"YES!" Wesley shouted, his voice echoing through the now eerily clean classroom.
Reward 1: 15 Bronze Coins
The screen shimmered, and an icon pulsed with a faint glow.
Wesley hesitated a moment, then tapped it.
Suddenly, the room went quiet.
Then—plop—a coin fell from the screen into his palm.
Then another.
And another.
They tumbled, one by one, into his open hand, warm and solid.
The texture was strange—not quite metal, not quite illusion. He held them to the light, marveling at the way they shimmered like embers, and counted each one aloud.
"One... two... three... ten... thirteen... fifteen! Yes! Fifteen! I have a system! I have a system! I have a SYSTEM!"
He spun in a circle, coins clutched to his chest, laughing in a way that would've gotten him exorcised by most fantasy church orders.
But it wasn't over yet.
Ding!
Reward 2: Fire Resistance Level 1 Received.
A wave of heat spread through his body—but it didn't burn. It was warm, comforting, like a protective barrier hugging him tight.
"Whoa..." he whispered. "I... I think I just became mildly fireproof. If only this existed during cooking class..."
Then, something else struck his mind. Not like a thought. Like an intrusion.
Ding!
Reward 3: Ember Spell (Level 1) Received.
His breath caught. He staggered.
Images of a spell filled his head—a swirl of fire, a gesture, a chant. He blinked. He couldn't cast it yet, not without the last two rewards, but still—he knew it now.
"I have a spell. A real spell," he murmured. "I could light someone's shoe on fire... or toast bread in my hand."
But then—his eyes widened.
The last two.
The big ones.
Mana of Knighthood
Mana of Flame Conjurers
They were next.
They were waiting.
He stared at the system screen, his hands shaking slightly from exhaustion and adrenaline.
The two icons were still grayed out. The system hadn't delivered them yet. Maybe it was processing. Maybe it needed a cooldown. Or maybe—
"Come on!" Wesley cried, fists clenched. "I've done the work! I've cleaned! I've conquered flaming ghosts! I got dirt in my shoes! I literally scrubbed a curse off the floor! Gimme the mana already!
Suddenly, his body froze, and immediately, he felt a sudden warm. No—warmer than warm. It was as if every pore in his skin had been kissed by some invisible flame, yet instead of pain, he felt comfort—moist, pulsing, rejuvenating comfort.
His chest rose sharply, and then—pop—a small, glowing sphere of blue light emerged from his collarbone.
Another bubbled up from the back of his hand. Then more, spilling out one by one from his legs, arms, and even his temples.
These weren't just sparks.
They were marbles of magic—glowing, translucent orbs that shimmered like crystal water touched by moonlight.
And Wesley? He could only stand there, stunned. "W-what the... What the hell is this?! What is this?!" His voice cracked and echoed through the empty classroom.
The blue orbs hovered around him like satellites, dancing in the air, humming with energy, responding to some unseen rhythm in his soul.
Wesley turned around, arms raised, watching the motes of mana swirl like a cosmic storm around him.
He couldn't hold back the flood of emotion crashing through his chest.
A memory slammed into his head—painful and clear like he was back there himself. Back then, in his noble family's courtyard. He was young. Desperate. Eager.
He remembered standing before the crystal of awakening with his relatives watching coldly.
They were a lineage blessed with high-tier mana users.
People spoke in hushed tones about the bloodlines of grand knights and archmages flowing through them.
When Wesley's turn came, the crystal barely flickered. Not blue. Not red. Not even the dullest gray.
"Your mana... is lower than peasant-tier," one elder had said, his tone dripping with disdain.
"But—but maybe the crystal is broken," Wesley had muttered.
"Don't embarrass yourself further," his uncle had snapped, spitting on the ground. "You were always strange. Maybe you're cursed. Or worse… empty."
They'd tossed him out without ceremony.
A disgrace to the lineage. A liability to their honor.
He was sent here to be a worker. However, Wesley did not argue, resist or say anything. In his heart, he knew something they didn't: He wasn't born in this world. He was from Earth. And that meant he never had mana—because Earth had none to begin with.
That's why he just accepted their judgement.
Now? His knees buckled.
"It's real..." he whispered. "It's all real. I'm not empty. I'm not broken."
He threw his arms in the air. "I HAVE MANA!!"
His voice tore through the air with thunderous joy.
The blue marbles glowed brighter in response, spinning faster. He ran in a circle, laughing so hard tears welled in his eyes.
"This feeling! This feeling!! Ahaahah! YES! YES! Yesyesyesyesyes! THIS IS MANA OF KNIGHTHOOD!!"
He clutched his chest, inhaling deeply—and then gasped again.
A second wave warmth coursed through his veins.
This one was hotter. It crackled. It churned. And it burned.
"W-what now?" he stammered.
From his shoulders, embers of orange-red fire burst forth, small and curling like the first breath of a candle. "Wait—wait this is... THIS IS MANA OF FLAME CONJURERS! HAHAHAH!"
He threw his arms up again. "I HAVE BOTH! BOTH! BOTH!!!!"
He dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground. Then he pounded his fist into the floor and rose again, his entire body trembling, he couldn't control himself.
Then, eyes wide with a feverish gleam, he raised his right hand. He closed his fingers slowly, and said the word—not loud, but with conviction:
"Ember."
A flicker.
Then flame.
From the center of his palm, fire bloomed like a crimson flower. It crawled up his fingers, wrapping around them like molten lace. But instead of burning him—it felt warm. Comforting. Alive.
"HAHA! HAHAHAHA! I CAN FEEL IT! I CAN CONTROL IT!" Wesley shouted, his voice raw with disbelief.
He willed the flame to move. It slithered over his knuckles, around his wrist, curling up his arm. The ember crawled, obeying every motion of his fingers like a loyal pet. He waved it like a ribbon. Laughed like a madman. Twisted and snapped his wrist until the flame spiraled upward.
"This—this is what it means to be a Conjurer! I never could have used this before, not without the Mana of Flame Conjurers! But now? Now I have both! BOTH!"
He spun, letting the fire dance over his shoulders, tracing lines along his neck. He spread it across his chest and spun again, faster, until the ember broke off into smaller whisps. They floated around him like fireflies.
He closed his eyes. "I could die now and still be happy. yeS! I could die now and still be happy."
But then, his finger twitched. There was a different urge in his head.
The mop.
He reached for it slowly, reverently. "Let's see what else we can do."
As he gripped the mop's handle, a ripple of silver light transferred from his palm.
A pulse shot through the shaft like lightning through iron. The wooden handle groaned—then hummed.
He closed his eyes again. "Mana of Knighthood… lend me strength."
He lifted the mop high. It vibrated—violently. His arm shook from the force. He brought it down in a powerful swing through the air, like a warrior's strike.
WHOOOSH!
The wind split.
The very air around him warped for a moment, and the mop left behind a streak of glowing white light.
His hands buzzed. His breath hitched.
"This… is the power to enhance weapons. The power of warriors! I CAN ACTUALLY DO IT!"
He struck again, then again. The third swing smashed a chair, which splintered into pieces and skittered across the floor. "Oops!" Wesley winced, then grinned. "Hehe. I'll clean that later."
His mop now thrummed with energy. He swung it experimentally, and every arc left behind a faint trail, as if the air itself was scorched with light. He had made the mop into a weapon—not a metaphorical one, not some theatrical idea. It was real.
He turned to the room. "Alright… calm down. Calm down, Wesley. Calm down. We got it now. We got mana. We got ember. We got power..."
He wiped his forehead, slick with sweat. He steadied his breath.
But then his eyes drifted—toward the next classroom door.
It was closed.
Quiet.
Unknown.
He swallowed hard.
"...What about the next classroom door?"