Longinus stepped forward, his gaze fixed upon the line of trees in the distance.
Raising his right hand, he let out a calm breath.
From his palm, a radiant light began to shimmer and swell—bright and pure, pulsating with barely restrained power.
He slowly pointed his hand at the thick trunk of one of the trees.
Then, without warning, the light surged forth in a concentrated beam, a blinding ray of energy that sliced cleanly through the wood.
The beam was sharp, unwavering, and focused—like the edge of a blade forged by the gods themselves.
When it faded, a hole as wide as a fist had been burned straight through the tree's core, smoke gently rising from the edges.
Longinus turned to face me.
I stood there, stunned, though I quickly masked my surprise behind a neutral expression.
After all, I should be capable of such feats myself... right?
Magic in this world wasn't difficult to grasp—at least, not on a theoretical level.
It lived within all things, woven into the very essence of every living being.
From the moment of birth, each person was blessed—or perhaps cursed—with an innate affinity for a specific element.
These were known as the Basic Elements:
Fire, Earth, Water, and Wind—the four most common and foundational.
Over time, the list expanded to include Light, Darkness, Ice, and Lightning, making it eight in total.
These eight could be studied and learned by anyone, regardless of natural affinity.
With enough time and effort, one could master even the element they were least compatible with.
But then there were the Rare Elements—those far less common and significantly harder to master.
Even if they were not born with an affinity for them, some individuals could still learn them through absurd levels of training and relentless practice.
Elements like Gravity, Blood, Shadow, Sound, and many others belonged to this rare category.
And finally, at the peak of it all, there was Abstract Magic—the kind that defied logic and structure.
It was considered the most broken, the most overpowered form of magic in existence.
Only five known individuals had ever wielded it in the entirety of the novel I remembered.
It couldn't be learned. You had to be born with it.
If you weren't, well… tough luck.
Abstract magic included concepts such as Death, Life, Time, and Soul, among others.
Fundamental forces of existence themselves.
That was all I could recall from the novel about how magic functioned in this world.
I should really write it all down before I forget any of it...
But my train of thought was suddenly interrupted by Longinus's voice.
"So," he asked, with the calm tone of a seasoned teacher, "what would you like to learn about magic, young master?"
Without thinking, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"My mana control."
Longinus paused, as if weighing my request. Then he gave a slow nod and replied:
"Very well. Relax your mind, young master.
Meditation is the simplest path to mastering the control of your mana.
Sit down and imagine your mana core. It can look like anything, take any form.
Once you see it, gather your mana and reshape it into threads—then evenly distribute those threads throughout your entire body."
I sat down in the soft grass and, despite the vague instructions, decided to give it a try.
I began to let go of tension, relaxing my breathing and clearing my mind.
To my surprise, it was easier than I thought.
Darkness surrounded me.
And in the middle of that void stood a giant glass container, overflowing with a glowing blue liquid—mana.
It shimmered, moving like living energy, endlessly regenerating.
It was a strange form for a mana core... but it was mine.
I remembered Longinus's advice and focused all my thoughts on giving my mana a command.
Transform into threads.
And slowly, the blue energy obeyed.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of shimmering threads danced around me, weaving and swirling.
I continued shaping the mana until the container was empty.
Sweat dripped down my forehead, my limbs heavy with exhaustion.
But I didn't stop.
One by one, I directed the threads into my body—down to my fingers, my legs, my chest, my head—until every part of me was wrapped in mana.
---
Longinus's Point of View
I watched silently as Michael sat down and closed his eyes.
Almost immediately, I could feel it—he had entered the meditative state and had begun the process.
I couldn't help but smile, impressed.
Normally, every knight I trained would ask dozens of questions before making any progress.
They wanted details, methods, tricks.
But Michael… he dove in headfirst. Without hesitation.
Perhaps he really had changed.
I'd heard from Maria that he collapsed yesterday, screaming in pain.
Something must have awakened within him.
The old Michael would have already butchered the knights who mocked him and mounted their heads on spears in the training yard as a warning.
Yet here he was, calm. Determined.
Time passed unnoticed as I stood there, lost in thought.
The sun was setting now, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.
Then, suddenly, I heard a weary voice call out.
---
Michael's Point of View
It was exhausting.
My clothes were soaked through with sweat.
My arms felt like lead, my heart pounding in my chest.
But I had done it.
I had successfully channeled my mana through every part of my body.
I looked at Longinus, who seemed deep in thought.
"Huh... I did it," I murmured, my voice raspy and tired.
He looked at me, slightly surprised, but then his expression softened into a smile.
"Well done. Tomorrow, we continue, young master."
I slowly got to my feet, every movement a battle, and began the long walk back to the estate.
When I finally reached my room, I didn't even wait for dinner or the notebook I'd meant to fill with notes about the Future.
I collapsed onto my bed—and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
---