Jan lifted the heavy book, reading the words etched on its cover:
"The Writings of Master Loris Thorne, Former Archmage of Sunrina."
Of the three books he'd borrowed, this was the only one he hadn't picked by choice. In fact, he was looking for something much thinner.
Jan was diving into a completely new field. He had hoped to ease in gradually—start with a few lighter reads and build a foundation. But as it turned out, magic books were incredibly rare.
Most were stored in the private libraries of the Magic Academies—elite institutions located on the higher floors, founded for research, advancement, and the formal study of magic.
Ordinary towns, on the other hand, weren't permitted to keep texts on magic—it was 'too risky'.
When Jan asked Basil how this one ended up here, the librarian simply shrugged.
"It's the only magic book I'm allowed to keep," he said. "No idea why they made an exception for this one."
Jan had a theory.
"It was the one book useless enough to not be a risk..."
Jan smiled bitterly, flipping the book over in his hands.
As the title suggested, the author had once been an Archmage at one of those elite academies. He'd probably taught magic himself—that was the only glimmer of hope Jan had about this book.
Asking for help wasn't really an option either. The only person who could've—Maria—was now swamped with managing an entire town.
"It's not like I have any other choice," Jan muttered, opening the book. "I'll start with the introduction and decide from there."
***
Page 1:
This is a letter that might never find its recipient.
Years ago, when I was still the Great Teacher of Sunrina's Magic Hall, I was asked by my student and dear friend, Garlet, to write a book about magic. I refused at the time, saying my research was not yet complete.
Now, forty years later, I find myself still unfinished.
I have retired from teaching. I spend my days locked in my chambers, studying magic and every theory beneath the sky. I have turned away guests, ignored celebrations, and outlived everyone I once held dear—my wife, my daughter, and even Garlet who perished in the Tower.
I have made progress. A great deal of it, in fact. But I never reached the end. My goal was never to write a book of spells. I sought the very essence of magic itself.
But sometimes, all you can do is compromise.
Lately, I've felt my days are numbered. And now, I fear all of my work will die with me.
I do not regret the path I chose. But I curse the world I wanted to change—it was never meant to be. Perhaps I lacked the one thing needed to reshape it: Interference.
If you're reading this, and you've found a way to touch the world more deeply than I ever could—then congratulations. Perhaps I was simply born too early. Or perhaps I reached too far, too soon.
***
Page 2:
I suppose it began with a question—far too simple for the storm it stirred.
"Why do we heroes revive, while you guys don't?"
Garlet had asked it over tea, in his usual casual way. But the moment passed, and the question didn't.
It rooted itself in my thoughts like a splinter I couldn't pull free.
At first, I thought the answer was obvious. But the more I tried to explain it—even to myself—the more it slipped away.
I lost sleep over that question.
How could an Archmage like me fail to answer something so simple?
Was it the only question I'd ever failed to answer in my life? Hardly.
In truth, I've been haunted by questions like that since I was a boy. They were the reason I started studying magic in the first place.
Questions such as:
Why do those who become priests begin to work miracles seemingly out of nowhere?
Why does one person's flame barely warm the air, while another's can burn down entire forests—despite having the same Mana reserves?
Why can two mages chant the same words and get entirely different results?
Why can heroes revive? And why is that only true if they die outside the Tower?
***
'Did I just stumble onto a hidden gem?' Jan's eyes lit up. 'This is way better than I thought!'
Eager, he flipped the page—only to be hit with very first lines:
Will I be answering these questions in this book?
No.
"Goddammit!" Jan sighed. "Well, he did say the research wasn't finished."
***
Page 3:
Will I be answering these questions in this book?
No.
However, whether you're a beginner first discovering magic, or an expert set in your ways, I will do my best to open your eyes to its unlimited potential.
***
Page 4
Chapter Breakdown:
Though this book remains unfinished in both theory and practice, I have done my best to divide it into a structure that reflects my journey toward understanding.
This is not a manual of spells. It is a journal of discoveries—some certain, many still hazy. But all of it, I believe, will help you see the nature of magic more clearly.
What sets this book apart from others that claim to teach magic is not just what it explains, but how—through a theory I've spent a lifetime refining: one that seeks to reveal how magic truly works.
Naturally, a different purpose demands a different structure.
Most magic texts follow a standard format of four chapters:
On the Nature of Mana
Inner Flow and Control
Projection and Form
Catalysts and Their Role
I do not deny the value of these foundations. In fact, they will make up the majority of this work.
But rather than treating them as separate, isolated pillars, I have chosen to unite them under a single chapter: Mana Control.
This will serve as the second chapter of the book. Naturally, it would have to follow what precedes all control: Mana Reserve—what it is, how it awakens, and why it differs so vastly between individuals.
The third, and indeed final chapter, is dedicated to a part of magic few understand, and even fewer dare to explore: Interference.
***
'He seems very confident, I'll give him that… I hope this doesn't end up being a wild goose chase.' Jan frowned, flipping the page.
***
Page 5
Both the traditional breakdown and my own stem from our attempts to understand what magic truly is—and how it works.
The standard consensus suggests that a spell is constructed by following a clear sequence of steps. Let me simplify it:
[1] Calm mind → Inner Flow (feel mana)
↓
[2] Focus → Project (choose direction or target)
↓
[3] Form → Gesture / Word / Intent (shape the magic)
↓
[4] (Optional) Catalyst → staff, scroll, etc.
↓
[5] Cast
But over the years, I've come to believe this is not magic itself.
This is simply how we understand the casting of a spell.
If we were to reduce magic to its essence, to its raw formula, it would resemble mathematics more than ritual.
A truer, more refined expression might look like this:
Magic = Inner Flow + Projection + Form + Catalyst
But even this, I would argue, is not the final equation.
Could we simplify it even further?
Now, most mages would scoff—if not outright accuse you of heresy—for suggesting such a thing. Our culture adores complexity—it gives the illusion of mastery.
But during my time as both a student and teacher, I noticed something peculiar.
We speak of Inner Flow, Projection, and Form separately in theory. But during actual practice? We refer to them collectively as Control.
Even my students would ask:
"If we only call it control when casting… why not just call it that from the start?"
Many masters would be appalled by such a question. They'd call it lazy, or worse—beneath the craft.
But in truth…
The question is just honest.
So let me offer you the first real simplification:
Magic = Mana Control
***
'It makes sense so far,' Jan thought, flipping to the next page. 'Sounds a bit like wordplay though… probably because I haven't studied this before.'
***
Page 6:
The simplified equation would be enough—if it answered my friend Garlet's question:
"Why do we heroes revive, while you guys don't?"
Or if it explained the dozens of questions I've had since childhood; perhaps even ones you have asked yourself.
But it doesn't.
If we were dealing with something impossible, the answer would be easy.
We'd simply say: That is the limit of magic.
But the world itself disproves that.
We see it every day.
Heroes die… and they come back.
In our towns. In our halls.
Again and again.
And if it's possible—then magic must have the capacity to replicate it.
It's not as though eternal life or resurrection haven't been studied—they are among the most beloved subjects in all magical academia. Every mage worth his salt had at least read a book or two on the topic.
Magical circles have been drawn.
Spells have been written, refined, tested, evolved—for centuries.
And every single one… has failed.
Why?
Maybe Garlet asks the "big" questions, so let me start small:
Why do two people, with equal mana reserves and equal control, produce different fire spells?
I am an Archmage.
My mana reserve is greater than the priest of our town.
And yet… he can cast healing magic, and I cannot.
Some masters explain the first mystery by saying it's about affinity: one person simply has more affinity for fire than the other.
But what about the second?
Why do priests, upon devoting themselves to faith, suddenly gain an affinity for light magic?
And it's not just priests.
I have seen heroes wield both light and dark magic freely—without contradiction.
So I ask again:
Is affinity truly a fixed trait? Or is it something that can be acquired?
Personally, I doubt its rigidity.
Or at least, I doubt that it's locked forever, for the world itself keeps proving us wrong.
Or rather—certain people in this world keep proving us wrong:
Heroes.
***
'I guess even other heroes don't know how it works. It's like my lightning reflection, I can just do it. I don't know how I'm doing it though...'
***
Page 7:
Let's ask the right question here:
What is a Hero really?
Most folks will simply answer: people brought from another dimension to save the world.
That much is true.
They might not be doing a great job, but they are truly here to save the world. Saving it requires them to change it, to 'interfere' with it, and from what we have seen and discussed so far, they seem to have the power to do it in their very essence.
I call it: Interference.
Is it something exclusive to heroes?
No. Our native priests are living rebuttals of such exclusivity.
By devoting themselves to Zypher, they gain light affinity.
They gain Interference. But it's limited—and eventually, it runs dry.
That's why I call it Borrowed Interference.
I believe everyone has Interference, but unlike heroes, it's limited. I see Interference as the other half of the equation. It's not only the essence of magic, but the essence of the world itself.
But enough about the conclusion—let us go back to the foundation.
***
Chapter 1: Mana Reserve.
***
[Congratulations! Your skill has improved: "Reader Lv. 2"]
A system message suddenly popped up before Jan's eyes.
'It leveled up?' He blinked. 'But I've only read six pages!'
He'd read way more after first acquiring the skill, and it hadn't improved back then.
'Maybe it's about quality over quantity… like killing a high-level monster? You gain more levels from that.'
He paused, then smirked. 'Listen to me—I sound like an expert now.'
Jan chuckled quietly to himself.
Meanwhile, from a shadowed corner of the guild hall, Aeris squinted at him, puzzled.
'I thought he was reading a book on magic… Why is he giggling like an idiot?'