Lessons from the Beginner Magic Grimoire
Altrius de la Belmont, High Duke of Haidelrat, Grandmaster, Lord of Arcadia Blue Tower, Administrator of the Ivory Tower.
Contains the ways to step into magic and all low-level spells usable by Novices.
To those who master every spell in this book, by authority of the tower lord, permission to enter Arcadia Blue Tower is hereby granted.
Unlike the other books, this grimoire actually had a table of contents and page numbers. It was so thick that they'd clearly put a lot of thought into making it easy to flip back to specific sections.
I quickly skimmed past the foreword and table of contents to dive into the magic basics. Thankfully, there weren't any major hurdles to understanding it. A few unfamiliar words popped up here and there, but I'd already absorbed most of the vocabulary by then, and nearly all the concepts were things I'd grasped in my previous life. A quick read of the surrounding context was enough to figure out any new terms. All that slogging through stiff, formal texts had paid off.
I methodically parsed through the content. First up was the classification of realms widely used in this world.
Novice → Apprentice → Skilled → Expert → Master → Grandmaster → Adept → Transcendent
These eight stages were standard across fields, though the exact terms might vary slightly—the meanings were identical. Transcendents achieved immortality, so they existed but showed zero interest in worldly affairs; no one knew where they were. There were only 1-2 Adepts worldwide, and Grandmasters numbered in the teens at most, leading the various organizations across the world.
In other words, the author of this book, that "Altrius de la Belmont" guy, was a Grandmaster—one of the absolute peaks of this world, excluding the absent transcendents and the empire-bound adepts.
Impressive fellow... The thought lasted only a moment before a strange suspicion crept in. It didn't seem likely that someone of his stature had handwritten this massive tome himself. Wouldn't he have delegated it to underlings?
I flipped through the middle and end to check the handwriting. It was neatly consistent from start to finish, like a single person had penned it all. A brief moment of awe hit me, then I realized this couldn't be the original. If it were that important, it'd be sealed away in a chest in the corner of the study like the other books.
That line of thinking sparked another question. Even if my father was an upper knight, our family's title was just a non-hereditary one that had to be re-granted by the liege each generation. It felt odd for a house like ours to have such an expensive-looking book. Even slim 50-page notebooks packed with info started at gold-coin prices.
Hmm... Let's do the math.
To quickly recap this world's currency values:
1 gold coin = 12 silver shillings
1 silver shilling = 128 copper coins = 16 large coppers
1 large copper = 8 small coppers
1 mithril coin = 25 gold coins
That was the basic exchange. A loaf of bread cost 2-3 coppers, a mug of beer or wine ran 3-6 coppers, and a pound of meat went for 10-16 coppers. Values didn't map one-to-one with modern goods, but roughly speaking, 1 silver shilling had the buying power of about 80,000 won from my old life.
So a skinny 50-page tome from a goldsmith might run a million won. This beast looked over 1,000 pages, plus magical reinforcement to prevent wear and tear, and the knowledge inside was priceless. Had to be mithril-coin territory at least, right?
I'd heard Father's estates brought in about 300 silver shillings a year total, leaving around 100 after expenses... Huh. Put like that, it wasn't an unattainable splurge. Save 8 gold a year for 3-4 years, and it was within reach. Buy once, pass it down generations, and if even one kid showed magic talent, it'd pay for itself a hundredfold.
Anyway, curiosity satisfied—moving on.
Next came a rundown on mana, which I'd been diligently working with. Mana was the fundamental element composing the world, with all sorts of properties and such... It droned on with explanations far more elaborate than the four- or five-element theories from ancient philosophers back home. I skimmed it like a novel's worldbuilding appendix—got it, sure—nothing really stuck. If I needed it later, I could always revisit.
Sensing mana came next. The standard way was to focus on the mana flowing out of your body while using a talent orb or magic tool like the discernment orb. That black sphere at the temple must've been one. Guess I'd accidentally sensed it by the book.
Handling mana: Focus your mind on one point in your body, and the mana inside gathers there. Then move the gathered mana around. No need to start from the body's center like I had been—I tried it right away and pooled mana straight in my hand, skipping the torso. Handy for emergencies; gather where you need it on the fly.
Next: Accumulating mana in the body. Using the handling method, in a mana-rich spot, take a deep breath to create a gathering point inside. The mana in the inhaled air transfers in.
Oh...
I'd been doing something like danjeon breathing on a hunch... but this suggested running while circulating mana—as I did daily—was way more efficient than just sitting and breathing. Mana was everywhere, after all. Consciously moving it during everyday life outside training should build it up automatically, right?
Sir Roland knew I used mana but never commented, so knights probably prioritized rigorous training over deliberate accumulation. Training you couldn't survive without mana naturally boosted both capacity and control.
Worth testing immediately. I gathered mana at my center the familiar way and circulated it through my limbs. Then shifted focus to the book...
And spotted the issue right away.
Can't concentrate on anything else...
The moment my attention wandered, the mana scattered. I'd need to automate circulation to unconscious levels first. Disappointing, but now I knew the principle. Keep practicing or find a workaround later.
Onward. Now it covered mages' mana versus knights' aura.
Both novices drew from ambient mana. Mages formed a Mana Core, knights an Aura Heart to advance to Apprentice.
New concepts. Like internal energy cultivation from wuxia novels? The book had my interest; now I was hooked for the rest.
It compared the two relentlessly: Mana Core as a shining product of intellect, Aura Heart as a dumb byproduct of brute thinking—constantly hyping cores while dunking on hearts. Author's bias, obviously; old mage wizard probably had beef with knights. I shrugged it off.
Even while trashing Aura Hearts, it detailed their structure (explaining exactly why they were "dumb"). Super helpful.
To sum up these mana organs:
Mana Core: Uses body mana as a primer to resonate with ambient mana, handling far more than your reserves and amplifying spell power.
Aura Heart: Condenses body mana into aura (just high-density mana), stores more overall, automates circulation like the heart pumping blood, endlessly strengthening the body.
Downsides:
Mana Core demanded vast knowledge of mana circuits, iron control over massive resonated mana, and ultra-fine manipulation. The fallout from failed spells or overreach sounded horrific, and without casting, physical limits stayed at novice level.
Aura Heart? Per the author, idiots who thought "more density = more strength" endlessly compressed mana until their bodies collapsed. Pure physical talent from start to finish. Mages could use magic but only internal mana, no amplification, extra step to revert aura to mana—crippled casters, basically. Eh... isn't living long and spry just by shaking these hips a win? Healthy aging, yay.
Anyway, that's the gist. Variations existed per family and mage tower, so I'd ask about ours during tomorrow's training.
Dong—!Dong—!Dong—!Dong—!
Ah, afternoon bells. Time for the temple.
Thanks to blitzing etiquette, writing, basic theology, and ethics, these days I learned herbology and admin work from Priest Ben. I'd finished most manor books, so I should ask to borrow from his office too.
I shelved the grimoire and headed out of the study.