It was a snow-covered mountain.
There, many strange creatures were slowly moving around.
They had massive bodies covered in fur resembling that of polar bears. These beings walked on two legs, bearing a faint resemblance to primates, with broad chests and long, agile arms. Each finger carried sharp claws.
Their heads were a bizarre mix between those of orangutans and goats. Ugly faces with large jaws full of long, sharp teeth. On top of their heads, curved horns twisted around, protecting their skulls.
Their name was Yeti, a type of Magical Beast classified as C+ in danger level when encountered individually.
When fighting together, even a B rank Magical Beast could easily become their prey.
On this day, two figures suddenly appeared on the mountain, breaking the usual silence of the Yetis.
One was a young man with black hair, barely in his twenties.
Beside him stood a towering figure over two meters tall, clad in light leather armor. Though humanoid in shape, the exposed joints on its arms revealed it was, in fact, a puppet.
The puppet wielded two long, sharp swords, making its already lengthy arms appear even more extended.
From the young man's ten fingers shot out magical threads formed of spiritual energy, directly linking to the puppet to control it.
Without a single wasted word, both the young man and the puppet charged straight at the Yetis blocking their path.
Seeing intruders daring to trespass and challenge them, the Yetis roared in fury and rushed forward.
As the two sides clashed, a storm seemed to erupt, staining the snowy ground beneath in crimson.
Heads and limbs of the Yetis were severed one after another.
The puppet's twin blades moved with whirlwind speed, too fast to follow, slicing down enemies as if they were mere branches rather than hulking beasts of muscle.
One Yeti lunged from behind at the young man, while another pounced from the side.
The young man crouched low, moving his fingers slightly. The puppet instantly twisted its body and thrust a sword backward, piercing through the eye and skull of the ambusher.
At the same time, facing the Yeti attacking from the side, the young man simply pressed two fingers together and swept them across. A sharp gust of wind shot forth, slashing its throat.
The Yetis, enraged and relentless, kept charging one after another. And they were mercilessly torn apart by the black-haired youth and his puppet.
Minutes passed, countless Yetis lay slain.
The young man, drenched in red, walked across what had once been the battlefield, now littered with their corpses.
Blood, entrails, and body parts were scattered everywhere, making his path resemble a march straight out of hell.
Continuing onward through the snowy mountain, the young man carefully searched for what he desired.
Hours later, he finally found it—a pure white flower with a stem and leaves as clear as crystal, thriving amidst the snow.
He carefully plucked the flower and placed it into his spatial ring.
Then, without hesitation, the young man turned and swiftly ran back toward his village.
* * * * * * * * * *
"This is the flower. With it, I can help you craft the medicine you asked for."
"Will Trisanna be cured if she drinks this medicine?"
The black-haired young man asked urgently.
"Arven, I must warn you—the result cannot be certain. After all, this is only a substitute remedy for the known medicine used to treat the illness."
Arven replied bitterly:
"I know. I've already sent someone to buy that medicine. But with the current weather and how rare it is, I don't know when it will ever arrive."
The physician sighed, patted the young man's shoulder, and went to prepare the medicine.
Not long after, he brought out the potion made from the flower Arven had painstakingly retrieved.
With the medicine in hand, Arven quickly bowed in thanks and rushed home, where his sick wife awaited.
Arven: "Trisanna, Trisanna, quickly, try this medicine."
As soon as he entered the house, he urged his wife to drink it without delay.
On the bed lay a beautiful young woman with long brown hair. Her belly was slightly swollen, showing that she had been pregnant for some time.
Due to her prolonged illness, her face was pale and drained of vitality.
Seeing her husband return safely, she smiled faintly and greeted him:
"You've come back."
Though he hadn't explained, she guessed Arven had struggled greatly to obtain medicine so quickly.
Arven: "Yes, I kept you waiting. Trisanna, here is the medicine I just brought back. Please drink it."
Trisanna: "Alright, I'll drink it."
She smiled faintly when she saw the familiar touch of eagerness in her husband's nature.
After taking the medicine, her condition truly improved. From being bedridden, she was able to stand and walk again.
Witnessing his beloved wife regain strength, Arven was overwhelmed with joy and happiness.
Sadly, the medicine's effect on her illness was limited. In less than three days, Trisanna's condition worsened once more.
Dragged from heaven's bliss back into painful reality, Arven's spirit was shattered. Had he never glimpsed hope, the despair would not have been so unbearable.
Watching his frail wife on the sickbed, Arven's face looked visibly aged compared to three days earlier. His black hair now bore many strands of silver.
On the bed, Trisanna whispered to her beloved husband:
"I'm sorry, Arven. I feel my time is near. I'm sorry, I cannot bring our child safely into this world."
A tear rolled down her cheek.
Arven: "No, no, don't give up, Trisanna. I will find a way to save both you and our child. I swear I will."
From then on, Arven desperately sought every possible means. When medicines and magic failed, he turned to prayer—even to the gods themselves. But tragically, none answered his pleas.
Though he had expected this, it still bred resentment in him toward those divine beings. Such mighty existences had offered no blessing or protection for the one he loved most.
In his despair, Arven remembered the parchment he and his friend, Zyron, had once discovered—its contents were dangerous.
With his knowledge, he understood that it recorded the Honorific Name of an unknown god. Most likely, it belonged to a heretical deity.
Though aware of the peril, Arven chose to try it, for he had no other choice.
After sharing his plan with Zyron, the two quickly brought Trisanna to a wooden cabin on the outskirts of the village. This way, if danger were to occur, at least the risk of it affecting the village would be minimized.
With Zyron keeping watch outside, Arven remained with his wife inside and began chanting the name of the unfamiliar god:
"Sovereign enthroned in the endless white,
The artisan who spins the loom of life,
The black moon delivers eternal slumber.
I beg you, heal my wife's illness. I am willing to sacrifice everything—even my own life."
And then, change occurred instantly. The entire cabin was cut off from the outside world.
From outside, Zyron could no longer see anything happening within. All he could perceive was an abnormal, chilling cold.
Though it was already the middle of winter, this sudden frost made Zyron feel as if someone basking in the summer sun had been hurled into a frozen lake.
Unable to endure standing near the cabin any longer, Zyron had no choice but to retreat at once, anxiously keeping watch from a distance.
Inside the room, Arven too could feel the sudden chill. But then, the cold quickly receded, vanishing as though it had never existed.
Worried, he looked around, ready to carry Trisanna away if necessary. Yet all he saw beyond the doorway was an endless expanse of blinding white. The only place that still retained color was the room where he and his wife remained.
Realizing there was nowhere to run, Arven once again raised his plea:
"Please, heal my wife's illness. I am willing to sacrifice everything—even my own life."
A solemn voice, impossible to discern in gender or age, suddenly echoed within the room, answering Arven:
"It can be done. But the child in her womb will not survive."
Hearing that his wife could be saved, Arven was overjoyed. It was far better than the outcome he had feared. But when Trisanna heard the voice, she spoke her own wish:
"Is there any way to save the child?"
Her whisper was faint, yet both Arven and the mysterious presence heard it clearly.
The god replied:
"To save the child, your life must be sacrificed."
Upon hearing this, Arven immediately begged for Trisanna to be saved. But Trisanna, instead, wished for the child to live.
The god simply declared:
"Time is short. I give you three minutes—decide well."
Arven tried desperately to persuade his wife, but for the first time since they had been together, Trisanna firmly rejected his choice. She even staked her own life to force him into agreement.
"I'm sorry, but I want this child to live."
Her voice was filled with sorrow.
Faced with his wife's unshakable resolve, Arven could only weep in anguish.
"Have you decided?"
The solemn voice resounded again.
Trisanna: "I beg you, save the child."
Though weak, her voice rang with determination, without regret.
Immediately, countless white threads appeared, wrapping swiftly around Trisanna's body.
Trisanna: "I love you, Arven. Please take care of our child in my stead."
Those were the last words Arven ever heard from his wife.
Overwhelmed by grief, he could scarcely remember what happened afterward.
But that day, many villagers witnessed a young man with a lifeless face, clutching tightly a newborn wrapped in white cloth, silently making his way back home.
********************************************
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Eight years later.
"…Magic has many different attributes. However, the most commonly seen ones are Water, Fire, Wind, and Earth.
Can anyone name a few of the rarer attributes?" - The old teacher asked as he pointed at a child sitting below the podium.
The child he pointed to stood up confidently and replied,
"Teacher, some examples would be Ice, Lightning, Wood, Light, and Darkness."
"Correct. Besides the four common attributes, many other magical attributes have been discovered throughout history. The ones you mentioned are only a few among them.
Some attributes are closely related variants of the four main ones. For example, Ice is closely related to Water. Wood and Metal are related to Earth. But some attributes exist independently of the four elements, such as Space.
You may have already encountered an application of this attribute in a very convenient magical item — the spatial bag," the old teacher continued explaining.
Hearing this, the children below began whispering excitedly.
"I really wish I had one."
"They're really expensive."
"I asked my father. He said he'll give me one when I turn seventeen." - One child bragged happily.
"Tris already has one, even though he's only seven," - Another voice said.
"I wish I could win the Puppet Dance competition too." - Another child muttered jealously while glancing toward the corner of the classroom.
In that corner sat a small boy quietly immersed in a book.
He had short black hair and bright, watchful eyes.
His face was delicate — almost somewhat feminine.
What stood out the most, however, was the calmness on his face, completely at odds with his young age.
There was even a strange hint of indifference in his expression.
Despite sitting in the corner, the boy somehow gave the impression that he was the center of the entire room.
The classroom contained more than thirty children of different ages, ranging from eleven to sixteen.
The fact that Tris, who had just turned eight this year, was sitting among a group of much older students created a rather unusual sight.
Yet strangely, no one in the classroom seemed to question it.
"Quiet," the teacher said with a light cough before continuing the lesson.
"Unlike Warriors, who use spiritual energy to strengthen their bodies in combat, Mages like us can manipulate spiritual energy far more flexibly.
By controlling spiritual energy and interacting with the surrounding environment, a Mage can cast countless forms of magics — from something as simple as creating a spark of flame to something as complex as summoning an entire storm."
"So does that mean Mages are superior to Warriors who cannot use magic?" one child asked while raising his hand.
Hearing this, the old teacher explained carefully.
"If properly guided, almost anyone can learn to use the spiritual energy within their body and fight like a Warrior to some extent.
However, the number of people capable of becoming a Mage is far smaller.
Take our village, for instance. Setting aside the very young and those still learning the basics, about two hundred children are ready to study advanced subjects.
Among them, only thirty-four possess magical talent and are sitting in this classroom.
That puts the ratio at roughly fifteen percent—already quite high compared to other places.
For this reason, along with the versatility of magic, society generally views Mages as a more prestigious profession than ordinary Warriors."
"However," the old teacher's tone grew serious,
"Believing that Mages are superior to Warriors in battle would be a deadly mistake.
In a one-on-one fight between a Mage and a Warrior of the same level, it is far from certain that the Warrior will lose.
Magic is versatile and convenient, but a Mage is still limited by talent and time. What magics a Mage can learn, and which direction they choose to study, means they are not always proficient in combat — especially close combat, which is a weakness for many Mages.
Warriors, on the other hand, focus purely on combat. A Warrior who spends years training their body and combat techniques can be a terrifying threat to a Mage — especially once they close the distance.
Furthermore, their combat techniques are tied to physical movements and can often be executed far faster than magic, which usually requires more complex procedures and intense concentration."
The old teacher poured out a long lecture, worried that the children might become arrogant and lose their lives foolishly by underestimating those who were not Mages.
"So wouldn't the best solution be to learn magic while also training the body and combat techniques?" one child asked.
The old teacher immediately scolded him.
"Foolish. Were you not listening?
Every Mage is limited by talent and time.
Even if you had the talent to learn both… do you really think someone who splits their time between magic and combat techniques could match a Mage who dedicates all their time to studying magic?
Or compete with a Warrior who devotes every moment to honing their body and combat techniques?
Of course, I do not deny that some Mages follow both and still succeed.
Take Mage Silas of our village as an example. He is capable of using many combat techniques.
But there is no single 'best' path. Focus on one or try to balance both—each path carries its own strengths and weaknesses.
The only thing you need to do is choose the path most suitable for yourself."
Sitting quietly in the corner, Tris nodded in agreement.
'Mages are like scholars. Being knowledgeable is valuable, but if a thug — a Warrior — gets close enough to smash you in the face with a stick, you'll still go down.' - He thought to himself.
'Of course, there are exceptions like Mage Silas… but generally speaking, that rule still holds.'
'And even Silas himself probably wouldn't enjoy being chased down by a full-time Warrior.'
After that thought, he lowered his head again and continued reading his book.
The book described lands, races, and religions.
From it, he learned that the village he lived in was located in the western part of the Kingdom of Eldoria, fairly close to the neighboring kingdom of Braxen.
While the main religion of Eldoria worshiped the God of Light, Solvaris, the people of Braxen followed the God of War, Dravok.
This world was also home to many different races.
Among them, the most numerous were the various species of magical beasts.
What distinguished magical beasts from ordinary animals was their higher intelligence and greater strength.
Within their bodies lay what was known as a magic crystal — something normal animals did not possess.
Magic crystals were valuable materials often used as energy sources or storage cores for magical items and magic formations.
They could also help mages recover their spiritual energy more quickly.
Aside from magical beasts with low intelligence, humanity still made up the majority of intelligent races.
The book also mentioned that large numbers of dwarves lived in the mountain ranges of Braxen, while the southern forests of Eldoria served as the main homeland of the elves.
Having never traveled far from home, the book truly broadened his understanding of the world.
"Tris, can you explain the steps required to use a magic?" - The teacher suddenly asked.
Looking up from his book, he calmly answered:
"There are three main steps.
First, control the source of spiritual energy — either from one's own body or from an external source.
Second, channel the spiritual energy. This is usually done through incantations, but it can also be achieved through inscriptions, runes, magical tools, and so on.
The final step is shaping the magic and activating it."
"Correct." - The old teacher nodded in satisfaction.
"Mastering the first step allows you to control the power of the magic and conserve spiritual energy.
The second step greatly affects the speed of magic formation as well as its efficiency.
And the final step determines the magic's precision — such as when and where it activates.
You must remember these fundamentals for every magic you cast.
With a strong foundation, even a simple fireball can become incredibly powerful.
But without a solid foundation, even the most complex magic will be difficult to apply effectively.
That will be all for today's lesson. Make sure to continue reviewing on your own."
As soon as the class ended, the children excitedly bowed to the teacher and quickly rushed out.
Tris closed the book he had been reading and stood up to leave.
The teacher was right.
He really did need to go back and continue studying.
For him, the long day was only just beginning.