A mysterious figure stood before Julius. He couldn’t make out its shape or outline—everything was blurred and foggy. Julius tried to move, but he was trapped, as if frozen.
“Who are you?” The voice came from within him, though his lips never moved.
He looked at his hands. “What’s happening?” he wondered. They too were blurred. He couldn’t get a clear view of his surroundings—or himself.
A tremor shook the world around him. A voice echoed in his mind, faint at first, but with every repetition, it grew louder and louder.
The shaking intensified, and darkness began to consume everything—until, just before it all faded, Julius saw the figure in front of him… smiling.
“Julius!” Jin’s voice cried out repeatedly, until Julius finally woke up.
He slowly sat up. Jin sat beside him, tears of relief streaming down his face.
“You’re finally awake!” he said, embracing him.
“Ahhh!” Julius cried out in pain.
“Ah—sorry!” Jin quickly let go.
“It’s fine,” Julius mumbled, trying to pull himself together. His whole body ached—from head to toe, his mana was nearly completely drained.
“That was so reckless… You could’ve died,” Jin said, now crying even harder.
Julius looked away, uncomfortable. In that last fight, he really could have died. He knew it would’ve devastated his friends and family. But surrender had never been an option.
“Ah?” A loud shout snapped Jin back to attention.
“What about the tournament? Did I win?” Julius asked, eyes searching Jin’s.
“You almost died, and that’s your first question? You never change,” Jin sighed. The mood shifted.
A knock at the door interrupted them. The professor entered.
“Oh, you’re awake already?” he said in surprise, studying Julius curiously.
“How long was I out?” Julius asked.
“Just a few hours,” Jin replied.
“You completely drained your mana with that last spell,” the professor said, sitting down beside Jin.
“People who go through that are usually out for days,” he continued.
“My body feels like crap… but it’s not the first time,” Julius said with a light tone, stretching carefully.
“Not the first time?” The professor was stunned—then laughed.
“What is it?” Julius asked, confused.
“You don’t hear that often. Most people can’t push their mana to the limit.” But his laughter slowly faded.
“You should be more careful. Mana depletion often leads to death.”
“Death?” Jin was horrified. He gave Julius a look that clearly said, Take better care of yourself.
Julius tried to change the topic. “So… the tournament. Did I win or not?”
Stolen novel; please report.
The professor stroked his beard. Julius’s tension was written all over his face.
“Before I tell you that, mind answering a few questions?”
Julius didn’t like the delay, but nodded. “Go ahead.”
The professor tapped his staff three times on the ground. A shadowy circle spread across the room.
Jin flinched. “What is that?”
“Don’t worry—it’s just a spell to verify your answers,” the professor said with a smile.
Julius felt uneasy, but he had nothing to hide.
“How did you learn to cast magic without saying the incantation?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just always been able to,” Julius replied. The professor paused before continuing.
“You drained the mana from that fireball and absorbed it. Who taught you that?”
“It felt strange… That was the first time I did it.”
Again, the professor was silent, studying him.
“So you’re telling me you had more luck than sense?”
“What?” Julius’s heart sank. He couldn’t explain his powers—and the fear crept in that he might lose his chance at Lidoris.
“Are you accusing him of cheating? Julius would never fight unfairly!” Jin protested.
Julius’s frustration turned to anger. He was about to object when—
“Hahahaha!” The professor burst out laughing.
Julius and Jin exchanged confused glances.
“Don’t worry—you won the battle. You’re the third winner of the tournament,” the professor said, rising.
“Congratulations, Julius. You’re officially a student of Lidoris.”
Joy overwhelmed Julius. He had worked so hard—and he’d done it. He jumped up and hugged Jin, only to collapse moments later.
“Julius!” Jin caught him.
“You should really rest,” the professor said, noticing that Julius had already passed out in Jin’s arms.
“I had more questions… but I guess they’ll have to wait.”
“Why all the questions, Professor Stein?” Jin asked.
“Just the curiosity of an old man,” the professor replied with a warm smile.
“I’d love to meet your magic teacher someday.”
Jin frowned.
“We don’t have one. Our village can’t afford that.”
“Is that so?” the professor murmured as he turned to leave.
“Have you ever heard of Zahid?”
Jin hesitated.
“No, sorry.”
“Huh?”
Suddenly, the ground beneath them glowed red. The circle lit up the room.
“What is that?!” Jin shouted, panicking.
But the professor struck the floor three times with his staff, and the red glow vanished.
“Until next time,” he said—and disappeared.
—————————————
The professor walked down the street and stopped in front of a horse-drawn carriage.
The carriage was made of wood, one of the standard models commonly seen in small towns.
It was his carriage—ready to take him back to Lidoris.
Inside, someone was already seated—a pretty young girl with brown hair. She wore a pointed magician’s hat and a deep purple cloak.
“Good day, Professor,” she said in a sweet voice.
“I’m not a professor anymore—just call me Stein,” he replied, taking a seat across from her.
“How did the selection go? I hope there were some promising mages?”
“Hahaha, there were three very interesting candidates,” he said with a grin.
“Three?” she asked, surprised.
“Tell me about them! Which families are they from?” she asked, clearly curious. In such trials, usually only one or two candidates were chosen—and almost always from noble bloodlines.
The professor grinned. “You probably won’t know their families. They’re commoners.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “You’re not saying all three are commoners, are you?”
“Yes,” he replied as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
“I don’t believe it…” she murmured in disbelief. “If the High Council in Lidoris finds out, you’ll be in trouble.”
“Hahaha, don’t worry. An old man in retirement doesn’t stir up much trouble,” he said, smiling as if the world held no worries.
“One commoner might’ve been expected—but three? You know what Lidoris is like…” Her expression turned somber.
“They’ll realize the difference soon enough—and probably leave the school.”
Silence fell in the carriage. Only the sound of the wheels and the horses’ hooves echoed around them.
“What year are you in, Lisa?” the professor asked.
“Third,” she replied with a slightly annoyed look. “But you already know that. I’m wearing the purple cloak.”
“Ah, right. Those color rankings were introduced after my time. I never really cared for them.”
He drifted off into thought, but Lisa brought him back.
“So? What’s your point?”
“Ah, yes. How many students in your year can cast spells without speaking them?”
She thought for a moment. “More than half, I’d say.”
“And how many can absorb mana from an active spell?”
“Probably just a handful. Of course, I can,” she said proudly.
“And have you ever met someone who could do both—naturally, from the beginning, with no training?”
“I don’t think so. Those are skills earned only through years of hard work. You have to deeply understand a spell to cast it silently, and you need to perfect the magic to absorb its mana.”
It was a flawless answer, like something straight from a textbook.
“As expected from one of Lidoris’ best,” he said. Lisa blushed a little.
“All three of them have something special. I’m sure you’ll see it in them too.”
“I hope you’re right,” she replied with a soft smile.
