"Good, keep at it and you'll soon be able to learn the Techniques of the Verdant Household," Thomas said as he watched Sophia finish practicing the three stances. His tone carried neither indulgence nor warmth—it was the tempered calm of a man who had carved his life upon the edge of discipline.
Sophia exhaled, steadying her breath. The faint tremor in her arms betrayed the strain of repetition. Even so, the gleam in her eyes never wavered. "Who will be teaching me then?" she asked. Though her question was polite, she already suspected the answer; a household's sword techniques were never entrusted to outsiders.
"That will be me."
The voice came from behind, smooth and sharp as drawn steel. Iris stepped into the sunlight spilling across the training ground, her raven hair tied high, her armor glinting faintly beneath her cloak. The wind shifted as though making room for her presence.
Sophia blinked, lowering her blade. "Okay," she said quietly, accepting the waterskin Iris handed her. She drank deeply, the cool liquid washing away the dryness in her throat before she wiped her face with a towel.
"Young miss," Iris began, her tone both respectful and commanding, "before I teach you the Verdant Swordsmen Techniques, you'll have to spar with me."
Splurt!
The water sprayed from Sophia's mouth before she could stop herself. She froze, crimson rising to her cheeks. "Are you kidding me?" she blurted, mortified by her own unladylike reaction. The thought of sparring with a Sword Master—someone who could split steel with her aura alone—was enough to make her stomach tighten.
"No," Iris replied simply. "It will be a simple sparring match based on what you've learned from Thomas until now. You have only learned the three stances, so I'll only be defending against them. All you need to do is apply what you've learned—and land a hit."
"So all I have to do is use the three stances and get a hit on you while you're restricted to defense," Sophia clarified.
"Yes."
"Okay, we'll do that," she said, her voice steadier this time. The relief in her chest was small but real—finally, a chance to test her understanding in motion, without fear of crossing the impossible gulf between her and her new mentor.
Thomas chuckled, crossing his arms. "Well, kid, I have to say you're truly a genius. But don't let that get in your head. You need to work hard if you truly want to master the blade."
"I will," Sophia answered, her tone resolute. The heat of determination replaced embarrassment.
"Good. Once I've deemed that you've mastered the three stances, your training will be handed over to Iris. She'll become your mentor from then on—she's one of the Verdant knights, and a capable Sword Master."
Thomas's words carried pride, but a trace of melancholy lingered beneath them. He had trained countless soldiers, yet something about this child—this reborn girl who met every impossible challenge with serene persistence—had rekindled something long dormant in him.
"Mr. Thomas," Sophia said softly, bowing with formal grace, "I will never forget the person who trained me to become what I am today." Her voice trembled with sincerity.
Thomas turned away slightly, hiding the faint smile tugging at his scarred lips. "Good. Get going now—I've got other work to do."
As he left the training ground, Iris watched him depart. "He's a good mentor," she said quietly. Her tone carried genuine respect. "His training made it so you have no errors in your stances. The obstacles he made you go through—they weren't cruelty. They refined your movement."
"That he is." I nodded, finishing the last of the water and turning toward the mansion. "Shall we go now?"
The setting sun stretched long shadows over the stone walkway as we left the training field. The scent of iron and grass clung faintly to my clothes, the smell of effort and progress.
-Damien-
"How much time do you think she needs?" Damien Verdant asked, his voice low but intent.
Thomas stood across from him in the study, the faint glow of a mana lamp tracing the silver streaks in his hair. "A month or two, and she'll be able to wield the basic Techniques of the Verdant Household," he replied.
Damien leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing the polished wood of the desk. "Good," he murmured. "Though I'd like to keep you here to continue her swordsmanship training, I understand your circumstances."
Thomas bowed deeply. "Thank you, Duke Verdant."
Damien rose, walking toward the window. Beyond the glass, the Verdant Estate glowed under the afternoon sun—green banners rippling in the wind, the clang of the forge ringing from the distance. The years had been kind to his vision. What was once a struggling domain now stood prosperous and disciplined, a living testament to endurance.
Yet, even surrounded by order, his gaze drifted toward the small figure training in the courtyard below. His daughter.
For a moment, he imagined her as the heir of the Verdant name—bearing its crest, commanding its knights. Then he exhaled slowly. No, he thought. She wouldn't accept it.
Sophia's heart belonged to the open world, to the pursuit of mastery and meaning beyond these walls. To confine her would be to extinguish the spark that made her who she was. Still, he vowed silently: until she was ready, the Verdant legacy would stand unbroken.
-Sophia-
"So I did this yesterday," I said to Juan, my magic teacher, forming the circle exactly as he had shown me. The etched lines shimmered faintly, responding to the mana coursing through my hands. A small orb of water appeared above my palm—clear, fragile, trembling—then dissipated after a few seconds.
Juan nodded approvingly. "That's good. But your issue lies with the Mana Core—it doesn't have enough mana stored within it."
To demonstrate, he raised his own hand. The same circle unfolded, but his water sphere swelled larger, glowing faintly with dense mana.
"So what should I do? Gather mana into my Core from the surroundings?" I asked. I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear it from him—to confirm that I wasn't missing something fundamental.
"Correct," Juan said, sitting cross-legged with practiced calm. "That's what you'll do until you reach the Fourth Circle. Only then will your Core become attuned enough to draw mana naturally—like breathing. But even then, refinement remains vital. Unrefined mana corrodes the channels. It may feel faster, but it kills the mage slowly."
His words had a weight that felt almost like warning.
I mirrored his posture, sitting across from him. The floor beneath us hummed faintly with residual energy from our earlier lessons.
"Follow the gathering and refining process as I've taught you," he said. "Continue until your Mana Core feels full."
I closed my eyes and began. The sensation of drawing mana through my skin was familiar now—a subtle coolness, like breathing starlight. It flowed along the channels of my body, passing through the refining circuits before settling deep in the Core.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Ten. Fifteen. The process that once felt natural now dragged on like an endless climb. Sweat formed at my temples.
"Done?" Juan asked finally, noticing my furrowed brow.
"I'm trying my best," I muttered. "But it feels like I'm filling a bottomless pit. Either I can't store mana properly… or there's too much space inside my Mana Core."
Juan frowned slightly, eyes distant. He was seeing something through me rather than at me. "That shouldn't happen. For a First Circle Mage, it usually takes five minutes at most as their Core cannot store much mana. Hmm…" He leaned closer, inspecting my Core through his magical sight.
"Your Core," he murmured, "is unusually large." He couldn't actually see inside her Core but he could feel the mana inside it.
I blinked. "That's… not normal?"
"It's not rare, but it's uncommon," he explained. "Some First Circle Mages have abnormally wide reservoirs—like ponds rather than wells. I'll look into it, but for now, let's switch to application and capacity training. You'll need to understand how to handle this advantage properly."
A few minutes later, we shifted to the lesson on application.
"As you already know how to gather, refine, and release mana," Juan said, walking toward the studyboard, "you must now learn how to apply it—and eventually, how to expand what your Core and paths can hold."
He wrote two words on the board in flowing script: Active and Passive.
"There are countless ways to apply magic in real life," he continued, "but for simplicity, we classify them into these two.
Active application means you etch the command into a fixed magic circle—something pre-designed, stable. Once drawn, it stores mana, allowing you to activate it later. The street lamps outside, for instance, use active circles. The mana flows through them only when triggered."
He paused to glance at me. I nodded, recalling how I'd first sensed those lamps after awakening my mana sight.
"Passive application," he went on, "is different. The mage constantly modifies the command in real time while supplying mana directly from their Core. The circle breathes with you, changes with your will. The water orb you created earlier was a passive spell."
"So," I said, tilting my head, "active application stores magic for later use, while passive uses it in the moment."
"Exactly." He smiled faintly. "Most people rely on active magic—it's stable, efficient. But true mages… those who seek mastery… must learn both."
He drew several interlocking runic symbols on the board. "Artifacts, for instance, rely on active circles. Artificers, usually lower-rank mages, specialize in embedding spells into objects. But battle mages—those at Fifth Circle and beyond—must weave both. They're required to channel mana like second nature."
As he spoke, I listened with growing fascination. The categories of mages—Artificers, Researchers, Battle Mages—all sounded like echoes of a system I once knew, but shaped differently by this world's rules.
For those who were higher than 5th Circle had the options to become a Reasearcher, A Battle Mage or in some cases an Artificer. There were no Mage Towers like in my previous world, but there certainly was a different Society for Mages as Juan had explained. It was hard to come by and only those deemed worthy would get a chance to meet one of them. All the Mages in this Society were at least 6th Circle and the highest would be 8th Circle.
"So if I wanted to join the Mage Society," I said slowly, "I'd need to reach the 6th Circle at least, and be recognized by one of their administrators?"
Juan turned from the board, smiling as he began packing his notes. "That's right. It's not an easy path, Sophia. But for you, I suspect it won't be as long as it seems."
His tone was calm, but there was something behind his eyes—a faint unease, as though even he couldn't quite measure the depth of the girl sitting before him.
"Got it," I said, standing up as he prepared to leave. "I'm excited to meet all kinds of people in the Mage Society."
"Good," he said, walking toward the door. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."
When he left, the silence in the room felt like the air after a storm—thick with residue energy and the quiet satisfaction of progress.
-Dining Hall-
"So, any progress?" Father asked as I arrived for dinner. The warm glow of the chandeliers bathed the hall in golden light, catching the silver crest embroidered across his vest.
I froze mid-step. Ah. I'd forgotten to mention it.
"Ah, right," I said, setting my fork aside. "I was so excited that I forgot to tell you." I raised my palm and drew the circle instinctively. A water ball formed—small but perfectly stable. "I'm a 1st Circle Mage now."
Father's expression softened instantly, pride and relief glimmering in his eyes.
Mother's hands covered her mouth. "My goodness, you're already able to do that?" she exclaimed, moving closer to embrace me. The scent of jasmine surrounded me as she lifted me slightly, kissing my cheek.
Laughter broke the formal air of the hall. For a brief, precious moment, I wasn't a prodigy or a mage or a future heir—I was simply their daughter, basking in warmth.
We talked for a long time after that—about the lessons, about mana theory, about my first attempts. Of course, I omitted certain things. The divine encounter. The voice that had spoken within the barrier. That was mine alone—for now.
And as the night deepened, I felt it again: that quiet pulse inside my Core. Vast. Waiting.
Whatever it was I'd inherited or become… it was only the beginning.