Sein couldn't remember the last time the tavern was this quiet.
Usually, someone was always bickering. Lard threatening to split Ronald in half, Ronald mocking Thorus' nose, Jayl calling everyone idiots, Raiyna sighing at all of them. But tonight?
Nothing.
The gang sat slumped in chairs, sprawled across the floor, or leaning against the walls like corpses left behind on a battlefield. Their eyes were hollow. Their breathing shallow. If not for the occasional groan or wheeze, Sein would've thought the knight had killed them all and stacked their bodies neatly around the room.
And honestly… it wasn't far from the truth.
Sein rubbed his own aching arms. Unlike the others, he couldn't use magic anyway, so today's "no mana training" had been almost normal for him. Run until you puke. Push-ups until your bones snap. Spar against a smiling lunatic who could knock you down with a flick of his wrist. Repeat.
But for the rest of them? Having to fight without their magic without the one thing that gave them strength was torture. Lard's heavy swings were slow. Thorus' quick strikes clumsy. Even Raiyna, who always looked composed, had lost her temper by the end.
The knight called it discipline. Sein called it hell.
He looked around the room again. Everyone looked like their lives had been sucked out of them. And yet, none of them had left. Not even Thorus, despite muttering all day that he'd rather die in bed than on the training grounds.
That was the difference Sein saw tonight, sitting among them.
They weren't strong. They weren't heroes. They weren't even respected by their own town. But still, they endured. Still, they showed up.
Sein clenched his fists. He wanted to endure too.
The knight, leaning against the tavern wall with that same damn grin on his face, clapped his hands once. The sound echoed sharp through the dead silence.
"Good," the knight said. "You survived."
No one had the strength to argue.
Then his grin softened just a little. His eyes flicked from one broken body to the next, before finally settling on Sein.
"Now," he said, lowering himself into a chair at the center of the room, "a story. I told you I had one to share, didn't I?"
The air shifted. Even through their exhaustion, the gang stirred. Sein leaned forward, heart beating faster. The hero knight's story. The one reason he'd chosen them.
The knight leaned back, folding his arms as if settling in for a campfire tale, his grin stretching wide.
"Now… where was I? Ah, yes. My childhood."
The gang perked up, just barely. Even half-dead from training, curiosity still hooked them.
"I grew up in a little town called Dartasan," the knight began. His tone was strangely light, almost nostalgic. "Quiet place. Peaceful. People there didn't need much. No wars, no beasts, no chaos. Just orchards as far as the eye could see. Sweet, supple fruits—that's what Dartasan was known for. We sold them to the capital. That was enough. And because we were so close to the capital walls, no one ever really wanted for anything."
His voice softened, almost fond. "A simple life. Small dreams. People happy to just… live."
He paused there, but when his gaze swept across the room, he caught their expressions.
Lard's frown was heavy. Raiyna's eyes sharpened. Even Thorus, who usually looked ready to mock anything, had his mouth pressed thin.
Because Laundry Town was nothing like that.
Their "fruits" were stale bread and watered-down ale. Their neighbors didn't smile in comfort—they snarled in desperation. Every day was a fight to eat, to scrape enough coin to pay the kingdom's taxes, to keep a roof that didn't cave in.
Dartasan sounded like a fairy tale.
The knight noticed. His grin didn't falter, but there was something sharper in it now.
"Ah. I see those looks. Yes… Dartasan was nothing like your home, was it? No hunger. No fear. No filth. People there thought that peace would last forever. They thought the capital would protect them. They thought nothing could touch them."
He chuckled low, and it wasn't nostalgic anymore. It was bitter.
"They were wrong."
The knight's grin softened just slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"But me? I wasn't like the others. While the people of Dartasan were content plucking their fruits, trading their little goods, and smiling like the world would never change…" His eyes narrowed, the grin twisting again. "…I was busy losing myself in something else entirely."
He let the silence hang, the gang leaning closer without realizing.
"Magic."
The word carried weight, reverence.
"One normal day, a great fire broke out near our orchards. It spread fast. The villagers panicked, scrambling with buckets of water, knowing it wouldn't be enough." He paused, his voice dropping low. "And then… a mage came."
The knight's eyes gleamed with that same boyish awe he must have felt years ago.
"With just a chant just a breath of words the man raised a storm of water. A wave higher than any tree I'd ever seen came crashing down, smothering the flames in a heartbeat. I stood there, drenched, staring at him as though he were a god."
He chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "To make something from nothing… to call forth a miracle with nothing more than will and words. I thought how can a human possibly do that?"
His grin widened again, sharp and wild.
"That day, I was hooked. Fruits, farms, small dreams they meant nothing. I wanted that. The power to bend the impossible."
The knight leaned back, eyes still carrying that same spark of childhood wonder as he went on.
"It was absurd to me, you know. The villagers watched that mage with reverence, with awe. But me?" His grin crept wide. "I stared at him with nothing but questions. How does nothing… make water? What law of the world allowed that to happen?"
He tapped the side of his head. "That one thought lit a fire in me. I wanted—no, I needed to learn magic. I wanted to peel back the world and see what was underneath."
He paused, letting the words hang before his smile sharpened again.
"But, of course… learning magic isn't something just anyone can do. If you try it half-assed, your mana core shatters. You don't just fail you go insane. You break. Sometimes you die screaming."
The gang shuddered, some of them glancing at their own hands as though they could feel the fragility of their mana within.
The knight raised a finger, as if to lecture. "That's where magic circles come in. Little spirals of control carved into your very being, etched into the flow of your mana. They keep the current from tearing you apart." His grin turned nostalgic, almost boyish. "The more circles you carve, the more control you gain. The greater the power."
The door creaked.
Ednar finally returned, his face pale with exhaustion but steady. He had been tending to Advin for hours, the boy still unconscious, his chest rising shallowly as if clinging to each breath. Ednar had refused to leave his side until now.
Ednar said tiredly as he stepped forward, "that much is common knowledge. To control the core, humans form circles within it, to regulate the mana. That's what every mage learns. The more circles you build, the better your control. That's the foundation of spellcraft."
The gang nodded slowly. Even Sein, though still unable to summon a single spark, understood the weight of what was being said.
The knight's grin only widened. "Yes, yes. Common knowledge. Which is why it's so boring."
His eyes glinted dangerously.
"Because what I learned later… is that the world's 'rules' about magic? They're nothing but training wheels. And I had no intention of stopping at what was safe."
Sein finally raised his hand, unable to hold back his curiosity.
"Wait… but how do the circles even work? How do they regulate mana in the first place?"
Ednar turned to him, tired but gentle, and gave a faint smile.
"Magic circles aren't drawn or written anywhere. They're not glyphs you scratch into stone. They're born in here—" he tapped his chest softly, over his heart, "—in the core itself."
The gang leaned closer, their fatigue momentarily forgotten.
"They're formed through sheer will," Ednar continued. "Through experience, dedication, and enough understanding of mana's flow. When you manage to stabilize that chaotic river inside your body, the core naturally imprints a circle. The first is always the hardest. But once you have it, the next comes easier, because your control has grown. And so on."
He raised his hand and traced the air with his finger, sketching invisible rings.
"Think of it this way: more control equals more circles. More circles means a greater capacity to handle the strain of magic. Without them… well, you've seen what happens to people who lose control."
A cold silence fell for a moment, the thought of shattered mana cores lingering heavy in the air. Even Thorus, usually quick with a joke, said nothing.
The knight broke the tension with a chuckle, resting his chin on his hand.
"Common knowledge," he muttered, eyes glinting. "True enough. But you see… circles are still chains. Neat little cages humanity built for itself so it doesn't explode."
Sein frowned at that, but his gaze never left the knight.
"Chains or not," Ednar said firmly, "they're what allow us to use magic at all. Without them, there would be no mages."
"Perhaps," the knight said, his grin creeping wider, "but what if I told you the strongest magic isn't inside the circle at all? What if I told you… it lies in breaking the chains?"
The room went still.
The knight leaned back, folding his arms, and said casually,
"Think of it like this—walking, breathing, blinking. Humans rely on magic circles in the same way: to keep the flow of mana steady. Control. Balance."
Everyone nodded slowly. Even Sein, who still couldn't feel mana, could at least understand the logic.
But then the knight's grin sharpened.
"…But what if instead of controlling mana flow…" he paused, letting the silence build, "…we used the circles to accelerate it? To force mana through our bodies faster. Stronger. Hotter."
The room froze
Ednar immediately shot up, his voice sharp and panicked.
"That's—! That's madness. No mage alive would ever dare try something so reckless. Forcing the flow like that… it would shatter the mana core. It's suicide!" The others blinked at him, wide-eyed, looking between Ednar's trembling face and the knight's calm grin.
The knight, of course, only chuckled.
"Suicide?" He tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. "No. It's brilliant." The air grew heavy. The gang's hearts raced.
Even without understanding magic, they knew this man wasn't joking.
The knight leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly as his voice softened. "Anyway we'll get back to that later, back to my story."
"Even if mana is everywhere," he said, "even if it flows through the air we breathe, the water we drink, the soil beneath our feet it doesn't mean just anyone can wield it. The skill, the knowledge, the sheer focus it takes… it's not easy to learn. And it's certainly not cheap."
He let out a short laugh, though it carried no humor.
"For someone like me, back then? It was impossible."
Sein frowned. "Why?"
"Because my parents weren't rich," the knight replied simply. His expression grew wistful. "We had a small fruit garden. That was it. Not some sprawling farmland or a merchant's caravan. Just a patch of earth and trees, and the sweet, supple fruit they bore. It was enough for us to live on, but not much more."
His tone shifted, warmer now. "My mother… she was quiet. Gentle. Elegant, even in her simplicity. She made everything feel… peaceful." A faint smile touched his lips. "My father, on the other hand, was discipline itself. Hardworking, stern when he had to be… but kind. Always kind."
The gang sat in silence, watching him. The grin that seemed eternally plastered on the knight's face had softened into something rare: nostalgia.
"I admired them. I treasured them," he continued. "So when I realized how expensive it would be to study magic, I didn't push them. How could I? They already gave me everything they could. A roof. Food. Love."
He clenched his fist.
"But still… even knowing it was beyond my reach, I wanted to learn."
His voice echoed with quiet fire, pulling everyone in. Even the usually restless Thorus found himself leaning closer.
The knight's voice dropped, softer now, but the weight of his words pulled everyone in like a fire drawing moths.
"One day," he said, "fate gave me a chance. The very same mage I saw extinguish that forest fire… passed by my house."
Raiyna tilted her head, her brows furrowed.
The knight leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his grin gone. "I was just a boy. My heart pounded so loud I thought my parents might hear it from inside. My hands were shaking, but my feet my feet moved on their own. Before I knew it, I was running. I chased him down the dirt road, my lungs burning, my legs about to give out. And then—"
He raised a hand, pausing for effect. The room held its breath.
"I caught up to him."
Sein's eyes widened. "And then…?"
"I grabbed his sleeve. I looked him dead in the eye, a kid with dirt on his face and callouses on his hands, and I asked him—no, I demanded of him—" His voice broke into a low mimic of his younger self.
"'How? Just… how did you do that?'"
The gang stared, some leaning forward unconsciously.
The knight chuckled. "Imagine it. A tired old mage, robes singed from the fire he just put out, turning to find a snot-nosed brat clinging to him like a beggar. He could have brushed me off. He could have cursed at me. But instead…"
The grin returned, softer this time.
"He smiled. And he told me: 'Magic is nothing more than a dialogue with the world. If you listen hard enough, the world will answer you.'"
A hush fell over the room. The gang looked at each other, uncertain what to make of the words. Some scoffed, some frowned, but Sein… Sein's eyes burned, as if those words were meant for him too.
The knight leaned back, sighing. "That was the moment. The spark. I didn't understand a damn thing he meant at the time. But my heart.." he tapped his chest, "..it felt like it was going to burst. Because in that moment, I knew. I was going to learn magic. No matter how impossible it seemed."
The knight leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin as he recalled. "Of course, me being a dumb brat, I had no clue what the mage meant. 'A dialogue with the world'? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I stared at him and asked, dead serious: 'What the hell are you talking about, old man?'"
He chuckled. "The mage just laughed. Said I was a hearty kid. And then, maybe because he was getting old, or maybe because fate was poking him in the ribs, he decided to give me a gift. Something that he claimed might change my entire outlook on life."
The knight raised his hand, miming the memory of something being handed to him. "It was a book. Heavy, old, and written in ridiculous bold letters across the cover: 'Magic 101 for Dumbasses.'"
For a second the gang was silent, blinking at him.
Then Jayl broke out laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair. "Hah! That's the same book we all read when we learned magic!"
Thorus scratched the back of his head. "Yes, the dumbass one. I thought it was a fake title!"
Sein's face twisted in disgust, his voice cracking with disbelief. "What kind of stupid name is that?!"
The knight chuckled as he scratched the back of his head. "I'll be honest with you...the name was… crude. 'Magic 101 for Dumbasses.' I even told the old man that. Straight to his face."
He smirked at the memory. "The mage just laughed and said, 'Bah! I couldn't think of anything better at the time.'"
The gang burst out laughing.
But then, the room grew quiet when Advin suddenly stumbled in. He was pale, drenched in sweat, still shaky after all he'd been through. Yet he couldn't stop himself. He stared at the knight, his lips trembling.
"…What do you mean," Advin rasped, "he couldn't think of anything else to name the book?"
Wilhem tilted his head. "Exactly what I said. Why?"
Advin's eyes widened, and his voice cracked. "That… that sounds like you met him. The author."
Lard frowned. "Wait. No one even knows who the author is. That's the point."
Without another word, the knight slipped a hand into his cloak and pulled something out. The gang collectively leaned forward. When they saw it, their jaws dropped.
A book—old, worn, but very real. The cover was simple and crude. The bold, ugly title read: Magic 101 for Dumbasses.
And at the very top of the cover, etched faintly but unmistakably, was a number: 1.
Advin froze. His knees almost buckled. Then, with trembling hands, he dug into his satchel and pulled out his own battered copy.
The number on his? 3.
His voice broke into a nervous laugh as he held it up. "I… I spent years my whole life trying to figure out who the author was. I studied every copy, every edition, tracked every library, every mage archive. I thought I finally uncovered the truth after decades of searching…" He swallowed hard. "…And you're standing here claiming you met him? That he just… handed you the first copy?"
The knight's grin stretched ear to ear. "Absolutely."
Advin's laughter broke into a half-manic, half-incredulous fit. "Hah! Hahahaha! Do you know what you're saying? Do you realize what this means?!"
Thorus scratched his beard, scowling. "Alright, alright, enough with the dramatics. Who the hell's the author, anyway?"
Advin turned slowly, his eyes gleaming with a feverish mix of awe and madness. He breathed the name like it was a prayer:
"…Merlin."
The room fell silent. Dead silent. Even the air felt heavy.
The gang exchanged looks of disbelief, their brains struggling to catch up.
Raiyna whispered, "The… Merlin? The Archmage of the First Age? The mage who split the seas with a single spell?"
Advin nodded vigorously.
"The greatest mage who's ever walked the continent."