Silence was the first thing he felt. Not the absence of sound—something heavier than that. The kind of silence that presses down.

  Rhys Rattana slowly opened his eyes.

  The first thing reflected in his vision was the vast emptiness of an ink-dark lake stretching as far as sight could reach. Its surface lay perfectly still—the gray sky above and the gray sky below, indistinguishable. He found himself sitting in a small wooden boat that rocked gently to the rhythm of invisible waves, and when he lowered his gaze toward the water's reflection, he froze.

  The figure staring back at him was not the young mage in a black coat.

  It was a middle-aged man in a clean white lab coat—his original self, the one he had left behind in another world.

  Snow began to fall in utter silence. Pale flakes drifted down onto the back of his hand, cold enough to sting his skin. Rhys looked up at the curtain of snow weaving itself into a white wall that gradually erased the surrounding landscape, until it seemed the entire world had been reduced to nothing but himself and this solitary boat.

  Yet when he turned toward the other end of the vessel, he realized he was not alone.

  At the stern, a boy was rowing with quiet determination, forcing the boat through the biting cold. The child's black hair was a tangled mess that had clearly never known a comb. Each breath left his lips as a faint white mist in the subzero air, while his narrow shoulders trembled from the effort of driving the oar through the thick, sluggish water. The clothes he wore were little more than shredded scraps of cloth, offering no protection to the thin body that shivered under the creeping claws of winter.

  The boy could not have been more than ten years old.

  And yet the half of his face caught in the dim light stirred a strange familiarity deep within Rhys—a recognition that felt older than memory.

  The memories he had once glimpsed yet failed to grasp came open all at once—no warning, no resistance.

  A small boy weeping beside the lifeless body of a cat.

  Fights behind an orphanage wall.

  A small back. One bundle. A road that had no business belonging to someone that age.

  Those memories overlapped perfectly with the boy rowing before him.

  Damn it… how had he managed to forget all of this?

  "Rein… that's you, isn't it?" Rhys murmured. His voice trembled, thin and fragile as if it might dissolve into the falling snow.

  But the other showed no reaction.

  The boy continued staring forward with eyes that were empty and exhausted. He did not notice the man in the white coat sharing the same boat, did not hear the call, did not feel the gaze at all.

  Rhys could only watch in silence.

  The small figure kept rowing steadily through the gray mist toward his destination until the wooden bow bumped softly against the piling of an old dock.

  Thud.

  The boy tied the rope to the post with skill far beyond his years, then bent to hoist a wooden bucket filled with fish onto his shoulder. His thin body swayed under the immense weight compared to his size, but he gritted his teeth, steadied himself, and climbed off the boat.

  The physicist in the white coat followed cautiously behind, each step on the damp planks glazed with thin ice carrying no weight at all.

  The atmosphere changed abruptly.

  The loneliness of the water gave way to overwhelming chaos. Shouts, curses, and the clamor of bargaining voices crashed into his senses, while the pungent smell of fish slime and sea salt saturated the air throughout the market. Fishermen with hardened faces jostled against hungry merchants, their breaths steaming in the cold as they crowded together.

  The boy with the dim eyes placed the bucket of fish before a plump man whose greasy fingers were still slick with food. The man nudged the bucket with his foot to inspect the catch, then snorted dismissively and tossed a few metal coins onto a wooden table stained dark with fish blood.

  The payment was pitifully small—far too little for the hardship the boy had endured through the night.

  Rein bent down to gather the scattered coins, his hands trembling from the cold. He stuffed them into a torn pocket before turning away in silence, Rhys trailing close behind.

  Strangely enough, amid the bustling crowd, not a single person seemed to notice the physicist.

  He felt like a variable someone had forgotten to remove from the equation. Whenever someone walked past him, their bodies passed straight through him as if he were only mist. The sensation flickered across his skin—cold and electric, like static sliding along the nerves.

  He existed only to watch, yet possessed no power to interfere.

  Snow continued falling without pause, turning the sparse woodland at the foot of the mountain into a lifeless gray expanse.

  Earlier, the boy had stopped at the market to buy a few things. Now he held a paper bundle tightly against his chest—inside were nothing more than hardened bread scraps and a shriveled potato, yet he carried them as if they were the greatest treasure in the world.

  Head lowered against the bitter wind, he walked away from the fishermen's village, heading toward the forest edge where the trees thinned and the noise didn't follow.

  There stood a small abandoned hut.

  It looked less like a home and more like a pile of firewood waiting to rot. The thatched roof was torn open in several places, allowing the cold wind to slash through from every direction.

  Rhys followed him into the hut's dim interior.

  There he saw the pale-skinned child with stiff fingers nearly turning purple, struggling to start a fire.

  It was a test of patience.

  The boy struck flint against steel again and again. Each weak orange spark vanished instantly in the damp straw. Again and again he tried, yet there was no sign of surrender in his eyes—only a cold determination as unyielding as ice.

  At last, a tiny flame flickered to life, dancing weakly and casting dim light across the cobweb-filled room.

  He placed a battered metal pot onto the small fire, pouring in clear water from a clay jar with careful hands. What followed resembled a sacred ritual more than cooking.

  The boy took out a small packet of salt and unwrapped a tiny piece of salted fish from old paper tucked at his waist. Slowly he dropped them into the boiling water.

  A faint aroma rose into the freezing air.

  At last, the fish soup was finished.

  Rhys sat down on a rotting log across from him, watching the boy dip pieces of hard bread into the soup and eat with quiet satisfaction. For a moment, in the trembling firelight, the gaunt face softened.

  The messy-haired boy suddenly paused while drinking his soup and turned his gaze toward him. Those sharp eyes, far too mature for his age, seemed to pierce straight through the physicist's white coat.

  Rhys froze.

  He tried to speak, but before any words could leave his mouth, the boy began walking directly toward him. Instinctively Rhys stepped back.

  Yet in the next instant the small figure walked straight through his body as if he were nothing but empty air.

  A faint electric shiver ran through him, snapping him back to his senses. He turned to follow the boy's line of sight and finally noticed movement deep within the darkest corner of the hut.

  Beneath a pile of old straw came a faint rustling sound—along with the ragged breathing of someone struggling for air.

  The boy seized an old, chipped dagger from the table, gripping it tightly as his eyes sharpened with cold caution. Slowly, silently, he crept toward the source, every step on wood splinters and straw without a sound.

  When he reached the spot, Rein raised the dagger high—

  Then kicked the straw aside in one swift motion.

  What lay beneath was not a wild animal.

  It was the body of a middle-aged man.

  His face was hollow beneath a tangle of beard, and the thick clothes he wore were torn and soaked with dried blood from wounds clearly inflicted by blades. The man slowly opened his eyes and looked at the boy standing over him with a dagger poised to kill.

  His gaze was calm. Strangely empty.

  "Sorry… kid…" he rasped, his voice so hoarse it was almost a whisper. "I was just tired… didn't think this place had an owner. Just wanted somewhere to hide from the cold for a moment."

  His eyes drifted toward the dagger in the boy's hand before a faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.

  "No need for that knife… I'll be leaving… right away."

  The mysterious man tried to push himself upright with the last scraps of strength left in his body. He swayed, and after managing to lift himself only a few inches from the ground, his entire frame gave way and fell heavily back onto the floor. His eyes closed again, his breathing growing fainter with every passing second.

  Rein watched him for a moment.

  Then, slowly, the boy lowered the dagger. A pale cloud of breath escaped his lips into the freezing air, and the tension in his small shoulders eased slightly, leaving behind a silence broken only by the distant whistle of winter wind outside.

  From the shadows, Rhys watched in silence.

  The memory within the hut trembled once before unfolding into the following morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the cracks in the broken roof, falling in thin golden beams across a floor coated in dust. Outside, the cold was so severe that the morning dew had frozen into delicate ice clinging to the edges of the window frame.

  The small boy sat curled in the corner of the room, leaning against a rotting wooden wall beside the fireplace that had long since gone cold. Draped over him was nothing more than a ragged scrap of cloth pretending to be a blanket, barely enough to shield his fragile warmth from the relentless cold gnawing at the room.

  A few steps away, the mysterious middle-aged man still lay atop the pile of straw.

  But his condition had improved in a way that made Rhys pause.

  A rough bandage had been wrapped around his chest, and beneath it lingered the faint, sharp scent of crushed herbs.

  So the kid knows wild medicine, Rhys thought. Of course he does.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The stranger slowly opened his eyes again.

  This time his gaze looked sharper than the night before. With a quiet rustle of straw he pushed himself upright and examined the wounds on his body before turning to look at the sleeping boy. A long breath escaped him, and he placed a hand over the injury in the center of his chest.

  In the next instant, Rhys' eyes widened.

  A soft green light radiated from the man's palm.

  It was not lantern light.

  It was the ordered, concentrated flow of energy.

  "Cure Wound? This guy's a mage!" the physicist blurted out instinctively, even though he knew no one could hear him within this memory.

  The man's face twisted with pain as he forced the spell faster than it naturally wished to proceed. Green mana wove itself like threads through torn flesh, knitting ruptured tissue together until the wound slowly closed.

  When the spell ended, he stood with noticeably steadier posture.

  Then he walked straight over to the pot of leftover soup from the previous night.

  Without asking permission from the owner of the hut, he casually ladled out the cold broth and began eating.

  The noise stirred Rein awake.

  The boy blinked slowly, watching the stranger's actions in silence. There was no fear, no anger—only the cautious gaze of someone used to observing before deciding anything.

  But before the boy could say a word, the man reached into the mud-stained pocket of his trousers and placed several metal coins onto the same battered wooden table.

  "I'm not eating for free, kid… is this enough for the soup and the treatment?" the man said in a low voice.

  Rein gave no verbal answer.

  Instead, he stood up, walked to the table, and swept the coins into his pocket without a word.

  Days passed.

  Within the strange atmosphere of that decaying hut, an unusual bond slowly began to form between the boy and the stranger. During the day the middle-aged man often vanished, returning only at night with dried blood on his clothes or fresh tears in the fabric.

  Each evening he paid Rein for food and lodging with a few metal coins. It was never a large amount, but it was enough to spare the boy from risking his life rowing through storms just to be exploited by greedy fish merchants.

  Gradually Rein began buying softer bread.

  Some days he gathered wild vegetables or caught fish to cook a larger pot of soup for two.

  They spoke very little. Most conversations were short and practical, occurring only when the sun sank beyond the horizon and the fire in the hearth began to dance.

  Rhys watched everything as an invisible observer.

  At first the silence between them seemed awkward, but over time he sensed something forming beneath it that neither of them had named.

  Each day, on the way back from buying supplies, Rein always stopped at the same place.

  It was the only warrior training yard in the fishing village.

  The space was nothing more than a small dirt field surrounded by a broken wooden fence. The instructor was a drunken Bronze-ranked warrior who also served as the village's guard, his body perpetually reeking of alcohol.

  Aside from him, seven or eight older boys practiced clumsily with wooden swords.

  Rhys stood beside Rein, who hid behind the trunk of a large tree.

  The child watched the training sessions with intense concentration, as though recording every movement into memory. Even when the cold forced him to rub his hands together for warmth, his eyes never left the rhythm of the wooden blades.

  Sometimes Rein quietly moved his arms in imitation, copying the wrist twists and footwork the drunken instructor shouted about.

  And when evening came and he returned to the abandoned hut, he would select a carefully chosen branch and carve it down until it became a simple wooden sword.

  After dinner he practiced alone in the dim firelight.

  Whoosh. Whoosh.

  The sound of wood slicing through the air echoed steadily against the old walls.

  Rhys could see sweat forming on the boy's forehead despite the bitter cold.

  One evening the wind howled through the cracks in the hut walls, shrieking like a living thing. The middle-aged man returned earlier than usual and leaned against the broken doorway with folded arms, watching the boy repeatedly swing the branch in his hand.

  "Kid… you really want to be a warrior that badly?"

  The man called out with a crooked grin.

  Rein paused only briefly, wiping sweat from his brow before glancing at the man and continuing his movements without stopping.

  "Whether I want to or not doesn't matter," the boy replied in a calm voice, yet one as firm as stone.

  The man closed his eyes and nodded slowly.

  "You remind me of a kid I once knew… he practiced his sword like that all the time. When I asked him the same question, he gave almost the same answer."

  Rein stopped.

  The tip of the wooden sword lowered toward the floor as he turned toward the man with genuine curiosity for the first time in days.

  "What did he say?"

  Silence filled the hut for a moment, broken only by the crackling of firewood.

  The middle-aged man stood still, as though searching through fragments of memory, before finally speaking one word at a time.

  "It's not about wanting or not wanting… it's about whether you do it or don't."

  He opened his eyes and looked straight at the boy.

  At that moment Rhys, standing nearby, jerked in surprise when he noticed the man's pupils shift faintly. A dim glow flickered within them—the unmistakable sign of immense mana flowing beneath a worn exterior.

  "Kid… hard work's good, but the path of a warrior isn't for you." He chuckled lightly. "Your body's too small, and your brain moves too fast to waste on swinging a dumb chunk of iron. You're better suited to become a mage."

  "A mage?" Rein repeated, his brows knitting together as if hearing an unfamiliar slang word.

  "Yeah… and if you don't believe me, we can test it." The man grinned slyly. "I'll teach you how to sense mana and use basic magic within one month."

  His eyes glinted with mischief.

  "Of course, good things aren't free… I'll take my tuition in beef stew once a week. What do you say, kid? Deal?"

  Watching from the side, Rhys couldn't help but smile.

  A month passed.

  The boy who once knew only how to row and fish had begun to sense the currents of mana flowing through the air as naturally as if it were a third limb.

  He mastered every form of basic Cantrip magic.

  Rein no longer needed to smash flint and steel until his hands blistered.

  Now, with nothing more than a snap of his fingers and a clear image in his mind, a small orange flame would ignite at his fingertips.

  And on the darkest nights, the little hut glowed brightly beneath a floating sphere of Flare magic—his own private star suspended in the air.

  The condition of the abandoned hut changed in ways that were impossible to miss. The leaks in the roof were patched, the dust swept away, and the grime scrubbed clean until the place no longer resembled a ruin. Instead, it had become something closer to a nest—a small shelter warmed by the quiet presence of life.

  Rein kept his promise faithfully.

  Every weekend, the rich aroma of beef stew filled the hut, offered as payment to the strange guest who had taken residence there. Yet for Rhys Rattana, who continued observing in silence, months had passed and neither had ever asked for the other's real name.

  The sun drifted through the oppressive heat of summer, the falling leaves of autumn, and finally the return of winter once more. On the day the year's first snow began drifting down from the leaden sky—

  "Old man!"

  Rein's shout shattered the silence.

  The tone carried none of its usual annoyance. Instead, it trembled with panic and confusion.

  The middle-aged man raised an eyebrow. He had been leaning comfortably against a repaired wooden chair, spooning stew into his mouth, but the moment he lifted his head to look at the boy, his eyes widened so suddenly that the spoon nearly slipped from his hand.

  At the center of the ten-year-old's chest, a brilliant azure light glowed through the thin fabric of his worn clothes.

  It was not merely a loose cluster of mana.

  It pulsed rhythmically, like a second heart.

  The light wove itself into overlapping circles of intricate symmetry, luminous and beautiful.

  The stranger shot to his feet so abruptly that the chair behind him toppled over with a crash. He stared at the sight before him with disbelief written plainly across his face.

  "A ten-year-old… forming his first Core Mana Circle on his own?"

  His voice dropped to a stunned whisper before erupting into laughter that filled the entire hut—a laugh brimming with amazement and fierce delight in the strange turns of fate.

  "Kid… you're a real monster!" He strode forward and slapped Rein on the shoulder so hard the boy nearly staggered. "Congratulations. You're a full-fledged mage now—no, more than that. You're the youngest Primary Troposphere-tier mage I've ever seen… even in the Academy!"

  Rhys watched and said nothing.

  The man who often pretended to be grumpy and insisted repeatedly that he was not old actually looked at Rein the way he pretended not to.

  In recent weeks they even argued occasionally, raising their voices over small things, but those quarrels were complaints about stew that was too salty, or the childish struggle over the last piece of meat in the pot.

  Yet the warmth of that image suddenly wavered.

  The memory blurred and twisted into something cold enough to freeze the heart.

  On a field of pure white snow, Rein stood watching the sword practice at the training yard as he did every day, a bag of fresh bread hanging from his hand.

  Then suddenly, alarmed shouts erupted around him.

  People pointed frantically toward the forest at the foot of the mountain—the direction where the abandoned hut stood.

  The boy turned sharply.

  Rising into the gray sky was a pillar of thick black smoke.

  He said nothing.

  He simply ran.

  The old man stayed at the hut today.

  Rein was already running.

  Moments later the boy burst through the wall of snow surrounding the clearing.

  What remained was devastation.

  The hut had been reduced to burning wreckage and scattered timber. The ground was scarred with large craters, and the bodies of armored men lay strewn across the snow.

  Rein rushed into the collapsing ruins—

  And there he found the middle-aged man slumped against a blood-soaked wooden wall.

  A sword had been driven clean through his chest, pinning him there with brutal force.

  "Old man! No!"

  Rein's cry tore through the air.

  The bag of bread fell forgotten to the ground as he grabbed the sword's hilt with both hands, trying desperately to pull it free.

  But the man slowly shook his head.

  With trembling fingers slick with blood, he grasped the boy's hands.

  "No… kid… don't…"

  A strained smile tugged weakly at his lips.

  "It's just a scratch… lie down for a bit… and it'll heal…"

  "But the bleeding won't stop! Wait—if I use Cure Wound—"

  Rein began forcing unstable mana into a healing spell, but the man tightened his grip.

  "Kid… focus. Listen to me…" His voice rasped painfully. "For a mage… if the Core Mana Circles are destroyed… there's no coming back."

  "That's not true! There has to be a way!" Rein shouted.

  The first tear fell onto the blood-stained hands beneath his own.

  "What's your name… kid?" the man asked, fresh blood spilling from the corner of his mouth with every word.

  "Rein… my name is Rein!"

  The boy's voice broke.

  The healing spells he poured into the wound changed nothing. All they could do was stretch the man's fading breath for a few more fragile moments.

  "Rein… hmm… that's a good name…"

  The man closed his eyes briefly, gathering the last fragments of his strength before whispering:

  "I have something to give you… will you accept it? It's both a gift… and a curse… you must decide carefully…"

  "No! Old man!" Rein shook his head wildly, tears streaming down his face. "If it means you die like this, I don't want it! I don't want anything!"

  "Rein… remember?"

  The man interrupted gently, his breathing broken.

  "It's not about wanting… or not wanting… it's about… doing… or not doing…"

  Rein froze.

  Slowly he lifted his head to look at his teacher's pale face.

  "Rein… I'll ask you again. Will you accept it and do what must be done… no matter how heavy the burden becomes afterward?"

  With immense effort, the man reached out and touched the boy's face.

  "I will… Old man… I accept…"

  Rein's voice trembled violently.

  "Just… please don't die…"

  "Good… kid…"

  Suddenly Rein's eyes blazed with brilliant blue light, like gemstones carved from pure mana.

  The boy screamed.

  Agonizing heat erupted deep inside both eyes, a pain that pierced straight into his soul. Behind him, Rhys immediately understood what was happening.

  This was a forbidden ritual.

  The transmission of Mana Vision.

  Tears streamed down the boy's face, yet the unbearable pain soon faded—replaced by a completely transformed perception.

  He could see the currents of energy weaving through the world itself.

  "Kid… guard it well…" the man's breathing grew heavier with each second. "Don't let anyone know… you have it…"

  "Wait, Old man! I still—"

  The man raised a trembling hand, gently silencing him.

  A faint smile appeared on his blood-stained face—softer than Rhys had ever seen before.

  "Your personality… is so much like my son… who left this world…"

  His breathing faltered.

  His eyes grew dim, but they remained fixed on the boy's face.

  "All this time… thank you… Rein…"

  With those final words, his voice faded into nothing more than a breath drifting into the air.

  The hand that had touched Rein's face slipped slowly downward, falling onto the frozen snow.

  His body went still.

  "Old man! Old man! Can you hear me?!"

  Rein's cry tore into the storm as he clutched the lifeless body.

  But the snowstorm swallowed his voice.

  Yet amid the howling winter wind, Rhys heard them clearly.

  "Father…"

  As the snowfall thickened, the flames consuming the hut began to die beneath the cold.

  What remained was a boy in the snow, holding someone who would not answer.

  These entries expand the lore and mechanics introduced in this chapter.

  Completely optional—read only if you enjoy diving deeper into the system.

  Location

  Memory Lake (Subconscious Reflection Space)

  A symbolic mental landscape where Rhys Rattana observes Rein’s past. The scene appears as an endless dark lake beneath a gray sky, with a small boat drifting across still water. In narrative terms, this space functions as a memory archive of Rein’s childhood, allowing Rhys to witness events without interacting with them.

  The Fisher Village Training Yard

  A small dirt training ground run by a drunken Bronze-ranked warrior who also serves as the village guard. Rein secretly studies the older boys’ sword practice from outside the fence, memorizing movements and later practicing them alone with a carved wooden branch.

  Phenomenon

  Observer-State Existence

  Rhys exists inside the memory as a non-interactive observer. People pass through him as if he were mist, and no one can hear his voice. This establishes the experience as pure recollection rather than time travel.

  Characters

  The Stranger

  A mysterious middle-aged mage who hides inside Rein’s hut while fleeing pursuers. He later forms a quiet partnership with the boy—paying for food and shelter while teaching Rein magic. His name is never revealed in the chapter.

  Rein’s Study and Training

  Self-Taught Combat Study

  Rein’s early method of learning combat through observation and imitation. He silently records footwork, wrist movement, and rhythm from other trainees before recreating them during solitary practice sessions at night.

  Wild Herbal Treatment

  Before discovering the stranger’s identity as a mage, Rein stabilizes the man’s injuries using crushed wild herbs and improvised bandages. This confirms that Rein had basic survival medicine knowledge from living alone in the wilderness.

  Basic Mana Sensory Training

  The first lesson the stranger teaches Rein: sensing the flow of mana in the environment. Within one month Rein develops a natural ability to perceive mana currents as if they were a physical extension of his body.

  Cantrip-Level Spellcasting

  Rein rapidly masters foundational spells such as Flare and fire ignition cantrips. The speed of this progression is presented as highly abnormal for someone with no formal magical education.

  First Core Mana Circle Formation

  At the age of ten, Rein spontaneously forms his first Core Mana Circle, marking the official threshold of becoming a mage. The event shocks the stranger, who calls Rein the youngest Primary Troposphere-tier mage he has ever seen—even compared to academy students.

  Primary Troposphere Mage (Update)

  The earliest tier in the mage hierarchy. Chapter 103 emphasizes how extraordinary it is for a ten-year-old with no academy training to naturally reach this stage.

  Heroic Skills

  Mana Vision (Update)

  The stranger passes Mana Vision directly to Rein through a forbidden ritual performed at the moment of his death. The transfer causes extreme pain and permanently alters Rein’s perception, allowing him to see mana currents throughout the world.

  Mana Vision Transmission Ritual

  A rare and dangerous inheritance process in which a mage transfers a unique ability to another person at the cost of their life. The ritual appears to involve channeling the ability directly through the recipient’s eyes.

  Other

  Destroyed Core Mana Circles

  The stranger explains that if a mage’s Core Mana Circles are destroyed, no healing magic can save them. This is why Rein’s desperate Cure Wound attempts cannot stop his mentor’s death.

  Rein’s Foundational Philosophy

  The phrase repeated by the mentor becomes a defining principle for Rein:

  “It’s not about wanting or not wanting. It’s about whether you do it or you don’t.”

  This line later shapes Rein’s decision-making style and his willingness to act even under impossible conditions.

  And that’s a wrap on the Student Union Arc.

  Thank you for riding along with Rein as he navigates the glitchy boundary between physics and magic.

  Stay tuned. The next arc is loading...