Sunday morning. Silas was up early, he was sitting at the desk writing on a piece of paper in a language from another world. He was writing in Forman.
The body of a septa-wielder is very different compared to the body of a mono-wielder. It can sense the slightest fluctuations in the mana field. Perhaps because septa-wielders are so rare that this fact was never recorded.
Using spells of different tiers uses different amounts of mana force. One will lose consciousness if their mana force runs out due to exhaustion. Everyone has some amount of mana force.
First tier spells use very little mana force but it is possible to use more mana force while casting low tier spells. Someone of high wielding tier and years of practice can achieve this.
This is only speculation based on my experiments from yesterday. So hypothetically if it were possible then the first tier spell that uses Ignivar to create a fireball can be "overclocked" to create a bigger fireball. Perhaps after a lot of practice I might be able to make a fireball that is as big as a meteor.
However, it might not actually be possible. My attempts from yesterday ended in me exhausting my mana force. For a septa-wielder doesn't this body have way too little mana? Or is it that I don't understand how to effectively control it?
After writing down his thoughts on the piece of paper he folded it and placed it on his right hand. He then conjured burning flames that burned over his hand, turning the piece of paper into nothing but black dust and ashes.
After doing this, he stood up from his desk and went downstairs. It was Sunday, so the maid was on leave. This meant Silas had to make his own breakfast. He had considered going out but then gave up the thought because his manacule perception was strongly triggered hinting at a lot of wielders nearby.
He went to the kitchen. Silas did not have much experience with cooking, so he decided to prepare a simple sandwich.
He pulled out some bread from the refrigerator along with a tomato and a cucumber from the lower compartment. He couldn't find any lettuce, nor did he manage to spot any cheese.
This is going to be a very dull sandwich.
Next, he grabbed a pack of butter. After rinsing the vegetables and setting all the ingredients neatly on the table, he was ready to make his sandwich breakfast.
From one of the drawers, he took out a knife and washed it. With the knife in hand, he began making small cuts in the tomato. His movements were slow but deliberate. It wasn't his first time using a knife to cut vegetables, yet it had been a long while since he last did it.
Silas tried his best to slice the tomato thinly. The first few slices came out irregular, some too thin while others too thick, but after a little practice his cuts grew steadier and more precise.
After placing all the slices on a plate, he moved on to the cucumber. For a moment, he thought about peeling it, but then decided against it. He was being lazy.
Cutting the cucumber proved easier than the tomato. Silas had no trouble slicing it into pieces of nearly equal width. Once done, he placed the cucumber slices onto another plate and was ready to assemble the sandwich.
He took a piece of bread from the packet, spread butter generously on one side, and set it on the plate. Then he carefully arranged the cucumber and tomato slices on top, before taking another slice of bread, smearing it with butter, and placing it over the first piece, completing his sandwich.
He went on to make a few more, and in the end, he had four sandwiches prepared.
Silas had already taken out some milk from the fridge and poured it into a glass. He had considered getting a bit creative by making a chocolate milkshake, but in the end, he didn't bother. Laziness won again.
Silas enjoyed his breakfast. The sandwiches, paired with a glass of milk, were more than enough to satisfy his morning hunger.
After finishing his breakfast, Silas went back to his room. He did not have much to do. The original Silas used to spend his time coming up with new concepts or forming theories about psychology.
Much like himself back in his own world, he had spent almost all of his time on manalogical experiments. Even after being transmigrated, his love for manalogy remained just as strong.
As much as Silas wanted to test out all the new spells now available to him, he wasn't able to use most of them. The higher the tier of the spell, the easier it became to trace, and after his Burning Rings of Death stunt, the authorities would already be on alert. Thus, Silas could only test lower-tier spells and those with specific secrecy characteristics.
Having nothing to do, Silas was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, which had now become a familiar sight.
Just then, he remembered the task his mother had assigned him. He had to go visit their old neighbor, Mrs. Miratya, and check on her.
Silas got up. He wasn't going anywhere far, and Mrs. Miratya was almost like family, so he didn't need to change his clothes. He put on his shoes and headed out in a pair of loose trousers and an oversized half T-shirt.
Mrs. Miratya's house was right beside theirs. When Silas was younger, he had a habit of jumping over the wall to get to her house.
Nope, better not do that. Some related information was surfacing in his mind.
Silas made his way to Mrs. Miratya's main gate. As he pushed it open, a loud clang of metal rang out. Parts of the gate were covered in a reddish-brown layer, rust had settled over the hinges, and it was difficult to open since it kept getting stuck.
This needs to be repaired, I'll inform her and also Sophia... er, mom... no, mother. Silas thought.
As he walked up to the door, he noticed that the lights inside the house were off.
I think she's asleep. Should I not have come at this time? he wondered.
After considering whether to go inside or not, Silas decided he should. If Mrs. Miratya was asleep, he would leave quietly and come back later.
He used the spare key to unlock the door and stepped inside. The lights on the ground floor were all off. Making his way to the stairs, he noticed that the lights on the first floor were on.
Is she awake? What is she doing up there? Her bedroom is on the ground floor. And she never goes upstairs alone…
He slowly walked up the stairs that led to the first floor. As he climbed, he called out to her.
"Grandma?"
There was no response. Silas grew more worried, beginning to wonder if Mrs. Miratya had fallen and hurt herself. His steps quickened as he hurried toward the first floor.
At the top of the flight of stairs, he found himself in a long corridor. The lights were on, but the silence felt unnatural. That was when he felt a sudden sharp sting in his head; his manacule perception was triggered; something Silas had come to think of as a sense of danger.
On his right, a door slowly creaked open, and a faint, sickening smell seeped into the air. Through the gap of the door, he caught a glimpse of the room inside.
There were bugs. Dozens of insects crawling across the floor. The moment the door opened, a swarm of them scuttled outward, spilling through the gap. Silas was startled, his chest tightened at the sight of so many at once.
After regaining his composure, he forced himself to look inside the room. In the center stood a chair, and upon it sat a figure. No—not someone, but something. It was a body, the corpse of Mrs. Miratya.
The room reeked of rotting flesh, the stench was so overpowering that it made Silas's stomach churn. He fought the urge to vomit and forced himself to stay composed. His instinct told him to run but something was pulling him deeper inside the room.
The death of Mrs. Miratya wasn't normal. Silas somehow managed to remain conscious, plugging his nose with one hand as he studied the scene before him.
The corpse was pale, the skin shriveled and sunken into deep wrinkles. Several bugs crawled across her body, feeding on the decay. At first glance, it looked like a simple case of sudden death left unattended. But Silas's manacule perception told him otherwise. It grew stronger the closer he was to the body.
At the moment he stood right in front of the body, the invisible force that had drawn him in suddenly vanished. Silas snapped back to his senses and backed away at once. The moment he stepped out of the room, he doubled over and threw up in the corridor. The sight, the smell; all of it was far too much for him to endure.
As soon as he could, he ran, rushing down the stairs, out of the house, and straight back to his own home. Once inside, he didn't pause for a second and headed directly to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face, scrubbed off the traces of vomit that had stained the side of his shirt, and only then did he feel the slightest bit better.
But Silas didn't stop there. Without a moment's hesitation, he picked up the phone and called the police. It was the only thing he could do.