What is a genius? A bastard born that way.
—Ryze
Antomia remained in Stat Village for two days, carefully recording everything she saw and heard, compiling her judgments.
"Honored Elder, what I've witnessed here is enough to transform the backwardness of Rog Town. But that isn't what's most important. What both delights and frightens me are the people themselves. Their vigor shows me the meaning of life. The children in particular unsettle me—they are curious, clever, fearless. In their fields of strength they've even become teachers to other children. I cannot imagine what they'll achieve in the future. So, my lord, I implore you to come here—for our town, for our future."
She signed her report, sealed it, and handed it to her knight.
"Deliver this to Elder Capen. I cannot return for now," she told him. Seeing him hesitate, she added, "Melk, follow your orders. And take my personal letter to my father as well."
"Yes, my lady!" Melk deeply respected the magistrate. Since she had entered the council, she had resolved disputes and solved unsolved cases with unmatched skill. It was why Elder Capen trusted her most.
Watching him ride off, Antomia prepared to seek out Rosha. He had been gone for two days, claiming to be training—but she was no fool. She knew the real reason for his absence.
Rosha hadn't truly wanted to avoid her. He believed problems could be solved through conversation. But the old immortal Ryze thought otherwise. He knew Ionia too well. Here, with its mystical natural magic and strange powers, survival had long been tied to "Balance." Rosha's reforms challenged that very philosophy. In a land ruled by zealots, that would've made him no different from a heretic bound for the stake.
"Until you're strong enough to face them, hiding is best," Ryze told him, unusually verbose.
"You're overthinking this, old man," Rosha grinned. "Their thousand-year-old philosophy is flawed. But they allow debate. That loophole is big enough. I can argue my reforms into Balance."
"Fool. I don't mean balance of thought," Ryze's eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom. "I mean balance of power."
"Shit!" Cold sweat beaded on Rosha's brow. The old fox was right—he was still too green.
And the more he thought, the clearer it became. Ionia was indeed in a fragile balance. If a single village beneath Rog Town rose too high, the rulers would seize it as leverage in the struggle for power. If it succeeded, fine. If it failed, they wouldn't even need to invent charges. "Disrupting Balance" would be enough to burn him alive.
"Soon the elder himself will come. Believe it?" Ryze asked flatly.
"I believe it," Rosha muttered, scratching his head. "Guess I'd better train harder."
"Good." Ryze sat cross-legged on a stone, opening his arcane tome.
Rosha scribbled a note: "In training. All academy matters to you. Do not worry." He folded it, tucked it into Lulu's pouch, and said, "Take this to Riven."
Lulu nodded obediently and bounded away into the woods.
Then Ryze began teaching the methods of spellcasting: symbols, chants, and seals. Combined, they could unleash powerful magic.
**Symbols** were written runes, laws codifying elemental magic.
**Chants** were incantations—passwords, songs, and commands of power—manifesting intent.
**Seals** were marks of authority, proof of mastery.
High mages could store spells on parchment as runic scrolls. A simple chant from the user could unleash them. Ryze's book contained such scrolls alongside his own secret lore.
Incantation was the most common method. Beginners and masters alike relied on it. But if an incantation was interrupted, elemental backlash could kill. Only archmagi could eventually cast lesser spells silently.
Seals came in many forms: elemental imprints, more advanced magical patterns like the runes etched across Ryze's skin, or crystals formed from condensed elemental essence. Some even carried unique seals, marks of their achievements in specific magical fields.
Rosha, as a mere novice, could only learn incantation—chanting to summon spells. Yet as a genius attuned to all elements, he also needed to learn fusion: combining two or three elements into new forces, as well as inherited composite spells.
Already he had picked up several basic skills:
* **Metal**: "Impenetrable Defense" (defensive aid), "Sifting Gold from Sand" (support attack).
* **Wood**: "Deadwood Reborn" (healing), "Soldiers of Grass and Trees" (attack).
* **Water**: "Drip Pierces Stone" (attack), "Hills Beyond Streams" (defense).
* **Fire**: "Flames Upon You" (attack), "Dry Tinder" (offensive support).
* **Earth**: "Earth Collapses" (attack), "Soil Against the Tide" (defense).
But he could not yet fuse elements within himself. Wind, ice, lightning, light, and dark remained beyond his grasp.
Ryze focused his training on fusion—teaching Rosha how to weave different elements together through precise control of spirit.
Progression for mages was simple yet impossible: build mana, accumulate it until quantity became quality. Yet most who touched magic remained stuck at the first step, never passing novice rank. Only with vast reserves could one ascend.
Ryze taught Rosha because of his ability to enter deep meditation. In such a state, mana grew dozens or even hundreds of times faster.
It was why dragons and phoenixes were acknowledged as the mightiest magical beings. They could enter deep meditation, and with their long lifespans, their magical achievements reached unmatched heights. For humans, whose lives were short, deep meditation meant growth as swift as wildfire.
Ryze watched Rosha sitting in meditation, then settled himself into his own.
"Teacher!" Rosha's voice broke his concentration. Sheepishly, he said, "I think… I advanced."
Ryze's eyes bulged. On Rosha's wrist glowed a seven-colored circular mark—a mana seal of a mid-level mage.
In barely five months, from ignorant beginner to full intermediate? It was absurd. It was obscene. It was genius.
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