The following days blurred together in a haze of endless reading and Dream Learning sessions. Valen practically took up residence in the grand library, systematically absorbing every scrap of knowledge he could access. Of course, there were no spell books or cutting-edge magical theories among the shelves—and certainly no advanced weapon techniques.
In a world where extraordinary power was indistinguishable from military secrets, such knowledge was carefully guarded. Access to real magical techniques was strictly controlled, creating an almost insurmountable barrier for those born without privilege.
For commoners, there were only three realistic paths to power.
The first and most coveted was admission to the Radiant Academy. The top one percent of geniuses—those with exceptional talent, iron determination, or both—could pass the brutal entrance examinations and secure their futures. Academy graduates were set for life. They could join noble families as valued retainers, rise through military ranks to positions of authority, or even establish their own families if their achievements warranted recognition.
The second path lay through the guilds—private organizations that operated across national borders with surprising autonomy. These guilds weren't tied to any single kingdom or empire, functioning as quasi-independent entities with their own hierarchies and rules. However, they weren't entirely free agents either. They had to follow the laws of whatever nation they operated in, and during times of disaster or war, they bore the obligation to protect common citizens without taking sides in political conflicts. This freedom and enforced neutrality was guaranteed by the Guild State—a powerful city-state governed by a coalition of the world's most influential guilds. The Guild State's military and economic might ensured that no empire could simply crush the guilds or force them into servitude.
I want to visit the Guild State someday, Valen thought as he read about their structure. The novel barely mentioned it, but an entire city run by independent mages? That sounds fascinating.
The third and least prestigious option was military service. National armies always needed warriors and mages, though the training, resources, and advancement opportunities were significantly inferior to the other two paths.
For noble families, the situation was somewhat easier—but only somewhat. Most established families possessed their own magical inheritances, techniques passed down through generations. However, the complete, unredacted versions of these family legacies were typically reserved for the main family line or the designated heirs. Cadet branches and lesser children received only fragments, enough to establish a foundation but not enough to reach true greatness. Even nobles often found themselves pursuing one of the three standard paths if they wanted to escape the limitations of their birth order.
After eight intensive days, Valen had consumed nearly every worthwhile text in the library. What remained were trade records, biographical accounts of long-dead ancestors, and various practical manuals on skills like sewing, cooking, or—memorably—"A Wife's Guide to Ensuring Your Husband's Contentment."
"The competition is the day after tomorrow," Valen noted as he closed the final worthwhile tome. "I should probably practice moving my body around tomorrow. All this reading has made me sedentary."
The next morning found Valen in the courtyard of his family line's mansion, performing the body tempering exercises that formed the foundation of all physical training in this world.
The body tempering exercises resembled calisthenics from his previous world—pull-ups, push-ups, squats, and various dynamic movements designed to strengthen every muscle group while promoting flexibility and coordination. Nearly all mages and warriors incorporated these exercises into their daily training regimens, recognizing that even supernatural power required a physical vessel capable of channeling it effectively.
"Ninety-eight... ninety-nine... one hundred!" Valen dropped from the pull-up bar, landing lightly on his feet. "Phew. I've got to admit, this body is excellent. Perfectly muscular without being bulky." He flexed experimentally, appreciating the lean strength that had developed through years of training. "And after becoming a Rank 1 Mage, I've gained what's practically superhuman strength compared to ordinary people."
"However, Warriors specialize in physical enhancement spells and weapon techniqes," Iris reminded him. "Their raw strength will exceed yours significantly. You'll need to rely on agility—darting around, maintaining distance, and attacking with Air Bullets from range."
"Right." Valen retrieved the golden-shelled Soul Crystal from his pocket and held it in his palm. He formed his other hand into a gun shape with his index finger and thumb extended, aiming at a wooden target board mounted across the courtyard.
Let's see what magic combat actually looks like, he thought with barely suppressed excitement.
"The old goblin was a Rank 1 Mage," Iris explained, "so the Air Bullet spell is also Rank 1 in power. Since we consumed his soul completely rather than taming it, we cannot improve the spell's fundamental strength anymore."
"That should be sufficient for now," Valen replied as a small sphere of white mana coalesced at his fingertip, glowing like a miniature star.
"The spell has two primary components," Iris continued in her teaching mode. "First is Coagulation—using mana as a binding agent to compress ambient air molecules into a solid or semi-solid projectile structure. The denser the coagulation, the more mass and penetrating power the bullet possesses. Second is Motion—applying directional force to propel the coagulated structure forward at high velocity. The stronger the motion component, the faster and more accurate the projectile."
"Can we modify these components?"
"We cannot significantly alter the spell's fundamental power output without the goblin's soul to refine it further," Iris explained. "However, we can modify the form and delivery mechanism. Instead of a simple spherical bullet, we can create two distinct mana constructs: a barrel-shaped guide with internal rifling grooves to impart spin stabilization, and a more aerodynamic projectile. This should improve accuracy and effective range."
As Iris activated the spell through the Soul Crystal, two constructs materialized—a short, translucent barrel hovering before Valen's extended finger, complete with spiraling grooves along its interior, and an elongated bullet loaded within it. Valen focused on the target and released the projectile with a thought.
The bullet shot forward with a sharp crack of displaced air, striking the target slightly off-center but with satisfying force. The wooden board splintered where the mana construct impacted, leaving a crater that would have shattered bone if it had struck a person.
So this is offensive magic, Valen marveled.
Immediately, another bullet formed and loaded itself into the still-present barrel.
"Why did you create the replacement bullet so quickly?" Valen asked, noting the seamless transition.
"If I allow the spell to fully deactivate, it enters a cooldown period of approximately three seconds."
"Cooldown period?"
"Yes. When you cast a spell using a Mana Core, the core must temporarily restructure its internal patterns to resonate with the natural laws governing that particular magical effect. In this state, the core is 'active'. When you release or dismiss the spell, the core naturally returns to its neutral baseline state—but this transition requires time."
Iris paused, ensuring Valen understood. "If you attempt to reactivate the same spell during this cooldown period, you create interference patterns within the core. Constructive interference causes the core to overheat catastrophically—it can literally explode inside your body. Destructive interference simply causes the spell to fail, wasting mana without producing any effect."
"I see." Valen nodded thoughtfully. "But if I keep the spell perpetually active, people will definitely become suspicious about my mana reserves. A Rank 1 Mage shouldn't be able to maintain active spells indefinitely."
"Correct. However, for the competition, we have no alternative if you want a realistic chance at victory. If anyone questions it, you can claim you have a special physique that enhances your mana capacity and regeneration. Actually, you don't even need to volunteer that information—people will speculate and construct their own explanations that satisfy them."
"You're terrifying sometimes, Iris."
"Thank you, Master. Now, let's work on refining your form and improving your accuracy."
Valen spent the remainder of the day practicing alone, firing hundreds of Air Bullets at various targets until the motion became instinctive. Each shot feels more natural than the last, he thought as the sun began to set. I could get used to this.
Competition day arrived with crisp morning air and clear skies—perfect weather for outdoor duels.
Valen rose before dawn to perform his body tempering exercises again, working through the familiar routines with meditative focus. He ate a lighter breakfast than usual—combat on a full stomach was miserable—and took a long bath to relax his muscles and clear his mind.
By the time he arrived at the grand estate's training grounds, quite a crowd had already assembled.
The training field had been transformed overnight. Colorful banners bearing the Ashford family crest—a silver wolf beneath three stars—fluttered from tall poles surrounding a roped-off combat circle. Wooden viewing stands had been erected on one side, already filling with spectators.
They really went all out for this, Valen observed, taking in the festival atmosphere. I guess public competitions are a big deal here.
Servants and household staff occupied the lower sections, chattering excitedly about the upcoming matches. Higher-ranking retainers and their families sat in the middle tiers, maintaining more dignified composure but clearly interested. The top section remained empty save for a single ornate chair where Duke Ashford himself would sit. Although he was occupied and would not join.
"Did you hear young Master Marcus is participating?" one maid whispered to her companion, loud enough for Valen to overhear as he passed. "The wild boy who returned from the dead!"
"I heard he learned to fight by battling monsters in the ruins," another servant replied, voice hushed with morbid fascination.
"Nonsense. He's just a traumatized child who got lucky. My money is on young Master Dan—now there's a proper warrior! The future heir!"
"Lady Celeste has been training with the sword since she could walk. Don't count out the women!"
The buzz of speculation and friendly wagering filled the air, giving the event a festival atmosphere despite its serious implications.
Near the combat circle, all six competitors had gathered. Valen recognized them immediately:
Marcus stood apart from the others, his posture relaxed but his eyes constantly moving, cataloging details. He looked lean and dangerous, like a coiled spring waiting to be released.
Roland was built like a fortress—a broad-shouldered young man who'd clearly gone the warrior route, his muscular frame barely contained by his training clothes. He carried a blunted longsword with casual confidence, the weapon looking almost small in his massive hands.
Celeste, one of the two young women, adjusted her ponytail with practiced ease. She wore fitted leather armor and had twin short swords strapped to her back, their hilts worn smooth from countless hours of practice.
Lydia, the other young woman, appeared calm and collected. She carried a mage's staff carved from pale wood and crowned with a softly glowing Soul Crystal, marking her as a spell-focused combatant.
And then there was Dan, whose expression of barely concealed disdain was directed at everyone around him—particularly Marcus. His family line had become the new line of heirs after Marcus's disappearance and presumed death, after all. Marcus's unexpected return had complicated matters considerably, and Dan clearly resented the unwelcome competition.
Although all participants had been required to use blunted weapons or non-lethal spells, several robed figures stood ready around the perimeter—healers from the estate's medical staff, prepared to treat injuries the moment any duel concluded.
Grand Warrior Theodore strode into the center of the combat circle, his massive frame immediately commanding attention. The crowd noise dimmed to respectful silence.
"Welcome, members of House Ashford and honored guests!" His voice carried easily across the grounds without need for magical enhancement. "Today, these six young mages and warriors will demonstrate the skills they have cultivated over years of dedication and training. Each will face every other competitor in single combat."
He produced a scroll and unrolled it with a flourish, the parchment crackling in the morning breeze.
"The matches will proceed as follows:
First bout—Valentine versus Roland!
Second bout—Celeste versus Dan!
Third bout—Marcus versus Lydia!"
He paused dramatically. "After a short rest period, the second round begins, and so forth until all combinations have been tested."
"The rules are simple: Victory is achieved by forcing your opponent out of the circle, disarming them completely, rendering them unable to continue, or extracting a verbal concession. Lethal techniques are forbidden. Excessive force will result in immediate disqualification." His gaze swept across the six competitors with steel in his eyes. "Fight with honor. Begin!"
Valen couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh. I have to fight first. Makes sense. Only underdogs and main characters come in at the last moment to take everybody by storm after watching everyone else reveal their techniques.
Still, there was nothing to be done about it. He stepped into the combat circle, feeling dozens of eyes settle on him with varying degrees of interest and expectation.
Time to see what I can really do, he thought, a thrill of anticipation running through him.
Roland entered from the opposite side with a confident smile that bordered on arrogance, taking the stance of a seasoned fighter. His muscles rippled beneath his training clothes as he settled his weight, the blunted longsword held comfortably in a middle guard position.
"Since you're chose a Support Spell, I'll give you the first move, weirdo." Roland announced magnanimously, loud enough for the spectators to hear. "Try whatever you want. Show me what support magic can do in a real fight."
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd at the casual dismissal.
"Huh! Weirdo? People think I am a weirdo?," Valen muttered under his breath.
"Trash talk is very common in such situations, Master." Iris added with a poker face.
"That makes sense."
Valen simply raised his right hand, forming the finger-gun gesture he'd practiced countless times over the past day. The golden Soul Crystal in his other hand pulsed once, imperceptible to everyone but him.
The translucent barrel materialized before his extended finger, followed immediately by the loaded bullet construct. The mana constructs were faint—barely visible in the bright morning light—just ghostly outlines that could easily be mistaken for heat shimmer.
Roland's confident expression flickered with confusion. "What are you—"
Valen fired.
The Air Bullet shot across the distance with a sharp crack, striking Roland's sword arm just below the shoulder. The impact wasn't enough to break bone—Iris had deliberately reduced the power—but it hit with enough force to make Roland's entire arm go numb.
The longsword dipped slightly as Roland's grip weakened.
Before he could recover, Valen fired again. And again. And again.
The barrel never disappeared. Each time a bullet left it, another materialized and loaded itself seamlessly. The rhythm became almost hypnotic—crack, crack, crack—each shot precise and measured.
Valen systematically targeted Roland's limbs. Left arm, right leg, left leg, right arm again. Each bullet struck with bruising force, precise enough to hit the muscle groups that controlled movement without causing serious injury.
"What—how are you—" Roland tried to advance, to close the distance and bring his superior strength to bear, but his legs weren't responding properly. Another bullet struck his right thigh, and his forward momentum became a stumble.
The crowd's casual chatter had died completely. Everyone was staring now, stunned into silence by the relentless barrage.
"Is that... continuous casting?" someone whispered, voice thick with disbelief.
"He shouldn't have the mana capacity!" another voice insisted.
"But he's doing it right now!"
Roland tried to raise his sword for a defensive posture, but his arms felt like lead weights. Another bullet struck his left shoulder. Then his right knee. He could feel the bruises forming already, deep aches spreading through his muscles.
"I... I yield!" Roland gasped out, his voice strained. The longsword fell from his nerveless fingers, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
Grand Warrior Theodore's eyebrows had climbed nearly to his hairline, but his voice remained steady. "Victory to Valentine! Time: twelve seconds!"
For a moment, absolute silence reigned over the training grounds.
Then the crowd erupted.
"Did you see that?!"
"Ten shots! At least ten! How is that possible?!"
"The control—every single bullet hit exactly where he aimed!"
"But where's he getting the mana? A Rank 1 Mage can't maintain a spell like that!"
In the middle tier, a senior retainer who'd served the Ashford family for decades leaned forward, squinting at Valen with newfound interest. "That odd boy... I'd heard he was slightly talented, but this..."
"Special physique?" his companion suggested. "Enhanced mana reserves?"
"Must be. Nothing else makes sense."
Down in the servants' section, the maid who'd dismissed Marcus earlier was staring with her mouth open. "I... I bet on Roland," she whispered weakly.
"I bet on Lady Celeste winning the whole thing," another servant replied, looking equally stunned.
Roland limped out of the combat circle with as much dignity as he could muster, which wasn't much. His pride had taken more damage than his body. A healer immediately approached him, already beginning diagnostic spells to assess the bruising.
Valen walked out from the opposite side, keeping his expression carefully neutral despite the surge of satisfaction flowing through him. The Soul Crystal in his pocket had barely depleted any mana at all—his regeneration rate was so high that he'd recovered more during the brief fight than he'd expended.
"That was simpler than expected," he murmured quietly, a small smile playing at his lips.
So that's what a magic duel feels like, he thought with satisfaction. Not bad for my first time.
"Excellent performance, Master," Iris chimed in his mind, her voice carrying obvious pride. "You established dominance early while revealing minimal information about our true capabilities. The speculation about your mana reserves will work in our favor—they'll attribute everything to natural talent rather than investigating further."
As Valen took his place among the other competitors, he noticed the way they were looking at him now. The casual dismissal was gone, replaced by wary assessment.
Marcus caught his eye and gave the smallest of nods—acknowledgment between two people who recognized dangerous capability when they saw it.
Celeste was frowning thoughtfully, clearly recalculating her strategy for when they inevitably faced each other.
Dan's expression had shifted from disdain to irritation. He'd expected this competition to be a showcase for the new heir's line, and Valen had just stolen some of his spotlight.
Only Lydia seemed relatively unchanged, though her grip on her staff had tightened slightly.
The crowd continued buzzing with speculation and excited commentary as Grand Warrior Theodore prepared to announce the second match. Valen settled in to watch, genuinely curious about how the others fought.