"Mana?" Ronan snapped back to reality, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the books. His enhanced talent was more comprehensive than he had initially thought: magic aptitude, mana aptitude, mana perception. He tested it out for a moment. He could control mana output effortlessly. He even seemed to possess a natural aptitude for mana control. It felt exhilarating, as if he could do anything. The sheer potential was intoxicating.
But Ronan knew better than to get too carried away. This was all just an illusion. Sure, he had boosted his aptitude, but that didn't mean he had magically acquired skills. He hadn't learned a single spell yet, after all. Still, the speed at which his mana resonated with his body was impressive. In just a few hours, he had managed to read through a third of the books. That was far faster than Frieren's ten years of painstaking study.
Only one thought occupied Ronan's mind as he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping absently on the table:
—Cheat codes are overpowered.
"Honestly, I got back just in time," Frieren muttered, stepping into the room. She frowned as she surveyed the scene, the air still thick with the remnants of his mana surge. Using her staff, she began tidying the room, fixing the disarray caused by the outburst of energy. Her eyes darted to the books scattered across the table.
"So much already?" she remarked under her breath, clearly surprised. He hadn't even made an effort to focus on the content; a few pages in, it was clear that he was skimming. She wasn't naive—she could tell he hadn't read with any real depth, not when the books had only been out for a few hours. And yet, a third of the material was covered. It wasn't possible for anyone to be that fast unless…
She shook her head. Disappointed, but not entirely surprised. Even she hadn't managed to focus on this many books at once when she started. She had spent years just slowly absorbing magical knowledge, taking the time to master it piece by piece. She shouldn't expect too much from him, especially considering the fleeting nature of a human's lifespan. They were always chasing after the next thing, never satisfied for long. Ronan, this unreliable "Hero," was probably no exception.
For a brief moment, she blinked, her expression unreadable as her thoughts flitted through her mind. After tidying the room, she gave him a stern look, almost like a disappointed mother.
"Be careful next time," she warned, her voice firm. "Learning magic can't be rushed. A broken house is nothing compared to what could happen if you aren't careful. You might end up injuring yourself, and that's the last thing we need with the Demon Lord looming on the horizon."
Ronan couldn't help but nod helplessly, feeling like he was on the receiving end of a scolding. He had initially thought Frieren was just a naïve, wide-eyed girl, but now it was clear she had a protective streak. And in a way, he appreciated it. Though he didn't want to admit it, there was something reassuring about having someone like her around.
He stared after her as she took the books, perhaps to prevent another incident. As she left, Ronan couldn't help but wonder just how old she really was. She looked young, but he knew elves took centuries to mature. The thought of it was… depressing. No wonder she had such a careful, deliberate nature about her.
Shaking off the thought, he turned his focus back to the present. He wasn't here to think about elves or the passage of time. He was here to figure out magic—and he needed to start treating this world like it was his new home, not a temporary detour.
The next morning, Ronan woke early. He reached for his watch, then paused. The moment he saw the unfamiliar design on his wrist, he chuckled softly to himself.
"What am I doing?" he muttered, shaking his head with a rueful grin. Here he was in another world, and he was still thinking about work, still fixated on schedules and time. It was a bad habit, one he knew he needed to break. Starting today.
He washed up, finding that salt worked just fine in place of toothpaste—surprisingly pleasant, actually. He imagined elves might prefer something more exotic, like crushed mint leaves, but this was a nice change. He grabbed a piece of bread from the small kitchen and moved toward the stairs. Frieren's door was still closed, and he wasn't sure whether she was awake yet. He figured it would be best to give her some space.
Opening the front door, he was met by the fresh scent of the outdoors. The greenery outside the house was vibrant, the morning sunlight filtering through the leaves of towering trees. The sounds of the village reached him—birds chirping, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the distant murmur of conversation. It was peaceful, calming even. The air felt different from the city back home, lighter, more natural. He breathed deeply, letting it settle in his lungs.
As he stood there, taking it all in, he noticed a familiar figure walking toward him—the village elder. The elderly elf's pace was slow but steady, his robes flowing gracefully behind him. The elder's presence was calm, exuding an aura of wisdom, as always.
Ronan straightened, preparing himself for another conversation, though this one would likely be a little different. He had no idea what the elder wanted, but he was about to find out.
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You can read advance chapters in my: p@treon.com/Veora
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