The Natural Of the Magic

The Ritual of Ascension?

Julius frowned. The thought had crossed his mind, but what lay before him was far from what he had imagined.

A massive silver serpent, its fangs buried deep in a man's throat. A ritual? No—this was a scene of pure predation.

He exhaled sharply, his frustration surfacing.

"Am I still trapped in this damned artifact's tricks?!"

The chamber around him was vast yet suffocatingly cluttered. Shelves packed with ancient tomes and vials lined the walls. Strange, dismembered organs were stored in glass cases, and an array of bizarre tools hung from hooks like grim trophies. A marble worktable, littered with surgical instruments and alchemical devices, dominated the room. It was a chaotic mix between a lab and a butcher's workshop.

Yet, Julius' attention remained fixed on the man lying in the center of the room.

Then—

"Who are you?!"

A voice.

Julius' head snapped toward the marble table, but—there was no one there.

"An illusion?" he thought warily.

"How did you get here?"

The voice continued.

"Not an illusion, then."

Hearing the same voice twice ruled that out.

"Is someone there?!" he called, unable to suppress his curiosity.

"How bold of you."

A rustling noise.

Then—footsteps.

A figure stepped forward from behind the table.

Julius' gaze traveled downward.

A short man.

No—short was an understatement. The wooden table had obscured his presence entirely. His white shirt was open at the chest, stained with grime. His gray trousers were wrinkled, and his feet were bare. Messy white hair was slicked back, and a pair of round spectacles perched on his nose, reflecting the candlelight. His sharp blue eyes peered at Julius with quiet scrutiny.

A dwarf?

Julius narrowed his eyes.

"Isn't it proper etiquette to introduce yourself when barging into someone's workshop?"

Julius hesitated for a moment before nodding. "My apologies, sir. I am a newly inducted Silver Knight—Julius Cross. I came here seeking Sir Sheath."

The dwarf's expression darkened instantly.

"Liar."

The word was spat with venom.

Julius tensed.

"Does this have something to do with the reception that was supposed to be held for my initiation?" he murmured to himself.

The memory of his encounter with Dawn, the Golden Knight, surfaced. That gathering had clearly held some importance. He needed to clear this misunderstanding.

Reaching into his coat, he retrieved his silver emblem and raised it in a gesture of proof.

The dwarf's eyes flickered toward it, then back to Julius. His gaze sharpened.

"That's not what I meant."

His voice turned icy.

"You are not Julius Cross."

Julius' breath caught in his throat.

How does he know?!

A trickle of cold sweat ran down his spine.

"Damn it. Another one of those Darkness Faction members? How does he know?!"

Julius instinctively pressed his palm against the sigil etched into his left hand, prepared to activate the Celestial Hall's teleportation at the first sign of danger.

But then—

"Calm yourself, boy. No need to be so tense."

The dwarf's voice was neutral now, almost… amused.

Julius clenched his jaw. What's he planning?

The dwarf sighed, rubbing his temple.

"Whether or not that name belongs to you is irrelevant to me. You wouldn't be the first man to forge a new identity." His gaze turned knowing. "The fact that the Cathedral accepted you as a knight means, at the very least, you're not a criminal."

Julius' brow twitched.

"He thinks I changed my identity? Hah. For a moment, I thought he had truly exposed me. But instead… he assumes I'm merely living under a false name."

His grip on his teleportation sigil relaxed slightly.

He hadn't discovered the truth—that Julius Cross had actually died, and that his body had been claimed by another soul through an occult summoning ritual meant for something else entirely.

Still, one question gnawed at him.

"How did you figure out my name was fake?" Julius asked, his tone now even and composed.

The dwarf smirked.

"Simple. When you introduced yourself, you only lied about your name." His sharp gaze bore into Julius. "You told the truth about being a Silver Knight… and about looking for me."

Julius stiffened.

He caught the lie that easily?!

His mind raced—until realization struck.

"Wait. Looking for you?"

His eyes widened.

"You… Are you Sir Sheath?!"

"What Brings You Here?"

"Advice? A ritual? Are you seeking guidance?"

Julius hesitated for a moment before lowering his head slightly in a respectful bow.

"Forgive my intrusion, Sir Sheath. I came unannounced, but I require your help." His voice was calm, measured, yet laced with urgency.

Sheath's expression remained unreadable, his cold gaze unwavering.

"You're ignorant of magic… and you seek to refine your Shadowcraft."

Julius' eyes widened.

"How do you know that?!" His voice rose involuntarily.

This wasn't the first time.

First, he had seen through his identity. Not the whole truth—but enough to know he wasn't truly Julius Cross. And now, he had pinpointed the very reason Julius had come.

"I heard your thoughts," Sheath said flatly, irritation creeping into his tone.

Julius stiffened.

"He... heard my thoughts?"

Sheath exhaled, rubbing his temples before speaking once more, his voice laced with detached indifference.

"I am an Echo Servant. One of my abilities allows me to hear unshielded thoughts."

With that, he turned on his heel, making his way toward the far end of the chamber.

"Follow me—if you truly seek my guidance."

Julius stood frozen for a heartbeat, his mind a tangled mess of questions.

"An Echo Servant? He can hear my thoughts? What else can he do?"

His pulse quickened.

There was far more to this man than he had first assumed. And something told him—this was only the beginning.

Sheath came to a stop beside an aged wooden table, its surface coated in a fine layer of dust. At its center rested a violet crystal sphere, faintly pulsing with an eerie glow. He pulled out a creaking wooden chair and sat down.

Julius glanced around—but found no chair for himself. Left with no choice, he remained standing across from Sheath, who regarded him in silence, his sharp eyes scrutinizing every detail.

Finally, Sheath spoke.

"You barely grasp the basics of magic," he remarked flatly. "You're still in the First Circle, which means you're little more than a fledgling. But since you've come seeking answers, I'll make things simple."

He tapped a bony finger against the crystal sphere, and a ripple of violet energy spread through the air.

"Listen well, Julius. To understand Breakthrough Rituals, you must first understand the very foundation of magic—its Circles, Classes, and Ranks."

"Magic is divided into Eight Circles—each representing a step toward enlightenment. A novice begins at the First Circle and, if they survive long enough, may ascend to the Eighth Circle—the realm of true mastery."

Sheath's gaze was steady as he continued:

"Each Circle corresponds to a level of understanding, skill, and power. It is not merely a measure of raw strength—but of comprehension and control."

He lifted a single finger.

"A First Circle mage—like yourself—is but a novice. But as one ascends, they gain access to greater mysteries."

He tapped the table twice, and glowing symbols etched themselves into the air.

The Initiate – First Circle. The Awakened – Second Circle. The Adept – Third Circle. The Practitioner – Fourth Circle. The Expert – Fifth Circle. The Mythic – Sixth Circle. The Enlightened – Seventh Circle. The Grandmaster – Eighth Circle.

"At the Seventh and Eighth Circles, one is no longer simply a mortal wielding magic—they become something far greater."

Julius frowned.

"So… what does this have to do with Breakthrough Rituals?"

Sheath smirked.

"Patience. First, you must understand the Class of Magic you wield."

Sheath snapped his fingers, and a phantom-like diagram flickered above the table.

"Magic is not a singular force. It branches into Classes—each representing a different type of mystical influence. Every mage is attuned to one, whether they realize it or not."

The diagram shifted, revealing intricate symbols.

"For instance," Sheath continued, "there are those who control water, like the Hydromancers… those who wield fire, known as Pyromancers… and even those who manipulate the mind itself, the Noosomancers."

Julius narrowed his eyes, taking in the categories:

Hydromancy – Masters of water and moisture. Umbromancy – Wielders of darkness and concealment. Osteomancy – Manipulators of bones and bodily transformation. Noosomancy – Controllers of thoughts and memories. Floromancy – Users of plant magic and toxins. Pyromancy – Commanders of fire and hidden flames. Echomancy – Masters of sound and distant communication. Spectromancy – Illusionists of mirrors and reflections. Venomancy – Wielders of poisons and plagues. Astromancy – Practitioners of cosmic and celestial magic.

Sheath's gaze sharpened.

"And as for you, Julius… you belong to the Umbromancers—the wielders of Shadow Magic."

Julius stiffened.

"How do you know that?"

Sheath exhaled.

"Because I heard it in your thoughts. I am an Echo Servant—one who listens to the whispers of the mind."

Julius clenched his fists.

"So, you've been reading my mind this entire time?"

Sheath chuckled.

"Only what you fail to shield. But enough of that. You came here for answers. Now, let's finish with the last piece—the Ranks of Mages."

Sheath gestured toward the table, and the symbols rearranged themselves once more.

"While Circles represent one's progress in magic, and Classes define the type of magic wielded, the Rank reflects one's standing among mages."

He pointed at the glowing words.

The Whisperer – Those who hear the call of magic but have yet to master it. The Watcher – Observers who have begun to grasp deeper mysteries. The Roaring One – Those who impose their will upon reality. The Occulted – Figures shrouded in secrecy and esoteric knowledge. The Unseen – Legends who walk unseen, their presence a mystery.

Sheath leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"Your journey has just begun, Julius. You stand at the threshold of magic, yet you are blind to the depths it holds. If you seek to grow, you must break through the chains of limitation."

Julius inhaled deeply, absorbing every word.

"And how exactly… do I do that?"

Sheath smirked.

"That, my dear Julius, is where the real lesson begins."