Chapter 10: Whispers of Magic from the Akashic Records
Nam Gyuil's consciousness grew hazy. A strange sense of buoyancy enveloped him, as if his body were floating weightlessly. Darkness shrouded his vision completely. Amid the void, a scent wafted toward him—the musty tang of mold rising from ancient pages, sharp enough to sting his nostrils.
In that instant, clarity snapped back. Light flooded his sight, revealing the vast interior of a grand library. The floating sensation vanished, grounding him once more.
I've arrived at the Akashic Records. Even though this wasn't his first time, the sheer majesty of the place struck him anew every visit.
"Alright, time to hunt for those magic tomes."
Nam Gyuil wandered the library's endless aisles, checking the maps affixed to the shelves. They helpfully indicated where various categories of books were shelved. After about ten minutes, he found what he sought.
Basic Magic Studies.
He opened it and pored over every word with intense focus.
There was no true magic on Earth. The closest approximation was gathering mana inside the body and blasting it out like a palm strike from a wuxia novel. But that wasn't magic—it was just hurling raw mana.
Magic was about wielding elements to fight: conjuring flames or summoning boulders, that sort of thing.
He flipped the page.
As he read meticulously, one realization hit him.
Aha! So that's why no amount of effort could manifest magic on Earth.
The method for reinforcing the body with mana—that was the foundation of Earth's so-called magic research.
Totally the opposite concept.
Magic didn't draw from internal mana; it harnessed external mana from the atmosphere.
Like an alternate form of mana cultivation?
Setting aside the complex theories, that was the gist.
A swordsman's mana cultivation aimed to purify and condense internal mana to strengthen the body. Magic was the polar opposite: processing atmospheric mana absorbed through breathing and projecting it outward. That ambient mana, tied to nature itself, formed the core power source for elemental magic.
Nam Gyuil gave a wry smile. On Earth, the prevailing theory insisted magic required internal mana. That's why they'd tried developing it based on Earth-style mana cultivation. The European "Magic Research Society" had been particularly zealous.
He shook his head.
Earth's mana cultivation methods were flawed from the start.
Chasing an entirely different power with the wrong training had yielded nothing after nearly a decade. Plus, the atmospheric mana buildup was too sparse for proper magic anyway.
Gates are generating mana naturally on Earth, but it's still too thin for casting spells.
Of course, magic-related weapons kept emerging from gates. The issue wasn't availability—it was usability.
Nam Gyuil propped his chin on his left hand.
Magic weapons amplified spell potency. With one, even Earth's mana scarcity wouldn't hinder powerful casts.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
In simple terms, I can monopolize everything magic-related.
This was enough magic knowledge for now.
I only get three hours a day in the Akashic Records.
Time was short. He'd secured his first goal—magic intel—so now for the second.
I need a way to ensure my teammates train properly without leaking secrets.
He devoured book after book. By the time his session ended, he'd absorbed various tidbits, but nothing groundbreaking.
"Damn it."
Cursing under his breath, Nam Gyuil was ejected as his time expired.
Nam Gyuil's eyelids fluttered open from his cross-legged position. His dorm room came into view. His eyes felt gritty.
He rubbed them and stood.
Time to test magic training.
Beside him lay the staff he'd claimed from the Pharaoh. He gripped it and focused his mind.
"Hoo..."
He took a deep, deliberate breath, inhaling atmospheric mana to the fullest and refining it within. The sensation was utterly unique—like his blood cooling to ice, laced with faint electric prickles.
Whoosh.
Flames erupted from the staff, coalescing into a fireball. A blazing orb hovered in midair, roughly basketball-sized.
Not bad for a first try—pretty impressive size.
According to the Akashic Records, even baseball-sized was remarkable for beginners.
Must be the staff's effect.
Satisfying. At this scale, it was combat-ready. Without the staff, it'd have been a headache.
Good thing it's mine now.
The Hunter Agency didn't claim gear from gates cleared by national hunters. They just dragged out service extensions with endless excuses.
Still, I need to use magic cautiously.
Magic was an unknown power on Earth. Revealing it would invite envy, jealousy, and opportunists eager to exploit him.
That'd slow my growth and drag me into danger.
Can't let that happen.
Stronger monsters loomed ahead. He couldn't afford delays. No magic in public unless absolutely necessary.
Training session over.
The real issue is powering up my teammates.
Teaching cultivation risked leaks, and he'd scoured the Akashic Records for secrecy methods... but found none appealing.
There were options—like curses that kill oath-breakers. But that'd make me their executioner. No thanks.
Brainwashing via mind-control spells? Out of the question. Body modification surgeries? Irreversible and risky.
But if I teach nothing and they discharge, they'll die. I'd train them now if secrecy was guaranteed.
Bills in discussion would count guild service toward Hunter Agency duty. If passed, he could recruit his whole team into his guild, building his own faction.
If that happens, I'd train them for my sake too—scale up the guild. Secrecy still key, though.
But that was future optimism. Not now.
One path remained: superior gear.
Weapons and armor alone could skyrocket their combat power.
Problem: they cost a fortune.
He had no such funds. He could earn it via Akashic Records, but business took time—hiring, setup, the works.
If only quick cash or free gear dropped in my lap.
Nam Gyuil sighed heavily. Frustration weighed on him, amplified by the cramped room. Better to step out for fresh air.
He grabbed his wallet and smartphone, heading outside. A chill breeze brushed his shoulders. Autumn was creeping in.
En route to the park, a voice halted him.
"Sergeant Nam Gyuil."
"?"
Turning, he spotted an unwelcome face.
"Han Kangsu?"
Why was this kid calling him? And why here?
"Hey, Han Kangsu."
"Yes."
"When a superior calls, state your rank and name first. Didn't they teach you that?"
"...Private Han Kangsu."
Nam Gyuil, schooling him in proper military etiquette, chuckled.
"Han Kangsu, what are you doing here? Waiting for me to come out?"
"Yes."
Bandages wrapped his arm—post-treatment, he'd lingered.
His injury wasn't severe enough to sideline him.
"Why?"
"I'd like a spar with you, sir."
"What?"
Nam Gyuil's brow arched. Had he heard right?
"You want to spar?"
"Yes."
He scratched his head. Why the sudden rematch fever?
Too annoying—he waved it off.
"I'm busy."
"Just wait a moment..."
"I said busy. Find someone else."
Cutting off persuasion attempts, Nam Gyuil strode toward the park. Han Kangsu hesitated, confusion etching his face—clearly not the scenario he'd envisioned.
Nam Gyuil found it amusing.
He never even considered refusal.
Still green.
Then, Han Kangsu shouted with resolve.
"If you spar with me, I'll pay ten million won!"
Nam Gyuil froze. Ten million for a spar?
What the hell?
He turned. Han Kangsu's expression had hardened.
"Hey, Han Kangsu."
"Yes, sir?"
"Superior calls—rank and name first, remember?"
Han Kangsu scowled, pride stung.
"Private Han Kangsu."
"Why the spar?"
"I lost the bet, but I need to prove I'm not weak."
"...Strip ranks and see who's stronger?"
"Yes. Exactly."
Nam Gyuil was dumbfounded. How did this kid's brain work? Lose a bet, demand a spar? Spoiled heir didn't cover it—this was next-level.
He sighed.
"Forget it. No interest. Rest up at home—don't waste energy."
"But I offered money! Not enough? Double it, then."
"Not taking it. What would I do with dirty kid cash?"
He waved dismissively, urging him away. Han Kangsu tilted his head.
"What's 'dirty kid cash' mean?"
"..."
Nam Gyuil stared. Kids these days really had poor vocab?
"Means I don't covet children's money."
Han Kangsu flushed beet-red and bellowed.
"I'm not a child!!"
"Got your ID?"
"W-Well..."
"Legal drinking age?"
"That too..."
"Then you're a kid."
Han Kangsu floundered. Nam Gyuil smirked and resumed walking.
Desperate, Han Kangsu blurted an unexpected offer.
"If you win the spar, I'll upgrade all 01 Team gear to top-grade!"
Nam Gyuil halted again. He'd just thought gear was the way to empower his team without leak risks.
And opportunity knocks?
He turned to face him.
"All gear to top-grade?"
"Yes."
"Shields and armor too?"
"Of course."
Sensing interest, Han Kangsu pressed.
"Beat me, and I'll outfit 01 Team entirely in top-grade gear."
Nam Gyuil crossed his arms, pondering, then nodded.
"Fine. Deal."
Han Kangsu pumped his fist in triumph. They headed to the Hunter Agency, taking the elevator to the basement training hall—a perfect two-man arena, camera-free, sealed tight. No spectators, no interference: a flawless private arena.
Han Kangsu grabbed a wooden sword from the wall.
I'll win for sure.
This spar would restore his shattered pride. No matter what!
My bet loss was just bad luck.
Son of Han Ducheol, gifted with talent, secret training from Dad. He'd beaten rookie guild vets unscathed post-discharge. Pre-enlistment monster hunts with Father. Skill and setup favored him—loss meant rotten luck.
Time to prove it.
That I'm stronger than Nam Gyuil!!
For Han Kangsu, this was his last shot at confidence. No defeat allowed.
Conversely, Nam Gyuil needed victory for the gear. No backing down.
The two squared off, eyes locked, before the spar ignited.
"Taaah!!"
Han Kangsu roared, charging at Nam Gyuil.