Roxy walked in silence.
Six. Years. Kids barely string letters together at that age. And he—he made a combat spell. And mana answered. Not just sparked—it moved. How?
She frowned. Not because of her mood—because thinking always tensed her up. Her thoughts spun and tightened, looking for the mistake.
A spell isn't just pretty words. The key gives access, but it doesn't shape the form. For mana to flow, you have to hold it. Guide it all the way through. Not just say a phrase.
If it all worked just by speaking, everyone would be a mage by now. And without preparation… it's impossible.
But he did it.
Roxy glanced sideways at the boy walking ahead.
If Rudeus hadn't even begun formal training, then he shouldn't have been capable of this. Creating a combat spell? That's a whole other level of mastery. Harder. More dangerous. More unstable.
So what is it? Instinctive mana control? Is that even possible?
Maybe she was exaggerating. But if it was real… what would that mean for their whole training?
Her initial irritation at being sent to some backwater village to teach who-knows-who had vanished. In its place was something else—anticipation.
They passed through the inner yard. Rudeus pushed the door open and stepped into the house without noticing her gaze.
Inside smelled of bread and burnt onions. Warmth came from the kitchen. Sweat clung to her hair. She crossed the threshold without asking.
"Someone's here," Rudeus said without turning.
A woman's voice from the kitchen: "Who?"
"Hopefully not Rowls..." added a lazy male voice.
Roxy stepped farther in. The room opened right away—spacious, bright, but not empty. One step, and she was already inside. To the right, a blonde woman. To the left—a shirtless man with a towel around his neck. Their eyes—surprised but not hostile.
"Mm, hello," she said, crossing her arms. "You were expecting me, I assume. A little late, yes. Hopefully not a problem..."
The man blinked at her a few times but quickly pulled himself together.
"You're... the teacher?"
"Roxy of Sharia. Duke Boreas said his nephew's son needed an instructor..." She glanced at the boy. "Honestly, I didn't expect him to be so... small."
"Says the small one," Rudeus muttered under his breath.
Roxy ignored it and turned to the blonde woman who spoke up.
"We're glad you came," the woman said with a smile. "I hope you'll be comfortable here. I'm Zenith, and this is my husband, Paul."
Just then, another woman entered from the kitchen.
"And this is Lilia," Zenith introduced her.
One look was enough to tell Lilia wasn't just a servant. It showed in everything—from her posture to her precise, practiced steps. Movements smooth and deliberate, like someone trained in combat.
And if you looked closely, there were plenty of small scars and calluses on her hands.
A swordswoman? Most likely.
"Rudy, go out to the yard. Mistress Roxy will be along shortly."
He nodded. No words. But his eyes lit up. His movements were quick, light. Like someone who knows something important is about to happen
Zenith watched him go.
"He's wanted this for a long time. Always reaching for books, always trying something. We just lacked someone who could guide him."
"I'll try," Roxy said. "For now—not as a teacher. As an observer."
Lilia still stood off to the side. No words. No glances. Just presence.
"So, Miss Roxy. You're with the Mage Guild, correct?"
"Correct. Rank: Varin," she nodded.
Zenith was clearly impressed. She gave Roxy a more thoughtful look, truly assessing her now.
Paul set his mug down, his eyes sliding over to Roxy.
"You're really a Varin?"
"Yes." She didn't rush.
"Forgive me… but you look younger than we expected."
Roxy tilted her head slightly.
"With mages, age isn't always obvious."
"Of course," Zenith nodded, though her tone was still cautious. "It's just… hard to believe right away that you're the one..."
"I get it. But magic doesn't care what face you wear."
The room went quiet for a beat. Paul furrowed his brow, as if about to say something, then thought better of it.
"It's important to us that he's in capable hands," Zenith said.
"I won't take him on unless I'm sure I have something to offer. But doubting me based on looks—that's a weak stance."
Roxy looked them straight in the eye.
"Duke Boreas said you needed someone who doesn't ask too many questions and won't go blabbing..."—she glanced toward the door the boy had disappeared through—"I take it… it's about him?"
"Varin Roxy got that right," Paul grunted and leaned forward.
"You've probably seen the scars on his arm…"
"Hard to miss," Roxy said. "Wind Scythe. And not a child's casting power."
"Exactly… That's the reason. He found one of my old grimoires and managed to repeat a spell from it."
"You do understand how that sounds…"
Roxy still couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.
Magic wasn't something just anyone could do. Especially not a five-year-old… Five years old. What was she doing at that age? Probably not crafting combat spells.
Zenith nodded, lowering her gaze.
"We don't know how he did it," she said quietly. "And we don't want anyone else to know."
"That's why we were looking for someone who knows how to keep quiet," Paul added. "Even if something weird happens in the house…"
Silence settled in the room. The air thickened—not hostile, but charged. But Roxy could feel it: trust here wasn't given. It was earned.
"No need to worry. I'm not the kind who talks when silence will do."
"Good. Lilia will show you your room. I hope you'll be comfortable with us..."
***
Roxy of Sharia.
That's how the girl introduced herself. I immediately remembered a book I'd read not long ago. Migurds... It said they were short, with youthful faces and blue hair. Ever since then, I'd been catching myself slipping into paranoia—seeing danger even where there was none.
What if some random passerby turned out to be a telepath? Or worse—what if one of my parents was? That way lies madness. No wonder people didn't like the Migurds—if a single passage in a book was enough to mess with my head like this, what would it be like living next to the real thing?
This girl was definitely short. But her hair was light, not blue. Maybe she dyed it? Though—are there even hair dyes here? And why would a Migurd be in Asura? That's the far end of the world. The book said they rarely leave their homeland. Surely no one from the Demon Continent would be wandering around human lands...
"I'll start properly. Roxy of Sharia. Mage, Varin rank."
"Varin? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's a rank from the Mage Guild. You get it for exceptional merit." She crossed her arms and lifted her chin proudly. "Just know—I'm very good at what I do."
Confident. Maybe too confident. I still wasn't sure she knew what she was doing. Then again, with how many races and cultures were mixed together here, maybe I was being too quick to judge.
"Let's go step by step. You're six, but your magic first manifested when you were five. You've never studied the magic language, but you managed to cast a spell..." Roxy frowned, like she couldn't quite believe it herself.
"Yeah. That's right."
"I see... I see..." She let out a heavy sigh, pulled out some notes, and started flipping through them. "That's... unusual."
"Is it really that rare for someone my age?"
"Your age?" She gave me a once-over. "I've never even heard of a five-year-old casting a combat spell. And without knowing the language?"
My heart skipped a beat. A strange warmth bloomed in my chest. Joy? Pride? It felt... good to hear that. Maybe I really was special. Maybe I had some kind of magic talent no one else had.
Wait a minute... does that mean...
"So I'm a genius, then!" Thunk!
Her staff smacked me right on the forehead.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," she muttered, pulling the staff away. "You're not a genius—not yet. Just raw material, something that still needs shaping. But don't worry—I know how to handle that."
I rubbed the sore spot on my forehead, glaring at her.
Raw material, huh? Well, thanks. Nice to know I'm at least not a total waste in your eyes. Whatever. Fine. Let's go with that.
"You can read, right? Basic—"
"I learned to read when I was three!" I cut her off.
"Not bad. I managed at four." She shrugged, as if remembering something unpleasant. "One problem down."
She dug around in her stack of papers, then crumpled one of the sheets.
"Well, there goes my whole training plan. Down the drain. Fine. Tell me—what do you know about magic?"
"Um... it's in another language?"
I had studied healing magic and church language, but I wasn't supposed to talk about that.
"In general—yeah." Roxy snorted. "Magic splits into two systems, but for now, you only need one. There's mana. You sense it. Shape it. Control it. Without language—nothing. Without understanding—forget it."
Her voice dropped slightly:
"There's also the Church system — that's another matter. Same principles, just packaged as religion. You don't need it. First, the basics. Mana. Spells. Language."
"And then you'll tell me there are ten more subtypes and it all depends on the moon?"
"No. On the brain," Roxy smirked. "And the hands. Magic doesn't punish stupidity. It just tears. If you don't know what you're doing, you break."
She leaned in a little closer.
"Put simply: there's energy. You're the filter it runs through. Inside, it becomes mana. You give it a direction — and release it. If you do it right—the spell works. If not? Surge. Overload. A hole in your chest. Depends on your carelessness. And your imagination."
Sigh.
"What?" She looked at me.
Too much information. Roxy was trying to explain it clearly, but I still didn't get half of it.
"Maybe we could move to practice? I learn better that way..."
"Alright." Roxy shifted her staff slightly and studied me. "I've seen you can cast a spell. But the real question is — how well do you understand it?"
She extended her hand.
"There are three ways to cast a spell. First — full incantation."
Roxy spoke calmly and clearly:
"Water. Arise from mana. Obey my will. Become a stream. Follow my call."
The air before her thickened. A narrow stream of water emerged from nothing, trickling gently into her palm. She closed her fingers and let it fall to the grass.
"This is the simplest method. You speak all the key words, giving the magic clear instructions. Any mage can use it, even a beginner — but it takes time and concentration."
She went on. This time, the words were shorter:
"Water. Arise. Flow. Obey."
A sphere of water burst from the air, hovered, then splashed into droplets on the ground.
"Second method — shortened spell."
I frowned.
"What's the difference?"
"Speed." She traced another set of symbols. "Mages who know a spell well can cut out the filler. In battle, speed matters. Not how fancy your words sound."
She raised her hand and simply said:
"Water."
The water appeared again, this time instantly.
"The more experienced the mage, the fewer words they need. Ideally, you narrow it down to just the spell's name."
"So eventually you can get it down to one word?"
"Exactly. But there's also a third method."
This time, she didn't say anything. Just looked at me.
And then—
The air shimmered with a soft blue light. Water wove itself out of the empty space, hung for a moment, then drifted down.
I blinked.
"What... how?"
"Silent magic."
Roxy clasped her hands behind her back, watching me.
"The most difficult, and rarest, level of magical control. You can't just know the spell — you have to understand it completely. Silent mages manipulate mana with thought alone. No words. No gestures."
I nodded slowly, processing what I'd just heard.
"And you can do that?" I asked, eyeing her with mild doubt.
Roxy folded her arms behind her back and rolled one shoulder.
"Yes, but not perfectly. In combat, I rarely cast complex spells without words. But with the basics, I have no trouble."
I kept watching her, still turning it over in my head. Magic without words. Just thought. Just... will.
It felt unreachable.
"What does it take to do that?" I asked. "Do you have to be born special?"
She gave a short laugh. Easy. Not unkind.
"There you go too."
"Go where?"
"Into the same hole where everyone ends up when they think magic is about a 'gift.' About blood. About luck. About being 'special.'"
Roxy straightened up. Her voice tightened just a little.
"That's not true. What matters isn't what you're born with. It's how long you work. How hard. How steady. Magic isn't a spark. It's not a gift from above. It's years of grinding."
I stayed silent. I didn't know what to say.
"You want to become a silent mage?" she went on. "Then study. Not for a week. Not for a month. Years. Repetition. Mistakes. Breakdown. Again. Until the formula becomes part of you. Until mana flows like breath."
She looked at me seriously.
"And anyone can do that. Doesn't matter who they are. The only question is—can they stay patient?"
I nodded. Slowly. It wasn't what I expected to hear. But somehow, it made things feel lighter. And more honest.
"So the strongest mages don't need words at all?"
"Exactly."
I thought about it. It all sounded so far away, like the top of some mountain I hadn't even started climbing. Though somewhere inside, it felt like I was already standing at the base. I just didn't know which way to take the first step.
"Aura—is that magic too?"
Roxy turned slightly toward me. Her staff dipped, almost touching the ground.
"Why do you ask?"
"Paul once said warriors have something called 'aura.' That it's not magic, exactly. But it sounded kind of similar."
She nodded, like she'd finally heard something that made sense.
"In a sense, it's also mana, but mixed with life force. When you form mana, you push it outward. Through formulas, through language, through structure. That's a mage's path."
Roxy paused for a second, then went on:
"Aura is a different path. You push it through muscles, skin, senses. Not to cast a spell, but to enhance yourself."
She tilted her head a little closer.
"Warriors use aura. It's faster, more reliable, rougher. It doesn't need formulas. Doesn't need elemental knowledge. Just a body strong enough to hold the flow inside."
I remembered how Paul moved during training. The way his steps landed so lightly, and the weight behind every strike. Like something was always boiling inside him, but never spilled out—just made him stronger.
"Is it hard?" I asked.
Roxy nodded. No drama, no weight. Just like stating a fact.
"Aura doesn't appear on its own. It takes long, brutal physical training. At first you move. You repeat. For weeks, months. Nothing happens. Then slowly, you start to feel it. How it sinks into your muscles, into tendons, becomes part of you. And only then—your body starts to move before your thoughts can catch up."
I looked down at my hands. My fingers. My wrists, where right now there was nothing but dull fatigue.
"Could I learn that?"
"I came here to teach you magic, not aura," she said calmly—but not coldly. "If you want to train, I won't stop you. But if I were you, I'd choose one thing. And since I'm already here—seems to me the choice is obvious."
I nodded silently. Not because I agreed. Just didn't argue. Somewhere inside, the thought still lingered: what if I could do both... But she wasn't arguing with me. She was arguing with the consequences. And she knew exactly how that ends.
The silence stretched out. And in that stillness, her voice came level and clear:
"You've done everything you wanted to do. Now we start what needs to be done."