I. The Weight of F-Class
In the years following the Rite of Awakening, life in Barren Town became a slow torment for Arthur. The "F-Class" stigma proved to be more adhesive than the very dust of the town. While Alex and Satella continued to love him unconditionally, his father's anxieties began to fester. "If a man's mana is lacking," Alex would insist, "he must compensate with the strength of his back in the fields!"
By the age of six, Arthur was already toiling alongside his father. Because his mana was so frail, even the simplest tasks felt twice as grueling.
One afternoon, Arthur attempted to irrigate the crops using a basic Water Droplet spell. A feat the other village children could perform in seconds—manipulating enough water to levitate a bucket—remained an impossibility for him. As he struggled to manifest that tiny, pale blue orb, his mana was violently repelled by the 'Seal' nestled within his core. The droplet flickered, trembled, and dissipated into mist within moments.
"Curse this Seal!" Arthur hissed under his breath.
Just then, Poyraz, a neighbor's son only a year older, sauntered over. Poyraz was a practitioner of the Earth element and possessed B-Class mana.
"Still playing with that pathetic droplet, Arthur?" Poyraz smirked, his voice dripping with derision. "Here, let me show you how it's done."
Poyraz pressed his palm to the earth. The ground beneath him vibrated subtly, and with a casual flick of his will, a smooth stone block weighing nearly a hundred kilograms rose from the dirt.
"Do you see the difference? This is power. Yours is... nothing but vapor. An F-Class mage is as useless as a field mouse. You are nothing but a burden to this town."
Arthur's face flushed a deep crimson, a cocktail of fury and humiliation boiling in his chest. "I will get stronger! Just you wait!" he shouted.
Poyraz merely laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "No, you won't. Magic is in the blood, in nobility, in one's birthright. Your peasant blood and that Seal will keep you weak forever."
II. The Futility of Secret Trials
As he approached his early teens, Arthur's inner rebellion intensified. Desperate to escape a future bound to the soil, he began training in secret.
Every night, under the indifferent gaze of the stars, he would retreat to a dried-up riverbed on the outskirts of town. His goal was singular: to break the Seal. He pushed his mana to its limits, trying to force it out faster, harder, more desperately.
But with every attempt to release his power, a searing pain would radiate through his chest, as if the Seal were a tightening vice. During one such trial, pushing his body to the brink of collapse, he finally managed to release a surge of mana slightly larger than usual. Yet, the output was not the fluid, crystalline Water magic he expected. Under the immense pressure, the meager mana simply evaporated, lacking even the strength to dampen the dust at his feet.
Arthur collapsed, gasping for air in the dirt.
The Seal blocks the mana... but why is the small amount that escapes so unstable and weak?
By the time he turned twelve, nothing had changed. He was physically exhausted, spiritually drained, and his magical aptitude remained firmly at F-Class. Alex had finally begun to strip Arthur of his academic dreams, urging him to accept his fate.
"Arthur, let go of these hollow fantasies. You are a farmer," Alex said, his voice heavy with a hidden, aching desperation.
Arthur appeared to obey, but the fire of defiance within him only grew. He had died to save Anna; he refused to let this second life wither away as a mere field mouse.
III. A Moment of Clarity: The Observation
One afternoon, tragedy struck the fields. A farmer's arm was caught in a reaping tool, and blood began to soak the dry earth.
A traveling Light Element user who happened to be nearby rushed to the scene. With a serene glow of Light Mana, the mage enveloped the wound, knitting the flesh and halting the hemorrhage instantly.
Arthur felt the soothing resonance of the mana radiating from the mage's hands. In that moment, a spark of realization ignited.
"I want to heal, too," he thought. "The Water element is the essence of restoration. Perhaps the Seal does not guard against the intent of healing."
That night, during his clandestine training, Arthur changed his approach. Instead of forcing his mana outward, he tried to guide it against the internal structure of the Seal. His aim was not to release it into the world, but to press it gently against the Seal's own boundaries.
For the first time, the constriction in his chest was not a sharp pain, but a sensation of immense, concentrated pressure. Sweat poured down his face, but he did not relent. He nudged his mana into that resistance, slowly, deliberately.
And then, it happened.
Arthur's mana did not escape; it began to swirl and accumulate within the architecture of the Seal itself. Instead of dissipating, it started to condense. In Arthur's mind's eye, his pale blue mana—under the sheer weight of the Seal's pressure—transformed into a brilliant, shimmering crystal blue.
This was not a spell. It was refinement.
Arthur had not cast magic. But that night, he knew with absolute certainty that he had found the path to the source of his true power. The Seal was not a barrier; it was a pressure chamber.