The transition was a violent blur of light and sound, ending in a sudden, jarring soft landing.
Narin found himself lying on something soft.
The realization came slowly, like a ripple through still water.
His body sank into a mattress unevenly stuffed with straw. It shifted beneath his weight with a faint rustle every time he breathed. The scent of sun-dried linen brushed against his senses—clean, simple, almost painfully ordinary.
"Where...?" The thought barely formed before his consciousness flickered like a dying candle.
Outside, voices crashed against the walls like distant waves.
laughter, the clinking of tankards, and the distant strumming of a lute—filtering through a floorboards.
The world was alive, but he wasn’t.
His eyelids felt as if iron weights had been hung from them. His mind tried to gather itself, but every thought slipped away before forming.
The noise filtered in through wood and stone, through his skull, until it became nothing more than vibration.
Narin exhaled slowly.
Then everything went dark again.
Hours later—
He woke with a sharp intake of breath.
For a moment, his hand twitched instinctively toward where a blade should have been. His body tensed, muscles tightening under the thin blanket.
The air was different here.
Dawn light streamed through a small, slightly ajar window. The golden beam cut across the room, illuminating dancing dust particles above an old oak table scarred by knife marks and ink stains. The walls were rough plaster. A clay water jug rested beside a chipped basin. A single chair leaned slightly off balance.
Narin slowly pushed himself upright.
His head throbbed.
It wasn’t pain alone—it was heaviness. As if his skull had been hollowed out and filled with molten metal.
He pressed his palm against his forehead and inhaled through his nose.
“...Still alive.”
His voice was hoarse, barely more than air escaping his lungs.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. The straw mattress shifted again with a dry whisper. His bare feet touched wooden floorboards cool from the night air.
He remained still for a long moment.
His gaze moved methodically—window, ceiling corners, under the bed, behind the door.
Satisfied—for now—he rose and crossed the small room in slow steps.
The wooden door was heavy, iron hinges dark with age. He paused with his hand on the latch.
Then pushed.
The moment it opened, the scents hit him all at once.
Freshly baked bread—warm, thick, comforting.
Yeast and malt from beer.
Smoke from oil lanterns still burning in shaded corners.
A long wooden corridor stretched ahead, lanterns mounted at intervals along the walls. The boards beneath his feet creaked with every step. At the far end, a spiral staircase curled downward into a spacious inn hall below.
From his position in the hallway, he could see the scene unfold beneath him.
Adventurers and mercenaries crowded the hall. Steel armor caught the lantern light. Sword hilts rested against chairs. Shields leaned against tables. A bard in the corner lazily plucked at a lute, its melody nearly drowned by conversation.
A bearded man slammed his mug on the table. “I’m telling you—the forest’s cursed!”
“Forest’s not cursed,” another scoffed. “You’re just weak.”
A serving girl hurried past with a tray balanced expertly on one hand. Her hair was tied in a messy braid; her cheeks flushed from movement.
Narin stood motionless in the corridor, observing.
No one looked up. No one cared.
The world did not revolve around him.
For the first time in what felt like ages, that fact brought him a strange sense of relief.
His gaze shifted to the faint blue glow lingering at the edge of his vision.
The notification screen.
He had ignored it since waking.
Now he focused.
[ You have been granted 20 extra points, Mana Crystallization and 10,000 iron coins as reward. ]
[ You have been granted The Compass of the Enlightened as the extra reward. ]
Narin scratched the back of his head slowly, fingers running through tangled deep blue hair.
“…Of course.”
His voice was low, almost amused.
The throbbing in his skull intensified.
He exhaled and turned back toward his room.
Each step felt slightly heavier than it should have. The corridor seemed longer on the return. When he re-entered the room and shut the door, the outside noise dulled into distant muffles.
He leaned back against the door for a moment.
My brain feels like it’s been crushed with a hammer…
He pushed off the wood and walked to the bed, lowering himself carefully.
The straw mattress dipped.
He raised his hand, and the status window appeared.
Name: Narin Wong-sura
Age: 44
Class: –
Level: 20
Physical Stats:
Strength (STR): 26
Agility (AGI): 28
Endurance (END): 24
Vitality (VIT): 22
Mental Stats:
Mana (MP): 26 → 36
Willpower (WILL): 22
Luck (LUK): 15
Remaining Points: 20
Passive Skills (P):
The Enlightened One
Active Skills (A):
Mana Crystallization
“Oh…”
His eyes lingered on the mana increase.
“I really did take their mana.”
The memory surfaced. He remembered their expressions. Their trembling hands when they touched each other again.
Narin closed his eyes slowly.
Their love wasn’t normal. It wasn’t the kind born from shared meals or shared laughter.
When a spirit is split in two… the body and mind cannot help but feel incomplete.
He pictured the king’s gaze—how it softened, how it carried longing so deep it seemed to echo from another lifetime.
When the king looked at the queen, he didn’t see just a woman.
He saw the missing half of himself.
That was why the bond had no deception. No secrets.
Pain shared was pain doubled—but also halved.
The king felt her wounds.
The queen felt his loneliness.
I am you. You are me... huh.
Narin’s fingers curled slightly against the blanket.
From one perspective… it was selfless love. To protect her was to protect the most precious part of himself. From another… it was narcissism in its purest form.
Loving oneself so completely that no one else could ever enter that world.
Their universe contained only each other.
He exhaled sharply.
“Love…”
His lips curved faintly—not quite a smile.
“…Such an absurd thing.”
He opened his eyes before the thought could deepen further.
He had no intention of drowning in philosophical reflection.
He focused back on the status window.
Twenty remaining points.
He distributed them with steady, practiced precision.
Except—
This time his finger paused over Willpower.
He remembered the strain. The splitting of his consciousness. The three-layered deception against the Core.
He pressed.
Physical Stats:
Strength (STR): 26 → 28
Agility (AGI): 28 → 30
Endurance (END): 24 → 26
Vitality (VIT): 22 → 25
Mental Stats:
Mana (MP): 36
Willpower (WILL): 22 → 32
Luck (LUK): 15 → 16
Remaining Points: 0
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
Willpower.
His gaze shifted to the new skill.
[ Mana Crystallization ]
Tier: Mythic
Level: Max
Skill Description:
The art of controlling the state of mana. You can command energy to condense or dissipate as you wish.
Mana Application: Mana can be drawn from the environment to replenish fatigue, or used to enchant weapons or spells and magic.
Mana Creation: You can condense mana into transparent crystals that are stronger than most materials, to be used for all kinds of crafting.
Mana Dissolution: You can instantly dispel magic and spells, depending on the user's understanding.
Narin’s brow furrowed.
“If I had this back then…”
His jaw tightened slightly.
During earlier challenges—how many situations could have been resolved differently?
How many risks could have been reduced?
He leaned back against the headboard, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling plaster.
He had been rushing.
Since Challenge Two, he had pushed forward relentlessly.
Because the faster he cleared it…
…the faster he could give up.
Escape this world.
He closed his eyes again.
If I remember correctly…
One day here equals one month outside.
His breathing slowed.
That means…
His fingers twitched faintly against the sheet.
At least I’ve been gone for almost two years…
The weight of that realization hit him harder than the mana resonance ever could. Two years. His apartment would be gone. His job at Nexus Corp—surely someone else had replaced him by now.. His life was a ghost story.
Narin leaned back against the wooden headboard, the faint creaking sound echoing in the small inn room as his eyes drifted toward the translucent blue notification lingering at the edge of his vision.
[ The Core is impressed with your performance. ]
“…Performance.”
The word felt cold in his mouth.
From the very beginning, it had never been about morality. Not about justice. Not about choosing the king or the queen.
It had always been about performance.
Like a staged play.
Like actors on a grand stage built by something far above them.
Narin let out a slow breath through his nose, folding his hands loosely over his abdomen as he stared at the ceiling.
Since the start… it was all about performance.
He had formed a theory long ago—back when the challenges still felt structured, almost corporate.
Only when his performance rating was high enough would the Core allow him to give up.
But how exactly did that rating work?
His eyes narrowed slightly.
He had worked with something similar before.
Nexus Corporation.
The name surfaced with clarity. The sterile white conference rooms. The polished presentation screens. The overly confident executives explaining impossible systems as if they were simple software updates.
Nexus Corporation once stated—
“Let’s say the performance cap per challenge is ten points,” the presenter had said with a bright smile.
“Your rating will be calculated based on several variables: completion efficiency, speed, resource usage—such as mana and items consumed—adaptability, learning rate, and overall improvement.”
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Narin could almost hear the rehearsed enthusiasm in that voice.
He closed his eyes.
Even back then… they never explained the algorithm.
Just vague metrics wrapped in corporate language.
In the end, he still didn’t know how the performance rating truly functioned.
But if he based it on Nexus Corporation’s own words—
He should have exceeded the cap long ago.
In the latest challenge alone…
He had deceived the Core itself.
He had balanced spiritual states at three layers simultaneously.
He had preserved both sides and delivered the best possible resolution.
If each category were truly measured—
He would have scored absurdly high.
The corner of his lips twitched faintly.
Narin exhaled again and lifted his hand.
His inventory window opened with a faint shimmer.
He selected the extra reward.
A small compass materialized in his palm.
It was exquisitely crafted. The casing was a pale silver metal etched with intricate runes that seemed to shift subtly when light touched them. The glass covering its face was crystal-clear, and beneath it, instead of a traditional needle, there was a thin line of light—soft and faintly golden—floating above the dial.
[ The Compass of the Enlightened – A compass that can illuminate the right path, depending on the user’s judgment. ]
“My judgment…?”
His brows drew together.
He tilted the compass slightly. The golden line flickered, trembling as if sensing his thoughts.
Judgment.
Individual judgment is unreliable.
Humans rationalize. Humans deceive themselves. Humans justify.
He had seen it countless times.
Yet…
He studied the compass more carefully.
Perhaps that was precisely the point.
Everyone’s judgment is flawed and that flaw is what makes them individuals.
If the compass depended on him, then it would not dictate. It would reflect.
“…Troublesome item.”
His thumb brushed lightly across the glass surface before he dismissed it back into his inventory.
Another notification shimmered into view.
[ Challenge: 4 ]
His posture straightened slightly.
The screen expanded.
[ Description: Arrive in the new kingdom. You are taking the role of a mercenary with a request to be the private tutor of the problematic child of House Lelltine. ]
[ Mission to complete challenge: Teach the problematic child of House Lelltine to be a strong mage. ]
Narin’s fingers rose unconsciously to his chin.
He began stroking it slowly, eyes narrowing.
“A strong mage…?”
Not a proper mage. Not a virtuous mage. Not a disciplined mage.
Just—
Strong.
The wording was deliberate.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
That’s strange.
Strength without moral framework could create something dangerous... or perhaps that was exactly what this challenge wanted.
He tilted his head faintly.
Maybe I’m overthinking it... or maybe I shouldn’t underestimate the Core again.
He inhaled deeply.
“…I suppose there’s no use speculating too far ahead.”
He pushed himself up from the bed.
Immediately, his face stiffened.
He paused mid-step.
His nose twitched.
“…What is this smell?”
He lifted the sleeve of his robe cautiously and sniffed.
His expression went blank.
Then slightly horrified.
A sharp whiff of his own body made him wrinkle his nose. He smelled like a tavern floor, mixed with the acrid scent of the graveyard ritual.
“…Right.”
He had been refining mana for hours. He had collapsed. He had slept without washing.
He rubbed his forehead.
“I should really bathe first.”
The inn hall was livelier now.
The morning rush had settled into midday activity. Tankards clinked. A pair of mercenaries argued loudly over a map spread across their table. The serving girl from earlier was wiping down a counter, her sleeves rolled up.
Narin descended the spiral staircase quietly, the wood creaking under his weight.
The receptionist stood behind a polished desk near the entrance. She was a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and neatly tied hair, her posture straight and efficient.
He approached with measured steps.
“Excuse me,” he said politely, inclining his head slightly.
She looked up from her ledger, gaze assessing.
“Yes?”
“I would like to use the bath.”
Her eyes flickered briefly over his robe and boots before she nodded.
“Fifty iron coins.”
Narin reached beneath his robe, subtly opening his inventory out of sight. A small pouch of iron coins appeared in his hand as if retrieved from within his clothing.
He placed them on the counter with a soft metallic clink.
“Thank you.”
She gestured toward a hallway. “Second door to the left. Hot water’s already prepared.”
He nodded once and walked away.
The bath was simple but clean.
Steam rose gently from the wooden tub.
As he lowered himself into the hot water, he exhaled deeply. The heat seeped into his muscles, easing the tightness in his shoulders.
His head fell back slightly against the rim.
For a brief moment—
He allowed himself to relax.
The scent of soap replaced the stale odor of sweat.
He scrubbed methodically, washing away not just grime but the lingering sensation of mana strain.
When he finished, he dressed again, robes now cleaner, posture steadier.
Back in the hall, he approached the receptionist once more.
“May I ask,” he began, voice calm, “where House Lelltine is located?”
Her brows lifted slightly.
“House Lelltine?”
“Yes.”
She studied him for a second before answering.
“It's in North district. Past the central market. You’ll see banners with a vase and crossed wands. Their banners are hard to miss.”
“Any… information about them?” he asked lightly.
She leaned closer over the desk, lowering her voice slightly.
“They're one of four major noble houses. They are a mage lineage, so their influence is enormous, they may even hold the greatest influence after all it was them who helped defend this land against monsters and demons back in the day but… recently they’ve been in a bit of trouble.”
“Troubled?”
“Their heir is… difficult,” she said carefully. “Many tutors have quit.”
Narin’s lips curved faintly.
“I see.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you.”
He stepped outside the inn.
The city was vibrant.
Vendors called out prices. Fresh fruits stacked in colorful pyramids. Children ran between stalls, laughing. The scent of spices drifted through the air.
Narin walked with quiet purpose, occasionally asking for directions to confirm his path.
“House Lelltine?” one vendor repeated. “Straight ahead, then right at the fountain.”
Another nodded. “They’ve got the biggest estate—you could only miss it if you were blind.”
Within minutes, the streets widened.
Stone walls rose ahead, banners fluttering from their heights.
The emblem was clear—
A porcelain vase with two elegant wands crossing above it.
House Lelltine.
He slowed his steps slightly as he approached the main gate.
Two guards stood at attention. Their armor was polished but not extravagant. Their expressions stern yet not hostile.
Seemingly reasonable, he noted internally.
He stepped forward.
“State your business!” one guard barked, voice firm and resonant.
Narin stopped at a respectful distance.
“I heard that House Lelltine is in need of a private tutor,” he replied evenly. “I would like to take that request.”
The guards exchanged a glance.
One of them studied him from head to toe, eyes lingering briefly on his robe.
“Wait here.”
The second guard disappeared through the gate.
Narin stood still, hands loosely clasped behind his back. His gaze drifted subtly across the estate beyond the bars—manicured gardens, trimmed hedges, a wide courtyard paved with pale stone.
After several minutes, the guard returned.
“Follow me.”
The gate creaked open.
Narin stepped inside.
The courtyard was expansive. A fountain stood at its center, water cascading gently into a marble basin. Servants moved quietly along the edges, carrying books and trays.
He followed the guard across the courtyard, boots clicking softly against stone.
The estate’s architecture reflected refinement—arched windows, carved stone pillars, elegant balconies.
Eventually, they entered the main building.
The interior was even grander.
Tall ceilings. Chandeliers. Walls lined with framed spell diagrams and family portraits.
They stopped before a large wooden door.
The guard knocked twice.
A strong voice from within responded.
“You may enter.”
The guard stepped aside.
Narin adjusted his posture slightly, smoothed the front of his robe, and pushed the door open.
He entered the study room, facing the head of House Lelltine.
The study room was nothing like the lavish halls outside.
There were no golden ornaments. No glittering chandeliers. No velvet carpets screaming wealth.
Instead—
Dark oak bookshelves climbed from floor to ceiling, looming like silent sentinels. The wood was aged but meticulously maintained, its surface polished to a muted sheen. Some books were bound in cracked leather, their spines faded with time. Others were chained shut, iron links clinking faintly when the air shifted, as though guarding secrets not meant for casual eyes.
A faint scent lingered in the room.
Old paper. Ink.
Dust disturbed only by careful hands.
Behind the desk, a large window stretched nearly wall-wide, overlooking the backyard garden. Sunlight filtered through partially drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Outside, trimmed hedges and stone paths could be seen, but inside the room, the atmosphere felt heavy.
And there he was.
Seated in a high-backed chair carved from dark wood, fingers resting against one armrest—
Head of House Lelltine, Marlenvet.
His body was nothing like the fragile, slender image most held of mages.
He was broad-shouldered. Thick forearms rested atop the desk, veins faintly visible beneath tanned skin. His chest filled the burgundy coat he wore, the fabric stretching subtly with every breath. Beneath it, a black undershirt clung tightly to his muscular frame, and over it—
A darkened breastplate so thin it almost seemed woven into the fabric itself. Engraved upon it was the crest of House Lelltine: a delicate vase and crossed wands.
The contradiction was striking.
Scholar’s room. Warrior’s body.
His presence pressed against the air.
The kind that crushed ordinary people before a word was even spoken.
Marlenvet slowly lifted his gaze to meet Narin’s.
A vertical scar cut across his face—starting from his left eyebrow and trailing down toward his cheekbone. The skin was slightly raised, pale against his darker complexion. It looked as though something sharp and curved had torn through it.
Yet his left eye moved normally, sharp and alert.
There were streaks of grey threading through his raven-black hair at the temples and along the hairline. Age had touched him—but not weakened him.
A mantle of dark gray fur rested over his shoulders, giving him a regal yet fierce silhouette, like a general more than a scholar.
He stroked his short, neatly trimmed beard slowly, fingers moving with measured deliberation.
“Do you know,” he began, voice deep and resonant, each word carrying unmistakable authority, “how many people have taken this request and failed?”
The question did not sound like curiosity. It sounded like a warning.
Narin stood upright, hands relaxed at his sides. His expression remained calm, eyes steady as they met Marlenvet’s.
“That would be too many to count,” Narin replied evenly. “I heard this request has been open for three years.”
Marlenvet’s pupils constricted slightly.
“So you know.”
The air seemed to grow heavier.
“You are only a mercenary,” Marlenvet continued, leaning back slightly before pushing himself to his feet. The chair scraped softly against the floor. “You might be one of the worst—if not the worst—kinds of people who dares take House Lelltine’s request.”
He stepped around the desk.
Each footstep was deliberate.
He stopped directly in front of Narin.
Close. Too close.
They stood face to face now.
Marlenvet was taller by a slight margin, but the difference in sheer physical intimidation was undeniable.
His gaze drilled into Narin’s.
“Mercenaries chase coin,” Marlenvet said, voice lowering, turning colder. “Not responsibility.”
Narin did not flinch.
He did not avert his gaze.
“I chase something far more worth than coin,” Narin answered calmly.
A flicker of something—amusement? irritation?—crossed Marlenvet’s scarred face.
Silence stretched between them.
Then—
“Well,” Marlenvet said at last, stepping back slightly, “since you dared to show up… it means you have some confidence in yourself.”
He turned, walking back toward his desk.
“I appoint you as private tutor of my youngest daughter!”
He stopped behind the desk, one hand resting upon its surface.
“Nicolette Lelltine.”
The name hung in the air.
Narin bowed smoothly, lowering his upper body with respect.
“I will fulfill my duty.”
His voice was steady with no hesitation.
Marlenvet studied him for a long moment.
“Hm.”
A low groan escaped his throat.
“The Head Butler is outside. He will lead you to your room and give you a tour of the estate.”
His tone shifted back to command.
“Leave now.”
Narin bowed once more, deeper this time.
“As you wish.”
He turned and exited the study, closing the heavy door behind him with quiet care.
Outside stood the head butler.
An elderly man with posture so straight it defied his years. His long grey beard was the first thing Narin noticed—it flowed neatly down his chest, combed and immaculate. His hair was slicked back, silver and thin but dignified.
His eyes were sharp.
Observant.
He bowed lightly.
“Welcome, sir,” he said, voice refined and calm. “I am the head butler of House Lelltine.”
He extended one gloved hand toward a hallway.
“I will escort you to your residence.”
Narin inclined his head.
“Please lead the way.”
They walked through wide corridors lined with framed spell formulas and ancestral portraits. Servants moved efficiently along the sides, offering respectful bows.
They exited the main building and crossed a stone path toward a nearby annex.
The structure stood slightly apart from the central estate.
It was clean. Modest. Quiet.
Empty.
Narin’s eyes scanned the exterior.
The head butler opened the door.
Inside, the annex was simple but well-furnished.
“This,” the butler said, folding his hands behind his back, “will be your residence from now on, private tutor of Miss Nicolette.”
His tone held no mockery. Only formality.
“There will be the assigned servants to maintain the space.”
He turned slightly, gesturing back toward the estate.
“Now, allow me to show you the greatness of House Lelltine.”
Narin let out a dry chuckle.
“Alright,” he said lightly. “Lead the way.”
The tour lasted hours.
The garden was vast—carefully sculpted hedges shaped into elegant arcs, stone pathways winding through beds of seasonal flowers. Fountains murmured gently, their water catching sunlight like fragments of glass.
Pavilions stood by a serene pond where koi fish glided lazily beneath lily pads.
“The young miss often visits here,” the butler noted calmly.
They moved onward.
The Hunting Forest lay beyond the manicured grounds—a controlled woodland filled with beasts bred for training and sport. The air there was cooler, thicker.
“The heir trains here.”
Then the Training Grounds—an expansive arena layered with reinforced stone. Faint scorch marks dotted the surface.
The farm came next—fields of herbs, alchemical plants cultivated in neat rows. Workers tended carefully to glowing blossoms and rare roots.
Inside again—
The Grand Hall dazzled with high ceilings and banners bearing the Lelltine crest.
The Library was breathtaking—larger even than the study room, rows upon rows of magical tomes arranged meticulously.
And finally—
The Alchemy Labs.
The air there was thick with metallic and herbal scents. Glass tubes, bubbling liquids, carefully labeled ingredients.
“Only authorized personnel may access certain sections,” the butler added pointedly.
Narin observed everything quietly.
The power of this house was not in display.
It was in infrastructure.
Knowledge. Preparation.
By the time the tour concluded, the sun had shifted westward. Golden light stretched long across stone pathways.
It was afternoon now.
The butler escorted him back to the annex.
“Your duties will begin soon,” the old man said calmly at the door.
Narin nodded once.
“Understood.”
The annex door closed behind him.
Silence settled.
The annex did not remain empty for long.
By late afternoon, the quiet structure had transformed into a fully staffed residence.
Bootsteps echoed across the polished floors. Doors opened and shut. Fabric rustled. Soft murmurs of servants coordinating duties filled the air.
Narin stood near the main hall of the annex, hands folded loosely behind his back, observing.
One valet—a young man with neat brown hair and alert eyes—stood respectfully to the side, posture disciplined. His uniform was simple but clean, gloves white and spotless.
A runner, barely out of adolescence, fidgeted slightly, glancing at Narin with curiosity before quickly lowering his gaze whenever their eyes met.
The steward, a middle-aged woman with sharp features and a calculating look, examined a ledger in her hands while occasionally peering at Narin as though assessing inventory.
Two cooks, both sturdy and broad-shouldered, whispered quietly near the annex kitchen, occasionally throwing cautious glances his way.
Three housemaids lined up briefly to introduce themselves—each bowing in turn, voices soft and polite.
One butler—assigned specifically to this annex—stood straighter than the rest, clearly taking pride in his position.
And four guards.
Narin’s gaze lingered on them.
Two stood neutrally, their expressions professional. Geryon and Mafate, if he recalled correctly from the brief introduction earlier.
The other two—
Felinton and Ragathon.
Their stances were rigid, shoulders tense. Their eyes held something beneath the surface.
Suspicion? Resentment?
Felinton’s jaw tightened slightly whenever Narin moved. Ragathon’s gaze was colder, assessing as though searching for weakness.
Narin’s expression remained calm.
It seems most of them are either positive or neutral toward me…
Except those two.
He shifted his weight subtly.
Felinton and Ragathon.
I hope Geryon and Mafate keep them in check so they don’t act impulsively.
He did not show any sign that he had noticed their hostility.
Instead, he gave a small nod to the gathered staff.
“I look forward to working with all of you,” he said in a steady, composed tone. “Let us maintain professionalism.”
His voice was neither warm nor cold.
The steward inclined her head slightly. The butler responded with a crisp bow.
The two unfriendly guards did not move.
Narin turned away first.
Inside his room, he finally allowed himself to relax.
The chamber was tastefully arranged.
A large bed with thick linens stood against the far wall. A polished wardrobe stood near the entrance. A bookshelf lined one side, partially filled. A sturdy work desk faced a window overlooking a quiet section of the estate.
A fireplace rested along the opposite wall, already prepared with stacked wood.
There was even a private bathroom through a side door—stone basin, copper pipes, warm water reservoir.
The decor carried a subtle warmth. Earth tones. Soft lighting. Nothing flashy. Nothing extravagant.
Functional comfort.
Narin walked slowly around the room, fingertips brushing lightly across surfaces.
He stopped at the bookshelf.
Several textbooks lay stacked on the desk beside it. Others were arranged neatly in rows.
He picked one up.
“If I am to teach… I need to understand the foundation here.”
He sat at the desk, chair scraping softly against the floor, and began reading.
The first chapter described mana circulation.
He frowned slightly.
Strange...
He flipped the page.
More descriptions of mana manipulation through willpower and visualization.
No mention of incantations.
He reached for another textbook.
Advanced combat magic.
Again—
Still no mention of spells.
His reading pace quickened.
Page after page turned.
Not here.
He grabbed another volume.
No.
Another.
No.
His breathing grew slightly heavier as he flipped through the final textbook on the stack.
He scanned it rapidly now.
Searching.
Searching.
Nothing.
“No…”
He leaned back slowly in his chair.
His hands rose to cover his face.
He exhaled deeply.
“This world… has no concept of spells.”
At first, he had thought it was a coincidence.
Perhaps an oversight in one textbook.
But after reading them all—
There was no system of pre-calculated incantation sequences.
No structured casting formulas.
He lowered his hands slowly.
“Spells and magic are different…”
He spoke quietly to himself.
“Spells are pre-calculated sequences. They synchronize breath, rhythm, and mana flow. Designed to be efficient and replicable.”
His fingers tapped lightly on the desk.
“Magic… is direct manipulation. It consists of pure will and pure imagination.”
In essence—
Spells were shortcuts.They were easier to learn and master.
Magic was chaos shaped by the mind. It was harder to control and master.
But—
If mastered…
Its potential far exceeded that of spells.
The difference in speed alone was enormous.
A spellcaster needed structured breathing, memorized sequences.
A true magic user could react instantly.
The gap in combat was like that of an elderly man compared to an athlete in peak condition.
“Spells would be no match…”
Narin murmured.
Yet—
He had little experience in direct magic himself.
He had only begun experimenting recently.
It was nowhere near mastery.
He leaned back again, staring at the ceiling.
“Either way… I need an effective schedule.”
The mission was clear.
Teach Nicolette Lelltine to become a strong mage.
The faster the better.
He tapped the desk thoughtfully.
“Nicolette… the problematic child.”
She had not been called troublesome officially.
Just problematic.
That implied she might have potential. Maybe she was simply arrogant—but not hopeless.
“It shouldn’t be too hard… right?”
He was not entirely convinced.
The rest of the day passed in relentless preparation.
He drafted a structured plan:
Morning physical conditioning.
Midday mana theory.
Afternoon controlled magic practice.
Evening reflection and analysis.
Between planning sessions, he practiced magic himself.
He extended his hand, focusing on the mana around him.
Instead of shaping it through structured breathing—
He forced his will upon it.
The mana resisted at first, slipping like mist between his fingers.
He tried again.
Gradually—
He began to use magic somewhat naturally.
His control improved marginally by nightfall.
When darkness settled, he finally extinguished the lamp and lay down.
Tomorrow—
He would meet her.
Next morning.
The training grounds.
The sky was pale blue, streaked with early sunlight. A faint chill lingered in the air. Dew clung to the reinforced stone surface of the arena, shimmering faintly.
Servants stood at a distance.
The four guards were present as well.
And in the center of the grounds—
A strange scene unfolded.
Narin stood firm, one hand gripping the arm of a young lady.
She wore a gothic-style dress blended seamlessly with riding breeches—burgundy fabric contrasting sharply against black lace details. The skirt was tailored to allow movement, the breeches fitted for agility.
Her long black hair flowed wildly in the morning breeze, strands whipping across her face.
Her eyes burned with anger and defiance.
“Get your hand away from me!” she shouted, voice sharp and furious.
She twisted her arm violently, attempting to pull free.
Narin’s grip was firm—but not cruel.
His expression remained composed, though his brows lowered slightly.
Her strength was not negligible.
The surrounding servants exchanged uneasy glances.
One maid covered her mouth in shock.
Felinton’s lips curled faintly, almost satisfied.
Narin’s voice came calm and low.
“Miss Nicolette,” he said evenly, maintaining eye contact, “if you cannot even control your emotion properly … how do you intend to become a mage?”
Her eyes flared brighter at his words.
“Don’t speak to me like that!” she snapped.
