Time had passed. Two whole weeks.
Icariel stood in the woods, far from the cave he'd claimed as a temporary home. His black clothes were now stained and torn, coated in dirt and dried blood. His eyes remained shut, but he wasn't blind—not anymore. His awareness stretched far beyond vision now.
Silence ruled the moment.
Then, movement.
His hand twitched.
Mana pulsed in his left hand—an instinctive flicker. With a sudden, precise motion, he hurled his axe. The weapon spun through the air like a predator—and struck true. A clean slice.
The rabbit's head hit the ground before its body had even stopped moving.
Icariel opened his eyes slowly, glowing faintly in the forest gloom. Everything shimmered—mana flowing like rivers through the world around him. Leaves danced in faint golden threads. Bugs pulsed with flickers of light. Even the still air carried subtle hues of power.
He stepped forward, calm, composed, and crouched over the rabbit.
"This is today's meal," he muttered, lifting the limp body. His voice was rough from disuse.
Heading back toward the cave, he whispered to himself. "Fourteen days…"
In the past week, he'd focused entirely on mastering his new sense—his awareness. The ability to see mana, to sense every living thing, every shimmer of energy... it had reshaped how he moved, how he breathed, how he existed.
"I'm still not fully used to it," he admitted, "but now it's a part of me. Better than when it first activated—when it almost tore my head in half."
Now, he didn't even need to concentrate. Without any effort, he could sense everything within a ten-meter radius. If he pushed himself, if he truly focused—he could nearly double that.
"The voice said I'll keep increasing it. The more I get used to mana."
His gaze swept the world. Every tree shimmered with faint green light. The air sparkled with scattered orbs of mana. Insects, birds, and small mammals glowed faintly, their energies exposed to his mind like open books.
This was the world now—a world flooded with color. Alive, glowing, constantly shifting.
"The food I took from Groon's house ran out a few days ago," he said as he reached the cave. "But hunting with my awareness is… easy."
He'd found a freshwater spring behind the cave—pure, cold water. The necessities were handled.
He gathered dry wood, then sparked a fire using the same friction method taught by the village elders—wood rubbing against wood. It crackled to life, and he began roasting the rabbit over the flames.
As he turned the skinned meat, he spoke into the silence. "I think I'm ready for the next step. What do you think, voice?"
The answer came like always, calm, collected, ancient.
"You are. After mastering your awareness, you're ready for the third step."
Icariel paused. "Before that… I've got a question."
"You said this technique—this awareness I gained—it's not the same as what mages use. That shocked me. What did you mean?"
The voice didn't hesitate.
"Mages use something called a Spirit Zone. It's similar in one way—it only lets them gather mana constantly. But unlike you, they don't have it always activate they only active it it only in battle or dire need. Why? Because it drains their mental strength."
Icariel frowned, listening.
"When mages run low on mana, they activate their Spirit Zone to refill it. But they can't keep it going for long—it drains their focus, wears them down. It's a risk."
The voice paused for effect.
"You, on the other hand… you don't need it. What you've awakened is different. Let's call it White Sense—a passive, always-active state. It doesn't consume your mind. You just need to get used to it. And…"
A pause. Icariel's breath caught.
"…you're the only one who possesses..."
The words echoed.
"The only one who possesses what?" he asked sharply.
Silence.
"Hey—don't dodge it again. You're even naming things now—at least finish your thoughts, damn it."
"Let's get back to the next step."
"Tch…" Icariel scowled. "Bastard."
The voice continued as if nothing happened.
"Step Three. The final step. You will now… learn spells."
All the steps he had endured—the blood, the pain, the silence, the madness—were for this. The final step.
"Spells?" Icariel repeated, sitting cross-legged again, listening closely.
"Spells are the life essence of a mage—after mana, of course. They're what define them. What gives them form."
Icariel listened intently, eyes steady.
"Mana is the fuel,"the voice continued. "The core. You've read about it in those old books—how mages control fire, wind, water, summon lightning as if from nowhere. Spells are the techniques. The formulas. The structure used to shape raw mana into something useful... or destructive."
Then, the tone shifted—cold and biting.
[What do you think those pitiful mages really are?]
Icariel blinked. The voice had changed. It didn't sound like the entity he knew. There was venom now—mockery. Arrogance.
[They're just puny individuals.]
[Who can do nothing more than manipulate mana. Bend it slightly. Nudge it this way or that. That's all they are—flawed creatures twisting power they barely understand.]
"Hey—hey, what was that?" Icariel said aloud, startled, his eyes narrowing. "You're sounding weird…"
Silence. Then the voice returned to its usual tone, cool and composed.
"Do you understand what mages truly are now? And why that matters for you to learn spells?"
Icariel sat still for a moment. "Yeah... I think I do. What you said—it connects. If step three is spells, then that means… I have to learn how to not just sense or absorb mana, but actually manipulate it. Mold it."
"So I can cast those spells, right?"
"Exactly."
"But," the voice added, "You're not just going to manipulate it."
Icariel frowned. "Huh?"
"You will not only manipulate it—that's what they do. But to raise your odds of surviving most of the situations you'll face, you will control it. Fully. Absolutely."
His breath caught.
Not manipulate…
Control.
"So… how do I do it?" Icariel asked, eyes narrowed in focus.
"You've seen it before, haven't you? When Galien fought that woman."
Images crashed through Icariel's mind—unwanted, vivid. Galien, bloodied and broken, standing tall one final time. The moment he activated that skill…
"Equal Prey," Icariel whispered.
"You remember what happened to the mana around him?"
Realization struck like a stone to the chest. "…Yeah," Icariel said slowly. "It changed color. The mana Galien emitted… it was orange. But the moment he exploded—"
"It turned red."
Icariel nodded. "And when Elektra used that horizontal slash energy, the mana from her turned dark red."
"Yes. That's the principle of it. While superhumans are different from mages, the core remains—mana reacts to intent, emotion, will."
The voice held firm, but not cold.
"Now, that's what you'll begin. You've already endured the hardest part. You reshaped your body, forged your senses, and tamed pure mana. What remains… is shaping it. Whether it's the mana stored within your body or floating in the air, you'll learn to grasp it and force it into form."
Icariel stayed quiet, processing.
"For most mages, using internal mana is easier—it's closer, more responsive. But you… you've acquired White Sense. That changes everything."
The air around Icariel shimmered faintly. He could feel the mana pulsing within him, and around him. It was all one, now.
"With White Sense, there's no true difference anymore. Whether the mana comes from inside you or outside you—your control over it remains constant.
Icariel blinked. "What does that even mean?"
"The way your spells are born… that will change but that will come later."
A pause.
"First, try to gather mana and create fire in your hand. Use your own mana."
Icariel closed his eyes, breathing steadily. He focused, imagined the flame in his palm.
…Nothing.
"It didn't work," he said, disappointed.
The voice replied calmly. "No problem , now we'll start with something easier. You see the orbs of mana floating in the air—mostly gold, white, and light blue. Pull them toward you. Mix golden and blue ones. That should give you fire."
Icariel raised his hand toward the air, palm open. With intense focus, he reached out with his mind, his will—pulling the golden and blue orbs of mana closer, weaving them together just above his palm.
"Now," the voice instructed, "close your hand… then open it slowly."
Fffft.
A small flame burst to life in his palm. No bigger than his hand, yet alive and dancing.
"Whoa… Amazing!" Icariel said, eyes wide. "It actually worked..." he added, insecure but excited.
"Of course it did with White Sense," the voice said calmly. "You're a different breed now."
"Now… try something more."
"Channel the mana from inside your body. Add it to the flame."
Icariel closed his eyes, feeling the mana within his core. He directed it toward his hand. The flame flared, doubling in size, roaring softly with new energy.
"This… this is how you increase the power of a spell," the voice explained.
Icariel's expression lit up with pride.
"I never thought I could do something like this," he whispered. "With this, I feel… more confident. Like I can actually protect myself now."
"Even the mana you just used," the voice said, "is already replenishing. That's the other benefit of White Sense—you're constantly absorbing mana just by breathing."
Icariel nodded. "Yeah… I can feel it."
"Now, turn off the flame."
"How?"
"Two ways either reclaim the mana you used to create it, or use it—and obviously, we're surrounded by trees, so using is not an option."
"Why won't a little fire light things up?" Icariel said, smiling.
??
[End of Chapter 13]