Chapter 6

To those with no connection to magic, a Circle was nothing more than a number. When a magician introduced themselves by stating their Circle, most people simply nodded and accepted it. If wealth defined the rich, then a higher Circle count must be better, right? That was the extent of their understanding.

But for mercenaries, adventurers, or soldiers—those who had brushed against magic whether by choice or necessity—the story was entirely different. Having faced a magician’s spells head-on, they knew exactly how enormous the gap between each Circle could be.

Among them, it was common industry knowledge that Archmages of 7-Circle or higher were existences who transcended ordinary common sense. Like superhumans of the seventh tier, they could single-handedly overturn an entire battlefield.

However.

If one dug even slightly deeper into the very concept of “magic,” a Circle was closer to a highly systematized framework.

Originally, magic had never been something that could be approached academically. The current system—where magicians based in various towers exchanged knowledge, sometimes complementing and sometimes opposing one another—had only been established relatively recently. At most, a few hundred years.

Before then, the essence of magic had referred to the entire act of manipulating the mysterious phenomenon known as “mana” according to the caster’s will in order to alter the laws of the world. Yet the ways to handle mana, whose origin remained completely unknown even today, were far too broad, esoteric, and dangerous.

Because of that, intelligent beings had undergone countless trials and errors in the pursuit of magical progress. The optimized result of those innumerable trials and errors was precisely the Circle.

It was the magic system called Circle Magic.

After the various intelligent races pooled their wisdom to collect and organize as many kinds of magic as possible, they had birthed an entirely new magical framework unlike anything that had come before.

The core of Circle Magic was intuition. It took as its foundation the most basic law of mystery: like begets ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like.

Circle Mages had reclassified existing spells according to the amount of mana required for casting and their impact on causality—in other words, using ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the intuitive metric of power. They had succeeded in unifying the price a mere mortal had to pay to handle the mystery of mana into a single factor: mana quantity alone.

Spells that once had haphazard learning methods and wildly varying difficulties were remade so they could be activated simply by injecting mana according to the formula.

But nothing is gained without sacrifice.

Magics reclassified under Circle Magic could not even activate without meeting the minimum requirements of sufficient mana and the corresponding number of Circles.

Of course, in most cases ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the advantages of Circle Magic overwhelmingly surpassed those of traditional magic. As soon as the new system appeared, it rapidly took root as the mainstream of the magical world.

The greatest feature of Circle Magic was that higher-Circle spells were superior in nearly every aspect—power, versatility, and more—compared to lower-Circle ones. Because of this, Circle Mages obsessed over the Circles themselves far more than over magic research.

After all, increasing one’s Circle count was the only way to access higher-Circle magic, and becoming a high-Circle mage naturally broadened the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pool of available spells. Naturally, the mana sensitivity required to raise one’s Circles and the computational power needed to quickly analyze formulas became the primary abilities demanded of most mages—Circle Mages.

Of course, a tiny minority of mages never entered Circle Magic at all. There were also shamans who dealt broadly with every mystery in the world rather than fixating on mana, and Eastern ascetics who handled an entirely separate mystery known as ki.

Still, any mage who practiced Circle Magic would spare no effort, devoting themselves day and night to increasing their Circles by any means necessary.

However, Kevin was different.

Just as he had excelled at studying in his previous life, from childhood he had been told he possessed talent for magic. Yet the moment he seriously began learning the magic taught at the tower—Circle Magic—he tilted his head.

“Does Circle Magic really need to be used like this?”

For some reason, it didn’t feel like an innovation that had escaped the previous chaotic systems to pursue efficiency and rationality. It looked like nothing but shackles.

In Kevin’s eyes, the core of magic was the mystery itself. Even on 21st-century Earth, where scientific civilization—the ultimate champion of reason and rationality—had developed to its extreme, humanity still hadn’t properly grasped the principles by which the world operated. So why had the civilization of Arcadia, which actively utilized mysteries fundamentally impossible for mortals to understand, attempted to systematize them?

Of course he understood the reason. No matter how difficult something was to comprehend, there needed to be a minimum baseline for control and utilization to be possible. The problem was that it had gone too far.

“The idea itself is brilliant.”

The person who first conceived of Circles must have been a true genius. But Circle Magic had ultimately progressed in a direction for the many ordinary people rather than the few geniuses. That was where everything had gone wrong.

To Kevin, 1-Circle spells all looked like brilliantly sparkling jewels, but starting from 2-Circle they resembled hideous things where beautiful gems had been crudely patched together. If they had created Circle Magic to simplify previously complex spells as much as possible in pursuit of efficiency and intuition, only to complicate them again, wasn’t that completely defeating the purpose?

He didn’t know how others felt, but at least that was what Kevin thought. And he didn’t stop at mere thought. From early on, Kevin had walked his own path.

“Kevin. Why in the world won’t you advance to 2-Circle magic? With your talent, you could reach not only 2-Circle but far higher realms!”

“This is enough for me.”

“Well, I suppose if the baron’s youngest son stands out too much, he’d only be treated like a nail that sticks out. For such a young child to already understand the ways of the world… Heh heh…”

The Circle Mage who had taught Kevin simply took the boy’s words as regrettable humility from a precocious child. But from Kevin’s perspective, he quite literally had no reason to learn any Circle Magic beyond 2-Circle.

Instead, what caught his attention was shamanic arts—particularly Geas.

“1-Circle magic is already complete in itself. I just need to increase its output and find applications to raise its utility.”

He treated Circle Magic as a means, not an end. Kevin focused on the simplicity inherent in 1-Circle magic, then layered upon it shamanism’s fundamental approach to mysteries and the self-imposed restrictions of Geas to create his own unique magical system.

The true beginning was squeezing every last drop of efficiency from Circle Magic. The moment he had perfectly mastered the 1-Circle spells after investing sufficient time and effort, Kevin placed a Geas upon himself.

He had never intended to learn or use magic above 2-Circle anyway. Moreover, advancing beyond 2-Circle required formally joining a tower, finding a master, and learning through apprenticeship. The resulting restrictions on his freedom of movement were a fatal drawback for Kevin.

“Running errands and wandering around all day, then going out again to subjugate monsters for achievements? I’d rather die.”

The Geas’s effect was outstanding. In exchange for the restriction of a Circle Mage voluntarily abandoning higher Circles, Kevin gained affinity for mana. It was the single most essential talent for any magician, one nearly impossible to develop after birth, and he had amplified it through the Geas.

He had already been called exceptionally talented since childhood, and this elevated it even further. As a result, Kevin’s mana affinity and mana capacity reached a level no one else could hope to match.

The Contemplation magic—essential for holing up indoors and the one he used most frequently—could never have been completed without the talent amplified by his Geas. Even creating a degraded version would have taken far longer. He might not have finished it until old age.

Thanks to that confidence, he had planned his independence earlier than expected and had nearly succeeded. But in the current situation…

“It seems manipulating physical force with delicacy is the hardest part. Once I complete the third one, it should be solvable somehow…”

Kevin felt an unavoidable limit. Large-scale civil engineering was not an area that could be solved simply by having high destructive power or clever applications. Water and wind belonged to nature, but carving waterways and redirecting winds belonged to humans. It had always been that way throughout history.

Large-scale civil works required both the physical power born of large-scale labor and the delicacy that came from human hands. Simply blocking or filling the new waterways with brute force would not be difficult, but the real problem came afterward. If he didn’t lay a proper, delicate foundation from the beginning, he would only create more unnecessary work for later.

“Then I’ll leave it to you, Partner.”

Kevin closed his eyes and began to meditate.

When the chant ended, the hazy form of the Tulpa grew noticeably larger, and countless hands burst forth from behind it. The gigantic figure, reminiscent of Earth’s Thousand-Armed Avalokiteshvara, began to advance powerfully toward the river.