I understood the basics of magic. Even if they hadn’t allowed me into the classes that taught Path fundamentals—because, after all, without a mana core, I was considered unfit, barred from participation in any activity or class involving Paths. Maybe they figured I’d just end up a liability or a risk, someone unworthy of such arts. Or maybe, deep down, they were just trying to put me in my place.
It was alienation, plain and simple. But my perseverance burned brighter than any of their restrictions, and my hunger for knowledge only grew sharper. I had to know. I wanted to see how they cast spells, how they bent the elements to their will.
And so I learned. Piece by piece, in small, forbidden fragments. Jord, that bastard, had helped me in the beginning. He’d led me to books and scrolls that weren’t officially banned but danced along the edges of what was legal. Not on any Path itself, of course—the Paths were jealously guarded secrets. No random librarian could loan a tome on them, not without risking serious repercussions. Paths and their workings were only authorized in regulated, licensed institutions.
Only those with special permissions, like certified researchers and academy heads, could even keep records on them. Anyone caught with such knowledge outside these circles faced steep penalties. And Jord knew the risks as well as I did.
But he had known all the little loopholes. He’d shown me books on mana theory, on the mechanisms of spellcasting that didn’t delve too deep into the classified parts. Books that slipped around the rules, offering glimpses into the vast structure of magic without ever showing the full picture. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to piece together an understanding, one fragment at a time.
And yet, even now, just thinking of his name left a sour taste in my mouth. Jord, the one who’d sold me out. The one who’d led me on this path, only to turn around and betray me for something as worthless as coin. All for a fucking book.
Gah, I needed to scrub Jord’s name right out of my brain.
Anyway, magic—how spells were actually cast—was almost simple once you understood the basics. At its core, spellcasting was all about matrices: complex webs of runes arranged in carefully balanced formations to channel mana into a particular effect. Runes themselves might look like abstract symbols on a page, but they were far more than that. They represented natural principles, the very forces that underpinned reality. Arc, Pulse, Velocity, Resonance. These weren’t just terms—they were powers you could call upon, warp, and amplify if you understood how to wield them.
The beauty—and the challenge—lay in how these runes adapted to the caster’s comprehension. They weren’t rigid formulas; they shifted, almost as though they were alive, responding to a mage’s interpretation. A novice might look at the Arc rune and see only a way to curve a projectile around a wall. But to someone who truly understood its potential, Arc could do far more. The difference depended on how deeply one saw into the rune’s meaning and on weaving it into the matrix just right.
Because runes didn’t work alone. They linked up in matrices, forming the true essence of any spell. The matrix was the heart of spellcasting, an intricate structure that ordered runes into a logical chain, each affecting the next. Each link in that chain was forged by the caster’s understanding. It wasn’t about knowing where to put each rune; it was about understanding the connections between them, how mana flowed from one symbol to the next. The matrix had to reflect the world’s logic—or, more accurately, the mage’s interpretation of that logic.
Most people memorized matrices as rigid patterns, each symbol in its place. One mistake in the sequence, and the whole thing would collapse, either fizzling out or, in the worst cases, blowing up in your face. That’s why the oblivion rune was drilled into every mage from day one. Its sole purpose was to halt magic’s flow, to cut the spell short if you’d set up something dangerously wrong.
But for those with deeper knowledge, matrices weren’t just static patterns to memorize; they were constructs to improve. They could create shortcuts, add tweaks, making their matrices more efficient or adaptable. Magic wasn’t a mechanical recitation of symbols and sequences. It was the art of crafting a machine out of concepts, powered by mana and driven by the caster’s reasoning.
The real limits—and the real power—came from understanding. Anyone could memorize a spell matrix for lightning, but without grasping what lightning truly was and how it interacted with said runes, they’d be stuck with a static spell, no room to adapt or innovate. That’s why each new insight into spellcasting was guarded so fiercely, and why the apprentice system was practically sacred. Apprentices signed binding contracts, sworn to never share their master’s insights with another soul.
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The Academy wouldn’t admit it, of course, but even their teachings were… restricted. The Path of Winter Salamander, for instance, was supposed to be about elemental mastery over illusions and light, but the way they taught it felt more like training a parrot. They spoon-fed them rigid matrices, teaching only a fixed interpretation of the runes. There was value in the instruction, no doubt, and I’d heard enough from eavesdropping to realize they were drilling students with some structured understanding of how to unlock runes. But it was still frustratingly shallow—nothing like the potential I’d glimpsed through the cracks.
For someone like me, without access to mana back then, the Academy’s gates were closed. But with my Mana Manipulation skill now creeping up on level 5, I could feel the first spark of real spellcasting potential within reach. If I waited until my first advancement, I might make it easier on myself, build that crucial foundation before leaping in.
And then came the thought I’d been mulling over: should I bother asking Lotte for help with this, or just dive in, trial and error style? No harm in testing the waters, I supposed. So, I turned to her with my best ‘I’m-going-to-try-my-luck’ look.
To my astonishment, the reply wasn’t the usual cryptic riddle but rather a direct question.
"Are you truly inclined to traverse a path already well-charted by another’s steps?"
Huh? “Well, I’ve no intention of walking it in the usual fashion. I’ll craft my own understanding—for each spell, for every rune. I won’t treat matrices as rigid constructs but as frameworks to bend and innovate upon.”
Lotte let out a chuckle. “Paths… yes, I am acquainted with a number. Now that you've managed a semblance of spellcraft, perhaps you’re ready to glimpse some of what lies therein.”
Wait. Hold on. “Are you saying you actually intend to teach me?!?”
Lotte’s expression turned almost too amused, her eyes narrowing with a glint that suggested anything but charity. “Do I appear the sort to dispense knowledge freely, Jade?”
I opened my mouth, shut it, then opened it again, trying to find words that didn’t sound like outright pleading. “I mean… not precisely, no. But for you, imparting knowledge isn’t exactly an act of charity, is it? More like… an, umm, extended form of entertainment!”
“Oh, how audacious of you to presume,” she replied, entirely unruffled. “And yet, you’re not mistaken—it would indeed be… illuminating, observing you struggle to comprehend, compelled to shape your own vision rather than follow some preordained script.”
I nearly leapt for joy. “So, you are teaching me?”
The enormous dragon gave a languid shrug. “A prod here, a nudge there. Perhaps the rare suggestion—provided, of course, you manage to hold my interest.”
“Fine,” I replied, meeting her gaze with as much determination as I could muster. “I know you won’t be spoon-feeding me. I’m used to that. Just show me where to start, and I’ll find the rest on my own!”
“Well then,” she said, “the true name of this Path I shall keep veiled, for reasons you will understand in time. You may know it as the Path of the Lightning Serpent.”
“Hah… It has been ages since I last instructed anyone,” Lotte grinned, her teeth a vision of white, though there was something utterly menacing about the sight as she rose. “Ready yourself, little fledgling; this Path is anything but a gentle one.”
***
I awoke to the sight of a badger. Well, technically, the back of a badger. It was propped against the wall, staring at the entrance of the nook like a diligent little guardian. Except… wait—why was its head tilting and swaying like that? Stretching my serpentine neck to get a closer look, I realized—ah. It was asleep. In that position. Lazy badger.
But now, I was awake! Finally, time to practice some real magic. Lotte, it seemed, was going to be an insufferable teacher. She’d only given me three runes—just three! No hints on their placements in the matrix, no guidance on their interactions, not even a hint of what spell I was supposed to be casting. Her only words: “Use your own comprehension.”
Which, if I’m honest, might actually have been fair. After all, the real heart of magic was understanding how these fundamental forces worked. And my own comprehension? Well, it felt… different. There were echoes from my dreams, fragments of knowledge that terrified me in their precision. Chemistry, as my Doppelganger called it—the stuff they called alchemy here. And those runes Lotte had tossed my way? With a few tweaks, I might just be able to come up with something exciting.
But first things first—I had to push Mana Manipulation to level 5 and see what kind of advancement it offered. Better to know my options before applying my own understanding to the runes. So, I got to work, manipulating lightning mana and channeling it through my claws. I could feel how much better, more efficient, I’d become, like comparing night and day to my clumsy attempts at level 1. Lightning mana, once a curious pup bouncing everywhere, now perked up attentively, following the pathways I’d been training it to run down.
About ten repetitions of this light show later, the system chimed in.
[Mana Manipulation has reached level 5]
I almost did a little victory dance right there, which seemed to catch the badger’s attention; it blinked up at me with a curious glint in its eyes. I wondered if it had any mana. It looked stage 1, maybe stage 2 at best, but who knew? I gently scooped it up as it tensed, then deposited it back where I’d been sleeping.
“Thanks for watching over me! And sorry for waking you up,” I said with a little chirp. Of course, it didn’t understand a word, but maybe the gesture made sense because it curled back up and drifted right off.
Now then. I gave myself a nod and pulled up my stat screen.
Time to see what kind of upgrades awaited me.