"Yes. I asked for a room; he said there weren't any." Ronan held a magic book, flipping through its pages idly, his eyes catching the foreign symbols and diagrams. He looked up at Frieren. "The elder said you're gifted in magic, and you have all the village's books. If I want to learn magic, I should start with you."
Frieren raised an eyebrow, her expression filled with skepticism. "But you're a warrior? Warriors learn magic?" She tilted her head, clearly confused. She'd heard him say he couldn't use magic. His speed and physical prowess were extraordinary—he was a terrifying human, someone who seemed more fit for battle than for the intricacies of spellcasting.
Ronan smiled, a touch of amusement in his eyes as he leaned against the wall. "Speaking of…" she said, her mind recalling something. "Have you tested your magical aptitude? I can't guarantee you'll learn if you're just curious."
Ronan's grin widened, a confident gleam in his eyes. "How would I know without trying? I have faith in my talent."
With a casual flick of his wrist, Ronan tapped into his vast reserve of energy, maxing out his magical talent stat. Frieren's eyes widened, a momentary daze crossing her features. Her senses heightened, and she could feel it—an aura, subtle yet unmistakable. Ronan's presence seemed to shift in an instant, his very being growing more profound, more grounded, like an elven scholar who had studied the deepest secrets of the arcane. A faint magical aura flickered around him, like the glow of a distant star.
For a brief moment, Frieren wondered—was it her imagination? Or had he truly just activated something deep within him?
"What's wrong?" Ronan noticed the dazed look on her face. His tone was calm, almost casual. "Don't believe me? I wouldn't either, a human warrior learning magic. But anything is possible." He shrugged lightly, as if to suggest that the limits of possibility were far from fixed in this world, especially for someone like him.
His cool demeanor reminded Frieren of his earlier words about the Demon Lord. His indifference to the title of 'Hero' and the challenges ahead struck her as something strange—something unlike any hero she had heard of. Maybe there was more to Ronan than met the eye.
Frieren took a deep breath, shaking off her astonishment. "No, I believe you. You can wield the Hero's Sword. Nothing is impossible for the Hero." Her voice softened as she added, "Come in." She stepped aside to let him enter. "I'm not very skilled; I only know some offensive spells, passed down from our ancestors to fight the demons."
Ronan nodded, grateful for the invitation. He stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the interior. The small house was warmly lit by an oil lamp, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The wooden furniture was simple, but there was something comforting about the space—almost as if it held memories, stories from generations past.
As he stood in the living room, he noticed strange plants lining the shelves, their leaves and petals glowing faintly in the dim light. They emitted a soft fragrance, one he couldn't quite place but found oddly pleasant. It felt like the air itself was charged with something otherworldly, a subtle magic that lingered in the room.
After a few moments, Frieren disappeared into another room, leaving Ronan to inspect the surroundings. He could sense the village's deep connection to nature. The plants were likely magical in their own right, their properties tied to the local environment and the energy of the earth.
Frieren returned shortly, carrying a stack of heavy books nearly as tall as herself. Her movements were careful, as if the weight of the books was a challenge. She placed the books down with a soft thud on a nearby table, giving Ronan a brief glance before speaking.
"These are the theoretical foundations of magic," she said, her voice slightly strained from the effort. "Master these, and you can learn magic theoretically. It took me ten years."
Ronan blinked, his face twisting in surprise. "Ten years?" he echoed, frowning. That was a long time, far longer than he had expected. His mind churned as he connected the dots. Now he understood why the elder had been so eager for him to stay at Frieren's house. He had assumed it was simply a gesture of gratitude. But it seemed there was more to it. The elder wasn't just being polite. It was a subtle push to get to work—no ordinary hero would stick around to study magic. They would rush off to confront the Demon Lord, engage in grand battles, and build their legendary reputation.
But studying theoretical magic? That was tedious, mundane work.
Ronan glanced at the stack of books, considering the weight of the task before him. Ten years of study? No, that wasn't going to work for him. Not at all.
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he straightened up. "Ten years? Unnecessary," he said, a confident smirk crossing his face. "Give me a pen; I'll create a miracle tonight."
Frieren looked at him, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "A miracle? What are you talking about?"
Ronan raised an eyebrow and gave her a knowing smile. "You'll see. Just wait and see."
He wasn't about to follow the slow and methodical path that had taken Frieren a decade. He wasn't someone bound by the normal rules, the ordinary ways of the world. After all, he had infinite stamina, unlimited wealth, and, apparently, a talent for magic that even Frieren hadn't fully anticipated. Why should he waste time with the conventional approach when he could simply make things happen?
He took a deep breath, his aura shifting once more. As the evening air carried the soft scent of the plants around him, Ronan felt a quiet confidence settle into him. In this world, he didn't need to follow anyone's expectations. He could rewrite the rules if he chose to.
And right now, he was choosing to make a miracle.
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You can read advance chapters in my: p@treon.com/Veora
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