I sit on my bed, exhausted.

I have only one priority at this moment: getting some good sleep.

Hashing out the details with Clodia wasn’t super easy. I could have pushed more, but I avoided imposing too much.

Violante was fired. Same for Melina. I told her I didn’t need mean, gossipy people with me. Toxicity is the bane of any work environment.

But more importantly, I yawn as I remove my clothes and get under the thick, rough blanket.

Lorenzo, thank you.

I utter a little prayer for the man. I still have no idea what that whole thing with the vision was. I take a long look at the book, still sitting on the table in the middle of the room.

I am not a [Mage]. I am a baker.

I almost gave up. I almost lost my pride as a baker. I could have been abused, bullied, and treated like a piece of crap—and if I had relinquished who I am, I would have betrayed everything my mom made me promise.

I stare at the thick tome, the Omnium Compendium, courtesy of Magister Mulligan.

I’m sure that the breadth of magic inside of it is limitless. I’m not stupid, you see. I know that if that thing came out of a Dragon Lady’s lair, it must be good. Hell, I’d be surprised if it wasn’t a legendary artifact.

On another day, I should actually think about what to do with it.

Not now, though.

I’m too tired. Even more than I should be.

But I do wonder why someone would get so excited over it, right? It’s the book that does incredible magic, not me. When Lucinda thought I had learned so fast about a [Light] spell, it was only thanks to the book.

Anyone who owned a copy of it could have probably done the same—if not better. Now, if that had been a magical recipe book, I could have said that in my hands, it would not have been wasted.

But this one?

Meh.

I am not a [Mage]. I am not interested in becoming some super-powerful freak who just keeps getting heroic missions left and right.

I’d be more interested in bridging the unsteady gaps with Lucinda. Our last interaction sucked. But I’m sure that I could get her through her ravenous appetite.

Maybe I can teach her to associate me with good food—sort of like a Pavlovian experiment.

Would that be unethical?

I mean, that’s the same as asking if being this handsome and good at cooking was unethical.

And the answer is perhaps.

Jokes aside, I feel bad for having the book with me. If I trusted Lucinda a bit more, I would give it to her. But I don’t want to be blinded by them heavies, if you know what I mean.

What if she gets the Omnium Compendium and goes on a magic craze and becomes crazy or something?

Not crazy because she’s a [Mage]. Crazy because she would be obsessed.

But as the tiredness comes over me, I keep wondering about this magic thing. See, I’m used to making decisions by weighing the pros and the cons. I know the book could teach me something useful—I’m not entirely opposed to that.

However, that is the exact same thing as saying that you could go to med school as a hobby, isn’t it? What happens when you have a degree, you are a trained professional, and someone suddenly falls ill in front of you, huh?

What do you do? Tell them to die because you are just a hobby doctor?

If I opened the Omnium Compendium, it wouldn’t be casual—I can tell you that much. It would be hardcore.

The book doesn’t play; whatever magic it holds, it’s clearly beyond these times. And if I start learning magic beyond what most people here can do, what’s next for me? Becoming a [Hero]? How long until only I have enough power to resolve some huge issue and I get roped into the next quest to save the world?

But I’ll tell you, I don’t want to save the world. If you do, good for you. Personally, I just want a quiet life. I don’t want the magic to suck the life and fun out of me.

Why should I go on a quest where every single person that I meet – if not also those who were close to me – could get hurt? Why risk death?

I mean, have you ever thought about it?

Why. Risk. Dying.

Isn’t that the most compelling argument one could make about not wanting to do something? Let’s say you are into bungee jumping, ok?

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Why?

Not only it provides nothing useful in return like magic would, but what happens if the rope snaps? Well, you become instant pastrami—that’s what happens.

But Joey, even driving a car could kill you.

Sure. Even going out of your house could. Now, if you turn on your brain for a second, you realize that most things are on a scale. A gradient. A range. A line where, in the middle, rests the reasonable tick; everything on the left is progressively more reasonable, like going out to buy groceries with your car, and on the right, it slowly becomes less reasonable, like climbing Mount Everest because you’re in a mid-life crisis.

Let’s say there’s a very plain-looking woman, and her husband is a mob boss. Do you have an affair with her? I mean, unless you are seeking the risk of being killed, the answer should be no. Then, take a tremendously hot woman who’s married to a French accountant. Wouldn’t that be a bit of a better option?

Once, while having this very argument with a friend of a friend, I heard that if all of humanity thought like me, we would have never discovered America.

On the one hand, I might even agree. On the other, is that even related? Exploring new lands in an era when very little of the world was known made sense. Was it dangerous? Sure. But it came with rewards. Plus, men sometimes do the most inane stuff to get away from their wives.

I’d bet anything that that’s how Columbus got to the US. There must have been a Miss Columbus at home nagging him about his passion for boats.

Anyway, back on track.

There are progressively more – and less – reasonable risks. Some of them are worth taking. Maybe, some of them are worth taking only for the right people. I traveled to the best countries for baking and pastries alone, even though I couldn’t put my signature on a single contract. I went across Europe to learn from masters, challenging everything I knew about my world and going against all that my family had ever wanted for me.

When I look at the book, though, I really get the impression that it’s something much worse than bungee jumping. It looks like jumping out of a plane naked without knowing if the plane already took off.

As I’m thinking about all of this, though, something comes over me.

[Advanced Mana Sense]

I activate the skill the book has gifted me.

I look at the beautiful world made of energy, a dimmer, darker world where only the brightest speckles of energy mean anything. I look at it and swiftly form a [Light] matrix at the other side of the room.

Slowly, I trace the ever-moving squiggly lines and then turn off [Advance Mana Sense].

[Light]

I look at a blinding yellow light with my eyes almost closed.

Just because I chose not to practice magic doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate its beauty.

Magic would be the ultimate tool, right? Why be a doctor when you could be a magical doctor? Why be anything if you could just add the word ‘magical’ in front of it?

It’s like salt. Salt is good on everything; it doesn’t matter what. It makes life taste better.

And magic is the equivalent of salt but on a whole new level.

Who knows, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there’s something I could get from magic. Perhaps, there’s something much, much bigger than me to consider.

But I’m just a normal guy who somehow ended up in a fantasy world – what do I know?

That being said, I finally roll over and pull the blanket over my head—not because I’m depressed but because I don’t know how you turn off that [Light].

After an exhausting day, I finally fell asleep.

...

Joey fell asleep on his bed, slowly descending into a nightmare. He had fought extremely hard to keep the fickle balance he had created in only a couple of weeks. But his mind was set on denying him any rest.

At that moment, the pages of the Omnium Compendium suddenly turned one by one until they stopped on a life-like drawing—it almost looked like a photograph.

It depicted an epic battle between a heroic-looking man and a monstrous, gigantic Hydra with seven heads. The monster’s scales shined like glistening jewels in the sunlight, and its fiery breath scorched the land around it. The young man, clad in gleaming armor, stood tall and fearless as he wielded his powerful magic staff against the beast.

The heroic man, his face determined and his eyes blazing, held a staff in one hand and a sword in the other as he faced off against the hydra. The beast was a massive, snarling creature, each of its seven enormous heads snapping and writhing in attempts to tear the man apart.

The drawing was truly a work of art, capturing the intensity and the drama of the scene. It was clear that the artist had put a lot of effort into creating a realistic and detailed depiction – as the young man and the hydra battled, the tension in the air was palpable.

The scene was so vivid and life-like that one almost expected the two figures to pop out of the book and continue their fight in real life.

Suddenly, a wizened hand ran over the image.

An old man looked down at the picture, chuckling.

He traced the lines of his own face, now etched with the scars of many battles and with the signs of age. He remembered that day well – the heat of the sun beating down upon him, the smell of unbound, raw Mana in the air, and the overwhelming sense of determination that filled his every fiber.

“We really squared off that day,” he shook his head as his powerful voice made the air around him tremble. “And they still don’t know about it.”

The old man looked amused at the thought, observing the seven terrible heads.

He wore a flowing robe embroidered with intricate, blazing designs, and a huge, pointed hat made of strange leather sat on his head. His long beard flowed like a river made of silver, tracing upwards and almost reaching his two piercing, deep-blue eyes.

As he looked down at the picture, he felt a note of pride. He had dedicated his life to the pursuit of magical knowledge and the betterment of his kind, and the ripples of his work would forever be etched into the pages of history. Even though only a few would remember his name, there were many things he had left behind that would purport his legacy.

His descendants still lived and prospered, albeit none held the same talent he had possessed at their age. Which, incidentally, was the reason he had tried so hard when making the Omnium Compendium.

“A Vanedeni is not born but forged,” he muttered while caressing his greatest accomplishment.

Raising an heir would have been impossible until recently. That damned remnant of legends had somehow plundered his magnificent creation and whisked it away to sleep on it.

Now, the book was finally free again and on another continent.

“The day this returns to Kome, it shall be with an heir deserving of my inheritance,” the old man patted the book.

Then, something disturbed his reminiscing of the past and future plans.

He turned and saw the young other-worlder suffering from agitated sleep again. He flickered a finger, producing a blueish hue around the youngster. The light was slowly fading away.

“[Mindful Clarity] is wearing off,” the old man shook his head. “Let this child have a [Dreamless Sleep], then.”

Huge spell matrixes flashed upon each other and collapsed, creating a reticle that covered Joey. Suddenly, the young man’s breathing became regular.

The old man stared at the troubled youth and remembered how poorly he had treated his own family in the past.

I will let him decide. I won’t interfere. But he will soon realize why power is so important.

And so, the old man sighed and disappeared.

The book closed itself, the picture disappearing from its pages.