It was a new beginning for Arya.
Of the seven mana circles he once possessed, only two remained untouched. The others had been completely burned away. When the ritual had activated, it did not merely consume mana—it scorched reality itself, burning through his world until whatever remained of man, matter, and meaning was stripped bare and left vulnerable to corruption.
At first, the ritual devoured mana. Then, when that proved insufficient, it began converting matter itself into mana—an abyssal conversion so violent that even this fuel could not satisfy it. Finally, it turned inward and started burning through Arya's own mana circles. It stopped only when it reached his third circle, which was left barely intact, on the verge of collapse.
Then the ritual ended.
Now, Arya stood in a world without mana.
Strangely, that was not entirely bad news. The corruption—an entity no one truly understood—was gone. No one knew where it had originated. It had simply appeared one day and grown at an exponential rate, unnoticed until it was already unstoppable.
Some scholars believed corruption had always existed, kept in check by mana's natural defensive mechanisms. Something must have gone catastrophically wrong for mana to disappear so suddenly. But that mystery no longer mattered. In a world devoid of mana, corruption could not exist.
If Arya's understanding was correct, that meant he might be the only being here capable of wielding mana.
The thought was unsettling… and strangely comforting.
His mana organ was intact, showing no signs of damage. That alone was remarkable. It meant his body could still generate mana internally. In theory, that made him the most powerful creature on this planet.
But theory did little to ease his concern.
There was a fundamental problem.
Growth.
Traditionally, mana cultivators absorbed ambient mana from the environment. Over time, this external mana helped form and strengthen mana circles. The mana produced by the body itself was only sufficient for basic survival and spellcasting. Any surplus was expelled into the surroundings, since mana circles were the only structures capable of storing mana within the body.
The mana organ itself only formed after the creation of the first mana circle—an adaptive response by the human body to sustained mana exposure.
But here, in a mana-less world, none of those rules applied.
Without ambient mana, how was he supposed to grow stronger?
The question gnawed at him, but he forced it aside. Speculation was pointless in his current situation. He didn't even know if mana was the only force of power in this world. He didn't know what kind of people lived here—or if intelligent life existed at all.
Too many questions. No answers.
For now, survival came first.
Arya inspected himself. His coat was slightly torn, dust clinging to the fabric, but otherwise he seemed unharmed—just exhausted. Slowly, he scanned his surroundings.
It looked like a jungle. Dense foliage, towering trees, the hum of unseen life.
And yet, beneath his feet was a well-paved road.
A road meant civilization. Civilization meant intelligent life.
That was a relief.
Suddenly, he heard something—rustling, but not leaves. It was a scraping sound, rhythmic, accompanied by faint vibrations through the ground. Something was approaching along the road at a steady pace.
Arya immediately slipped behind a tree.
Approaching the first native he encountered would be foolish. He didn't know their customs, their language, or their temperament. A wrong move could be taken as an offense—or worse, a threat.
Observation was safer.
He would watch, listen, learn. Only when he was absolutely certain of his safety would he reveal himself.
Peeking from behind the tree, Arya spotted a carriage approaching from the distance, drawn by a horse. Seated atop it was a man.
A humanoid.
Relief washed over him. At least he wouldn't stand out as an anomaly in this world.
As the carriage drew closer, Arya acted. He cast a subtle spell—nothing aggressive—just enough to briefly confuse the horse and bring the carriage to a halt.
The sudden stop startled the driver. He tugged at the reins, urging the horse forward, but the spell held. The animal panicked, stamping its hooves and neighing anxiously.
The man climbed down from the carriage and began soothing the horse, murmuring softly.
And then Arya froze.
The man was speaking Arya's language.
The very same tongue spoken in his original world.
That was impossible.
Language was shaped by culture, history, and evolution. Two entirely separate worlds could not develop the same language independently.
There had to be a connection between the two worlds.
As Arya watched from the shadows, his sense of unease deepened. Whatever had brought him here was far more deliberate than he had first believed.
Ritual was as he believed so not so random, it seems there is certain logic in him being here.
But that was a thought for later, he has a civilisation to approach and a world to understand for now till then this can wait.