The three moons hung high above the training ground, pale and distant, as if they were watching him rather than illuminating his path.

The stone beneath his feet still held the faint warmth of recently dissipated spells, while the air was tinged with the sharp, metallic aftertaste of mana, faintly intoxicating.

Sage stood motionless at the center of the arena, hands relaxed at his sides, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.

His body wasn't tired. That was part of the problem. There was no burning ache in his muscles, no trembling weakness in his limbs, no desperate need for rest like what Knights experienced after hours of sparring or combat. Physically, he could remain here until dawn without much complaint.

But his mind felt… strained. Not exhausted or empty, stretched. It was as if his thoughts had been pulled taut across an invisible frame, every mental fiber humming with tension.

Each spell he had cast and each circle he had constructed and dismantled demanded an exactness that left no room for distraction. The cost wasn't measured in sweat or blood but in concentration, clarity, and mental discipline. This was the first truth of the Mage's path.

Mental fatigue is far more insidious than physical exhaustion.

A Knight collapses when their body fails.

A Mage collapses when their mind fractures.

Sage walked slowly to the edge of the arena and sat on a low stone step, elbows resting on his knees.

He stared at the training dummies ahead, some charred, some sliced cleanly, others toppled by unseen forces. They stood as silent witnesses: targets that didn't complain and opponents that didn't adapt.

Yet even against such lifeless things, magic demanded respect. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift inward.

Spell tiers.

On the surface, it seemed simple but was deceptively complex beneath. Level One spells formed the foundation, basic manifestations of an element requiring minimal mana and straightforward incantations.

They were like a first language of magic: crude yet effective, a flame here, a gust there, a means to familiarize oneself with flow, structure, and response.

Above that foundation lay endless branches.

Level Two spells introduced variation, controlled shapes and directed forces with layered effects. Level Three demanded precision, multiple simultaneous effects sustained over time while interacting with environmental mana.

By Levels Four and Five, spells transformed from mere reactions into constructs, frameworks of power requiring advanced geometry, refined incantation chains, and a deep understanding of elemental behavior.

Beyond that… Sage exhaled slowly.

Levels Six through Nine transcended mere spells; they became statements. To cast them was to impose one's will upon reality itself, to bend natural law into temporary obedience. Few Mages ever reached such heights, not due to lack of mana but because their minds couldn't endure the strain.

Each tier of magic didn't just demand more power; it required an exponentially greater understanding, sharper control, and the ability to maintain coherence while wielding forces that actively resisted restraint.

This was where most Mages hit a wall, not due to weakness, but because knowledge is limitless. Mana can be gathered and power refined, but true understanding takes time, study, and relentless self-reflection. Without it, progress simply halts.

Sage opened his eyes, his gaze steady. He realized this was a vast sea without a shore, there was no finish line or ultimate technique that signaled completion. Every breakthrough only unveiled more unknowns beyond it: more unanswered questions and gaps in understanding that needed filling.

And that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

He raised his hand again but didn't draw a circle this time. Instead, he focused inward, visualizing the structure he had traced earlier, the geometry, the nodes, the mana pathways. He kept his fingers still; he didn't touch the ground.

"Ignis."

The word slipped softly from his lips. Instantly, mana responded. A magic circle formed in midair, translucent and glowing faintly, hovering exactly where his gaze rested. It assembled itself with flawless precision: lines snapped into place, curves stabilized, internal structures locked together in less than a heartbeat.

A flame erupted forward, striking the dummy ahead with controlled force.

Sage observed carefully. This was how magic should be used in battle. Drawing circles by hand was inefficient and impractical, and downright suicidal in real combat. No Mage worth their title would kneel on a battlefield to meticulously trace geometry while an enemy charged at them with steel raised.

The reason he had been drawing circles manually wasn't necessity; it was training. By forcing himself to construct each circle by hand, Sage disciplined his mind, engraving the geometry into memory while sharpening his awareness of structure and flow.

The deeper he understood the framework, the faster and more accurately his subconscious could replicate it when needed. In combat, a Mage doesn't draw circles, they project them.

The circle could appear anywhere: before them, beneath an enemy's feet, above a battlefield, angled through space at impossible orientations.

As long as the Mage could visualize the structure and supply mana with intent, the framework would manifest. This is why training mattered, a poorly visualized circle collapses; a flawed incantation misfires; a distracted mind invites backlash.

Sage dispelled the remaining mana and lowered his hand.

Knights had it simpler, they absorbed mana directly into their bodies to reinforce muscle, bone, and reflexes. Their growth path was linear: train, fight, absorb, repeat. Experience sharpened instinct; pain hardened resolve. The battlefield became their teacher; survival proved progress.

A Knight who fought stronger opponents grew stronger, but a Mage who fought without understanding faced death.

That was another truth.

Sage let out a soft breath, as he gazed up at the moon once more. It was clear that he was feeling vulnerable; right now, he felt fragile.

His mana reserves were modest, his spell repertoire limited, and his endurance paled in comparison to seasoned Mages who could cast spells for hours on end. In a direct confrontation, especially against experienced Knights, he would find himself at a disadvantage if caught off guard.

But his potential? That was an entirely different story. Unlike many Mages, Sage had a deep understanding of systems.

He grasped concepts like accumulation, compounding growth, and long-term leverage. To him, magic wasn't merely about raw power; it was about information, structure, and optimization. Each spell he learned wasn't just another tool, it was a data point in his journey.

Every failure provided valuable feedback, while every success laid down another layer of foundation. He knew better than to rush through tiers or chase after flashy displays of power. Instead, he aimed to build depth.

Sage shook his head and brushed the dust from his trousers, the cool night air kissed his skin. His mind felt genuinely tired now; thoughts moved slowly and were softened by strain.

That was enough for tonight. He took one last look at the arena, the quiet dummies and scorched stone, before turning toward the Guild building.

The lights inside still burned bright and warm, reminding him that even though he navigated this vast sea alone, he wasn't without purpose.

Magic had no shore. But Sage was content to sail its waters, slowly, deliberately, with eyes wide open.

Unlike most who might drown in its depths, he intended to chart it out, one circle at a time.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.