I woke up early, as I usually do, I checked my magic attribute. As expected, it had fully recovered to 0.4 in just 7 hours overnight. "Alright, time to have another nice, productive day," I thought to myself, and spent the next few minutes emptying out my mana pool for some fusion thing before depleting about half of my stamina.
Afterward, I resumed making progress on my next big challenge: reading books.
Yesterday was quite productive too. I managed to stroll through some corners of the city while purchasing items, although they were just ordinary things like a knife, a bell, and some glass bottles. I deemed them necessary for my little experiment since I didn't have any similar items at home.
I feared that if my parents noticed any missing items, it might lead to trouble explaining it to them.
Far too often, at the age of mid-twenties, I discover just how many things I took for granted in my past life. For instance, not having the muscle memory to run properly makes learning to run feel like stumbling around as if intoxicated, with the added challenge of nearly kissing the ground with every few steps, all without the numbing influence of alcohol to lessen the embarrassment.
As I sat at the table in my room, engrossed in my writing—my preferred method for increasing my Dexterity points, apart from engaging in light physical exercises—I found myself skillfully scribbling away. Suddenly, the enticing aroma of food cooking nearby, just six feet away, interrupted my focus. It surpassed any culinary experience I'd had in the past few years.
"What's that, Mom? It smells very good," I inquire, my mouth watering, as I attempt to be as normal as possible in hopes of eliciting a detailed response rather than a simple "just the usual meat."
I had been pondering this for a while. While the scent of my mother's cooking was delightful, the taste somehow failed to match up. It wasn't that the taste was terrible; rather, it lacked flavor if I were to describe it. I couldn't comprehend why, despite inspecting the kitchen to observe the ingredients she used, everything appeared to be normal.
"Oh, this? It's meat from a wild beast, hunted in the grounds near the city's edge, according to the merchant I bought it from," she said, like it was no big deal. The hunk of meat looked like it could feed a small army, but she handled it like a bag of groceries.
My mom wasn't exactly the type to sit around and watch soap operas, even on vacation. Dad had told me some stories about her crazy academy days, and let's just say, she wasn't one to mess with.
"What? There's such a big monster even near the forest's edge by the city?" I asked, my inner self freaking out at the idea of such massive wild creatures inhabiting areas not far from where I had been previously.
According to the trader, the monster wasn't even deep into the forest when it was hunted. I looked at the full corpse beneath her, one of the scattered parts resembled a hand as big as an old tree, with a sharp, black protrusion from the tip of its fingers, appearing dangerously menacing.
A sudden realization struck me: if such a monster had been present when I was practicing in that area before, I might not have made it back home at all.
The thought sent shivers down my spine.
"Duh, silly. Just like us, wild animals get mana too. And when they level up enough, they grow a mana core inside them. That mana juice makes them stronger and tastier," my sister said, like she was explaining the ABCs to a toddler. I swear, she thought she was the smartest person in the room, always ready to drop some knowledge bombs.
This information consumed my thoughts as I contemplated various high-level creatures and how they might have evolved. Drawing from knowledge of my past life and the plethora of fantasy fiction I had devoured in my teens, I pondered what their existence could signify for this world.
I had numerous questions swirling in my mind regarding such matters.
How many of these creatures were out there? Did defeating them yield significant experience points? Could they be domesticated, or were they perpetually aggressive? Could they acquire skills similar to ours?
However, I refrained from voicing these inquiries, as the previous version of myself wasn't quite as talkative. Plus, I still had yet to read through the books and newspapers I had brought back, a task I would have to tackle gradually while balancing other responsibilities, such as physical training.
"Wow! That drawing looks really good!" Clark blurted out, peeking at my paper. Unbeknownst to me, lost in thoughts about the possibilities of monsters, the scribbles that I had intentionally made to resemble childlike drawings had now begun to resemble the designs I created for my architecture classes.
The transformation had started only in the middle of the drawing, but it was significant enough to catch my mother's attention, leaving her looking at me in surprise.
"It seems you've got a talent for drawing? The fine lines are quite intricate, forming such a nice figure," She kindly remarked, attempting to express her enthusiasm for my newfound skill while also busy managing the cooking, all while juggling pots and pans.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"Drawing skill? But he's only a kid. And the drawing isn't even that good, Mom. Look, it's all wonky," my sister interjects, sounding like a grumpy cat. She was always trying to rain on my parade.
What are you, an art critic now? The Picasso of picky eaters?
"Congratulations, sweetie. You'll do well to level it up as much as you can before you're 15. After that, it's a no-go," my mother said, not only effectively shutting down and distracting me from my urge to give Shiela a piece of my mind, but her words also left me scratching my head.
What was the deal with this 15-year-old deadline?
My contemplation was interrupted by my father entering the house and asking, "Is everything ready? How's the food?"
"Yes, the stew only has a few more minutes until it's ready. Did you stay up all night last night?" my mother asked.
"Yeah, I was doing some additional work assigned by the Principal last night," he replied, lounging on the sofa in the living room. He looked exhausted and drenched in sweat from his hard work, striving to provide for the family.
"Rikt, are you sure you want to enter the imperial logistics someday after graduation? If you ever change your mind about becoming a blacksmith, I can refer a few friends with top-notch blacksmithing skills. He was an amazing guy in the field, I think," he mentioned, unbuttoning his shirt and undressing in front of everyone present. As usual, he seemed too lazy to change clothes in his room, which was quite a distance away from the living room.
"Yes, Dad, I'm sure. We both know I've been attempting to master it once, and despite your efforts to purchase manuals for me in the past, I still lack any proficiency with the hammer, let alone blacksmithing," I responded, as if we had already had this conversation multiple times before.
"My dear, it's best if you wash up before eating. Also, it's inappropriate to undress here," my mother said, her smile present as she spoke, giving off an amicable expression. But for some reason, my father didn't try to argue and promptly did as he was told. His outward expression also seemed tense, and I couldn't help but wonder why he reacted that way.
But, reflecting on some old memories of her, I could only smile wryly.
...
Following breakfast, I opted to head to the nearest library for a quick reading session once more.
While flipping through the newspapers on my way there, I stumbled upon something interesting: the "Encourage Procreation Plan." Apparently, the royal family was all about making babies. Every newspaper had a cheesy slogan in the corner:
[With every child, your family gains more hope]
And they weren't just talking the talk, they were walking the walk.
The plan offered some sweet deals for having kids. First kid? You're on your own. Second kid? Free education for both. Third kid and beyond? Free education, tax breaks, and a fat stack of cash. The more kids you popped out, the less you paid in taxes. And for those struggling to make ends meet, the baby bonuses were a lifesaver.
No wonder families were having more kids, like Riktor's with their six-pack of offspring. More people meant more workers, and with junior academies popping up everywhere, it was easier for talented folks to rise to the top.
"The more people there are, the more extraordinary individuals will appear. This 'Encourage Procreation Plan' is quite interesting." However, one crucial aspect was the rarity and scarcity of arcane mages.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realized that nearly one hour had passed.
I silently recited "Forgeatron" in my mind and checked my personal attributes. My magic power had recovered to 0.4 a bit faster, all thanks to the extra +0.3 Int boost from the Satan Ring that amps up my mana recovery. But I wasn't planning to attempt another fusion just yet. At 0.15, I had already experienced splitting headaches. If I pushed my luck and the mental state plummeted to 0, I feared that I might actually die on the spot.
Observing the time, I roughly calculated my magic recovery rate. During normal daytime activities, it seemed to be around 0.05 per hour. While sleeping at night, the recovery rate increased.
I hadn't tested meditation yet, but overall, I could currently only fuse items twice a day at most.
Picking up the last newspaper from the end of November, I finally saw something different.
[November 30th, Great News! According to the transcripts submitted by various junior academies, the overall academic performance in the year 335 has increased by 6.1% compared to last year.]
[According to an estimation by a professor at the Royal Academy, the admission rate for the upcoming Royal Academy enrollment at the beginning of next year will reach an unprecedented 25%. Here, our newspaper wishes all candidates success in their exams next year!]
"A 25% admission rate? Only one out of four can get in? That's rough," I mused.
And it wasn't like they were picking one out of four random schmucks off the street, but one out of four individuals with the potential to become extraordinary individuals. Ordinary people weren't even eligible to take the exam. Even with the potential, they still faced a one-in-four selection process. I frowned slightly.
I considered my options. If the exam was that tough, I'd need to hit the books. The Royal Academy was, after all, the highest educational institution in the empire, the Harvard of this world and a higher entry barrier with a survival-of-the-fittest approach was understandable.
Junior academies were prevalent throughout the empire, mostly established by the government, but also including some local, private institutions. They served as a foundation for general education.
The Elocha City Junior Academy, where he had graduated, was a typical example. They primarily taught basic knowledge such as mathematics, literacy, linguistics, and some wilderness and military skills. Only in the final year did they offer specialized courses on becoming a professional, allowing those aspiring to become formal professionals to differentiate themselves from ordinary people.
After graduating from junior academy, students could apply to more advanced professional academies or return home and begin working.
I stood up and approached the librarian's desk. "Mr. Billy, I was wondering if there are any books that introduce the various academies?"
"Of course, there are. They're in Section B, shelf 12, numbers 20 to 30. You'll find plenty of books on that topic there."
"Thank you, Mr. Billy." I politely walked away.
Billy watched his retreating figure and muttered, "That kid will definitely become a big shot someday. Oh, he's turning into an adult soon. Should I start calling him Young Master Riktor?" he stroked his beard with a wise expression.
...