After a long pause, Miss Mira finally began her explanation of Arts—after much contemplation, of course. It was difficult to decide where to begin, and honestly, it wasn't her fault. The definition of Spiritual Arts was riddled with complexity—yet, paradoxically, it was also simple.
Simple enough to be explained in a single sentence.
"Arts are the manipulation of the second nature of spiritual energy—its innate adaptability and tendency for change—by invoking a formula or code."
But of course, Jay didn't truly understand that.
Though Mira had noticed Jay's surprising intelligence—despite his timid nature and modest upbringing—she knew this subject couldn't be explained through abstract theory alone.
So, she decided to start from the beginning. Albedo had already informed her that Jay possessed knowledge of the deeper truths about Souls, so she felt free to speak openly.
She began with a question.
"What is spiritual energy?"
Jay paused, every fiber of his being straining to produce an answer.
He knew, as common knowledge dictated, that spiritual energy was a unique, logic-defying, supernatural force possessed only by the Awakened. It held unthinkable power and unimaginable depth. And at its core, it was the very force responsible for enabling the use of Arts.
Jay believed he understood it clearly. 'But her question can't be that simple... can it?'
Lost in thought, he finally replied, "It's the energy of the soul."
"You're not wrong," Mira said. "Souls act as the storage vessels for spiritual energy. But they don't create it. They simply absorber it."
"Absorb it? From what?"
Her answer was unexpected—almost unsettling.
Scientific studies had confirmed there was no spiritual energy detectable anywhere in the physical world. So, if the soul absorbing it... where was it absorbing it from?
'From others, maybe... or—' His eyes narrowed in horror as a darker possibility struck him.
"The soul absorb the life energy of humans and converts it into spiritual energy?"
"No, idiot." She bonked him lightly on the head. "You've been reading way too many fiction novels."
"Phew, it's not that, then…"
Still, it felt like the most logical explanation if souls didn't generate spiritual energy on their own. Then they must be converting it from another source. After all, energy is never created or destroyed—only transferred.
"So… from what, then?"
"From the Great River."
"From the Great River?!" Jay's voice cracked with disbelief.
Luke, who had been silently watching from the sidelines, couldn't help but chuckle at Jay's reaction.
Of course, it wasn't Jay's fault. Miss Mira was never the most articulate teacher, despite her vast mastery of Mystical Arts. She had taught Luke in much the same way—though by now, she'd grown more accustomed to the task.
'In a way, he's lucky,' Luke thought, hiding his amusement.
It was oddly satisfying watching someone else stumble through the same confusion he once did. And besides, this was far more interesting than Jin's dull Battle Styles training. If he were there, Albedo would no doubt have forced him into being a sparring partner.
After a brief round of teasing and calling Jay an idiot, Mira continued.
"It is said that there is a river that flows through all of existence. The Great River of Souls. Born from the origin of all things. This river carries the immense power of its source, and through the soul, the Awakened are able to store a fragment of this unknown force—what we call spiritual energy."
'A river… born from the source.'
Jay wasn't as surprised as Mira had hoped—Albedo had told him before that all souls originated from a single source.
But even so, the implications were profound.
'To think... there's a river that can't even be seen…! Ah..is it even a river?'
Once his emotions settled, Mira resumed her explanation.
"You're familiar with spiritual veins, right? Spiritual energy flows through your body using those channels. Now, there are two things you need to understand. First, your spiritual energy reserve—that's the amount of spiritual energy your soul can store. Everyone has a different limit, and that limit stays with you for life. Second is your spiritual energy output—the amount of spiritual energy you can transfer from your soul to your body. That one can be trained and improved over time."
After a lengthy introduction to reserves and output, Mira found her throat growing dry. Fortunately, ever-considerate Luke handed her a glass of water. She drank it in one gulp, returned the glass, and—as always—offered no thanks.
Not that Luke expected any. He was grateful enough for all that she had done for him.
After dodging a barrage of curious questions—and answering a few with mild annoyance—Mira moved on to the next subject.
The Classification of Arts.
"Despite all the schools of Arts you might've heard of, they all originated from three fundamental branches: Battle Arts, Spirit Arts, and of course, Mystical Arts."
Jay was already somewhat aware of this, but listened closely. He loved everything about the Awakened world afterall.
She began with Battle Arts.
"Battle Arts are the simplest kind. It's the manipulation of spiritual energy to affect your own body—or anything directly connected to it. Punches, kicks, movement, enhancements—you get the idea. But never confuse them with Battle Styles. Battle Styles refer to your way of fighting. Battle Arts are supernatural techniques used in battle."
"Ah... What?" Jay blinked in confusion. Clearly, he didn't follow.
"What? You don't get something so simple?"
Luke laughed. "Let's start with a punch. In case of Battle Styles, it's about how you punch—your stance, timing, and direction. In Battle Arts, it's about empowering that punch with supernatural force. For example, the 'Battle Art: Mountain-Crushing Fist' coats your punch in an extremely destructive energy. With it, you could break something your normal punch never could. And of course, Battle Arts require spiritual energy. Battle Styles do not—they can be learned through practice."
"Ah… I see. Now I understand."
Miss Mira cleared her throat and continued.
"Next is Spirit Arts. It's kind of the opposite of Battle Arts. Instead of affecting your body, it manipulates spiritual energy outside of it. Like firing energy beams, conjuring swords or shields, creating barriers, or even summoning armor—or giants—if your reserves are large enough. It all depends on your skill and control."
This time, Mira chose to explain in very simple terms. Jay couldn't help but blush.
'I'm not a kid, he thought. You don't have to explain it that simply.'
As their training and explanations continued, time slipped by unnoticed. If the Nameless Domain had a sun, it would have been high in the sky by now. But it didn't. Instead, a recent invention—the clock—allowed them to measure time with precision.
That's how they knew it was lunchtime.
Well, that—and the unmistakable growl of Miss Mira's stomach, echoing through the silent air.
Face turning red with embarrassment, she tried to cover it up the only way she knew how—with a swift punch to Jay's head.
"Training resumes after lunch!" she declared, storming off without waiting for a reply.
***
After Miss Mira left, Jay stood from his seated posture. Luke silently handed him a soft, white towel and a jug of cold water before walking off with a casual reminder: "Don't be late."
Jay stared into the jug, catching the faint reflection of a pale-skinned, skinny boy—one who had recently gained a little fat from consistent meals and training.
He lifted the jug and poured the cold water over his face, drinking a little, but mostly using it to wash away the sweat and exhaustion clinging to him.
Drying his soaked face with the towel, he made his way toward the grand mansion—an architectural marvel that rose like the honorable crown of the Mystical Domain.
As always, at the heart of the vast dining hall stood an elongated, majestic table. Carved with intricate, ancient designs dating back millennia, it looked as though it had been crafted for dozens of people, perhaps even more.
Yet only five resided in the mansion. The Domain of Mysteries and Secrets had never known guests.
So, the great table remained mostly silent—waiting, perhaps forever, for the day it would once again be filled.
Atop its surface, the table was lined with steaming delicacies, their aroma seeping through the slight openings of the lidded steel pots. The mouth-watering scent filled the hall, only making Miss Mira's stomach growl louder with anticipation.
Albedo sat at the head of the table—the seat of honor—watching Mira with thinly veiled amusement.
Luke was there as well, folding a white cloth and tucking it into his shirt like a makeshift tie.
He glanced around and asked, "Where's Jin?"
Now that he mentioned it, Jin was the only one missing.
"He said he wanted to keep training," Albedo replied.
And with that, no one questioned further.
'He's really pushing himself…' Jay thought, a flicker of disappointment stirring in his chest.
He took the seat beside Luke, eyes drifting to the feast laid out before them.
It never failed to surprise him. None of them were expected, and all had been at the training grounds moments ago. Yet the food was always ready—fresh, warm, perfectly timed.
He had asked Luke once, curious.
"Who makes all this?"
"The ghost of the mansion," Luke had answered with a teasing grin.
Jay didn't believe it—though, admittedly, the idea had frightened him at first. But now, thinking it through, it was strange.
It wasn't just the food. Everything in the mansion functioned without anyone lifting a finger.
Write what you wanted on a slip in the kitchen, and it would be prepared. If you didn't, something random would appear—but it would still be delicious.
The mansion was always spotless, no matter how messy he left his room. Even if he tossed items around, the room would return to order the moment he stepped out. Yet nothing ever vanished. Everything he used remained exactly where it had been—just moved to the right place, as if an unseen caretaker had gently returned things to their rightful order.
The mansion was… strange.
It had a library larger than the mansion itself—despite being on a single floor. And countless unexplored rooms, their doors sealed or silent, hiding who knew what inside.
Sometimes, it felt like the mansion was more than just a building.
It felt alive—and watching.