Magic

Alex walked toward the academy's training grounds, students trailing behind him in an orderly line. The crisp morning air carried the scent of damp earth, a faint mist still lingering over the grass. Their footsteps barely made a sound on the path, yet to Alex, their presence was an unbearable weight.

Three days. That's all it had been, and already, they were a pain. Teaching them was exhausting.

What had they gained from their last sparring session? A good beating.

Among them, a young man with a bandaged hand hesitated before stepping forward. His face was red as if the shame of their last battle still clung to him. He had been one of the few to stand against Alex in sparring.

"G-Good morning, Teacher Alex." His voice was weak.

Alex barely glanced at him. "Good morning."

He studied the group, noting their stiff posture and downcast gazes. Did I overdo it?

When they arrived at the training grounds, the students instinctively fell into position—six rows of ten.

Rizark stood at the front, his breathing shallow. The memory of that sparring session tormented him. Sixty students… six teachers… and he beat us all with a wooden stick.

His father would hear of this. How can I even show my face at home? His bruised backside still throbbed—a bitter reminder of his humiliation.

Nearby, Rosalia's hands quivered at her sides. Her skin was pale, sweat beading on her forehead. I feel dizzy… No, no… He's going to kill us!

The unease spread through the group like an ailment. Some swallowed nervously, while others shifted their weight as if ready to bolt at the first opportunity.

Alex stood before them, arms crossed. His white robe barely moved in the breeze.

"Listen up." His voice was calm, yet the weight behind it made the students stiffened.

"You've accepted me as your humble teacher, so pay attention to every word I say." His gaze swept across them, his crimson mark barely visible beneath his silver hair. "Each of you struggles to conjure aura or magic. You barely understand the formulas. Your basics are trash."

The words whacked like a whip.

"Starting today, we're going to fix that."

The silence lengthened between them, thick with unspoken fear.

"Tell me—what is magic?"

The students exchanged nervous glances. Then, hesitantly, Rizark raised his hand. His throat was dry, but he forced himself to speak.

"Magic is a force created from mana, which is the energy of nature. By focusing our hearts, we control this energy."

Alex gave the slightest nod. "Not entirely wrong. But not completely right either."

"The so-called 'magic affinity' you rely on? That's not real magic. It's borrowed power from the gods. True magic—the real magic—comes from your manifestation, not from the blessings of higher beings."

A hushed murmur spread through the students.

Alex's gaze sharpened. "People awaken, gain their affinities, and abandon the fundamentals. But tell me—what happens if your affinity is taken from you? If the gods who granted you power decide to betray you? What will you do then?"

A cold shiver ran down Rizark's spine. He swallowed hard. "T-Teacher… I don't know."

"Then you die." Alex's voice was devoid of emotion. "The gods can control you. If they turn on you, chaos will follow."

The weight of his words pressed down on them.

"But let's set that aside." He took a step forward, the sound of his footfall crisp against the training ground. "Today, I will teach you real magic—not the affinity-based one you cling to."

The Fundamentals of Magic

"First, incantation magic."

"In this method, a magician recites specific words to activate magic. The spell itself acts as a trigger, allowing the effect to manifest without requiring deep focus on mana flow. While less flexible than silent spell-casting, incantation magic is the foundation upon which all magic is built. Even the strongest mages never abandon it."

His gaze remained impassive as he continued.

"Why do you think incantation magic was developed?"

The students hesitated. Rizark cleared his throat. "To make magic easier to use?"

Alex exhaled slowly. "Partially. But not just that."

He lifted a single finger.

"There are three reasons why incantation magic exists.

First—it ensures precision. When you speak a spell, it structures your thoughts and directs your intent. Mana is not chaotic. It requires clarity. A poorly controlled spell will either fail or explode in your face."

A pause. His next words.

"Second—it stabilizes your magic. Imagine shaping a fireball in the heat of battle. Without structure, it collapses, flickers, or worse—backfires. Incantations serve as an anchor."

Another finger.

"And third—it reduces the burden on your mind. Manipulating raw mana is exhausting. The incantation does half the work for you, allowing you to cast spells even when fatigued."

Some students nodded. Others still looked sceptical.

Alex's gaze shaded. "You might think incantation magic is 'weak' because it requires words. But what happens when a man trained in incantation magic faces someone who blindly relies on their affinity?"

Rizark's throat tightened. "…The affinity user might lose?"

"They will lose." Alex's tone was absolute. "Why? Because an affinity is borrowed. The gods give it to you, but they don't teach you how to wield it properly. Normal magic belongs to you. When two mages fight, the one with greater understanding—not the one with better blessings—wins."

A heavy silence settled over the students. Years of learning were being overturned in a single lesson.

Demonstration

Alex turned, gesturing to the row of training dummies at the edge of the field. The wood was darkened with past burns, yet the figures stood firm. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a parchment, its surface lined with ancient symbols.

"This is a basic fire incantation. Watch carefully."

He spoke the words, his voice steady.

"Ignis, devorak."

A small flame flickered into existence, dancing at his fingertips.

"The words are in an old tongue," he said, watching the embers twist. "But the words themselves don't matter. Intent is everything. The incantation is only a guide. If your intent is weak, the spell will fail. If it's strong, it will succeed—even if you mispronounce the words."

With a flick, the flame vanished.

"Now, all of you—try."

Hesitation. Then, one by one, the students spoke the incantation.

Some created mere sparks. Others failed, their words shaky, their mana uncontrolled. Rizark managed a flicker of fire, but it sputtered and died.

Rosalia's hands trembled as she chanted. The moment the flame appeared, it exploded in a puff of smoke, sending her coughing to the ground.

Alex sighed. "Pathetic."

The students flinched.

"You're not focusing," he said, his voice carrying the weight of disappointment. "You're parroting words, expecting them to do all the work. That is not how magic works."

He stepped forward, stopping in front of Rizark. "Try again."

Rizark clenched his fists.

"Ignis, surge et devora!"

A flame erupted in his palm—stronger, steadier.

Alex barely gave a nod. "Better."

The students stared in awe.

"Don't get high on your heads, This is just the beginning," Alex said, his tone impassive. "Until you master the fundamentals, you are nothing but weaklings relying on borrowed strength. From now on, you will train your control, your precision, and your understanding of magic itself."

His crimson mark glowed faintly.