath was steady, each movement calculated, until a sharp pain shot through my body. A brilliant white light coursed through me, a sensation like fire searing my insides before it retreated, leaving behind a deep stillness. I glanced down and saw that my left lung had turned completely white, its refinement now complete. A surge of essence flooded my system, my capacity to store it significantly increased.

The left lung was done. As the first rays of the sun crept through the window, I rose, pulling the curtains shut once again, plunging the room back into comforting darkness. After freshening up in the washroom and donning my training gear, I sat at my desk, taking out a pen and paper.

I wrote to my father, instructing him to allow Alina Styles entry into the inner city and to arrange for her to stay in a room on one of the lower floors of the castle. I also requested an investigation into her background—precautions were always necessary—and asked him to reply once it was done. Sealing the letter with a small amount of silver essence, I ensured I'd know the moment it was opened.

Leaving my room, I found Vasen waiting in the hallway.

"I need you to handle something, Vasen," I said as I walked past him.

"At your service, my prince," he responded with a small bow.

"Deliver this letter to my father immediately," I instructed, handing him the silver envelope embossed with intricate white patterns.

"As you wish, my prince," he said, turning swiftly and heading down the corridor.

I entered the training room, closing the door behind me, preparing for yet another grueling session.

Meanwhile, Vasen arrived at the study. He stepped inside and took a seat, holding the letter up for the man seated behind a large desk cluttered with documents and vials.

"So, He has finally asked for help from prince," came the calm, ageless voice from behind the desk.

"It seems so," Vasen replied, handing over the letter.

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"You know, you could have been helped Lucian long ago," Vasen remarked casually. "It wasn't a particularly complicated issue, especially for someone with connections. The only reason Lucian faced so many struggles is because he's always kept to himself, never bothering to build relationships—even with his own family."

The young looking man, without looking up from his work, responded in his calm voice, "Where would the fun in that be? The prince needed an opportunity, and I gave him one. Whether he makes the most of it is up to him."

"What will the prince do next?" Vasen inquired. "Gunnar and Lucian aren't on good terms. How will this benefit him?"

"Gunnar and Lucian may not be close, but Lucian is still a Blackwood," the headmaster replied, finally looking up with a glint in his eyes. "This will be... interesting."

Vasen bowed and left the room, leaving the headmaster to his documents and puzzles.

After hours of intense training, I stumbled back to my room, my clothes torn and my face drained. This last sparring session had been another close tie. I was growing stronger, faster, more precise in using my essence. Refining my lung had granted me an increased reservoir, but it was clear that defeating Lucian in an all-out battle would still be a challenge. I needed more time—more training.

As I neared my room, I saw Vasen waiting by the door.

"The letter has been delivered, my prince," he reported with a respectful nod.

"Good," I replied, brushing past him and closing the door behind me.

Before I could settle, he spoke again from outside, "Yelena has been asking about you."

"I'll go to her when I choose to," I responded curtly, my tone leaving no room for further conversation.

Inside, I made my way to the washroom, slipping into the bath. Yelena was firmly under my control now, her will bent to mine. She would be useful—especially in bringing Finnian Llewellyn to my side. It had to be handled discreetly and efficiently, but I was more than capable of orchestrating it.

After the bath, I drank from the half empty gallon of blood, feeling the essence surge through me. I began the process of refining my right lung, drinking cup after cup until a familiar warmth spread through my chest. I could feel a new spot forming in my lung, the early signs of refinement. My body's increased resilience allowed me to handle more than before, but I didn't want to rush. Patience was key, so I set the glass aside and closed the gallon.

Lying down on the bed, I closed my eyes, my mind already drifting to the future. My work here was nearly complete, and soon I would return home. The thought of home brought a vivid image to my mind: my mother, soft and comforting, her fleshy mounds with their inverted nipples tempting me. And then, my youthful, energetic sister with her lean body and round, toned ass. Just the thought of them—the things I would do when I returned—sent a pulse of excitement through me. My cock stirred, swelling as silver blood rushed between my legs, becoming semi-erect as I imagined the sinful pleasures awaiting me.

The anticipation was maddening, but I reminded myself: slow and steady wins the race. With that final thought, I drifted off into a restless sleep, the desires simmering just beneath the surface.