Rostam was louder at night.
Lantern light washed the streets in gold. Music drifted from taverns. The smell of roasted meat hung thick in the air.
Arman and Altair walked back toward the inn in silence.
Not awkward.
Measured.
The weight of the day settling between them.
Inside the Mermaid Inn, warmth greeted them instantly.
Wooden tables filled the room. Merchants argued. Adventurers laughed too loudly. Tankards clinked.
They chose a table near the wall.
Altair removed his gloves slowly.
Arman exhaled.
"Food first," he said.
Altair nodded once.
They ordered simple fare—roasted meat, bread, mushroom stew, and ale.
For a while, they ate in silence.
Then Arman spoke.
"You said you died."
"Yes."
"How?"
Altair did not hesitate.
"Overwork."
Arman looked up.
Altair's gaze remained calm, but distant.
"I was a film editor. Long hours. Tight deadlines. Constant revisions. Studio pressure."
Arman blinked.
"A film editor?"
"Yes."
"Modern world?"
"Yes."
Arman leaned back slightly.
"Same."
Altair's eyes shifted toward him.
"What did you do?"
"Programmer."
A faint, almost invisible smile touched Altair's lips.
"Figures."
Arman scoffed lightly.
"Late nights?"
"Constant."
"Caffeine?"
"Daily."
They shared a brief, quiet understanding.
No explanation needed.
Altair continued.
"One day I didn't wake up."
"Heart?" Arman asked.
"Likely."
Arman nodded slowly.
"Same."
Silence settled again.
Not heavy.
Just real.
"You were given a choice too?" Arman asked quietly.
Altair's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Yes."
"To live again."
"Yes."
"And you chose?"
Altair did not answer immediately.
Then—
"I chose power."
Arman watched him carefully.
"You?"
Arman thought back to that moment.
Standing before something vast.
A second chance.
"I chose magic."
Altair studied him.
"Then we chose similar paths."
They finished eating.
Arman leaned forward slightly.
"How long have you known there are others like us?"
Altair shook his head.
"I don't know if there are."
"You've never met another?"
"No."
He paused.
"You're the first."
Arman felt that settle.
Two outsiders.
In an entire world.
Or maybe not.
But for now—
Two.
They paid and stood.
"Rest," Altair said.
"Tomorrow?"
"We continue. Taking quest, to earn money and maybe getting stronger in this world"
Arman hesitated for a second.
"Altair."
He paused mid-step.
"The shadow abilities you use… are those from your class? From being an Assassin?"
Altair studied him briefly.
"Partially."
"Partially?"
"My class gives affinity. Compatibility. Slight boost in learning speed."
He adjusted his gloves.
"But the techniques themselves? I learned them."
"From the system?" Arman asked.
"No."
Altair's voice was calm.
"From a mentor."
Arman blinked.
"There are teachers who can train shadow arts?"
"Yes."
"So the system doesn't give you skills directly?"
"It provides structure," Altair replied. "It measures growth. Sometimes it unlocks potential. But it doesn't replace training."
That settled heavily in Arman's thoughts.
"So you can't just level up and automatically learn something new?"
"Not without effort."
Arman felt strangely relieved.
This world still respected discipline.
"Then the system is more like… an interface."
"Exactly."
They stepped toward the stairs.
Arman lowered his voice slightly.
"Do you have the shop?"
Altair stopped walking.
"…You do too."
"Yes."
Altair exhaled lightly.
"I checked it years ago."
"And?"
"Pointless."
Arman nodded.
"I saw a book called 'Introduction to Magic.' It was free."
Altair's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Free?"
"Yes."
Altair was silent for a moment.
"Mine was not."
Arman's mind sharpened.
Different starting benefits?
Strange.
"What about the other items?" Arman asked.
Altair's tone flattened.
"Hundreds of gold. Thousands."
Arman grimaced.
"I saw weapons worth more than a noble estate."
"Yes."
"Have you ever bought anything?"
"No."
"Why?"
Altair looked at him evenly.
"If I had thousands of gold, I would invest in land. Influence. Real resources."
Not system items.
Arman understood.
"System shop isn't a shortcut."
"No."
"It's bait."
Altair did not deny it.
They reached the staircase.
"For now," Altair said calmly, "we grow the old way."
"Training. Combat. Experience."
"Yes."
Arman nodded slowly.
Altair continue to walk upstairs
"See You Tomorrow," Altair repeated.
then he already gone upstairs.
Followed suits Arman also walk upstairs.
Upstairs, Arman locked his door and sat on the edge of the bed.
Today he fought properly.
Leveled up.
Earned money.
Met someone like him.
He focused inward.
"Status."
≡ Status ≡
Arman — Human — Level 2
Occupation: Mage
──────────────
HP: 115 / 115
Mana: 63 / 63
Stamina: 110 / 110
Mana Control: 16%
──────────────
Skills
Mana Perception Lv. 1
Spells
Minor Fire Sphere (Improvised)
Mana Push
Flame Bolt
──────────────
Level 2.
Still far from Rank Two.
Still far from 100 mana.
But growing.
Steadily.
Arman lay on the bed for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling.
Level 2 felt significant.
But compared to Rank Two requirements—
He was still far behind.
Sixty-three mana.
He needed one hundred.
And more importantly—
He needed control.
He sat up slowly.
"If I rely only on quests, it'll take too long."
He crossed his legs on the bed and closed his eyes.
Mana circulation.
Slow intake.
Even distribution.
Gentle contraction.
No compression.
No release.
Just flow.
The first few minutes felt normal.
Then smoother.
The internal resistance he once felt—like friction inside his channels—had reduced compared to before.
Level had strengthened his core.
He continued.
Breathing steady.
Mana cycling rhythmically.
After nearly half an hour, he opened his eyes.
A faint clarity lingered in his mind.
He called his status.
≡ Status ≡
Arman — Human — Level 2
Occupation: Mage
──────────────
HP: 115 / 115
Mana: 64 / 64
Stamina: 110 / 110
Mana Control: 17%
──────────────
+1 mana.
+1% control.
Slow.
But real.
He nodded slightly.
"This is the foundation."
He leaned back against the wall and opened the system window.
Shop.
Still filled with absurd prices.
Weapons worth hundreds of gold.
Skill tomes worth thousands.
Pointless.
He closed it and opened the free grimoire he had received earlier.
"Introduction to Magic."
He skimmed familiar sections—
Then he remembered that in library there's spell called Mage's Hand.
A simple force manipulation spell.
Utility-based.
Below 1 degree.
Low mana cost.
But versatile.
He read carefully.
Unlike Mana Push—which was easy to cast and burst—
Mage's Hand required sustained output.
Stable flow.
Continuous control.
Instead of compressing mana—
You shaped it.
Maintained it.
Held it in form.
He raised his palm slowly.
Refinement.
Minimal compression.
Stability.
Extension.
He whispered softly,
"[Mage's Hand]."
A faint translucent outline formed in front of him.
Rough.
Unstable.
It flickered.
Then collapsed.
Mana: 62 / 64.
Cheap.
But his control wasn't steady enough.
also it's hard to keep maintaning focus.
He tried again.
This time, slower.
More stable layering.
No sudden force.
The translucent hand formed again.
Clearer.
Five fingers.
It hovered awkwardly in the air.
He focused.
The fingers twitched.
It trembled.
Then steadied.
He smiled faintly.
"Useful."
He extended it toward the table and nudged a cup slightly.
The cup moved.
Small.
But controlled.
Mana: 58 / 64.
Sustained drain.
So this was a maintenance-type spell.
He dismissed it.
Mana regenerated slowly.
He leaned forward slightly.
"If Mage's Hand is just shaped force…"
Then theoretically—
It could be reshaped.
Not necessarily a hand.
A blade?
A spike?
A gauntlet?
He closed his eyes briefly.
Logic.
Structure.
Mage's Hand was simply:
Stable externalized mana construct
Shaped via intent
Maintained via continuous flow
He raised his palm again.
"[Mage's Hand]."
The translucent hand formed.
This time—
He reshaped the fingers.
Compressed them.
Elongated the structure.
Thinner.
Sharper.
The shape wavered.
Instability crept in.
Mana fluctuated.
The construct trembled violently—
Then collapsed.
Mana: 52 / 64.
He exhaled slowly.
Too unstable.
The more solid the shape—
The more compression required.
Which increased cost.
Mage's Hand was designed for utility, not combat.
Still—
The concept had potential.
"Force weapon…"
He imagined a Sword or any weapon that created from thin air, or maybe suddens shield.
Close combat.
No metal required.
He tried once more.
A rough, translucent edge formed.
Barely solid.
Barely sharp.
It lasted three seconds before dispersing.
Mana: 47 / 64.
He laughed quietly.
"I'm trying to reinvent Weapon Form."
Altair already had a shadow variant.
But Arman's path was different.
Force-based.
Element-neutral.
He dismissed the idea for now.
Mage's Hand first.
Mastery before modification.
He lay back on the bed again.
Today—
He learned:
Level increases foundation.
Mana circulation increases capacity.
Mage's Hand increases versatility.
then he drift asleep because of exhaustion.
Across the hall, in another quiet room—
Altair sat cross-legged in darkness.
He did not light a candle.
He did not remove his boots.
He simply closed his eyes.
"Status."
≡ Status ≡
Altair Everett — Human — Level 10
Occupation: Assassin
──────────────
HP: 162 / 162
Mana: 84 / 84
Stamina: 148 / 148
Mana Control: 28%
──────────────
Skills
Shadow Cloak
Enhanced Perception
Agility Boost
Weapon Form (Shadow)
──────────────
Level 10.
Three years.
Slow.
Controlled.
Disciplined.
He opened his eyes slightly.
"A mage," he murmured.
Interesting.
Then he lay back and closed his eyes.
In the same inn.
Under the same roof.
Two men from another world.
Both reborn.
Both building power.
And neither yet aware—
Of how wide this world truly was.
somewhere in the dark—
The system watched silently.