Chương 10: The Little Mage of the Farm

Sieghart was slightly disappointed by the attribute point he received from unlocking White Magic. Mentality was useful. It governed his concentration, helped him endure the strain of maintaining several intentions, and probably made every form of magic easier to control. Still, it lacked the immediate appeal of another point in Magic. A higher Magic attribute made flames hotter, increased the pressure of Water Creation, strengthened Breeze, and allowed him to move more earth.

Mentality offered no such obvious display. Even so, Sieghart couldn't complain too much. He could finally use mana to make himself more durable. Protection created a thin layer of energy beneath his skin, increasing his resistance to physical damage. At Level 1, the improvement was minor, but the spell consumed mana continuously. For ordinary mages, that would make it inconvenient. For Sieghart, continuous consumption meant nothing. If he improved his concentration enough, he could maintain Protection indefinitely.

He could sleep, eat, run, and perhaps even fight while the spell remained active beneath his skin. The independence that had made him unwilling to entrust his safety to anyone else seemed to have unlocked the spell. That fit White Magic's description, but Sieghart still found the entire system strange. Mana reacted to feelings. Anger produced fire. Serenity created water. Freedom called wind. Certainty moved earth. His desire to protect himself had awakened White Magic and allowed him to reinforce his body.

It didn't behave like a simple form of energy. Mana seemed to listen. The thought was slightly unsettling. Sieghart preferred tools that behaved predictably. Fire burned, water flowed, and heavy objects fell. His first death had proven that last rule with excessive enthusiasm. Mana was different. It demanded that he understand himself before it obeyed him. Unfortunately, Sieghart suspected that understanding himself would be harder than learning magic.

He decided to leave that problem for the future and concentrate on something measurable. Fireball. By the time Sieghart settled into his third year of life, he had developed a strict training routine. He practiced before breakfast, followed his grandparents into the fields, and trained again whenever he found a safe opportunity during the afternoon. He spent his evenings working on Protection. His progress remained gradual, but it was consistent.

The first version of Fireball had traveled only two meters before striking the ground. Its shape had been unstable, its speed was poor, and a single cast exhausted most of Sieghart's mental focus. That wasn't good enough to serve as an offensive spell. Any enemy standing two meters away could reach him before he finished forming the fireball. Even if he successfully launched it, the spell might miss and set something unimportant on fire. Like himself. Sieghart began by improving its stability.

The spell formed from anger compressed into a rotating sphere. If the emotion became too violent, the fire expanded and lost its shape. If Sieghart controlled it too heavily, the anger weakened, and the flames vanished. He needed balance. His anger supplied power. His Mentality gave that power form. Sieghart practiced creating fireballs without launching them. At first, each sphere trembled and collapsed after several seconds.

Over time, he learned to maintain the rotation without consciously controlling every movement. The mental strain decreased. Then he focused on range. Sieghart built a training area near the far end of the farm, beside an earthen embankment Edric rarely visited. He placed wooden targets at measured distances and practiced only when he was certain no one was nearby. Three meters became five. Five became eight.

When his Fireball finally crossed ten meters and struck the center of a target, the impact shattered the old board and scattered black flames across the embankment. A notification appeared. Fireball has reached Level 2. Your control allows the spell to remain stable across a greater distance. Range increased. Projectile speed increased. Magic +1 Sieghart stared at the screen. Range was a form of advancement. The system had ignored thousands of repeated casts because he hadn't overcome a meaningful limitation.

Once he pushed the spell beyond ten meters, it recognized his progress. His Magic increased from six to seven. Fireball immediately became hotter and more stable. That created a useful cycle. Improving the spell increased Magic. Increasing Magic strengthened the spell. A stronger spell made it easier to reach the next milestone. Sieghart continued training. The second level brought the range to ten meters, but he refused to stop there.

He adjusted the rotation of the fireball, compressed its outer layer more tightly, and used short currents of wind to support its flight. At twenty meters, Fireball reached Level 3. At thirty, it reached Level 4. At forty, it reached Level 5. The distance between each advancement remained consistent. Every additional ten meters earned another level and another point in Magic. Crossing fifty meters proved far more difficult. The fireball needed to remain stable for several seconds after leaving his control.

Minor flaws in its rotation grew worse while it traveled, causing the sphere to wobble, lose speed, or break apart before reaching the target. Sieghart failed dozens of times. Some fireballs struck the ground early. Others curved sideways. One traveled in a nearly perfect circle before returning toward him. Sieghart threw himself behind the embankment as the spell passed overhead and exploded against a tree. That was when he established a new rule. Never practice offensive magic without Protection active.

The spell's defensive increase remained minor, but minor protection was better than allowing his own fireball to kill him. Dying to a returning spell at three years old would be almost as embarrassing as dying beneath a bookshelf. Almost. After several weeks, Sieghart finally understood the problem. He had been treating Fireball as a spell that required constant direction. Even after launching it, part of his concentration remained connected to the projectile, attempting to correct its movement.

At longer distances, that connection became unstable. Instead of maintaining control, Sieghart needed to establish every part of the spell before releasing it. Its shape, rotation, direction, and speed had to be complete while it rested above his palm. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Once launched, the fireball needed to travel independently. Sieghart stood in front of the embankment and formed another sphere. Black flames rotated above his hand.

Crimson lines spiraled across its surface, moving faster as he compressed more mana into the spell. He chose a point fifty meters away. Then he released everything. The fireball tore through the air. It crossed the field without slowing and struck the target in the center. The wooden board exploded. Flames burst across the dirt, leaving a scorched crater where the target had stood. Fireball has reached Level 6. Your spell can now maintain its form at long range without direct guidance.

Effective Range: 50 meters Control: Adequate Power: Moderate Magic +1 Sieghart opened his status screen. Name: Sieghart Race: Human Age: 3 Years Level: 1 Health: 40/40 Mana: ∞/∞ Stamina: 40/40 Strength: 4 Endurance: 4 Vitality: 4 Dexterity: 4 Magic: 11 Mentality: 17 Resistance: 4 Perception: 1 Skills: None Skills: Black Magic — Level 1 White Magic — Level 1 Fireball's advancement from Level 2 to Level 6 had granted four additional points in Magic.

Combined with the first point earned at ten meters, the spell had raised his Magic by five. The difference was enormous. Flame now burned hot enough to char wood within seconds. Water Creation produced a pressurized stream that could knock over an empty barrel. Breeze had grown strong enough to scatter dry leaves across an entire yard, and Sand Control could manipulate several kilograms of loose soil. Even Protection felt denser beneath his skin.

White Magic depended more heavily on Mentality, but Magic still affected the strength of the mana forming the protective layer. For the first time, Fireball resembled a proper offensive spell. It could travel fifty meters, strike with enough force to break wood, and ignite anything flammable near its impact. Forming it still required several seconds of concentration, but Sieghart could now cast multiple fireballs before mental fatigue became dangerous. He was finally ready to plan the next stage of his training.

That plan lasted until breakfast. Elara and Edric were waiting for him in the dining room. They had already eaten, but two untouched cups of tea remained in front of them. Sieghart slowed near the doorway. That looked suspiciously like an intervention. Elara smiled and pulled out the chair beside her.

"Come sit with us, Sieg." Sieghart obeyed. He climbed onto the chair and looked between his grandparents. Neither appeared angry. They simply wore the thoughtful expressions that had become more common over the last year. Edric rested both hands on the table.

"Sieg, would you like to learn magic?" Sieghart stared at him. The question was direct enough that pretending not to understand would be difficult. He considered playing dumb anyway.

"Magic?"

"Yes," Elara said. A tiny flame appeared above her finger.

"Like this." Sieghart looked at the flame as though he had never seen anything more astonishing in his life. His performance probably wouldn't win an award.

"I can teach you the basics," Elara continued.

"Only simple spells. You would use them under our supervision."

"And when you are ready," Edric added, "you can help us with some of the lighter work in the fields." Sieghart examined their faces. They knew. Perhaps they hadn't seen his Fireball, but they had gathered enough evidence to realize he could use mana. Offering lessons allowed them to acknowledge the situation without forcing him to admit that he had been hiding it. Sieghart could continue pretending. He could make his first flame appear after several failed attempts and act surprised.

That might preserve part of his secret. But refusing the lessons would waste an opportunity. His grandparents possessed decades of experience. Even if their magic appeared simple, they knew techniques Sieghart had never considered. Formal instruction could correct mistakes before they became habits. Helping in the fields also seemed fair. Elara and Edric had given him a home. They frequently exhausted themselves using magic to maintain the farm. Sieghart possessed an infinite supply of the resource they lacked.

Refusing to help them would feel worse than revealing part of his ability.

"I want to learn," he said. His grandparents exchanged a glance. Elara's smile became genuine.

"Then we will begin today." Their first lesson covered information Sieghart already knew. Elara explained that mana responded to thought, emotion, and intention. She demonstrated how calmness aided Water Magic, while Edric described the patience and certainty required to shape earth. Sieghart pretended to struggle. He listened carefully, copied their movements, and produced a weak stream of water after several attempts. He limited the spell deliberately, allowing only enough mana through to resemble a beginner.

Elara still looked surprised.

"Very good," she said.

"Most children need much longer to feel their mana."

"I watched you," Sieghart replied. That was true. Over the following weeks, his grandparents taught him how magic was actually used on a farm. Sieghart already understood the basic spells, but their practical knowledge revealed several tricks he had missed. Watering crops in the middle of the afternoon wasted mana because heat caused water to evaporate before it reached the roots. Casting early in the morning or near sunset allowed a weaker spell to produce better results.

Wind Magic was easier when the caster worked with the natural breeze instead of opposing it. Elara taught Sieghart to feel the existing current and add mana gradually rather than creating all the movement himself. Earth Magic worked best after light rain, when the soil was soft enough to reshape without resisting. During dry periods, combining a small amount of water with earth reduced the cost significantly. Fire Magic depended as much on fuel as on magical power.

Dry wood, airflow, and proper placement allowed a tiny flame to accomplish what a wasteful burst of mana could not. Their techniques focused on efficiency. Every lesson taught Sieghart how to accomplish more while spending less mana. That was incredibly valuable for ordinary mages. It was almost completely unnecessary for him. Sieghart learned the techniques anyway. Efficiency reduced mental strain, improved control, and helped him hide the abnormal size of his mana pool. At least, that was what he hoped.

His grandparents began by allowing him to water a short row of vegetables. Sieghart stood beside Elara and extended one hand. He summoned his serenity, called upon Water Creation, and produced a gentle stream. He walked slowly along the row. Elara followed, watching his posture and correcting the angle of his hand. After several minutes, they reached the end.

"Stop there," she said.

"You should rest." Sieghart felt fine. He pretended to breathe heavily. The next lesson involved a longer row. Then two rows. Then five. Sieghart attempted to display a reasonable amount of fatigue, but judging the limits of an ordinary mana pool proved difficult. His grandparents could sense how much mana his spells consumed, and his acting couldn't change the fact that his power showed no sign of weakening. One morning, Edric asked him to water a small field while he repaired an irrigation channel.

Sieghart began cautiously. The work continued for ten minutes. Then twenty. Then thirty. Elara stopped tending the neighboring field and watched him. Sieghart maintained the stream. His mind felt slightly strained from holding the spell, but his mana remained untouched. The water continued flowing with the same pressure as when he started. After forty minutes, Edric returned. He looked at the watered field. Then he looked at Sieghart.

"You have been casting the entire time?" Sieghart allowed the water to stop.

"Yes."

"Do you feel dizzy?"

"No."

"Sick?" Sieghart shook his head. Edric crouched in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder. A faint yellow light entered his eyes as he examined the mana inside Sieghart's body. Sieghart felt the magical sense brush against the endless reservoir within him. Edric's expression changed. His eyes widened. Elara hurried closer.

"What is it?"

"I can't find the bottom," Edric said quietly. Sieghart remained still. That sounded concerning. Elara placed her hand against his back and closed her eyes. Her mana moved through him more gently, searching for the limits of his reserves. Several seconds passed. Then ten. Her hand began to tremble. She opened her eyes and stared at Sieghart. The same realization appeared on both of their faces. They couldn't see infinity.

But they could tell that their three-year-old grandson possessed more mana than either of them knew how to measure. Sieghart forced an innocent expression.

"So," he asked, "did I do it wrong?" Neither grandparent answered.