The Place Where the Heart Lingers (3)
Learning to read was a smooth process. To begin with, the common script of this world wasn't all that complicated. Since I already possessed a body capable of basic speech and hearing, once I understood how to read the letters, the rest progressed as easily as a boat sailing with the wind. It wasn't as if I’d run out of study materials, either. Since I was currently staying in a temple, there were scriptures within reach at all times. The content was a bit pious, sure... but if I thought of it as a dry fantasy novel, it was readable enough. Plus, with a guardian who offered prayers at the crack of dawn, there was no way my progress would be slow. It was a time that let me personally experience why, in the past, the clergy were the quintessential literate class.
However, the result of combining all those advantages was that I was soon being treated as the temple's little nun. At first, Ameryel’s attitude toward me changed. Fundamentally, I had no need to be involved in temple affairs. While I did help with chores like cleaning, laundry, and preparing meals in exchange for her teaching me how to read, those were closer to housework than actual temple duties. But once I started reading—or more accurately, once I started reading the scriptures—the situation changed. Ameryel would push forward with sound logic like, "Reading silently is important, but reading aloud is helpful when you're learning," and I ended up joining the morning prayers. Starting with those morning prayers, I began participating in the full-fledged work of a nun, including transcribing scriptures and attending holiday prayers.
Since I happened to be borrowing the spare clothes of a novice nun, people who frequented the temple often treated me like a young nun myself. When I told such people, "I’m sorry, but I’m not a nun," the response was always, "You are already a fine nun in your own right." Did they think it was just an expression of modesty? After hearing that a few times, I felt like a fool for trying so hard to refute them, so I stopped trying to explain myself one by one.
Conversely, learning magic was sluggish. To be honest, I had thought it would be easier than learning to read. The main reason was that the protagonist kept blowing hot air into my ear, insisting that I must have talent. Because he kept saying, "You have talent, you have talent," at some point, I felt like I’d been hypnotized into thinking, *Ah, I must have a talent for magic.* That arrogance never faded, and it worsened to the point where, when I used a scroll in the dungeon, I thought, *As expected, I have talent.* In reality, when I moved a lump of mana and fired it as a mana arrow, I felt an inexplicable sense of omnipotence. Seeing how easily I learned to read, I truly believed, *Ah, Hazel is very smart. Then learning magic must be fast, too.* Truly.
That flimsy confidence was shattered in an instant. It was easy to reach the fact that magic in this world was something akin to a massive system of language, like machine code or mathematics. But there were two major hurdles to moving beyond that. One was that the book the protagonist gave me didn't contain the grammar for handling that "language." This book was closer to a collection of legal precedents or a workbook of practice problems. It had example spells and a bit of commentary, but it didn't contain the fundamental principles. This book was for mages, not for *becoming* a mage. Perhaps it was because the protagonist was an outsider to magic? It was full of mistakes.
The other was that the magic system was far removed from the methods used in modern fantasy. The latest trend in the fantasy magic systems I knew was a format closer to "skills." Contracts, formulas, coding, magic circles—no matter the form, you paid mana as a cost and used magic. This was the common understanding in my original world whenever someone said, "This world has magic." But the magic in this world was... how should I put it... it looked like a row of firearms. For example, imagine you have one six-shot revolver and one double-barreled shotgun. A mage pre-loads eight bullets by combining the cylinder and the barrels. Then, when they enter actual combat, they fire the right bullet for the right situation. Understanding this much wasn't difficult. I just had the impression that it was borrowing from a very old-school, history-rich fantasy setting. But the problem lay in *where* one stored this magic. My head felt like it was going to explode just from worrying about this for several days.
As with all problems, the resolution of the worries I harbored came in an instant.
"Hazel, I’ve found your magic teacher."
That was what the protagonist said to me after showing his face for the first time in a while. I didn't feel as happy as I had expected. Was it because of the disappointment that I hadn't been able to solve it myself? Or was it the fear of meeting someone new? Perhaps it was because the protagonist’s complexion was darker than usual. While I was agonizing over how to encourage my master, who looked visibly exhausted, I just tightly grabbed his sleeve and managed to squeeze out a single word: "Thank you." I had lived a life of being comforted rather than comforting others. It was a moment where I felt that deep in my heart.
My teacher, apparently, was an academy student. They said that during the summer break, a student who had returned to their hometown was doing private tutoring to cover their tuition. Looking at Ameryel’s reaction, it seemed like a rare opportunity. "You have talent, so you’ll be able to gain a lot from this chance," the protagonist said, sounding quite carefree. I thought to myself that I wouldn't be fooled by such empty words anymore, but I couldn't stop my tail from wagging softly.
The place for the lesson was an inn not too far from the temple. I was told that while he had managed to make time today, I would have to go alone for the time being, and I was just relieved. I had never been out alone before. I had mostly gone out with the protagonist, and occasionally with Ameryel when she went to buy groceries. I was at the point where I needed to practice going out alone, so if the distance had been far, it would have been very difficult. It was truly a fortunate thing.
When I knocked lightly on the door, a neatly dressed girl welcomed me. Unexpectedly, her race was human. I had imagined a race excellent in magic. "This kid?" The girl exchanged a few words with the protagonist and then scanned me up and down. Her head moved up and down, but her gaze was focused on my ears and tail. Finishing that short exploration, the girl said, "A beastkin, huh?"
It wasn't a very good first impression. The protagonist was chased off. He had tried to stick around, asserting his position as a guardian, but he was struck down when she said, "The payment I received is not for two people." It wasn't easy for the person paying to be that flustered. It seemed the academy was a much more prestigious educational institution than I had thought. After clearing away the obstacle, the girl sat down next to me and started the conversation.
The words that started with, "Don't misunderstand me when you hear this," could be summarized simply. Generally, the stronger a species' body, the weaker its ability to handle magic. Of course, there were exceptions like dragon-kin, who were strong by birth, or elves, who used their long lifespans to train their bodies, but most seemed to show that tendency. What I thought was surprising was the dwarves; they were also one of the races that couldn't use magic. There was a pseudo-primitive magic called rune magic, but it wasn't exactly close to magic. So, she finished her long excuse by saying that what she had just said didn't come from any antipathy toward beastkin, but was a natural reaction for a mage. Isn't that even more of a problem? It meant they were a crazy group of species-discriminators with species-contempt fundamentally ingrained in them. Of course, I wasn't tactless enough to say that in front of a magic-world elite, so I didn't let it slip out.
Aside from the fact that mages were a racist group, another thing I learned while talking was that the girl had a talent for teaching. From the excuses for what she had said, to the races suitable for magic, and even the phenomenon of a different system called rune magic—the girl continued her explanation smoothly without any awkwardness. It seemed the protagonist had found a proper teacher. Was she perhaps a character from the original work? As my thoughts drifted in that direction, it felt like she might be. With her short-tied water-colored hair and the tear mole that stood out under her eye. On top of that, she was an academy student. Thinking about it, it really was like that. Isn't it too much of a coincidence? It seemed to make sense that the protagonist, who knew the girl's past inside and out, had used his knowledge of the original work to hire her somehow. If I thought about it more deeply, that dwarf blacksmith was the same. If it weren't for that, how could such unique people appear one after another...
"Hey."
"Yes!"
I was startled by the call and answered.
"Your mind is elsewhere."
The girl said, looking at my stiffly standing tail. I might have just solidified the mage's prejudice toward beastkin a little more.