#041. Old Tales and Rings (3)
Whoooosh────!
Mana surged around the boy's heart, leaving a burning pain deep within his chest.
About two weeks ago.
The night he had just escaped Sector 50 and entered the wasteland.
Back then, too, the boy had drawn mana into his chest to form a ring.
Exactly as he did now.
Without a single difference.
It had been an attempt driven purely by intuition, devoid of any foundational knowledge—yet it turned out to be the correct method.
The reason the current situation differed from before was clear:
The boy now and the boy then might as well have been entirely different people in their ability to wield mana.
The unending battles since arriving at Sector 49.
The countless uses of magic during that time.
The boy had grown explosively.
Whoooosh────!
The resonating hum of mana grew louder.
The boy’s face twisted in pain.
He achieved in mere seconds a speed that should have taken minutes.
The backlash was excruciating, the agony unbearable.
His heart pounded relentlessly, and scorching blood raged through his veins.
…It felt as though his body might tear itself apart at any moment.
Yet the boy refused to relinquish control over the rampaging mana.
Was it because the old man—the most knowledgeable about magic in this room—had yet to intervene?
Or fear of what might happen if he lost grip on the wild mana’s reins?
Neither.
It was a single, instinctive certainty.
Whoooosh────!
The conviction that an immense reward awaited at this path’s end.
A reward unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
A stepping stone to propel him toward his goal of revenge.
Cold sweat drenched his body.
He gritted his teeth and endured.
Then—
Pfft.
The mana vanished.
Like a meteor incinerated by friction, it dissipated entirely.
Success? Failure?
No such doubts arose.
A searing trail lingered where the mana had been, and ambient mana flooded in to fill the void.
The incoming mana erased the burning sensation, leaving a cool clarity in his chest.
Soon, it formed a perfect ring encircling his heart.
The ring he’d yearned for since first vowing revenge.
“This… can’t be.”
The old man stood speechless.
He’d expected the boy to form a circle soon—but never on his first attempt.
The old man himself, hailed as a prodigy, had needed three months.
For average talents, a year was standard—even with perfect understanding and a master’s guidance.
A circle was impossible without innate talent, no matter one’s effort.
Yet this boy had created one alone after a single demonstration.
Tears streamed down the old man’s wrinkled cheeks.
As a lifelong student of mana, he couldn’t suppress his awe at this miracle.
“Amazing! Truly amazing! You’re really a genius!”
Veronica bounced from her seat, radiating excitement as if Ray’s success were her own.
The boy himself merely observed the ring within his chest with detached calm.
The old man steadied himself and continued, “Your circle consists mainly of three elements: enhancement, diminishment, and regeneration. Yet traces of nearly every other element exist too… How is this possible?”
“……”
Ray understood the color-element correlations mentioned earlier, but he preferred associating mana with emotions:
Red for rage.
Pale pink for sorrow.
White for anxiety.
Each emotion left deep scars on his heart.
Mana of these hues now flowed through his ring like a starry galaxy.
“Can you see my circle?”
“Not visually, but I can sense it. Stop the mana flow if you wish to hide it.”
“How?”
“Through will alone.”
Though no method was specified, Ray grasped it instantly.
A moment’s focus stilled the mana’s current.
The old man and Veronica immediately lost perception of his circle.
“Keep it hidden normally. There’s no need to flaunt being a mage in this harsh world. Spells will reveal it temporarily, but detection range varies.”
The advice carried the weight of hard-earned experience.
Mages wielded immense power but attracted equal danger.
Ray nodded.
“How does it feel? Notice the purity difference from ambient mana?”
“Definitely.”
Ray marveled. This mana’s texture transcended mere quality—it felt fundamentally superior.
…Even the ring’s mana he’d once admired paled in comparison.
His only regret was the fixed capacity limiting usable amounts.
“How do I expand the circle?”
The old man chuckled at Ray’s dissatisfaction with miraculous progress.
“The theory’s simple: rotate more mana atop your first circle to form a second. Repeat for a third. But each subsequent circle requires exponentially more rotations and precision. Most mages die with one.”
The old man’s three circles testified to decades of dedication.
Ray pulled ambient mana into his chest, attempting rotation above his existing ring.
The mana moved sluggishly, barely completing partial orbits before dispersing like smoke.
“…This won’t be quick.”
“Consistent practice is key. Rest first—you must be exhausted.”
“No. Let’s continue.”
The old man studied Ray’s determined face and nodded.
A thought struck him: I might not live long enough to teach him everything.
“I’ll demonstrate a spell. Try to replicate it.”
“I’ll try.”
The old man extended his right arm, palm up.
Mana rippled from his circle, flowing down his arm.
Grey coalesced above his palm as crystalline crackles filled the air.
Tiny crystals fused into a smooth pebble that dropped into his hand.
“Well? Can you do it?”
Veronica, not Ray, reacted with shock.
Spellcasting required academic knowledge—exact element ratios, precise calculations.
One mistake caused violent recoil.
Yet Ray answered evenly:
“I can.”
“Huh? Ray, really?”
“I think so.”
He recalled his battle in the basement—how he’d unconsciously hardened his skin metallically.
This spell used more elements, but every step was etched in his memory.
Ray inhaled deeply.
Selecting slivers of mana from his ring, he guided them:
Chest → right arm → palm.
The mana’s silken flow made him shiver—like a painter discovering fresh pigments after years of dried colors.
Grey crystals bloomed midair, clustering into a pebble.
Rougher than the old man’s, but unmistakably similar.
“Excel—”
“I’ll try again.”
The old man’s praise died as new crystals already shimmered on Ray’s palm—ten times faster.
