The journey back felt like a vacation trip, with Lu'k showing Kyle and Ma'ya medicinal herbs and others that could be used as spices. He eagerly told them stories of their past adventures beyond the Evergreen Forest and spoke of how vast the world truly was. The journey mostly consisted of Ma'ya and the old man talking, but Kyle enjoyed every bit of it.
He enjoyed the fresh air, which was a massive upgrade from his stuffy room filled with last week's trash. Strangely, the same trees and routes looked twice as magical compared to the first time he saw them. Simply accepting his new life eased the burdens that had weighed down his heart for over a year.
Upon reaching home, he was welcomed by his siblings, who seemed far more interested in his bag than in him. So he slipped out the diary and let them have the rest, including his dagger.
From a corner, he could see Sl'k chuckling, most likely because of how beat up he looked. Only Tu'ka seemed concerned, but Kyle was too tired to interact with anyone, so he went straight to his room. There, he flipped open the diary and continued reading.
"My family is disappointed.
That much was made clear today.
Despite my deep interest in magic and my thorough understanding of its theory, my aptitude remains painfully average. I can explain complex spell structures, trace mana flow with precision, and predict magical reactions before they occur, yet when it comes to actual manifestation, my talent falls short of expectations. For a house like Carlegar, this is unacceptable.
Strangely, I am not bothered.
My family possesses vast resources—tomes, artifacts, mentors, and time. Even if they did not, I am, at my core, a magic researcher. Research exists to overcome limitations. If talent is a wall, then it is simply another problem waiting to be solved. Eventually, I will find a way to improve my own aptitude.
While observing the world around me, I have noticed a clear trend. Most people eagerly choose the path of the mage rather than that of the sorcerer. The reason is simple: sorcery demands an absurd amount of resources and patience. It requires years—sometimes decades—of slow growth, constant attunement, and near-spiritual dedication to a single element.
Because of this, sorcerers are almost always two realms behind their peers of the same age.
On paper, this makes them inferior.
And yet, reality disagrees.
Sorcerers possess an unparalleled link with their chosen element. Their control is absolute, instinctive, and terrifying. Fire bends like a limb, earth moves like flesh, and wind answers like thought. However, this power comes at a cost. Sorcerers lack versatility. They cannot adapt quickly. They cannot replicate the efficiency and precision that structured magic—what we call science—brings to spellcraft.
Mages, on the other hand, excel in utility. Through formulas, arrays, tools, and refined spell models, they compensate for weaker elemental bonds with overwhelming adaptability. Healing, support, logistics, mass destruction—mages dominate these fields.
And yet…
On the battlefield, something strange happens.
Time and time again, records show small groups of sorcerers overwhelming elite mage units. When unleashed, they are not soldiers or scholars. They are forces of nature. Unstoppable, direct, and brutally efficient. No spell restructuring. No counter-formula. Just raw elemental authority crashing down.
But even this perfect chaos is flawed.
Nature is powerful, but it is inefficient. It is slow to change. It follows rules it cannot break.
And that, I believe, is where humanity steps in.
Sorcery represents nature's perfection—and its limitation.
Magecraft is humanity's answer to that flaw."
Bold!
Kyle couldn't help but exclaim at the shift in the writer's tone. In the first entry, Thomas sounded skeptical about what path to follow. In this new entry, however, he seemed certain of his conclusions.
What could have changed?
Somehow, Kyle saw himself in the writer, who spoke from a place of pride. There was a tone of superiority in his words, as if his findings and conclusions were absolute.
Kyle concluded this might be a result of the boy's upbringing. On Earth, every depiction of nobles in movies, anime, and books painted them as spoiled brats. He was grateful this one seemed genuinely ambitious and didn't simply waste his life indulging in his family's wealth.
"Is he dead?" Kyle raised a brow as he remembered the bloodstains on the leather bag.
That could be the case, but it was also possible the bag was lost while escaping the wyvern.
As for why they came here, Kyle wasn't bothered. He knew he would eventually find out once he finished reading the diary.
"The title Mana Initiate sounds far grander than it truly is.
At this stage, one has merely sensed mana for the first time. Not controlled it. Not shaped it. Simply felt it. A faint warmth in the chest, a pressure behind the eyes, a pull that reacts when one focuses deeply enough. Most fail even at this step.
Those who succeed are taught the most basic form of circulation—how to guide mana through crude internal pathways without causing backlash. Focus training follows soon after. Long hours of stillness. Breathing exercises. Mental anchoring. At best, an initiate can form a weak spell that collapses almost immediately. Sustaining magic for more than a few seconds is considered an achievement.
To the world, Mana Initiates are apprentices. Replaceable. Unremarkable.
To me, this stage was everything.
My training officially began at the age of 14, much later than most children of noble houses, so the Carlegar family spared no expense. The first tutors were not spellcasters, but scholars—men and women who taught me theory before practice. Mana theory. Historical spell failures. Case studies of mages who crippled themselves by forcing growth too early. At the time, I found it frustrating. Now, I understand their wisdom.
When I first sensed mana, it did not come easily. Weeks passed with nothing but headaches and exhaustion. My tutors adjusted methods constantly—meditation at dawn, sensory deprivation rooms, mana-reactive crystals placed near the body to provoke resonance. Eventually, during one such session, I felt it. A thin stream, fragile and unstable, but undeniably present.
That moment marked the true beginning.
Circulation was my greatest weakness. My mana refused to move smoothly. Where others described it as flowing water, mine behaved like mist—scattering at the slightest disturbance. A private tutor specializing in internal mana refinement was brought in. He taught me visualization techniques: imagining mana as a wheel instead of a river, rotating slowly, building momentum through repetition rather than force.
Progress was slow. Painfully slow.
I trained every day. Morning circulation. Afternoon theory. Evening spell attempts. My family supplied low-grade mana stones to stabilize my internal flow. I was forbidden from using high-grade resources; my tutors insisted they would mask my flaws rather than fix them. Instead, I was given faulty spell scrolls and incomplete formulas and asked to diagnose why they failed.
This, I believe, helped me more than raw practice ever could.
At fifteen years old, I could finally sustain a basic spell for nearly ten seconds. A light orb no brighter than a candle. My peers laughed. Some of them were already throwing firebolts. But unlike them, I understood why my spell worked—and why it failed when it did.
Between the ages of sixteen and seventeen, my training shifted. The family hired retired battle mages to teach me mana efficiency—how to reduce waste and layer intent over raw output. I learned that most initiates burn through mana because they fight it instead of guiding it. My control improved, though my output did not.
Resources poured in quietly. Annotated grimoires. Ancient lecture transcripts. Mana circulation charts banned in public academies due to their danger if misunderstood. I was allowed access because I was never reckless. That much, at least, my family trusted.
Even now, at seventeen years old, I remain an Initiate.
I can sustain multiple basic spells. I can circulate mana for hours without fatigue. I can identify flaws in tier one spell structures. Yet my raw power lags behind others my age.
And still, I am not worried.
This stage taught me patience. It taught me restraint. It taught me that power without understanding is nothing more than noise. While others rush forward, I am building a foundation that will not crack under pressure."
Beside his words were several roughly drawn and labeled images of every resource or manual used in his training. Thomas went further, explaining every detail of his Mana Initiate days, stating he prepared this for his offspring to secure smooth growth with or without talent.
"I can learn to be a mage from this."
Kyle was stunned by how detailed Thomas's manual was and immediately considered learning from it. He recalled Lu'k's advice about focus, but he also believed this was too good to pass up.
If he could learn and grow through human secrets recorded in this diary, wouldn't it give them an edge against lesser races with no knowledge of such things?
"I'll just learn sorcery from him and practice this in my free time. We'll see where it goes from there."
Kyle made his decision after several minutes of silent consideration.