Jack was in the training hall, nestled within the count's private library, where the scent of old parchment lingered in the air.His body sat still, cross-legged at the center, but his mind raced with thoughts—calculations, concerns, and possibilities. After the encounter with the princess and her knight, after Garren's heated disappointment, Jack found himself more determined than ever to grasp power. Not just physical strength or tactical prowess—but magic. Real, potent magic.
So far, Spark was the only spell he could cast. A mere flicker. It had its uses—lighting fires, perhaps shocking small creatures—but in battle, it was useless. A toy in a world of blades and arcane storms.That had to change.
He flipped to the second chapter of his weathered old spellbook. Its title: "Fire."
Fire
If you have learned Spark, the next step is to master Fire.
Unlike Spark, Fire is not merely a spell—it is a branch of elemental magic in itself. At its core, Fire is an evolved form of Spark. Where Spark is a first-grade spell, Fire begins at the second grade and can transcend far beyond.
Elemental spells are unique. They begin at the first or second grade—rarely at the third—and have no set limit. A single spell, nurtured and evolved through deep understanding and raw mana, can rise to the ranks of high-grade magic... and beyond.
Let us begin with the second-grade Fire.
Step One: Create a spark.Step Two: Fuel it.What's the fuel? Mana, of course.Step Three: Infuse your mana into the spark. Shape it. Feed it. Command it.
Jack closed the book gently. Then, silence.
He drew a deep breath and began.
A small spark crackled above his open palm, a familiar warmth flickering into existence. He narrowed his focus, his breathing slow, steady. The spark pulsed—first dimly, then brighter, sharper.Feed it...He willed his mana into it. Slowly, carefully.
Then, it happened.
A soft fwoosh.
Tiny flames sprang to life, flickering above his palm like candlelight. Weak, but real. Elemental. They danced gently in the air, wavering with his breath.
Jack dared not exhale. He held his lungs still, eyes wide, heart pounding.So fragile, yet so beautiful.
The book had said fire was only limited by the user's understanding and mana.He recalled the classification of mana cores:
First Tier – the beginningSecond Tier – competentThird Tier – adeptFourth Tier – eliteFifth Tier – masterSixth Tier – transcendentSeventh Tier – mythic, divine
As far as Jack knew, no one alive had ever reached beyond the fifth tier. The greatest Archmages and Swordmasters possessed fifth-tier cores—barely touching the limits of humanity.
The sixth tier was a different concept altogether. It was said that at that level, a person could influence the world itself. The air. The earth. Mana wouldn't merely obey you—it would recognize you.
Just thinking about it made Jack's pulse race.He was nothing compared to that. But he had to try.
The flames above his palm flickered—then died, snuffed out by his loss of focus.
"Damn it," he muttered, exhaling sharply.
He closed his eyes.
Again.This time, he'd hold it. This time, he'd go further.
Jack resumed his meditation.
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Hours passed in training like raindrops on stone—unnoticed.Jack didn't even realize night had fallen. And tonight, he was expected to host a formal dinner with the princess.
It would be the first of many such meetings, designed to help them "get to know each other"—a recent trend in noble circles. Though marriages among nobles were still mostly political alliances, that didn't mean efforts weren't made to turn arranged unions into cordial, even happy ones. These meetings served as polite façades to test compatibility and build rapport.
Normally, such meetings happened after an official engagement. But in his case, his future fiancée had already arrived, and Jack intended to find out why. These dinners, then, were the perfect excuse—a convenient cover for his true purpose.
Jack stood in his chambers, getting dressed. His clothes clung to him, soaked with sweat—not from physical exertion, but from a day spent dancing with fire. He hadn't meant to focus solely on fire magic, but after trying various first-grade spells like Drop, Dust, and Wind, only Spark responded to his will.
So fire, it seemed, had claimed his undivided attention.
Tossing his drenched clothes onto a rack, Jack walked over to a massive stone bath filled with steaming water. Calling it a tub would be an understatement—it was large enough for six grown men to bathe comfortably without even brushing shoulders.
Sinking into the lukewarm pool, Jack exhaled slowly, letting the heat wash away the tension in his muscles. He took his time.
He wasn't worried about being late.
In fact, he intended it.
__
Night had fallen over the GreenRiver castle, cloaking the land in velvet darkness. The gentle hum of insects filled the air—soft, rhythmic, and restless.
Seraphine sat alone on the terrace, the soft fabric of her gown cascading over the edge of her chair. Before her, a delicate glass of aromatic wine shimmered in the starlight. She raised it slowly, twirling the stem with a graceful flick of her wrist. The scent of aged grapes and subtle spices wafted through the night.
But her lips never touched the glass.
Her thoughts began to drift, and with them came a subtle frown.
"He is late."
He had invited her—formally—to this dinner. A meeting beneath the open sky, a gesture meant to build familiarity. Or so she had hoped.
And yet, he was late.
Seraphine was not a woman with time to waste. Her days were carved into strict routines. Every second held value. Born of the highest noble blood, she had spent her life navigating a world of daggers hidden behind smiles. Men had tried to use her—her father, her uncle on her mother's side, and countless others.
To survive this world of shifting alliances and false courtesies, Seraphine had become meticulous. Every gesture, every word, every silence was calculated. She walked a fragile line—a symbol of neutrality in the cold war between the Empire and the Kingdom.
Even the slightest hint of bias could spell disaster. If her neutrality were ever questioned, the price would be steep. In the political game of thrones, a noblewoman's head could fly as swiftly as any traitor's.
So yes, she had taken a considerable risk coming here.
And now, she waited.
Alone in the starlight
She had underestimated Jack.
In noble circles, his presence was like air—everyone knew he existed, but no one had really seen him.
Rumors said he had a fragile mind, broken after witnessing a massacre as a child. Even his mother had died in front of him.
No one said it openly, but deep down, everyone believed he was weak.But they were wrong.
She now regretted using her best friend to test him.He had fully capitalized on her overconfidence.
Although she hadn't directly ordered Tracy to test him, she had shaped a perception in her mind—a boy with a traumatic past who would always cower behind his father. Tracy, being good-natured, had taken the bait. Seraphine had woven a delicate web of truth and lies to push her.
One of those truths was that if Jack was truly fragile, he would be of no use to her. She had come here to seek allies, not deadweight.
Her first target had been the Duke.But he had maintained his neutral stance—refusing to go against the royal family.Much to her dismay.
Her only hope now was Jack.
As the heir, his words had weight—enough to sway the Duke.She had hoped, against all odds, that this heir would be someone with a strong mind. Someone hiding his fangs, waiting for the right moment.
She had taken the liberty to gather all the evidence she could. To convince Jack that the royal family was behind his mother's death—and much more. The real reason for the attack on the duchy that day.
She needed allies.And a boy burning with revenge was the best choice she had.