The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Tatsuya arrived at the training grounds.
Or rather, Paul's front yard—a masterpiece of nature's laziest design: just sand, rocks, and here and there a patch of grass, as if someone had rage-quit halfway through landscaping. Typical Paul. No fuss, no frills. Everything functional, nothing wasted on appearances.
The air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of dew-covered grass and the distant hum of insects waking from their slumber. His breath came out in small clouds, the morning chill biting at his skin. Paul said the end of the Moon Season always brought cold mornings like this. Makes sense now why I woke with stiff shoulders.
The cycle of the year flowed like a tale written by fate itself, its chapters divided into the radiant embrace of the Sun Season and the quiet whispers of the Moon Season.
The year began with Gorath, the first month, marking the dawn of the Sun Season. Days stretched long, bathed in golden brilliance, as if the heavens themselves blessed the land with warmth. This season continued through Zathor, Louistina, and Soryn, each month passing like an unbroken dream of endless light. Crops flourished, rivers glistened, and the world hummed with vitality.
But even the brightest glow must eventually yield to change. As the final embers of Soryn faded, the land entered Kaelros, the bridge between light and shadow. Neither wholly Sun nor fully Moon, Kaelros was a month of flux, a time when nature seemed to pause before exhaling into transformation. Stretching over fifty days, it was as if time itself hesitated before allowing the inevitable shift. I'll have to endure Kaelros' chill for the next few weeks. At least the air keeps me alert.
Then came the Moon Season: Iselith, Syrntoph, Morvak, and Valerian. Nights stretched long and hauntingly serene. Frost lingered at the edges of the morning, shadows stretching further than before. Valerian marked the year's twilight, closing the chapter before it all began anew with Gorath.
It was currently Morvak, the eighth month. New Year approached soon.
Tatsuya's breath continued forming small clouds. He paid it little mind. His focus was on the man standing before him.
Paul.
His short, walnut-brown hair swayed in the wind like a swordsman of legends who cared little for titles. His tall frame cast a long shadow over the training field, arms crossed over his chest, expression betraying neither approval nor disappointment. A simple wooden sword rested against his shoulder, a silent promise of what was to come. Never thought I'd stand here, facing Paul like this. Am I ready?
Tatsuya swallowed, gripping his own crude, unbalanced training sword tightly. His heart pounded, each thud echoing like a war drum. A bead of sweat traced a slow path down his forehead.
Something soft brushed against his ankle. Looking down, Loki pressed her small head against him, rubbing her cheek against his leg with deliberate movements. I guess even Loki has more confidence in me than I do in myself.
"…You're late," Paul said, his voice sharp as the blades he usually carried at his hip.
Swords were propped against a tree. Above them, a hammock sagged unevenly between branches, creaking under the weight of nothing. Looks more like a trap than a resting place.
Tatsuya flinched. "But the sun just came up—"
A dull thud rang out as Paul's wooden sword struck the ground between them. Silence fell.
"Do you think battle waits for the sun to rise?" Paul asked, voice low and steady. "Do you think your enemies will hold back just because you need more time to wake up?"
"…No," Tatsuya admitted.
"Good. Then we start now."
Paul moved.
Tatsuya barely had time to react before the wooden sword swung in a wide arc. Instinct kicked in; he raised his own weapon to block, but the force was overwhelming. The sword flew from his grip, and before he could recover, Paul's foot swept his legs out from under him.
The world tilted. His back hit the ground hard, breath torn from his lungs. Pain flared, but more than that—humiliation burned hotter. No. This isn't humiliation. This is reality. Pain is temporary. Lessons last forever.
Paul loomed over him, offering no comfort. "Get up."
Tatsuya gritted his teeth and pushed himself to his feet. Muscles protested, but he ignored them. Training was supposed to be hard. This—this was something more.
Tatsuya tightened his grip on his weapon. His breathing was ragged, but his stance was firm. Eyes once wavering were now sharp.
Paul watched, then smirked. "That's more like it."
part 2
Tatsuya's breathing was still ragged, his arms aching from the relentless drills Paul had put him through.
He had lost count of how many times he had been knocked to the ground, only to be told to stand up and try again.
His body protested, but his pride wouldn't let him collapse.
Paul, on the other hand, was completely unfazed. His stance remained firm, his wooden sword resting against his shoulder as he eyed Tatsuya with a critical gaze. After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"Enough swords play for today."
Tatsuya eyes widened and a small regret filled his chest. But he understood why he decided to stop.
Look at me all covered in dirt, almost not able to stand anymore. I can't remember when the last time was I have worked out this much?
But he still wanted to continue.
part 3
His mind raced as he absorbed Paul's words. The four steps of spellcasting—Spell Genesis, Determination of Size, Determination of Speed, and Activation—formed the pillars of magic. But theory alone meant nothing; execution was everything.
Paul stood before him, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on Tatsuya.
"If you fail to grasp these steps properly, your magic will never amount to anything more than a cheap parlor trick," Paul said, voice firm but without malice. Just expectation.
He lifted a hand, and a tiny flame flickered into existence between his fingers. The air around it shimmered with heat, even from a few steps away.
"This is Spell Genesis," Paul continued, voice precise. "At this stage, the most important thing isn't power—it's understanding. A fire spell isn't just about summoning flames. It's about comprehending the essence of fire itself."
The ember elongated into a thin wisp, twisting unnaturally, refusing to disperse. "What is fire, Tatsuya?"
Tatsuya blinked. "It's… heat? Light?"
Paul exhaled sharply, unimpressed. "That's what it does. Not what it is."
The flame's glow deepened to a hungry red. "Fire is consumption. It devours to exist. It is never satisfied, never stagnant—it is hunger incarnate."
The wisp split into two, then three, each flickering with a life of its own. Tatsuya instinctively flinched as the heat brushed his skin, and his pulse quickened. This… is alive. It wants something.
Paul's gaze bored into him. "If you do not understand your element, you can never master it. No amount of mana will compensate for ignorance."
Tatsuya clenched his fists. Understanding—not mechanics, not gestures, but the essence itself—was the true challenge.
Paul extinguished the flames with a flick of his wrist. "Once you've shaped your mana into a spell, you must determine its size."
He gestured, and a larger fireball erupted, nearly the size of a person's head. The heat radiated outward, making the morning air shimmer.
"A small spell requires little mana and is easier to control," Paul said, shrinking it to the size of an apple. "A larger one increases power—but if you lack the capacity, you'll burn out before reaching your target."
Tatsuya nodded, his mind racing. I can imagine it. Misjudge the size… and it could explode in my hands. Or worse—someone else's.
"Next is speed."
"And finally," Paul said, "Activation."
The air pulsed. Without warning, Paul hurled the fireball forward like a comet. Tatsuya barely saw it before it struck a distant tree, sending sparks flying. Leaves trembled in the shockwave, and heat brushed his face.
Paul turned to him, expression unreadable. "A slow spell is easier to control—but useless if your enemy dodges. A fast spell sacrifices precision for impact."
Tatsuya studied the scorch marks etched into the bark. Every decision changes the outcome… even the smallest detail.
"It doesn't always end when you cast," Paul said, lowering his hand. "Some spells persist. Some can be detonated at will. Others can be guided, maintained, or altered mid-flight. Activation isn't just release—it's how your spell manifests in reality."
Tatsuya exhaled slowly. He had never thought of it like that. Every spell was alive, in a sense, and it obeyed his comprehension—or punished his ignorance.
Paul stepped closer, voice serious. "Your magic is only as strong as your understanding of it. You think you can wield fire? Then tell me—what fuels it?"
Tatsuya hesitated. This wasn't a casual question. He thought of the science classes he'd attended, the hearth fires he'd warmed himself by, the infernos that had devoured forests in his history readings.
"…Oxygen," he said finally, voice low. "And something to burn."
Paul nodded. "Good. Now tell me—what happens if you don't control how it interacts with the world around it?"
A chill ran down Tatsuya's spine despite the lingering heat. "The spell becomes unstable."
Paul's faint smirk acknowledged the answer. "Exactly. A fireball thrown carelessly might not just hit your enemy—it could ignite a forest. A lightning bolt in the rain might turn the battlefield into a death trap for everyone, including yourself."
He crossed his arms again. "Control. Precision. Understanding. These matter more than brute force."
Paul's gaze softened slightly. "Most people perform these steps with incantations. Only mages trained in silent casting do it in their minds. The last method is through a magic circle."
Tatsuya furrowed his brow. "Magic circle?"
Paul's nod was deliberate. "You draw the pattern and pour mana into it. Skilled mages can even draw them in the air with their fingers."
Tatsuya took a deep breath, feeling a weight settle in his chest. This wasn't just about casting spells—it was about grasping why they worked.
And he had a long, hard journey ahead.
part 4
Paul sat cross-legged, motioning for Tatsuya to do the same. Reluctantly, he obeyed, trying to ignore the soreness in his limbs. Every muscle ached from the morning's training, but curiosity and fear kept him upright.
"Combat isn't just swords and shields," Paul began, voice low and deliberate. "Magic extends it beyond what you can see."
Tatsuya leaned forward slightly, like a student who couldn't take his eyes off the lecture board.
"Mana exists within every living thing," Paul continued. "Most people don't know how to use it. But if you do… you become something far more dangerous."
The words settled in Tatsuya's chest. He remembered the Velocity Surge Paul had demonstrated, now understanding the invisible force that had propelled it. Magic wasn't just flashy—it was real, tactile, something he could almost feel.
"There are several types of magic," Paul said, lifting a finger. "Healing Magic. It's used for recovery, Venomancy, Aegimancy, Detoxification, Thaumatology. It can mend wounds, create barriers, even enchant objects or people."
"So magic can protect?" Tatsuya asked slowly, as if testing the concept on his tongue.
Paul's lips curved slightly. "Yes. But it can just as easily destroy."
A second finger rose. "Attack Magic—elemental spells. Fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, ice… This is what most think of as magic."
"Then Physical Enhancement," he said, raising a third finger. "Boosting your body—speed, strength, reflexes, endurance. Master it, and you'll survive longer, hit harder, move faster."
Tatsuya glanced at his own hands, imagining them stronger, faster… but the ache from training reminded him how far away that still was.
Paul lifted a fourth finger. "And finally… Forbidden Magic." The air thickened around them. "Techniques that twist reality, resurrection spells, powers that shouldn't exist."
Tatsuya shivered. "…People actually use this?"
"Some do," Paul said quietly. "Most don't live long enough to regret it."
He exhaled slowly, and Tatsuya realized—magic wasn't just a tool. It was a responsibility. A weapon that could just as easily end a life as save one.
Paul's gaze hardened. "Now, the branches of Healing Magic. Venomancy."
Tatsuya frowned. "Wait… poison falls under healing?"
Paul let out a short, dry laugh. "Healing isn't kindness. Life and death are two sides of the same coin. Mana can restore… or it can corrupt."
A chill ran down Tatsuya's spine. Poison wasn't just harmful—it was unnatural, almost alive.
"Venomancy is about creating and controlling poisons," Paul continued. "Unlike fire or water, these toxins don't obey normal rules. A fire can be doused. Water redirected. Poison?" He flexed his fingers. "It seeps. It lingers. It kills quietly, without warning."
Tatsuya's stomach knotted. He imagined it sliding through his veins, invisible and unstoppable. He swallowed hard.
Paul extended his hand, fingers curling as though gripping something unseen. "Liquid poison can coat a blade—one cut, fatal. Or spread across a battlefield, turning the ground itself into a trap."
His hand opened slowly, palm facing Tatsuya. "Gas is worse. One breath, and your enemy—paralyzed or dead. You don't even have to touch them."
Tatsuya exhaled, watching Paul's empty hand. He could almost see the invisible tendrils of danger coiling in the air.
"But that's only the basics," Paul said, his voice colder now. "True masters of Venomancy go further."
"Further?" Tatsuya's voice trembled.
"Corruption. Decay. A master can rot armor with a touch. Flesh, bone, barriers—nothing survives. Entire battlefields can become wastelands."
"And the risks?" Tatsuya asked, heart pounding.
Paul's eyes narrowed. "Control is everything. One mistake, and your poison spreads to the wrong place—you could kill allies instead of enemies. And overuse…"
He paused, letting the words sink in. "Your body changes. Your mana becomes toxic. Venom overload. It's slow. It's painful. It eats you alive."
Tatsuya drew in a shaky breath. This wasn't exhaustion from training—this was permanent, unavoidable danger.
Paul exhaled through his nose. "And if that weren't enough, Venomancy is weak to Detoxification Magic. A skilled healer can undo everything you've done with a single spell. Think you're safe? Think again."
Tatsuya remained silent, chest tight, eyes fixed on Paul. Venomancy wasn't just dangerous—it was self-destructive. A weapon that could kill its wielder as easily as its target.
Paul leaned back slightly, studying his student. "That's Venomancy. Understand it. Respect it. And never—ever—assume you're invincible."
Tatsuya's hands tightened into fists. He had a long way to go before he could even think about wielding such power.
part 5
"There's a way to counteract Venomancy, of course," Paul said, crossing his arms. "Detoxification."
Tatsuya furrowed his brows. "Like purification magic?"
Paul shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in a faint, humorless smirk. "No. Purification is broad. Detoxification is surgical. It doesn't just cleanse poisons—it fights fire with fire."
Tatsuya blinked, unease curling in his stomach. "Wait… what?"
"It works by introducing a controlled toxin into the body," Paul continued, his voice calm but sharp. "That toxin forces the body into overdrive. It flushes out the original poison while accelerating regeneration. In theory, it's brilliant."
Tatsuya's mind refused to settle. Magic that healed through poison? He pictured his own veins coursing with something lethal, every heartbeat a gamble. The contradiction made his head spin.
Paul raised a finger, his gaze locked on Tatsuya. "But it's dangerous. Miscalculate the dosage, lose control for a moment, and you're dead—or worse, you kill the person you meant to save."
Tatsuya exhaled sharply through his nose. "So… it's like using venom to make an antidote?"
"Exactly," Paul said, nodding slowly. "That's why Detoxification magic is considered high-level. Difficult to use, harder to master. One misstep, and everything collapses."
He stretched his arms over his head, a deliberate pause as if letting Tatsuya absorb the weight of the lesson. "And yes—there are side effects. Pushing the body beyond its natural limits comes at a steep cost. Some spells purge poisons. Others push your body so far it might never fully recover."
Tatsuya pressed his fingers to his temples, his mind reeling. He could almost feel the venom crawling along his imagined veins, racing against his heartbeat. Could he ever trust himself to wield something like this?
Paul's voice broke the silence, calm but edged with warning. "Enough of nearly killing yourself with magic. Let's move on to spells that don't chew through your own body first."
Tatsuya exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. Detoxification wasn't just magic. It was responsibility. A razor's edge between salvation and destruction—and he was only beginning to understand how fine that line truly was.
part 6
Tatsuya was still processing the last lesson when Paul's words pulled him back to attention.
"Less self-destructive? That'd be a nice change," Paul smirked.
Tatsuya tilted his head. "Defensive magic?"
Paul nodded. "Aegimancy. The art of barriers."
Tatsuya's interest sharpened. He had always pictured magic as fireballs, lightning strikes, and explosions. But a spell that could shield, protect, or control the battlefield… that was different. That was practical. That was survival.
"Aegimancy is one of the most important branches," Paul continued, voice steady. "No matter how strong you are, you can't fight if you're dead. A well-placed barrier can be the difference between surviving and being erased."
Tatsuya frowned. "So… it's just throwing up walls and hoping for the best?"
Paul let out a short laugh, sharp and amused. "Walls? You make it sound crude. Aegimancy isn't about hiding—it's about shaping reality. Reflect attacks, absorb energy, trap enemies. A skilled barrier can do things you don't even imagine."
Tatsuya narrowed his eyes, picturing the possibilities. He imagined standing behind a glowing dome, fire raining down, only for the flames to bounce harmlessly away. He could feel the appeal of such control.
Paul smirked. "Everything worth mastering is complicated. Now, let's go over the basics."
He grabbed his wooden sword and knelt in the sand, tracing a circle with deliberate precision. Tatsuya mirrored him, ignoring the ache in his arms.
"Aegimancy is usually cast through magic circles and incantations," Paul said. "Like this."
He poured mana into the circle. The sand glowed faintly, and a translucent barrier rose, smooth as glass. A subtle hum vibrated in the air, tingling Tatsuya's fingers. It wasn't just a wall—it was alive, shimmering with restrained power.
"This is the standard method. The stronger the barrier, the more intricate the circle," Paul explained. "It channels your mana, forces it into structure. Without it, your energy would collapse, useless in a real fight."
Tatsuya reached out and tapped the surface. Solid. Cold, yet humming faintly under his knuckles, like the pulse of trapped energy. He could almost feel the barrier thinking, obeying Paul's will.
"What about silent casting?" Tatsuya asked cautiously.
Paul shook his head, shrugging slightly. "Never seen it myself. Some can manipulate mana without words or circles. But don't underestimate it—just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not deadly."
Tatsuya exhaled, absorbing both the lesson and the weight of its possibilities. Fire could destroy, poison could corrupt—but a barrier could save lives. Or, in the wrong hands, trap a person in their own failure.
He clenched his fists, imagining himself behind a glowing dome, protecting not just himself, but those who couldn't. For the first time in a long while, survival felt like something he could actually reach toward.
part 7
"The last one… Thaumatology—the Magic of Enchantments."
Paul's voice carried weight, honed by years of experience. He crossed his arms, eyes fixed on Tatsuya as if reading every flicker of comprehension on his face.
"Thaumatology is advanced magic," he began, his tone even but commanding. "It focuses on imbuing objects, people, even places, with supernatural properties. Unlike regular spells, which release magic instantly, Thaumatology stores it for later activation. That makes it invaluable for those with limited mana—or worse, a damaged mana gate."
Paul gestured toward the wooden training swords piled in the corner. "A sword enchanted with fire can cut through armor with each strike. A shield infused with Thaumatology can deflect spells that might turn a man to ash. Even armor can be enchanted to lighten its weight or enhance speed. But weapons and armor are only one application."
Stepping closer, Paul's gaze sharpened. "Thaumatology also lets people overcome their weaknesses. Low mana? A broken mana gate? Properly enchanted tools—crystals, relics, artifacts—can let someone wield magic they otherwise couldn't."
Tatsuya's brow furrowed. Could he… rely on something else to supplement his own magic? The idea was tempting, but a part of him resisted. Magic was supposed to be his own power, wasn't it?
Paul lifted a finger. "Then there's another aspect: spirit crystals."
Tatsuya blinked. "Spirit crystals?"
"Rare, but powerful," Paul said. "Some house spirits, preserving long-forgotten entities so they remain conscious rather than fading. Others act as conduits, letting ordinary people borrow the power of these spirits—if they're skilled enough to control it."
Tatsuya's mind raced. Weapons that could wield magic themselves. Tools that let even the powerless strike with spells. Gems that held spirits. Thaumatology was… far more complex than he had imagined.
Paul's eyes narrowed, catching the flicker of awe in Tatsuya. "But don't get too excited. Thaumatology is dangerous. A fire-enchanted sword can explode in your hands if flawed. A bracelet meant to enhance strength could shatter a limb. And spirit crystals… if the spirit grows too strong or rebellious, it may consume the user instead of aiding them."
Tatsuya swallowed hard, imagining the consequences—a sword igniting in his grip, flames eating through him before reaching an enemy. His pulse quickened.
Paul's expression softened just slightly, but the smirk remained. "That's why Thaumatology is reserved for those with deep understanding. But for those who master it… few arts are as versatile."
Tatsuya nodded slowly, letting the words settle. Magic wasn't just fireballs or flashy spells. It was precision, foresight, and respect. Weapons, artifacts, enchanted tools… even spirits themselves were part of the equation.
Mana, magic, and the ways to wield it—it was a vast world, and he was only beginning to understand just how deep it went.