"Yes! Mana and magic—having a substantial amount of it—is essential for growth and potential. With enough mana, one can conquer lands, kings, even beasts," the clergyman explained, his hands gesturing wildly as if trying to grasp the very air. His eyes were alight with a fervor that bordered on the fanatical.
Leornars tilted his head, his silver hair shifting like a curtain of silk.
"I see. And what exactly is mana?"
The question hit the room like a physical blow. The priestess gasped, and the clergyman's mouth hung open for a second before he gathered his wits.
"Ummm..." he stuttered, smoothing his vestments. "Mana is the fundamental source of all magic, boy. It is the root, the essence. Without it, magic cannot be projected. It is the fuel for the soul. We use it to enhance physical strength, agility—and in the rarest of lineages, divine speed."
A woman behind a marble counter, her eyes hidden behind spectacles, gestured toward the glowing monolith in the center of the room. "Please place your hand on the crystal. It will assess your mana capacity and magical affinity."
Leornars gave her a cold, unreadable glance. He walked to the crystal, his boots clicking sharply on the floor. As his palm made contact with the cold surface, the light didn't just glow—it screamed.
The crystal flared. First, a void-like Black that seemed to suck the light out of the room. Then, it transitioned into a violent, bruised Purple. Finally, it settled into a Luminous Blue so bright the guards had to shield their eyes.
The room fell into a silence so thick it was deafening. The woman at the counter frantically scribbled on a slip of paper, her hand trembling so much the ink nearly blotted. She handed it to the clergyman.
"Incredible... simply incredible," the man muttered, his face pale. "You possess an extremely rare potential for elemental magic. Higher than any record in the royal archives."
He tucked the paper into his coat and gestured for Leornars to follow him into a private study. The clergyman let out a long, weary sigh. "I suppose the revolution has arrived," he whispered to the shadows. "We enter a new era... a new, terrifying light."
Left alone in the library, Leornars let his mind race.
Magic and mana seem to play a critical role in this realm. My aptitude is abnormally high. That implies I'm special... a variable. He looked at his hands, still feeling the phantom warmth of the crystal. I wonder how that will affect my everyday life. Or how it will help me kill.
He spent hours devouring the ancient texts. The knowledge was a feast for his starving mind.
Humans, beastfolk, dwarves, elves, spirits, wraiths... He traced the illustrations of the different races. And the Demon Empire.
"I wonder how the King will react once he discovers you're not human?"
Leornars didn't move as the clergyman approached. He simply met the man's gaze with his deathly, crimson-rimmed eyes. The clergyman let out an awkward, forced chuckle, trying to brush the comment off as a joke, but the tension in the room snapped like a bowed string.
Suddenly, the heavy doors at the end of the hall creaked open. A maid, her face white with terror, dashed toward the Pope's private chambers.
The clergyman's expression shifted instantly from jovial to grave. He moved with a speed Leornars hadn't expected, grabbing a leather pouch from a wall hanger. He shoved three books into it: The Principles of Mana, The Arcane Arts, and A History of the Great Divide.
He thrust the bag into Leornars' chest. "Listen closely. In this kingdom—in this entire world—racism is the law of the land. The King and the nobles see humanity as the supreme apex. All others are cattle—enslaved, hunted, slaughtered. The Pope has likely been told of your true race. You are an Avantalian. You must run—now. I'll buy you what time I can."
Leornars didn't say thank you. He didn't say goodbye. He bolted.
"HALT! In the name of the King!"
The roar of the knights echoed through the stone corridors. Leornars moved like a shadow, twisting through narrow servant passages and spiraling staircases. But he was in a maze designed by his enemies. He turned a final corner only to find a portcullis slammed shut.
He turned to fight, but the heavy hilt of a broadsword slammed into the back of his skull. Darkness claimed him before he hit the ground.
Leornars awoke to the smell of salt and mildew. He was back in a cage.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, his voice echoing off the damp stone walls.
The heavy tread of armored boots approached. The King, draped in gold and arrogance, entered the dungeon alongside the Pope. They looked at Leornars through the bars as if he were a specimen in a jar.
"He's an Avantalian... and a male one, no less," the King sneered, his lip curling.
"A rarity indeed," the Pope added, his voice oily. "The bloodline is almost extinct."
"If we erase his memory and manipulate his mind," the King proposed, his eyes gleaming with greed, "we could turn him into the ultimate weapon. A god on a leash."
"I'll begin recruiting the High Mages for the ritual," the Pope said, turning to leave.
The King stepped closer to the bars, leaning in to deliver a final taunt. In a blur of motion, Leornars lunged. His hand shot through the bars, grabbing the King by his royal collar. He slammed the monarch's face into the stone wall, then whipped him back, crashing his skull against the iron bars.
The King staggered back, his crown falling into the filth of the floor. Blood leaked from his nose. "You insolent fool! You dare lay your hands on me? I'll erase that arrogance from your very soul!"
He stormed off, his screams for the guards fading into the distance. Leornars simply sat down, crossing his legs calmly. He closed his eyes.
As the books said... the foundation of magic lies in the mana core. If I can gather the particles from the air...
His abdomen began to pulse with a soft, rhythmic light. First a dull, angry red, then a blinding crimson. The particles in the air hummed, swirling around him in a mini-cyclone of energy.
Suddenly, a voice echoed in his mind—monotone, feminine, and undeniably divine:
> [Status Initialized]
> Name: Leornars
> Age: 17
> Level: 1
> Active Skills: [Swap - Lv.1], [Dark - Lv.1]
> Unique Skill: [Touch of Decay] - LOCKED
>
Leornars blinked, his left eye beginning to glow with a faint, predatory red light. "...What was that?"
The heavy doors groaned open. The Pope had returned, flanked by a dozen Mages in hooded robes, their hands already crackling with containment spells.
Leornars stood up slowly, a wicked, jagged grin spreading across his face.