Over ten nights since opening his mana reservoir, Richard had meditated tirelessly. He absorbed the wandering energy elements into his newly forged reservoir while simultaneously using magnetic fields to smelt these chaotic elements into purified energy.
As time passed, the reservoir steadily filled with refined energy.
Half a month later, deep in the night, the castle lay in utter silence.
In the side keep's bedroom, Richard sat cross-legged on his bed, utterly still. Time seemed to dissolve until his eyelids twitched imperceptibly, and then slowly, deliberately, he opened his eyes.
He exhaled a long breath, and a flicker of light ignited in the depths of his eyes, gradually growing until it nearly illuminated the entire room.
Richard rose from the bed, his expression focused and serious.
At this moment, he had prepared every prerequisite for spellcasting as described in the Human-Skin Notes. His body was pushed to near-perfect limits, poised for the unveiling of true wizardry.
"If wizards exist, if spells are real… let's see," he whispered, stepping to the window.
The moon cast a pale glow over the main keep, and the shadows of distant stables blended into a seamless darkness.
Richard squinted slightly, drawing in a controlled breath. Then, slowly, he raised his right hand, palm up.
"Plasmukster…"
The obscure, arcane incantation flowed precisely from his lips, every syllable measured and exact. Under his control, the fully smelted, purified energy from his mana reservoir surged along hidden channels within his body, accelerating with each pulse.
By the time the energy reached the thirty-eighth internal circuit, its velocity was immense, and it had achieved the precise state required for spellcasting.
Richard guided the energy into his right arm. It raced through the arteries, reaching the fingertips, where it erupted outward.
In the world beyond, under Richard's watchful gaze, five pale blue motes of light emerged at the tips of his fingers, each roughly the size of a firefly.
The motes flickered once, twice, then suddenly ignited explosively, expanding into brilliant, flame-like spheres. The five lights converged into a single mass roughly the size of a human head.
Richard's pupils widened slightly, though his expression remained calm. Through his gaze, one could see the flame burning gently in his palm. It bore no weight and emitted no heat—yet it was unmistakably real, not mere air.
This was one of the spells recorded in the Human-Skin Notes: Phosphor Candle, also known as Phantom Hand Fire.
"Phosphor Candle… Phantom Hand Fire? Is it a type of will-o'-the-wisp? Perhaps it burns with red phosphorus?" he murmured. With a thought, the flame in his palm shrank.
From human-head-sized to fist-sized, then to apple-sized, and finally walnut-sized, the flame stabilized in the air above his palm.
Richard flicked his hand, sending the glowing walnut-sized fire out the window. It wavered in the air, then began to grow with astonishing speed.
Within a few breaths, the flame had expanded to half-human size, its cold blue glow painting the surrounding ground and the castle's side walls, creating an eerie atmosphere. The nearby air seemed to chill slightly under its presence.
The flame continued to grow as it flew toward the distant stables, reaching nearly a meter in radius—a miniature sun descending from the night sky.
The horses inside the stables panicked. Though they felt no heat, an instinctive terror gripped their minds, raising hackles and wide-eyed stares.
The fire accelerated, seemingly with intent. One chestnut stallion bolted, desperate to flee, yet the flame reached it like a cannonball. The horse let out a terrified scream.
Then—miraculously—the flame vanished just before contact, as if a rainbow-colored bubble had been punctured. It disappeared without a trace, leaving only stunned, slack-jawed horses in its wake.
Back in the side keep, Richard slowly lowered his hand, having snapped his fingers to trigger the disappearance. A rare smile crept across his face. He felt a thrill of anticipation. A door to a truly new world was opening before him.
Wizardry.
Mysterious, dangerous, and real.
The next morning, crisp autumn air still heavy with dew, Richard emerged from the side keep.
Tsubuku, wielding a knight's sword and striking wooden dummies, paused mid-swing, wiping sweat from his brow. "Master Richard, do you have instructions?" he asked, curious.
"Yes," Richard replied, his mood buoyant from the previous night's success. "Prepare yourself. You'll lead the guard squad, and we will ride out of the castle."
"For what purpose?" Tsubuku asked.
"An autumn excursion," Richard said, smiling.
Tsubuku hesitated briefly but nodded, quickly organizing the men.
After breakfast, the first guard squad assembled in the open space outside the side keep. Richard and Lucy stepped out to find Tsubuku leading two horses from the stables.
Richard approached a chestnut horse, yet Tsubuku suddenly interjected: "Master Richard, you should take the white horse."
Richard stopped and looked at him. "Why the white one?"
"Well… the chestnut is young and spirited, currently in rut, and not very docile. The white horse is older, gentler, and safer."
Richard's eyes gleamed. He glanced at the white horse, then back at the fiery chestnut, his tone drawn out and teasing: "Is that so…"
"Yes," Tsubuku nodded earnestly.
Richard walked toward the chestnut horse. Surprisingly, the once-aggressive horse whimpered as he approached, sensing an overwhelming presence it could not withstand. When Richard placed a hand on its back, it froze in place, legs stiff as if under a petrification spell.
Tsubuku was left speechless, utterly astonished.