I. The Price of Frost
Arthur had reached the age of twelve. The clandestine training sessions he had conducted over the past months had finally borne fruit. He realized that the Seal was not merely a barrier; it was a Pressure Chamber that compressed and distilled his mana instead of simply repelling it.
One evening, at his usual spot by the river, he concentrated his mana, pushing it gently yet firmly against the internal architecture of the Seal. That brilliant, crystalline blue radiance began to seep into the palms of his hands.
This time, the manifested mana did not evaporate. This purified Water Mana, erupting under immense pressure, collided with the chill of the evening air and instantly solidified. A tiny, perfectly sharp ice crystal hung suspended before Arthur's hand.
"I did it... This is Ice Magic!"
Arthur trembled with excitement. He knew that this was not merely a derivative of the four known elements (Light, Shadow, Flora), but a completely unique variation. In fact, magical grimoires contained only theoretical notes suggesting that highly condensed Water Mana could achieve such an effect.
However, this power demanded a heavy toll. When Arthur attempted to sustain a block of ice weighing roughly one kilogram in the air, his body reacted with a violent shudder. Dizziness washed over him, and he collapsed to the ground.
My mana... it's completely spent. I am an F-Class user, and yet creating a mere kilogram of ice consumes my entire reservoir.
Arthur realized that while his power was incredibly potent, its volume was miniscule. The narrow channel allowed by the Seal permitted mana to exit at high velocity, yet it simultaneously slowed the replenishment of his overall reserves. He could deliver a devastating, singular strike, but sustained spellcasting was currently beyond his reach.
II. Winds of War
Though Barren Town was a secluded corner of the realm, news of the war from the capital, Aethoria, eventually reached its gates. The Human Kingdom had ignited a bloody conflict against the Elves, an ancient and noble race.
Despite their peaceful nature, Elves possessed innate mana reserves three times greater than even the highest human nobility. The tide of war was turning grim for the Humans; the Elves' forest sorcery and overwhelming mana were pushing the Royal Army into a desperate retreat.
The Human King had initially ordered the ruthless eradication of the Elves. However, sensing he was on the brink of defeat, he made a decree that would alter the fate of the nation: The Great Mobilization.
Heralds from the capital thundered in the square of Barren Town:
"By Royal Decree! The Human Kingdom is under siege! Every male over the age of ten capable of wielding mana, regardless of rank or class, shall be conscripted into the Royal Army! Those who defy this order shall be branded as traitors!"
This decree was the turning point Arthur had been waiting for.
Alex looked at the herald with fury. "Ten years old? He is but a child! And his mana is F-Class! What use will he be on the front lines?"
But Arthur's eyes shone with a different light. An opportunity to grow! The army might provide him with formal training, encounters with powerful mages, and perhaps the key to unlocking the final secrets of his Seal.
"Father, I am going," Arthur said with unwavering resolve.
"Never! You would be nothing but cannon fodder!" Alex shouted.
"If I stay here as an F-Class farmer, I will endure the mockery of people like Poyraz for the rest of my life. But on the front... no one cares about my class; they only care if I can survive. This might be... my last chance."
That night, Arthur prepared. He had only an old rucksack and a simple water canteen. But in his heart, he carried a condensed hope and the secret of his Ice Magic.
III. Toward the Killing Fields
Arthur departed from Barren Town amidst the tears of Alex and Satella. He was no hero—just a boy trying to seize the reins of his own destiny.
He walked for days, following the mobilization route. Along the path were others like him—forced conscripts, elderly farmers, young lads, and a few frail mage aspirants. The same shadow of fear and uncertainty was etched onto every face.
Finally, the caravan reached the fringes of the Dark Forest, where the conflict was at its most feral.
Arthur looked upon the makeshift human camp established at the forest's edge. The air was thick with the foul stench of parched earth, mud, and the distant echoes of human screams. Beyond the trees, explosions of deep emerald and fiery red magic tore through the atmosphere.
For the first time, Arthur felt the sheer volume of mana dancing in the air. The potent Elven Mana exerted a physical pressure on him, even from this distance.
Arthur gripped his rucksack tight and took his first step toward the camp. His ordinary life was over. Before him lay the savage and treacherous face of true war.
At that moment, the ground beneath him shuddered as a deafening explosion ripped through the air.
Arthur had arrived at the front lines.
lV. The Chaos of Combat
The moment Arthur set foot into the Royal Army camp, the fragile silence of the Dark Forest's edge was shattered by a terrifying roar.
"Ambush! Elves!"
The very earth before Arthur was torn asunder by a deep emerald sorcery. Giant roots erupted from the soil, seizing soldiers and hurling them into the air like ragdolls. Conscripts like Arthur—unarmed, untrained, and utterly terrified—scrambled in a frantic panic.
Amidst the carnage, Arthur's instincts flared. He attempted to gather his Sealed Mana, desperate to manifest his condensed Ice magic for protection. As he compressed the energy within his chest, a surge of high-pressure coldness washed over his entire being.
But Arthur was exhausted, his body hollowed by hunger and his mind clouded by the sheer horror of war. He failed to release the mana in the correct ratio. Instead of a lethal burst of frost, only a pathetic wisp of vapor escaped his fingertips.
In that instant, Arthur's vision blurred. Whether it was a physical blow or the sudden drain of his mana reserves, he could not tell. His balance faltered, and as he collapsed into the churned mud, consciousness slipped away. The screams, the clash of steel, and the magical detonations faded into a distant, hollow dream.
V. Chains of Mercy
Arthur had no sense of how long he had been adrift in the darkness. When he finally stirred, the first thing he felt was not pain, but a strange sense of restoration. The lingering aches in his body had vanished.
He opened his eyes to find himself in a damp, dimly lit chamber with thick stone walls. A dungeon.
Did the Humans lose the battle? Am I a prisoner of war?
As his mind cleared, a detail surfaced: The Elves. History books often spoke of their inherent fairness and pacifist leanings. Even in the heat of battle, they maintained a tradition of healing their foes before taking them captive—a testament to their overwhelming magical confidence and twisted generosity.
Arthur sat behind iron bars. He raised his head and focused on the silhouette standing just beyond his reach.
The figure was the most magnificent being Arthur had ever seen in this world. She had cascading golden hair and piercing emerald eyes. Her armor, intricately engraved with forest motifs, and the sweeping cloak on her shoulders marked her as a high-ranking Elven Commander. Her face bore a noble coldness, yet beneath that icy exterior lay a profound, hidden sorrow.
That face... it was hauntingly familiar. Arthur's heart began to race. The Commander stepped closer to the bars, her gaze carrying the weight of a thousand years of wisdom.
Vl. My Old Friend
The Elven Commander's lips curled into a faint, melancholic smile. Arthur's world ground to a halt. In a flawless accent, she whispered in the old tongue:
"Arthur."
Arthur froze. In this world, no one knew that name. No one spoke it.
The woman smiled again, and for a fleeting second, she looked exactly like the cheerful girl he used to see in high school corridors.
"Once, you saved my life. On that asphalt, in front of that car... you shoved me back and sacrificed your own life. Since that moment, guilt and regret devoured me. Eventually, I too departed from that world."
Arthur was speechless, his throat tight with shock. The Commander tilted her head slightly, the sorrow in her eyes deepening.
"And now, I have saved your life in this new world, my old friend."
She straightened the collar of her armor, her regal composure returning.
"I am Commander Anna, of the High Elven Hegemony. And you are my personal prisoner. This ancient debt between us... it shall be settled here in Aethel."
Arthur was reeling from the greatest shock of his new life. His closest friend—the very person he had died for—stood before him as a noble and powerful commander of an enemy race. Furthermore, a reincarnation as a Noble Elf meant her magical capacity was likely three times that of even human royalty.
Compared to Anna's radiant power, Arthur's F-Class mana and Sealed Ice were like a single grain of sand standing before a mountain.