Night descended over Greyvale, shrouding the city in a gradual dimness. Street lamps flickered to life along the cobblestone roads, while windows glowed softly behind heavy shutters. The taverns buzzed with laughter and chatter as the workday transitioned into a time of relaxation and revelry.

High above, the moon hung pale and distant, casting its gentle light across rooftops and walls. It lingered longest on the Guild compound, as if recognizing it as something new and transformed.

Within the Guild grounds, the training field basked in that silvery glow.

Sage stood alone at its center. The arena was now quiet, devoid of adventurers who had spent their daylight hours sparring, debating tactics, and testing their strength against one another. Training dummies lined the edges in neat rows, their straw bodies marred by cuts, scorch marks, and fractures from countless encounters.

The weapon racks stood still. The stone floor bore faint impressions of footprints and impact craters, remnants of power expended earlier in the day.

Sage rolled his shoulders to ease the tension that had built up throughout his busy hours. His coat lay neatly folded on a bench near the edge of the field, leaving him clad in a simple dark tunic and trousers that allowed for easy movement. The cool night air brushed against his skin, sharp enough to keep him alert and grounded.

He exhaled slowly; this moment felt different from everything else he had experienced since arriving in this world.

Managing people required keen observation. Building systems demanded foresight. Manipulating structures called for patience.

But real magic? That required something much more personal, understanding, discipline, and an openness to fail quietly time after time until failure itself became a lesson learned.

Sage raised his hand; Mana stirred around him. At first it was subtle, a breath drawn too softly to be heard, but soon enough, the ambient mana responded sluggishly to him, not through force but through alignment.

He closed his eyes and focused not on power but on sensation, the way mana felt entering his body: cool and faintly electric as it flowed through newly formed invisible channels within him.

Unlike Knights who flooded themselves with mana like fuel poured into a tank, reinforcing muscle, bone, and reflex through constant absorption, the path of a Mage was different entirely. A Knight grew stronger by enduring more challenges; they pushed their bodies past limits again and again through sheer experience gained from battle.

A Mage shaped mana before it ever touched reality. With deliberate care, Sage lowered his hand toward the ground.

He began to trace. The tip of his finger glowed faintly as mana condensed at its point of contact, etching a thin line across the stone floor. He moved slowly with intention; every motion measured carefully as he crafted a circle, not perfect at first but refined with small adjustments along the way for symmetry.

Magic Circles weren't mere decorations, they were frameworks where geometry mattered immensely.

A circle that was even slightly uneven could throw the entire spell into chaos. The angles within dictated the flow direction, while the thickness of the lines determined mana capacity. If the lines were too thin, the spell would buckle under its own weight. Conversely, if they were too thick, it would drain more mana than intended, quickly exhausting the caster.

Sage kept tracing, beads of sweat forming at his temple despite the cool night air. This wasn't physically demanding, but it was mentally draining in a way that brute combat never was. Every second required unwavering focus; every curve needed deliberate intent.

As he completed the outer ring, he began to add internal structures, simple ones for now. Triangular nodes were spaced evenly along the interior circumference, with a single central line bisecting the circle perfectly.

Fire magic was a good starting point, not because it was weak, but due to its intuitive nature: heat, expansion, consumption.

Once Sage finished drawing the circle, he stepped back to examine it critically. It was beautiful; thin intricate runes glowed softly as he felt a faint warmth radiating from it. The glow remained steady, no flickering or distortion.

He inhaled deeply and spoke.

"Ignis."

His voice was quiet and almost reverent. Incantations weren't commands; they were keys. The world didn't respond to shouts, it responded to clarity. Spoken words acted as stabilizers that anchored intent into structure.

The sound mattered, the cadence, pronunciation, and breath behind it all played crucial roles. A hurried incantation could lead to uneven activation; a mispronounced syllable could twist the spell entirely.

Mana flowed from Sage into the circle, guided by his carefully crafted geometry. One by one, the internal nodes flared up with light racing along etched lines until finally igniting at the center.

A pillar of flame rose smoothly from the circle, controlled and contained, with intense yet disciplined heat. It didn't explode or rage; it simply burned.

Sage watched closely with narrowed eyes as the flame held for three seconds before dispersing naturally back into ambient mana without backlash.

Level One Fire Spell: success.

He exhaled slowly and relaxed his shoulders but didn't allow himself any satisfaction just yet, fire was merely a beginning.

With a wave of his hand, he dispelled any residual mana and moved several steps away to draw another circle, this one different in design: broader arcs with open channels and less containment.

Wind magic presented more challenges than fire did. Fire craved existence while wind sought movement; this difference reflected in Sage's geometry choices.

Instead of closed internal nodes like before, he traced elongated curves spiraling outward from the center to encourage flow rather than accumulation. Here stability came not from restriction but balance.

"Ventus."

As soon as he spoke, air shifted around him, a subtle pressure change at first, but then fully activated when a controlled gust erupted outward in a wide arc across the training ground.

Dust swirled as loose straw scattered around him. The nearest dummy rocked violently, almost toppling over.

Sage planted his feet firmly, grounding himself against the force of the wind pushing at him.

Too strong. He frowned as the spell faltered, the mana dispersing with a sharp snap that echoed faintly off the walls. It wasn't dangerous, but it was inefficient.

He crouched down to inspect the circle he had drawn. One curve was slightly off, just enough to accelerate the flow instead of moderating it.

This distinction separated Mages from Knights. A Knight could swing harder; a Mage had to think smarter.

With a swift motion of his hand, Sage erased the circle, watching as its glowing lines faded into nothingness. He mentally cataloged his mistake, not as failure but as valuable data for future reference. Lightning would be last on his list.

Lightning wasn't just an element; it was will made manifest. Unlike fire or wind, lightning demanded certainty and precision. Its circles were sharp and angular, composed of intersecting lines and exact points, there was no room for approximation here.

No forgiveness allowed. Sage slowed his movements further as he carefully traced this new circle, brow furrowed in concentration. It took longer than before, much longer, and sweat began to trickle down his back as he felt his mana reserves dwindle.

Once he completed the intricate design, he straightened up and took a measured breath.

"Fulmen."

The response was instant, a crack of sound split the air as a bolt of lightning shot downward, striking the target dummy with surgical precision.

The impact was fierce yet contained; the dummy's torso blackened instantly while smoke curled upward as mana discharged cleanly into the ground below.

Sage staggered slightly but steadied himself; lightning always demanded more energy than he anticipated. Clenching his fist to regain composure, he focused on the smoking remains of the dummy. No backlash, no instability, the circle held firm.

Level One Lightning Spell: complete.

Letting out a long breath, he finally allowed himself to rest on the stone floor near the edge of the arena. Moonlight washed over him like a cool balm against his heated skin, bringing clarity to his thoughts.

Mages didn't grow by battling stronger foes; they grew by uncovering deeper truths about their craft. Mana control wasn't about sheer volume, it was about efficiency.

Incantations weren't crutches, they were precise tools crafted for purpose. Magic circles weren't shortcuts, they were maps guiding power safely from intent to reality.

A Knight might reach new heights through sheer perseverance,

but a Mage climbed an entirely different mountain, one built on knowledge, discipline, and relentless study.

Sage looked up at the night sky, where faint starlight reflected in his eyes.

This path was slower and tougher, but it was absolute in its promise of mastery. And he would conquer it, circle by circle, word by word, will by will.

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