It's been a year since Camilla began tutoring me, and in that time, I've learned much about this world.
The empire was founded 1,546 years ago through the efforts of a single human—Jason Ketsra, the Hero. He made a contract with a god, promising to end a two-hundred-year war if he and his descendants were granted a portion of divine power. The god agreed, but demanded blood in exchange. A sacrifice.
To give such immense power to a human required a price, so Jason seized his own wrist and tore it off. In that moment, he was granted strength unimaginable to mortals. He could lift mountains. With a simple movement, he could send shockwaves tearing through the land.
But Jason was not the only one who sought power from the divine. Six others did the same, each from a different continent: the elf Elandor Sylvain, the demon Varaxes Malgrim, the dwarf Thrain Stoneheart, the goliath Grondar Titanbane, the phoenix Seraphine Aurelian, and the dragon Drakthar Vermillion.
All seven, empowered by seven different gods, clashed. Their battles raged endlessly, none gaining a decisive advantage. At last, they grew weary of conflict and began to forge their own kingdoms:
Kentaria, the human kingdom. Eltaria, the elven kingdom.w Dentaria, the demon kingdom. Dwartaria, the dwarven kingdom. Gantaria, the kingdom of giants. Phentaria, the kingdom of the phoenix. Drataria, the kingdom of dragons.
From those rulers came children, and from those children, lineages. Some royal bloodlines thinned into nobility, and others fell even further into peasantry. In some kingdoms, blessings could be passed on not only to heirs but to chosen subjects. Since each god had set different terms, powers began to spread beyond the royal families.
That is how, over generations, blessings trickled down into common bloodlines—allowing people like Camilla to be born with them. However, the lesser blessings do not require a blood sacrifice, nor do they increase the user's mental capacity much. But they have developed a trait, that it requires mana to use and isn't a skill active all the time.
Even so, none of these scattered blessings compared to the royal ones. Only the royals still maintained contact with their gods. Only their blessings remained truly divine.
As such the Royals families have continued to be in power. Never falling from their throne.
The human continent was the largest of the seven. It was divided into four factions, each ruled by a king. These four divisions had been established long ago, when Jason Ketsra, the founding hero, left his legacy to his four sons. Each son claimed a portion of the land, and their descendants continue to rule to this day.
Arthur Ketsra's father, David Ketsra, had secured an alliance with the Phoenix Kingdom through marriage—Arthur was wed to the Phoenix King's daughter. The two continents were thus bound by blood, an achievement matched only by two other unions: the alliance between demons and giants, and the pact between dwarves and dragons.
The most recent war had broken out shortly before Roland's birth, when Arthur was absent from the palace. The elves had provoked the conflict, but after a year and a half of bitter fighting, they were forced to withdraw against the combined might of humans and phoenixes. Rumors now whispered that another war might erupt within the next two or three years.
In the meantime, Roland had spent the past months learning. He now knew basic arithmetic, could read fluently, and had been trained in royal etiquette and the names of important nobles. Yet none of that held his interest.
Today was different. Today marked the beginning of his mana training. Physical training, for now, was out of reach—his toddler's body simply couldn't handle it. At best, a few clumsy sit-ups filled his mornings. Still, his golden eyes and refined features were already drawing attention from the maids. Roland, ever confident, liked to imagine himself a future heartthrob.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Knock, knock."
"Yes? Who is it?" Roland called.
"It's me, young master," came Camilla's voice.
"Come in."
The wooden door creaked open, and in stepped a small-statured maid in uniform. She carried a stack of seven thick books, each at least five hundred pages. With a polite bow, she placed them on the table.
"I've brought the items you requested, Sir Roland. I do hope they are to your liking."
"Yes, thank you very much, Camilla. You may leave now."
"Yes, master."
Her manner had grown noticeably more formal in recent weeks. Roland couldn't explain the change, but chose not to dwell on it.
He crawled out of bed, eyed the books, and then glanced at the chair across the room. Slowly, he dragged it toward the table, the legs screeching against the floor.
"Move it, you damned chair… get over there," he muttered under his breath.
With effort, he climbed up—but slipped.
Thud.
"Oooh, that hurt," he groaned, rubbing his head. His fingers came away wet. "Huh… I'm bleeding. Oh well, it'll heal right away."
Almost on cue, warmth surged from his heart to the wound. The skin closed, leaving no trace of injury.
"Alright, attempt number two." He steadied himself, climbed again, and this time succeeded. From atop the chair, he gazed at the towering pile of tomes. The morning light streaming through the window bathed them in a golden glow, as though the books themselves radiated knowledge.
"Intro to Magic," he read aloud. "I guess I'll start with that one."
The first passage was clear: The first task of any beginner mage is to sense the mana within their body. For most, mana flows from the heart—the source of life itself.
Roland nodded. That explained why healing always began with a warmth in his chest before flowing outward.
The heart provides blood to the body. Focus on it—on its rhythm—and then picture a white or blue energy spreading through your veins. For greater ease, an instructor may draw mana from your palm, helping you sense the flow more clearly.
Roland frowned. He had no instructor. But he had another idea.
"Well… I can just cut myself again and let it heal. Where's that knife from yesterday's meal? Oh, it's on the cupboard. Ugh, I don't want to walk all the way over there. Can't someone just bring it to me?"
Pop.
Roland blinked. A second child stood before him—a boy no older than two, with blond hair and golden eyes identical to his own. Without a word, the figure toddled toward the cupboard, picked up the knife, and carried it back.
Roland stared, wide-eyed. The child was him. Another Roland.