The classroom, moments ago filled with chatter, fell silent as a middle-aged man stepped through the door. His steps were unhurried, his presence commanding without effort. Setting down a stack of books, he looked over the students and offered a warm smile.
"Good morning. My name is Alden, and today I'll be introducing you to the theory of mana—and where it comes from."
He paused, allowing the words to settle before continuing.
"As the world spins, it generates energy. That energy is what we call mana. The thinner the air pressure, the denser the mana. This is why mana concentration is greater at the peak of a mountain than at sea level. For that reason, most academies—this one included—are built high on mountains. Not to test your resolve or force you to struggle, but simply because the environment itself provides stronger cultivation grounds."
He let the statement hang in the quiet room, his eyes scanning the rows of students. A hand slowly rose.
"Ah," Alden said with a nod. "Go ahead."
The student, a girl seated near the window, asked, "If that's true, then why do people say the middle of the sea has even more mana than any mountain on land?"
Alden's smile broadened. "An excellent question. Let me explain. By the fourth stage of cultivation, practitioners form a core within their soul. This core generates mana endlessly, even when reserves are full. The excess overflows back into the atmosphere.
"Now, consider the oceans. They are home to countless high-level monsters—creatures who, unlike humans, are born with natural cores. These monsters grow stronger by devouring the cores of others, whether monster or human. Imagine how much excess mana they release into the world every moment of every day. That is why the seas are saturated with more mana than any peak on land. But," he added, his expression turning serious, "do not let that lure you into foolishness. Venturing into those waters without strength beyond measure is little more than a death wish."
The room remained silent. Then the same girl raised her hand once more.
"If that's the case," she asked, "how were the teleportation gates built? We know the materials required can only be found in one place—and the seas are far too dangerous to cross."
Alden's eyes lit with approval. "Another fine question. The answer is simple: the gates were built long ago, when our world was still young and mana was far thinner than it is today. Back then, the seas were not nearly as treacherous, and it was possible—though perilous—to cross them. We should be grateful to our ancestors for their courage, for without the gates they left behind, travel between continents would be impossible now."
As his words settled over the class, the sharp ring of the bell echoed through the room. In an instant, the heavy atmosphere broke as students rushed for the door, eager to claim meals in the cafeteria. Though the food never ran out, none wished to be last in line.
Left behind in the suddenly quiet classroom, Alden chuckled to himself and gathered his notes.