"A necromancer... Like, the guy who brings the dead back to life?"

"No, that’s just a myth," Morthak said, his voice carrying a gruff edge. "You can’t bring the dead back without terrible consequences. Nature follows a fixed course. Trying to swim against that current? Stupid. Foolish, even."

He moved deeper into the cave, his words echoing off the damp stone walls. "What I do is different. I use magic to repurpose corpses, creating servants from the remains. Warriors who once held skills and experience in life are far more valuable as my loyal workers than as rotting bones."

I hesitated, feeling a chill creep up my spine. "So… you’re going to turn me into one of your undead?"

He glanced back at me, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. "I considered it, sure. But bringing you back as undead? Wasteful. Not to mention expensive." He shrugged, turning his attention to a bubbling pot at the far end of the cave. "Besides, I may be a necromancer, but even I have principles, alright?"

"Expensive? What do you mean?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as he ladled some soup into a cracked bowl.

"Reviving people as undead servants costs far more resources than making traditional undead," he explained, settling back in front of me with his bowl. "Instead of using all that effort on one high-level warrior, I could create three or four solid, mid-level zombies. They’re simpler, more cost-effective, and just as useful in numbers." He slurped his soup nonchalantly, as if the conversation wasn’t deeply unsettling.

I tried to focus on anything but the imagery in my mind. "I… I don’t know much about summoning or necromancy. I’m more of a… magic caster, I guess?"

He raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-slurp. "Yeah, I noticed. And I’ve got to admit, it’s been decades since I’ve seen someone as competent with expression magic as you."

"E-expression magic?" I stammered, unfamiliar with the term.

Morthak froze, lowering his bowl. He stared at me, incredulous, as if I’d just claimed not to know what fire was. Wiping his mouth with the tattered sleeve of his cloak, he leaned forward. "You’re serious? You don’t know what expression magic is?"

"I… no. Everything I know, I learned through trial and error. I never had anyone to teach me," I admitted, feeling small under his gaze.

"What about your parents? Your people? A guardian?" His voice carried a mix of confusion and frustration. "Everyone learns from someone. Even the most wretched have mentors. You’re telling me you had no one?"

I looked away, trying to avoid his piercing gaze. "No one," I murmured. "I was born alone. Abandoned, I think. I hatched in a forest. I had to learn to survive—create what I needed with nothing but trial and error. The only companions I ever had were the boys."

"The boys?" he asked, his tone softening.

"My family." I explained. "Without them, I would’ve been… completely alone. And, honestly, I probably wouldn’t have survived this long."

Morthak stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed and set his bowl aside. "That’s a hell of a story, girl. Hatched in a forest, abandoned before you were even born… no wonder you’re so out of touch with how things work."

"Tsk, that's why I hate having to deal with the living, always causing trouble and making decisions they don't want to take responsibility for." Morthak said with a frown.

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Nha~ I wasn't referring to you girl, but to the trash who abandoned you in the forest, honestly, what kind of bastard does that? Even irrational beasts take care of their young." Morthak said visibly irritated. Soon he straightened up, his tone turning brisk. "Let’s see how much catching up you need. First off, do you know where we are?"

"I was heading south, trying to find the demon race’s continent," I said hesitantly. "This place seemed to fit the description. Cold and far away."

"You’re in luck then." Morthak said, gesturing around the cave. "We’re on the demon continent, in the tundras north of the Kingdom of Mackenfill."

"At least I got that much right," I muttered, leaning against the cold stone wall in relief.

"Alright, next question. What are the main races in the world?"

I hesitated, recalling a kobold’s words from years ago. "Humans, Elves, Demon-types, and Beastmen. That’s what I’ve heard."

"Not bad," he admitted. "There are sub-races, like vampires, werewolves, cyclopes, and giants, but their populations are too small to be called ‘main races.’"

"Werewolves? How are they different from kobolds? Aren’t they both just…" I trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

Morthak burst out laughing. "Oh, never say that to a werewolf! They’ll tear your face off. Werewolves consider themselves superior—closer to humans, even. Vampires and werewolves can pass as humans, but kobolds? They’re… well, kobolds."

He continued, his voice growing more serious. "Now, what about the gods? Do you know the main ones?"

"I know the Goddess of the Morning," I said hesitantly, "and maybe… the Beastmen’s god? Something like Astrawoul?"

"Decent start," he said. "The main gods are the Goddess of the Morning, Astrawoul, Thalindorion for the elves, and Zerithiel for the demon-types."

"Hmm. So each major race has their own god," I said thoughtfully.

"Exactly. Now, what do you know about the [System]?"

I nodded quickly, feeling more confident. "It’s a resource that shows my skills, status, and titles. It helps with leveling up, evolving, and casting magic. But casting through the system is inefficient, so I stick to my own methods."

Morthak tilted his head, considering my words. "Efficient or not, the System is a tool. And understanding its vastness is key. Speaking of vastness, what’s your knowledge of magic?"

I hesitated again. "I know it’s a phenomenon that uses mana to create effects. Spells can be offensive, defensive, or utilitarian. Magic can be cast in different ways: through the System, common magic, racial magic, pre-recorded spells, and… thread magic?"

Morthak sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Your knowledge is both impressive and painfully superficial. Let me clarify. Magic isn’t a ‘phenomenon.’ It’s a result. You pay mana to get an effect. The way you cast is what varies."

He began listing methods off on his fingers. "Expression magic, which you call ‘common,’ is the most ancient form—fueled by emotions and desires. It’s slow but devastatingly powerful. Then there’s circle magic, which relies on runic inscriptions for quick, efficient results. Circuit magic, used by craftsmen and engineers, creates effects through a series of runic commands. And finally, blood magic—what you called racial magic—draws on inherited power."

I listened in silence, absorbing his words. Despite my initial wariness of him, I couldn’t deny his expertise.

For the first time in my life, I felt the edges of my world expanding, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying. It's not easy for me to admit this, but I'm quite ignorant about many general knowledge subjects in this world. I've always lived in my bubble, inside the tower. We had no reason to seek information that didn’t interest us, and speaking with the kobolds was like shooting in the dark. They never seemed certain about anything—just bits and pieces of scattered knowledge.

"There are other types of magic too," Morthak began, "like elemental magic, which, as the name suggests, is based on the elements of nature. Ring magic is derived from elemental magic, but ‘original magic’ is unique to elementals. They are an ancient and reclusive type of magic, and elementals only appear when they want to. Searching for one on your own is a waste of time.

"Then, there's divine magic and divine arts. While they may seem similar, but they are fundamentally different. Divine magic consists of spells fueled by mana that’s been ‘touched’ by the divine, whereas divine arts are graces directly granted by a god.

"Scroll magic falls into the category of ‘pre-recorded magic,’ which you mentioned earlier. Scrolls are expensive items created by [Scribes] or similar classes. It’s rare to find a scroll containing a spell higher than 4 rings, but they’re incredibly useful since they require little mana to activate and work almost instantly."

"T-Thank you," I stammered. "This was all very useful. If I may ask... what exactly is ring magic? I understand it in general, but what makes a 2-ring spell different from a 1-ring spell? Of course, I realize a 2-ring spell is stronger, but… why?"

"Oh, sorry! I forgot you’re unfamiliar with the common magic system," Morthak said, scratching his chin. "It’s simple. A 1-ring spell is exactly this."

He raised his staff and drew a glowing green circle in the air. As the circle completed, runes and glyphs formed inside it, shimmering faintly. The circle then folded inward, collapsing like crumpled paper, and left behind a small ball of blue flames floating in the air.

“Spectre Summons: [Fire Wisp],” he announced. "A basic summoning spell of the first ring. It’s also called a first-circle spell or a first-tier spell, depending on the region. Most people, though, just call it a 1-ring spell. These are beginner spells—simple to cast, quick, and low-cost."

"And stable," I added, staring at the magic.

It’s hard to describe, but I could practically see the spell forming, as if understanding its purpose and intentions. It was remarkable—solid, optimized, and flawless, like a perfectly forged tool.

"Yes, stable," Morthak confirmed with a nod. "It’s good that you noticed. Spells without stability are as useless as a skeleton without joints. They waste mana and endanger your life. I’ve lost count of how many idiots died trying to cast spells far beyond their level."

"I see," I replied. "And what’s the difference at higher levels?"

"Ah, let me show you." Morthak drew another circle in the air. This time, after the first ring formed, another larger circle appeared around it, filled with runes and magical symbols. The entire process seemed intricate, but it took no more than two seconds.

A spectral eyeball materialized, floating aimlessly around the cave.

“Spectre Summons: [Spy Eye],” Morthak said proudly. "One of my favorite low-level spells. Super useful for spying on enemies—just watch out for mages. They’re usually sensitive to magical disturbances."

"As you can see," he continued, "the difference between 1-ring and 2-ring spells isn’t only visual; it’s also functional. A 2-ring spell is simply more powerful but also harder to control. It requires more practice and finesse to perfect."

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"Perfect?" I echoed. "Isn’t it just a matter of saving it in the [Spells] tab and letting the system handle the rest?"

"Sure, the system helps,” Morthak agreed, “but it’s like a ‘repeater’ for spells. It can only assist with spells you’ve successfully cast before. If you record an unoptimized spell, you’ll be stuck with a subpar version. All serious mages know how to cast at least two or three spells without the system’s assistance."

"Wait," I interrupted, "how many spell slots does a wizard usually have?"

"Hmm... A beginner wizard has about three or four," Morthak said, rubbing his temples, "while experienced ones can manage 10 to 14."

"What!?" I exclaimed. "I only have one slot! That’s so unfair!"

Morthak seemed confused by my statement, remaining silent for a few moments before speaking, “What? You have one slot? Then how did you cast all those different spells in the middle of combat, under the effect of [Berserker]?” His voice was tinged with genuine curiosity.

“M-Me? Did I cast spells? Sorry, but I don’t remember any of that... Maybe if you describe them, I’ll know what they are?”

“Well…” Morthak hesitated, collecting his thoughts. “The first spell was golden threads attached to your nails that sliced through my [Ghouls] like butter. Then there was a spell, or some kind of skill, that ‘purified’ or ‘melted’ the undead near you. After that came an acid rain, which I believe is some sort of racial talent or magic. Oh! And not to mention your magic cancellation field—it really threw me off. There was also that supersonic scream of yours, and your immunity to poisons—I’m pretty sure that’s a skill. Lastly, that attack of yours that made my [Walking Carrion] give up without a fight.”

“Old man, are you losing your mind? I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

In response, Morthak slammed his bone staff against my head with all the strength he could muster, sending a sharp pain through me. I bit my tongue, rubbing the spot where it hurt. "Ouch! You didn’t need to do that!"

“Huh, maybe next time you’ll think before you speak,” he muttered, shaking the staff in my direction. “I may be old, but I’m not senile. I know exactly what I saw, young lady.”

“Okay, okay! It's just… I’m not a fighter, alright? I’m a support. My skills and abilities are meant for helping and buffing others—not for fighting and killing. I only have one offensive skill. The rest are for defense or production.”

“A support? Ha! If you had seen yourself two days ago, I doubt you’d still say that. You looked like a magic warrior, casting spells and fighting hand-to-hand.”

“Ugh… Well, thinking about it… I have no idea what the first spell you described is, but the second one might be [Crystalline Energy Veil]. It’s a skill that creates a field around me that deals magic damage to anything that enters its area of effect. That fits your description. The third one is indeed a racial talent, but it’s exclusive to the [Poisoner] class. The fourth one? You’re making that up—if I could negate magic, I would’ve done it by now. As for the scream… I know I scream loud, but not to the point of being supersonic. The immunity to poisons? I don’t know, maybe I have it and didn’t even realize it. And the last attack was probably [Tainted Touch].”

“Oh? So now you’re telling me I’m hallucinating?” Morthak chuckled darkly. “It seems you don’t even know the full extent of your own abilities.”

“Yeah… That could be it too. I... I don’t fight, you know? I’m more of a ‘housewife’ type.”

“Hmph... That’s plausible. When someone enters berserker mode, their survival instincts take over. They can sometimes do things they wouldn’t normally be able to.” Morthak stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“So—”

“But…” Morthak raised a finger, his tone turning serious, “Berserkers are always identified by one common trait: unbridled madness. They only think about killing their target. But you... You were incredibly rational, almost calculating. You retreated when you felt threatened, and you advanced when the opportunity arose—though you misjudged your opponent.” He met my gaze with a knowing expression.

“Rational and composed? Can you give a clear example of that?”

“Didn't you just attack without hesitation? Normally, berserkers don't care about the damage they’ll take, their surroundings, or the strength of their enemy. All they care about is killing. But you... You were methodical, almost as if you were weighing every move, every step.” Morthak’s voice was thoughtful, even admiring.

“Hmmm... This is new to me. I don’t know exactly why it happened, but… Thanks again for not killing me.”

"Meh, my kill list is already long enough, young lady. I may be a [Necromancer], but that doesn't mean I enjoy killing. I simply prefer the company of the dead." Morthak spoke in a flat tone, almost dismissive.

“Well, as long as we’re not the dead, that’s fine with me.”

“Hmm, now, if I may ask... I wanted to inquire about something more personal,” Morthak said, adjusting his grip on his staff, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Isn’t it hard to lie to a man with a magic lie detector?”

“Yeah, but silence is always a way out, right?”

“I had that option?!”

“No, I would’ve forced you to talk. But since it’s something personal, I won’t press you if you don’t want to answer. Still, if you could satisfy an old man’s curiosity, I would be extremely grateful.” Morthak gave me an odd smile.

“Hmmm… Alright. What’s your question?”

Morthak leaned forward, his voice low but direct. “What’s your [affinity]?”

“Oh, my affinity is—”

I froze, mid-sentence. My mind raced, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. 'Wait... should I tell him? I wondered. What if having an affinity with [Life] is something rare, something he might want to exploit? Would it conflict with his necromantic magic? Could I even become an undead?'

Morthak watched me closely, sensing my hesitation. He let out a sigh and spoke, “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine. I’m genuinely curious, but I’m not rude enough to force someone into sharing personal details about themselves.”

"Wait, is talking about [Affinity] considered intimate?" I asked, a bit uncertain.

"Yeah, you could say that. Normally, you share it with teammates or family, but it's not the kind of thing you tell a stranger on the street—unless you have something rare, like [Ice], [Ink], [Thunder], or [Poison]."

"Hmm... Can you explain it a bit better? How rare are affinities? Which ones are the most common, and which are the rarest?"

"Girl, you're not discreet at all," Morthak sighed. "You're just making me more curious. Are you afraid to tell me your affinity because you don’t know if it’s common?"

"M-Maybe?" I stammered.

"Ugh—alright, let’s go over it. Affinities aren't exclusive to any race. Every being in the world can have one. For some species, they develop during growth—like demons, who gain their affinity around age 10 after their [Awakening]. That boosts their mana reserves too. Others are born with affinities, like elves. Some even gain them through items, contracts, or other external sources—like most humans."

"Affinities come in different levels and rarities," Morthak continued. "For example, imagine two people with an affinity for [Fire]. One has a ‘medium’ affinity, and the other has a ‘small’ affinity. The second person will have to work much harder to achieve the same level of mastery as the first. Rarity is mostly influenced by family, luck, and ancestors. If your family has a lot of people with an affinity for [Fire], you’re more likely to inherit it or something similar."

"Sometimes, when families mix, luck shines, a child is born with a rare new affinity. A good example would be the Frostbite family. Their ancestors had affinities like [Air] and [Water], and over time, their descendants gained affinities like [Mist], [Ice], [Storm], and [Rain], which made them famous in the demon lands."

"Wait—pause! Pause!" I held up my hands on the air. "How can things like [Rain] and [Mist] be affinities? What are you going to do with those? Water plants and create dew?"

"Oh, it’s simple," He said, trying to stay calm. "It might seem strange, but affinities like [Glass] or even abstract ones like [Earthquakes] have their uses. The more derivative the affinity, the less versatile it is, though. For example, [Water] is much more flexible than [Rain], but both have their uses."

"A clear example would be Pluvina Frostbite," Morthak said, his tone growing a bit warmer. "She was born with the affinity for [Rain], and her family ignored her in favor of those with more powerful affinities like [Ice] and [Storm]. But Pluvina was exceptionally talented—she could create rain clouds that acted as elemental soldiers. When she had to fight in the ‘Blood Trial,’ she won and became one of the main daughters of the Frostbite house."

"So, you're saying it’s not just about what affinity you're born with, but how you use it?" I asked, starting to understand.

"Exactly," Morthak agreed. "Being born with a strong and unique affinity is always better. But for those without it—those born in the mud—it's all about hard work, climbing to the top. Those born with silver spoons only need to worry about staying there." His face darkened as he spoke.

"Great," I muttered, "and hypothetically speaking, what would be the rarest and strangest affinities someone’s ever had?"

Morthak paused, a faraway look in his eyes. "Hmm... The Lord of Desires had an affinity for [Dreams], but he died centuries ago. Lady Demiurge had an affinity for [Ink]—she was terrifying. Then there’s Cece Mackfellyn, with her impressive affinity for [Gravity]. Ah, and I almost forgot Popyliny and her unique affinity with [Nightmares]."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what about more abstract ones, like... Time, space, death, and life?"

Morthak chuckled softly. "Ah, those things don’t count. They’re natural laws, not affinities. People talk about things like [Healing], [Ruin], or [Void], but you’ll never find someone controlling the fabric of time or space. Time is a rule, a line that moves in one direction, never waiting for anyone. Space holds everything, and death is the end of everything, while life is where it all begins."

I nodded, while thinking : 'Yeah, I guess I better keep my mouth shut about my affinity.'

After that, Morthak then leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips. "So, now you're going to tell me your affinity?"

"No!" I crossed my arms defiantly. "I'd rather exercise my right to remain silent."

"Meh, how boring." Morthak rolled his eyes.

"It's not that I can't tell you... It's just... I think it's kind of dangerous to talk about affinities with people I don’t really know." My voice wavered, but I managed to meet Morthak’s gaze.

"Good thinking, girl. It might feel tempting to brag about a rare affinity, but broadcasting it to the world is a fool's move. You don’t know who’s listening. Some people out there? They're worse than bad—they’re downright monstrous. So listen to yourself for once. Keep your [Status] and everything tied to it under wraps," Morthak said, his deep, hollow eyes piercing into me as if they could see every secret I carried. It felt like his words weighed heavier than they should, pressing against the air around me.

"T-thanks for the advice, I guess?"

"Mheh, it’s not really advice—it’s just common sense. The problem is, you’re too green to know better yet."

"Hey! I might not be an expert in your so-called common sense, but I know plenty of things that would leave your jaw on the floor!" I huffed, crossing my arms. "Hmmph!"

Morthak chuckled, his laughter low and gravelly, like stones shifting under heavy weight. "Sure, sure. Now, where was I? Oh, right—types of magic. If I remember correctly, that’s the 'gross' of it all. There’s also sorcery, which is different from normal magic, and witchcraft, but I don’t specialize in either. Sorcery uses anchors—events, stars, objects—to cast or sustain its effects. Witchcraft? That’s a whole different beast. It’s unique to witches, and their numbers have dwindled, especially after the Morning Church’s crusade wiped most of them out." His voice carried a strange mix of detachment and bitterness, as if recounting history he’d long since grown tired of.

I stood still, the weight of his words settling over me like a thick, suffocating fog. Magic wasn’t just deep—it was infinite. A labyrinth of possibilities I hadn’t even begun to explore. I’d thought I was an expert, but now I realized I’d barely scratched the surface.

"I… thank you, Morthak. I don’t even know how to put into words how much this knowledge means to me."

Morthak gave a curt nod, his expression softening ever so slightly. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he said, "Don’t mention it."

I hesitated, then pushed on. "Sorry to take advantage of your kindness, but… could you explain the basics of ring magic? Like forming circuits, inscribing runes, the foundational concepts?"

Morthak raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Seriously? Most people find that sort of thing dull. I figured you’d be more interested in flashy spells or my summons."

I shook my head. "Nah, powerful spells are useless if I can’t control them. I need to find my way of using magic, not imitate someone else."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a low laugh. "Girl, you’re full of surprises. I’m glad I didn’t kill you when I had the chance. You’ve got the enthusiasm of a kid seeing magic for the first time, but the focus of a seasoned scholar. It’s… interesting."

I bit my lip, suppressing a grin. He doesn’t know that I’m not as young as I seem. My thoughts drifted, the words coming unbidden. Magic isn’t just a tool. It’s a mountain to climb—steep, unyielding, and filled with narrow, treacherous paths. You stumble, you fall, but you keep moving forward, knowing there’s always another peak waiting, bigger and harder than the last.

"I love magic," I said aloud, almost to myself. "It’s one of the few ways I can help my family survive."

Morthak’s expression softened, just a fraction. "Hmm. In that case…" He stood abruptly, his presence towering.

"What?" I asked, startled.

"You need someone to teach you. I’m not the best teacher, but I’m better than nothing. It’s been a long time since I had a living disciple. I think I remember how it’s done. Feed you, make sure you don’t die… That’s about it, right?"

My mouth dropped open. "Wait—are you serious? If you can really teach me magic, I’d be grateful, but I’m not fragile! I can take care of myself—and the boys, too!" I gestured to my companions.

"Perfect!" Morthak declared with a grin. "From now on, you can call me master."

"What?! Master is too much! How about ‘sir’ or ‘elder’?" I protested.

"Nope. I’m the master; you’re the disciple. Tomorrow, we begin your first lesson. Be ready." With that, he turned and walked out of the cave, vanishing into the snowstorm without another word.

"Wait! You’re just leaving? What do you mean, ‘tomorrow’? You can’t drop that bomb and disappear!" I yelled after him, but the blizzard swallowed my voice.

Left alone in the dimly lit cave, surrounded by the flickering glow of magical lights, I let out a frustrated sigh. The boys looked at me, their expressions mirroring my confusion.

"Damn… What have I gotten myself into?" I muttered, trying to warm myself up more with the help of the boys.