The night passed slowly.
Too slowly.
Yaman didn't sleep.
He sat on the edge of the ship, alone, watching the dark sea stretch endlessly before him. The waves moved quietly, as if nothing had happened…
As if an entire island hadn't burned to ash.
His fingers tightened slightly.
"…Father…"
The word felt heavier now.
Not anger.
Not resentment.
Something else.
Something he didn't fully understand yet.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Steady.
Calm.
"You're going to collapse if you don't sleep."
Yaman didn't turn.
"I'm fine."
A pause.
"You're not."
stepped beside him, looking at the sea.
For a while—
Neither of them spoke.
Then Harold sighed.
"…We start tomorrow."
Yaman frowned slightly.
"Start what?"
Harold glanced at him.
"Your life."
Silence.
"…Sounds annoying," Yaman muttered.
A faint chuckle escaped Harold.
"It will be."
🌅 The Next Morning
The ship was alive again.
Workers moved. Voices rose. The smell of food spread through the air.
And for the first time—
Yaman wasn't just part of the chaos.
He was part of something else.
"Sit."
Yaman looked at the wooden table in front of him.
Then at Harold.
"…You're serious?"
"Very."
Reluctantly, Yaman sat.
In front of him—
A simple sheet.
Marks.
Symbols.
Letters.
"…What is this?"
Harold leaned back slightly.
"Your first enemy."
Yaman's eyebrow twitched.
"…You're joking."
"I'm not."
He pointed at the page.
"Read."
Silence.
Yaman stared.
Nothing.
Just shapes.
Meaningless.
"…I can't."
Harold didn't react.
"Try."
Yaman clenched his jaw.
Looked again.
Focused harder.
Still nothing.
Something inside him snapped.
"I said I can't!"
His hand slammed the table.
The paper slid.
"Then learn."
The answer came instantly.
Calm.
Unshaken.
Yaman froze.
"…I fight monsters. I don't need this."
Harold's gaze hardened slightly.
"And when a contract deceives you?"
"And when a map lies to you?"
"And when an enemy tricks you with something written in front of your face?"
Each word hit harder than any punch.
"Will you punch the letters?" Harold asked quietly.
Silence.
Yaman looked away.
"…Tch."
For the first time—
He felt it clearly.
Not weakness.
But… lack.
Days Passed
The first week—
Was a disaster.
Yaman:
Got angry
Lost focus
Nearly tore the paper apart more than once
"…This is useless."
"No," Harold replied.
"You are just not used to losing."
That line stayed.
Burned into his mind.
💥 The First Crack
One night—
Yaman sat alone again.
The paper in his hands.
He traced a letter slowly.
"…This… means what?"
Harold, standing behind him, answered:
"A sound."
"…Just a sound?"
"Yes."
Silence.
"…So if I learn all of them…"
"You'll understand the world."
Yaman's eyes narrowed.
The world.
Not just fights.
Not just power.
Something bigger.
⚡ Change Begins
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
Something shifted.
Yaman stopped shouting.
Started asking.
"…Why is this written like this?"
"…Why do people speak differently here?"
"…Why do maps look like this?"
Harold watched quietly.
A small smile forming.
"Fernando… you really did leave something behind."
🌊 A Different Strength
Six months later—
Yaman stood at the deck again.
But this time—
A book in his hand.
He read.
Slowly.
Carefully.
But he read.
"…So that's how it works…"
No frustration.
No anger.
Just focus.
🔥 One Year Later
Yaman sparred with a crew member.
Fast.
Sharp.
Controlled.
Not reckless anymore.
He stopped mid-fight.
"…You leave your left side open."
The man blinked.
"…What?"
"You rely too much on your right."
Silence.
Harold watched from afar.
"…He sees it now."
Not just strength.
Patterns.
Weakness.
Truth.
🌅 One Year and a Half
The ship returned once more to .
But this time—
Yaman was different.
He stepped onto the dock again.
Same place.
Same sea.
Different person.
His eyes were calmer.
Sharper.
His presence—
Heavier.
"…So this is where it really begins."
Behind him—
Harold crossed his arms.
"You're ready."
Yaman didn't answer immediately.
He looked at the city ahead.
At the world waiting for him.
"…No."
A pause.
Then—
A faint smirk.
"But I'll manage."
Harold laughed.
"Yeah…"
"…now you sound like him."
Yaman adjusted his hood.
And without looking back—
He walked forward.
Replaced by noise.
was alive in a way Yaman had never seen before.
Voices overlapped. Merchants shouted. Ships creaked. Laughter, arguments, footsteps—
Life.
Yaman walked through it all in silence.
Different clothes.
Different presence.
But the same eyes.
He stopped at a small park near the harbor.
Sat.
For the first time since stepping off the ship—
He had nowhere to go.
"…So this is it."
No orders.
No father.
No ship.
Just him.
And the world.
A slight breeze passed.
He exhaled slowly.
"…What now?"
Then—
A voice cut through the noise.
"Latest news! Weekly Sorcerer! Fresh edition!"
Yaman's eyes shifted.
A newspaper vendor stood nearby, waving a stack of papers.
For a second—
Yaman just watched.
Then something clicked.
"…Right."
He stood up, walked over, and tossed a few coins.
"One."
The vendor handed him a copy.
Yaman returned to his bench.
Sat down.
Opened it.
At the top—
Bold letters.
Below it—
A date.
May 16, X776
Yaman narrowed his eyes slightly.
"…So this is how the world talks."
He began reading.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Every word still required effort—
But not like before.
Not anymore.
Pages turned.
News.
Events.
Rumors.
Then—
A section caught his attention.
"Top Magic Guilds in Fiore"
His eyes sharpened.
"…Guilds."
He leaned forward slightly.
Names filled the page.
He stared at the list.
Different names.
Different reputations.
Different paths.
"…So this is where power gathers."
But—
He didn't smile.
"…Which one?"
Silence.
He didn't know.
And for once—
He admitted it.
"…I don't know anything."
No shame.
Just fact.
⚖️ A Simple Decision
Yaman folded the newspaper.
"…Then I'll see them myself."
Simple.
Direct.
His way.
He stood up.
"First…"
His eyes returned to the list.
"…Phantom Lord."
🚉 The First Ride
The station wasn't far.
Crowded.
Noisy.
Efficient.
Yaman stood in front of the ticket counter.
"One ticket."
"To ."
The clerk barely looked at him before handing the ticket over.
"…Next."
Yaman stepped aside.
He looked at the small piece of paper in his hand.
A ticket.
A path.
🚆 Inside the Train
The train hissed.
Steam rising.
Metal alive.
Yaman stepped in.
His first time.
He paused for a second—
Taking it in.
Seats.
Windows.
People.
He moved quietly and sat beside the window.
The whistle blew.
And then—
It moved.
Fast.
Faster than anything he had ridden before.
Yaman's eyes widened slightly—
Not in fear.
But in realization.
The world was bigger than he thought.
Outside—
Fields stretched endlessly.
Mountains in the distance.
Villages passing like fleeting thoughts.
He rested his arm on the window.
Watching.
Thinking.
"…Guilds."
"…Power."
"…The future."
Then quietly—
Almost like a promise—
"I'll find the right one."
A pause.
His gaze hardened slightly.
"…And if none of them are enough…"
A faint smirk.
"…I'll surpass them all."
The train rushed forward.
Carrying him—
Toward his next step.