The moment the system accepted his chosen path, a soft chime rang out.

A blue translucent page slid into place before his eyes.

{NEW QUEST GENERATED}

Quest: [Kindling the Thread]

Objective: [Master mana control foundation.]

Requirement: [Sense, gather, and circulate raw mana essence through the body.]

Reward: [+50 Plot Points]

Note: Completion will establish baseline magical potential and unlock and improve further combat or utility spells.

———————————————

‘Hmm, let's give it a try…’

Ruvian dismissed the interface with a lazy wave, sending it drifting to the periphery of his vision.

He stepped toward the centre of his room, he drew in a long breath, slowly, allowing it to settle low in his chest before exhaling with equal patience.

His fingers came together.

The status screen had already offered its generous verdict: every magical stat slapped with the merciless [F], as if the system itself had graded him with a shrug. And his so-called Mana Essence? Laughable.

[Mana Essence: 150 / 150]

He had seen better numbers on beginner NPCs.

Still, there had been a reason the system granted him this particular quest. Not to humiliate, though it certainly could have. Next to the quest marker, a panel unfolded with a soft glow, revealing a simple human silhouette marked by a curling spiral, the lines etched like a slow-moving current across the spine, limbs, and core.

Eight subtle channels, sketched like cartography for an organ he hadn’t known he owned.

[System Guide: To draw essence, slow your breath. Anchor your awareness to your Spellcore. Do not force.]

Ruvian obeyed without a word, dropping into a low kneel on the wooden floor, palms resting on his knees.

His thoughts quieted, but they did not empty. He was not the type to silence his mind. Instead, he turned every thought into focus. It took him longer than most, perhaps, not due to lack of talent but lack of instinct. He had no natural affinity for this. But what he lacked in instinct, he replaced with logic.

‘Air is drawn with breath, sound with vibration and mana, too, must have a resonance… That’s how it was described in the novel.’

And then, just as his breath fell into a perfectly even pattern, the world behind his eyes moved.

A warmth stirred deep in his diaphragm, not in the stomach, but somewhere between, in that invisible place the system had called the “Spellcore.”

It was subtle at first like mist curling behind the ribs.

Then he felt the smallest tremor… a thread, a twitch, a reaction.

[Mana Essence: 149 / 150]

His eyes snapped open in satisfaction.

He repeated the process, this time slower, more precise.

He visualised the core as a cup with invisible water sloshing inside and imagined gently tilting it, coaxing a drop to the edge.

[Mana Essence: 148 / 150]

He wanted to understand the limit—how many failed attempts he could make before depletion. If the essence replenished slowly. If it fluctuated with stress. What were the signs of fatigue?.

[Mana Essence: 147 / 150]

[Mana Essence: 145 / 150]

[Mana Essence: 140 / 150]

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“...The rate of depletion increases with each successive attempt,” he murmured to himself.

“Either mental fatigue builds internal resistance, or my channels are inefficient and the leak is too high.”

There was a moment, somewhere between his twentieth and twenty-fifth attempt—a faint tether wrapped around the stillness behind his sternum.

And as he exhaled, he couldn’t help but glance at the upper corner of the system’s overlay once again:

[Mana Essence: 130 / 150]

He paused, brows furrowed, and muttered aloud, if only to document his own frustration.

“…Ah, right. There’s no passive regeneration.”

The system responded.

[Observation Correct: Passive regeneration is locked until a Spellcore Tier 2 is achieved.]

[Current Spellcore Tier: 1]

Ruvian’s lips parted, then closed again, pressed into a thin line of quiet thought.

“So you’re telling me I’m working with a fixed tank,” he muttered, more to himself than the system, “and every mistake costs me?”

[Correct.]

He paused for a moment, then glanced sideways at the softly glowing guide tab still open in his periphery.

“Then, show me how to gather mana properly.”

…

It was slow, maddeningly slow, the process less like pulling and more like breathing in mist that refused to come when called, a delay between desire and action that made even successful moments feel accidental.

But after what felt like twenty, thirty slow repetitions, there came a shift, faint and feather-light.

[Mana Essence: 150 / 150]

It took him more than 10 minutes to raise +20 Mana Essence.

Trial after trial, adjustment after adjustment, each breath a miniature experiment, each pulse of recovery a footnote in his growing ledger of understanding.

…

[Notice: Foundational Training Complete.]

[You have successfully gathered and cycled raw mana essence into your core at least 5 consecutive times.]

[System Evaluation: Basic Competency in Mana Control Achieved.]

[Quest Complete: “Kindling the Thread”]

[Rewards Granted: +50 Plot Points | +10 Maximum Mana Essence]

[Updated Status: Mana Essence 160 / 160]

While others might have felt a spark of triumph at the sight of the glowing message suspended in front of them, to him it was nothing more than an expected result.

He read the notification once, let the numbers imprint themselves into memory, and dismissed them with a subtle blink.

He had already begun estimating how many repetitions it would take to raise his mana absorption rate to something practical—viable under pressure and combat.

‘That's something I need to be worried about. I’m damn weak!’

His current total was now 160 out of 160 Mana Essence, a marginal increase, but still comically low by the standards of any real mage within the academy he was soon to enter.

And yet, he found no despair in that realisation, because Ruvian had long since stopped comparing himself to others in terms of raw numbers; What mattered was not how much mana one could hold, but how efficiently it could be directed, compressed, and applied.

…

Five days had passed.

The forge was just as hot, the air thick with the scent of metal and burning coal. Sparks flared from the anvil as hammers struck steel, the rhythmic clanging filling the workshop with a familiar melody.

Ruvian stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the workspace before landing on the man behind the counter. Dain Forgewell looked up from his work, wiping the sweat from his brow as a knowing grin spread across his face.

“Don't worry kid, I have completed your request.”

The blacksmith chuckled, reaching under the counter.

But Ruvian’s attention was already elsewhere.

The space before him glowed for a breath, and with a practised motion of thought and will, the interface responded.

Activating Skill: [Character Sheet]

Lines of glowing pages unfolded in the air before him.

───[CHARACTER SHEET]───

◇ Name: Dain Forgewell

◇ Age: 47

◇ Occupation: Master Blacksmith

◇ Temperament: Gruff, Loyal, Principled

◇ Current Mood: Amused / Focused

◇ Status: [Healthy]

◇ Relationship Status: Acquaintance (Stable)

◇ Traits:

Veteran of the AnvilKeeps Promises Once MadeDislikes NoblesSecretly Follows Artisan Philosophy

——————————————

He studied the data carefully, eyes lingering on the “Traits” section. With a small inhale, he slid his fingers again across the glowing air.

Activating Skill: [Editorial Preview]

The character sheet condensed. The interface gleamed for a moment before shifting form, collapsing into a singular line of glowing text that floated directly beneath Dain Forgewell’s name.

[Alive.]

Ruvian’s gaze sharpened.

No imminent fate or danger, but the system had given him a glimpse into this man’s future in the next arc. He closed the sheet, the glowing page dissolving into the ambient air.

“Something on your mind, boy?” Dain asked, arms crossed now, eyeing him with a mix of suspicion and amusement.

“You’re staring at me like you’ve seen a ghost… or worse, a noble tax collector.” Follow current novᴇls on novel fire.net

Ruvian smiled, then offered a calm shake of his head.

Dain pulled out a neatly wrapped package and set it on the table. The weight was solid but not excessive.

Ruvian pulled away the cloth, revealing the custom-made kitchen knife. The blade gleamed under the dim light of the forge, its edge polished to perfection.

The handle, carved from dark wood, fit comfortably in his grip, its surface designed with an intricate engraving of a blooming flower—a subtle, elegant detail.

Ruvian traced it with his thumb.

Dain smirked, watching his reaction.

“Hah. Ain’t she a beauty? Sharp enough to cut through meat and bone like butter. Hell, I’d bet you could shave with it if you were crazy enough.”

Ruvian didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small folded slip of paper and tossed it into the air.

Dain’s grin stiffened. His brow twitched.

“Oi, don’t—”

Shffft!

The blade moved in a single, fluid motion.

The paper caught mid-fall, split cleanly in two. Both halves fluttered to the ground, severed with such precision that the edges barely curled.

Ruvian examined the knife in his hand, his expression indifferent.

“It’s sharp.”

[You have been rewarded +20 Plots Points]

Dain snorted, shaking his head as if offended.

“Tch. You didn’t believe me?”

Ruvian didn’t answer. He simply placed the knife back into its sheath and tucked it away.

Dain was still watching the sliced paper on the floor.

Then, a satisfied smirk crept onto Dain’s face, he said:

“Damn right, of course, it’s sharp!”