By the time the first stone walls appeared on the horizon, the sun had begun its descent.
Rostam rose from the plains like a layered fortress of civilization. Thick outer walls circled the city, banners fluttering above watchtowers. Smoke drifted upward from chimneys beyond the gates.
Arman leaned slightly toward the window.
It was larger than he expected.
Roland noticed his gaze.
"Rostam is the central trade city of this region," the knight said. "Merchants from three provinces pass through."
Seraphine added calmly, "And mages."
The carriage slowed as they approached the main gate.
A line of travelers waited before two heavily armored guards. Wooden barriers controlled entry. Each traveler was questioned before being allowed inside.
When the Valeris crest became visible on the carriage door, the guards immediately straightened.
One of them stepped forward and bowed.
"Lady Seraphine. Sir Roland."
Seraphine inclined her head slightly.
The guard's eyes shifted briefly toward Arman.
Roland spoke smoothly, "He travels under our escort. His name is Arman. Record him."
The guard nodded without question.
"Very well."
No interrogation.
No inspection.
Just a mark written into a ledger.
The gates opened.
And the carriage rolled into Rostam.
The noise struck him first.
Voices layered over one another. Wagon wheels clattering. Street vendors shouting prices. The smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, leather, and iron filled the air.
It was alive.
Stone buildings lined the wide entry street, rising two and sometimes three stories high. Lanterns were being lit one by one as evening approached.
When the carriage stopped near a branching intersection, Roland stepped down first.
"This is where we part," the knight said.
Seraphine met Arman's eyes.
"The Mage Association is in the inner district. Ask for directions tomorrow."
She paused, then added softly, "And register. It will make things easier."
Arman nodded.
"Thank you. For the ride."
Roland gave him one last evaluating look.
With that, the carriage rolled onward toward the noble quarter.
Arman stood alone in the street.
Rostam.
He exhaled slowly.
"Status."
The translucent panel unfolded before him, faintly illuminated by nearby lantern light.
Name: Arman
Race: Human
Occupation: Mage
Level: 1
HP: 100 / 100
Mana: 38 / 50
Stamina: 74 / 100
Mana Control: 13%
Skills:
Mana Perception Lv. 1
Custom Spells:
Minor Fire Sphere (Improvised)
Mana had not fully recovered from the earlier fight.
Control had increased slightly.
Thirteen percent.
Small growth.
he sighed
He closed the panel.
It was already evening.
Registering at the Association now would be foolish. He was tired, hungry, and still mentally strained from combat.
First— Food.
Second— A bed.
Then tomorrow— Magic Association.
The deeper he walked into the commercial district, the louder it became.
Taverns overflowed with customers. Laughter and shouting spilled into the streets. Music drifted from open windows.
Arman paused outside one particularly lively inn.
A painted wooden sign swung above the door: a tankard and a crossed spoon.
[Mermaid Inn's]
Light poured from inside.
He pushed the door open.
The sound hit him immediately.
Conversations layered across the room. Merchants arguing over prices. Adventurers boasting about hunts. The scent of stew and roasted meat made his stomach tighten painfully.
"I'm starving," he muttered.
The interior was warm, golden light from hanging lanterns reflecting off polished wood tables. A long bar stretched along one wall, behind which a broad-shouldered man poured drinks with efficient motions.
Arman approached the counter.
The innkeeper glanced at him.
"Room or just a drink?"
"Room," Arman answered quickly. "And food. Whatever's available."
The innkeeper sized him up in a single practiced sweep.
"One night is six silver. Stew and bread is two."
Arman mentally calculated.
Acceptable.
"I'll take it."
Coins changed hands.
A wooden key slid across the counter.
"Upstairs, third door on the right. Food's coming."
Arman sat at the bar while waiting.
Around him, fragments of conversation drifted through the noise.
"…Association test next week…"
"…escort contract doubled…"
"…alchemy materials out of stock…"
He listened quietly.
Information.
Always valuable.
A bowl of thick stew and warm bread was placed before him.
The first bite nearly made him sigh aloud.
After days of simple road rations, this felt luxurious.
Warm.
Spiced.
Real.
As he ate, he glanced subtly around the tavern.
Several cloaked figures bore staff-like weapons.
One table in the corner had a faint shimmer of mana around it.
Mages.
Or at least spell users.
Tomorrow, he would step into that world formally.
Tonight—
He needed rest.
When he finished his meal, Arman climbed the stairs to his rented room.
Small.
Simple.
Clean enough.
He locked the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed.
Rostam's noise filtered faintly through the window.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep should have come easily after the day he'd had.
But his mind wouldn't stop moving.
One fire sphere costs half my mana.
That was inefficient.
Too costly for street fights. Too risky for ambushes.
He lifted his hand slightly, staring at his palm in the dim lantern light.
"Fire is expensive," he murmured. "Heat, refinement, compression… too many layers."
Too many variables.
Too much structure.
He rolled onto his side.
What if I remove the reaction entirely?
No oxygen refinement.No ignition.No elemental conversion.
Just force.
His thoughts sharpened.
Slip had been cheap.
Pull had been cheap.
Both relied on minimal mana and direct manipulation.
So what about—
Push.
Not fire.
Not reaction.
Just compressed mana released outward.
He sat up slowly.
"Status."
The panel appeared again.
≡ Status ≡
Arman — Human — Level 1
Occupation: Mage
──────────────
HP: 100 / 100
Mana: 39 / 50
Stamina: 45 / 100
Mana Control: 13%
──────────────
SkillsMana Perception Lv. 1
SpellsMinor Fire Sphere (Improvised)
──────────────
Mana had recovered slightly since earlier.
Enough to test.
He extended his hand toward the wooden wall opposite his bed.
Small experiment.
No destruction.
Just force.
He closed his eyes.
Instead of layering heat and reaction, he built a simpler structure.
Compression — but shallow.No refinement.No binding to matter.Just gathering mana in his palm.
He formed it into a thin disc.
Not a sphere.
Flat.
Like pressure.
His temples tightened slightly.
Less complex.
Less drain.
He aimed at the wall.
"Release."
A dull thud echoed in the room.
The air in front of his palm distorted briefly.
The wooden wall rattled.
Arman blinked.
No explosion.
No flame.
No recoil.
Mana: 33 / 50.
Six mana.
He stared at the numbers.
"Six…"
He had just created force for a fraction of fire sphere's cost.
His breathing quickened.
He tried again — weaker compression this time.
Release.
A softer pulse pushed against the wooden chair near the table.
It scraped backward slightly.
Mana: 30 / 50.
Three mana.
Even cheaper.
He froze.
That was significant.
Fire sphere = 25+
Mana Push = 3–6 mana.
He leaned back slowly.
"It's not about elements," he whispered. "It's about structure weight."
Fire required chemistry.
Push required pressure.
Simpler logic.
Lower mana cost.
His lips curved faintly.
This could interrupt attacks.
Break balance.
Create distance.
He adjusted the design slightly.
Instead of a wide disc, he narrowed it — concentrating force in a tighter area.
Compression.Directional channel.Short release.
He tested again — this time toward the bedpost.
The bed shook sharply.
The impact was stronger than expected.
Mana: 24 / 50.
That one had cost more.
Higher compression meant higher cost.
He nodded slowly.
Scalable.
He could tune it.
A light flicker passed before his vision.
New Spell Created: Mana Push
Type: Force Manipulation
Mana Cost: Low
Stability: Moderate
Efficiency: Good
Arman exhaled slowly.
Better.
Much better.
He leaned back against the wall, satisfied.
In real combat—
Push could interrupt.
Slip could destabilize.
Pull could open guards.
And fire sphere?
Reserved for decisive strikes.
Not waste.
Not display.
Structure.
He looked at the panel one more time.
Mana: 24 / 50.
Enough left.
But he forced himself to stop.
"No overtraining."
Mana channels still felt tender from yesterday.
He lay down again, this time calmer.
Two spells.
One inefficient.
One promising.
Tomorrow, he would register at the Mage Association.
The thought lingered at the edge of his mind.
Fire sphere — costly, unstable, powerful in short bursts.Mana Push — simple, scalable, efficient.
Two foundations.
Two directions.
The city noise outside had softened into a distant murmur. Laughter drifted faintly from the tavern below, followed by the clink of mugs and low music.
Arman stared at the ceiling.
Today he had almost died.
Today he had created a spell in a rented inn room.
Today he had entered Rostam under noble escort.
Everything had changed in less than a week.
His body finally began to feel heavy.
Mana flowed sluggishly but steadily within him, like a slow river recovering after a storm. His thoughts grew slower.
Register. Learn control. Expand capacity.
The plan repeated once.
Then again.
Then it dissolved.
His breathing deepened.
Outside, the lantern light flickered faintly against the window frame.
Inside, Arman drifted past thought and calculation, past structure and optimization.
Into sleep.
And for the first time since leaving Pine Village