Natilda Scape
Natilda Scape. She was a direct descendant of the Scape Viscount family, a feudal house affiliated with the Emulin Countship in the northwest of the Ellemental Kingdom—Kain and Arina’s hometown. Though she belonged to the nobility, the family name itself carried little weight in the capital. Natilda Scape’s fame had nothing to do with her bloodline and everything to do with her outstanding ability.
She had served as Team Leader of the Third Guard Unit in the Magic Tower, the organization that oversaw all magical engineering across the Ellemental Kingdom. In her early thirties she had already held that post, and after receiving a personal scouting offer from the Majoan himself—the academy’s founder—she was invited to join the faculty of Benedict Academy. Now thirty-eight years old and a 6-star mage, she was widely regarded as someone who might one day reach the realm of an 8-star transcendent. That was the magician known as Natilda Scape.
“Let’s begin with a quick review of last class…”
Natilda tossed the attendance sheet onto a nearby folding chair and turned to face the students. She raised one arm. A soft breeze hummed through the room, and a mass of mana became visible—dense enough to see, swirling like mist around her hand. Faint heat haze scattered in every direction from the compressed sphere of power resting above her palm, exactly like smoke rising from flames.
“When a mage handles mana, this kind of leakage into the surroundings is unavoidable.”
The same was true for every kind of ability user, not just mages. It was a fundamental limitation: humans could not perfectly control the mana of nature.
“We generally call the act of handling mana ‘mana operation’ or ‘mana control.’ The mana that escapes is referred to as ‘waste mana.’”
Among all the conditions used to judge talent in magic and every other discipline, the one universally accepted as most important was mana affinity. Unlike other stats, it could not be improved through effort; it was pure innate talent. How familiar one was with mana, how easily one could draw it into the body—those things determined how quickly a person could form the “star” inside themselves that every mage needed.
Arina Grant’s position as freshman representative had come from exactly that: an exceptional mana affinity that let her accumulate 2-star mana without any real magical study. Of course, 3-star and beyond belonged to the realm of trained practitioners. Had she truly done zero spellwork before entering the academy, even her talent would not have been enough to reach that level.
“Like other ability users, mages value mana affinity above all other talents. But high affinity alone does not automatically make someone a great mage.”
High affinity certainly offered advantages—faster growth, quicker recovery from mana exhaustion, and the ability to draw stronger power from the same spell formula. Yet a mage was not an ebon user. Those who awakened with their limits already set, who drew every ounce of power from outside without forming an internal star, found their own affinity acting as both ceiling and shackle. Mages and scholars of other fields, by contrast, could reach higher realms through steady effort.
“Mana operation is one of those areas. In fact, people born with extremely high affinity are often at a disadvantage here.”
Being able to draw up a large amount of mana in one go also meant struggling to control that large amount. The reason ebon users frequently went berserk upon first awakening was precisely the lack of operation ability to match their affinity. The gradual reduction and control of their initial power could even be considered a form of mana operation training.
“One of the most important virtues for a mage is self-control. Everything you do must remain under your own awareness.”
If you created flames with magic, you had to understand exactly how you had produced them. If you froze water, you had to grasp the exact principle behind the freezing. A true mage controlled not only the result but the entire process.
“In that sense, the ability to draw out every drop of mana with as little waste as possible—mana operation—becomes the standard by which outstanding mages are judged.”
Conversely, for dark mages the focus often shifted from minimizing waste to maximizing it. The Inner World, which polluted reality according to the caster’s own laws, was the prime example of a technique that exploited uncontrolled mana leakage.
“Mana operation is especially critical when mages engage in combat.”
With those words, Professor Natilda released the compressed sphere of mana above her hand. This time she spread a thin layer of power across her entire body, coating her skin.
“For example—like this.”
Mages were generally more vulnerable to surprise attacks than martial artists, who pulled mana into their bodies for transcendent senses, or spirit users, who offloaded every task onto hordes of auxiliary AIs. The solution created to compensate for that weakness was enhancement-type magic. Although the total increase in physical power fell short of what martial artists could achieve, it was more than enough to handle ambushes. Since it belonged to the same branch of study, it was also far more accessible than learning martial arts separately.
“For combat-oriented mages, enhancement magic is essential. But pouring too much mana into it is honestly a waste.”
In that case it would be far more efficient to study martial arts alongside magic, even if progress was slower and more difficult. The only real reason to learn body-strengthening spells was so the mage could provide themselves with the bare minimum of defense.
“That is why mana operation matters. You use just enough magic to protect yourself and invest everything else into other spells.”
Waste had to be reduced to the absolute minimum. Otherwise you would end up as a half-baked mage who could empty their entire arsenal in a short fight but had nothing left for a prolonged battle.
“That covers what we went over last class. Today we’ll do some simple practice.”
It would not count toward formal evaluation. This was only the first session, and most of the students had yet to reach even 1-star—or had only just crossed that threshold. Expecting too much would be unreasonable. Though if they stayed at this level for long, that would become a problem.
“Come forward one at a time.”
Professor Natilda dismissed her mana and opened the box she had brought before class began. She handed each student one of the objects inside. It was a small sphere, slightly larger than an adult male’s palm, covered in regular pentagons and hexagons—essentially a miniature soccer ball.
“This is a training magical tool developed by the Magic Tower.”
Mana affinity could never be increased through acquired effort; it was strictly determined by innate talent. Yet mages had been researching ways to break that common sense for a very long time, and those efforts continued to this day.
Magic stones formed only after absorbing the earth’s mana for long periods under extreme heat and pressure deep underground. During research into methods of artificially gathering scattered atmospheric mana to charge those stones wirelessly, this device had been created. It was the product of that labor.
Of course, it could only gather a tiny amount—too little for practical use—and the collected mana tended to disperse back into the air almost immediately. Its efficiency was also far worse than wired charging; most experts would rather call in a professional to compress mana under high heat and pressure to create artificial magic stones. Still, the tool had at least achieved one small success: it could be used for training children.
“With this, even someone without a star inside their body can move the mana in the atmosphere.”
At best it could only generate a breeze no stronger than a light fan, but that was more than enough to teach beginners the fundamentals of mana operation.
“Watch.”
Professor Natilda activated the tool as a demonstration. Wind gathered above the sphere, then the device absorbed it like a sponge. The number 10.0 appeared in front of it.
“The amount of mana absorbed by the tool is displayed numerically.”
Looking at the students who were paying close attention, Natilda allowed herself a rare playful smile.
“Just so you know, this will be part of your assignment. You’d better practice every day what we’ll be learning from today onward.”
Benedict Academy did not have traditional exams. Instead, each professor assigned different tasks based on their own philosophies, then evaluated students according to the results.
The students’ eyes widened in alarm at her words, but their expressions soon grew serious.
“This tool belongs to all of you for the entire semester. Return it without damaging it. I will announce the evaluation criteria later after observing the overall progress of the year.”
“……”
“There are three main criteria: ‘accuracy’ in creating the number 10, ‘speed’ in how quickly you can produce that number, and ‘sustainability’ in how long you can maintain it.”
These three factors would be used to evaluate the students comprehensively. In a way, it was a remarkably fair assignment. Whether you were 0-star, 1-star, or 2-star, anyone could earn a high score through effort.
“For today’s class I’ll teach each of you how to use it one by one and check for mistakes. Since this is the first session, focus on getting a feel for what atmospheric mana is like.”
Professor Natilda explained the usage method, then carefully observed each student as they took their turn. Most of them, however, could not even produce the light breeze she had demonstrated. The average number displayed on their tools hovered between 1 and 2.
That was only natural. Most were still 0-star or had only just reached 1-star. These children had only begun handling mana; they had never needed to manipulate it with any real precision before.
“Ugh, this is hard.”
The same was true for Marily, a genius when it came to using her head but utterly hopeless with physical tasks. In fact, her result was even worse than the others. The number on her tool read 0.23.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to take this class,” she grumbled, pouting. She glanced sideways at Arina, wondering how her friend was doing.
“Whoa.”
An involuntary gasp escaped her. The number on Arina’s tool read 126.4.
Mana affinity was an indicator of how familiar the user was with mana. Among the current first-years, no one possessed higher affinity than Arina. On top of that, she had never studied magic seriously before entering the academy, which meant she had zero experience trying to control mana with precision. Even though she had tried to draw in as little as possible from the atmosphere, the number had still exceeded 100.
“Ugh. Yours is even worse than mine.”
Raising the value from 0 to 10 was one thing. Lowering it from 126 to 10 was something else entirely. A simple comparison of the arithmetic gap made it obvious which was harder.
Come to think of it, Professor Natilda did mention that.
She had said that mana operation could actually be more difficult for people with high innate affinity. Arina’s current situation illustrated that statement perfectly.
“H-how am I supposed to fix this?”
Arina seemed to have realized the same thing. She turned to Marily with a face on the verge of tears. An entirely unexpected obstacle. The moment the top entrance student, Arina Grant, faced the terrible crisis of possibly failing Introduction to Enhancement Magic had arrived.