Relaxing Meal

Wesley pushed against the floor with both palms, trying to lift himself back up, but his arms trembled uselessly, like they weren't his.

"Oh, no... Don't tell me…" he muttered through clenched teeth, the exhaustion settling like chains around his limbs. "Did I really use all of my Mana of Knighthood just for that slash?"

He grimaced. It made sense. That explosion of force—just a swipe through air that cracked like a whip—it had felt powerful, sure, but the aftermath was like being steamrolled by fatigue.

He exhaled sharply, biting down on a frustrated groan. "Damn it, I'm too weak…"

But before he could spiral too far into self-blame, another system notification chimed.

Ding! Mana of Conjurer awarded. Initiating infusion...

A gentle warmth bloomed in his chest. Like being pulled upright by invisible strings, his body rose—still trembling, but undeniably lighter.

The heaviness evaporated, replaced by a new kind of current humming through his veins. Mana—different from the one tied to his knighthood. Colder, calmer. More mental than physical.

"Oh," Wesley blinked, catching his breath. "So... I forgot that I have more than one class…"

He smiled to himself, a tired grin stretching across his sweat-slicked face. "Alright. That's good. That's really good."

His legs still wobbled, but he steadied himself, muttering, "I need rest. A long rest."

He shuffled out of the empty corridor, down the dim halls of the tower, and headed to the Janitor's Maintenance Room.

The moment he stepped inside, a familiar old scent greeted him—cleaning potions, magical polish, and aged wooden tools.

A few of the senior janitors looked up from their chairs and papers. Wesley gave a short nod.

"Finished my section," he said, voice hoarse.

The eldest among them, a wrinkled man with thick gloves and a walking cane shaped like a broom handle, raised a brow. "Early today?"

Wesley grinned faintly. "Just lucky, I guess."

The others didn't pry. Janitors at the Royal Azure Academy weren't exactly known for nosiness.

They had their share of secrets—especially when working in a place where enchanted corridors rearranged themselves and spell residue needed neutralizing with arcane mops.

Wesley made his way to the back of the room, where rows of enchanted lockers stood, each marked with a sigil.

His was the sixth from the right. A thin line of blue ran across its lock—an imprint registered by the Academy's Management when he first started. Each janitor had their own.

A small personal space for their tools, gifted and bound by the Tower itself. It was oddly respectful, really. In a world of powerful mages, even janitors had their piece of dignity.

He slid his mop inside the alcove, watching it nestle into its rack with a soft hum. The storage spell activated, preserving it until his next shift.

That done, Wesley grabbed his coat, left the tower, and stepped out into the late afternoon light.

The air was crisp, and for once, he didn't mind the breeze brushing against his damp skin. His clothes clung to him, but the sun was warm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Wesley wasn't annoyed by the world.

People bustled about—students in ornate robes, merchants pushing carts, even some enchanters chatting under hovering light globes.

A few passersby noticed Wesley's upbeat pace.

One woman arched an eyebrow, another gave a casual smile. A grizzled man in leather armor even chuckled and said, "Someone's had a good day."

Wesley blinked. People were... greeting him?

He managed a sheepish wave in return, and a quiet "Hi," escaped his lips. Then another passerby, this one a teenage girl with a floating book beside her, grinned and said, "Looks like you just found treasure or something."

Wesley laughed awkwardly. "Something like that."

As he walked farther, he thought about it.

Was this normal? He'd always expected fantasy worlds to be more... cold.

Reserved. He'd read stories of grim adventurers and ruthless nobles. But here people chatted, traded jokes, and offered greetings. Maybe it was the lack of internet. No screens to hide behind. Just face-to-face human—or elf, or dwarf—interaction. Although he never met those creatures before.

He hadn't realized how much he missed that.

Eventually, he arrived at the Azure Inn. It was nestled between a potion shop and a tailoring store, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze.

A warm orange glow spilled from the windows, and the faint scent of roasted meats made his stomach growl instantly.

He stepped inside, the door jingling behind him.

The inn was lively. A bard played softly near the fireplace, a group of adventurers drank at a corner table, and servers in green aprons bustled with trays.

Wesley took a seat near the wall, ordering the daily special without even checking the menu.

He placed twenty bronze coins on the table and leaned back, stretching his limbs.

Moments later, a steaming plate of roasted beastmeat with spiced vegetables arrived. He dug in, humming quietly. Every bite was bliss. He hadn't realized how starved he was.

Halfway through the meal, a burst of laughter outside caught his attention.

Through the window, he spotted a group of young students, all in blue and gold uniforms, walking together. Among them, tall and stern, strode Instructor Heiron.

Wesley recognized him instantly—the man with the third-tier crest.

Heiron spoke, his voice clear even through the glass. "You've all received instructions. This dungeon may be rated beginner, but don't grow complacent. Danger is real. Remember your mana formations. Guard rotations. Emergency flares."

The students nodded, some serious, some nervous. One boy even dropped his staff, scrambling to pick it up.

As they moved on, murmurs filled the inn.

"Is that Instructor Heiron?"

"Damn, I heard he got promoted just last month."

"Third-tier City Protector and still takes time to train students? That guy's a legend."

"Oh, I remember last month—he intercepted a tier-four flame beast rampaging in the southern district, saved two carriages of refugees without a single casualty."

"Seriously? I thought that was just a rumor."

"No, no! I was there! He conjured a barrier so fast, you could hear it crackle from the rooftops. Then he summoned a fire lance that split the beast clean in half. People said it was textbook magic execution."

"Didn't he also help quell that riot near the mage quarter? Heard he negotiated without even pulling a wand."

"Yeah! And the guild offered him a council seat, but he refused. Said teaching was more important."

Wesley chewed slowly, listening in. The admiration in their voices wasn't just casual praise—it was reverent.

Instructor Heiron wasn't just strong. He was respected. Feared, maybe. But respected more.

Wesley swallowed his food, glancing down at his hands. Compared to those students, he was nothing. A janitor. A tierless, powerless man with no real foundation.

Most of those students were already in the six to nine stage of Mana User rank. They had years of training, elite instructors, and the best resources the Academy could offer.

And the professors? They were leagues ahead. Some had crossed into the Adept tier, from stage one all the way to five. Veterans of magic wars.

People whose very presence warped the air around them.

Wesley was nowhere near that. Not yet.

But… he didn't feel discouraged.

The system. That mysterious thing that had appeared earlier—it changed everything. He was growing, slowly, yes, but definitely.

He wasn't in a race. He didn't need to be the strongest overnight. He had something none of them had—a way to gain strength through mundane tasks.

Even a mop could become a weapon in his hands.

That thought made him chuckle.

He looked back out the window, watching the students fade into the distance, probably en route to their first dungeon.

Could he survive a dungeon like that?

Maybe. Maybe not. But the beautiful thing was—he didn't need to try that. He had a cheat that can make him strong without putting himself in danger.

The system.

The path ahead was not even that long, he was not rushing.

Clean the floor. Resist a flame. Master a slash.

That's all.

For now, let him enjoy devouring a hot meal.

He took another bite, savoring the spices. The warmth seeped into his belly like magic.

Yes. For now, this was enough.