Huh, Why the Sudden Sneeze...?
Jerom, swallowing his runny nose, tilted his head in confusion at the sudden chill. He glanced up at the temperature-control magic tool on the ceiling and let out a thoughtful hum.
"Did it break or something? Well, it's still a prototype, so that's possible..."
It's not that. You're just not wearing any damn clothes, Yoahim thought, biting back the urge to say it. Mages were a stubborn bunch, after all—once they latched onto an idea, they clung to it like glue.
Yoahim watched Jerom step onto a chair and reach for the ceiling, then turned away. His eyes landed on the crystal orb sitting on the desk. At first glance, it was just a plain, transparent sphere. His gaze lingered for only a second.
In that instant, an eye appeared on its surface.
Whose eye was it? And who was it watching? The pupil darted around the room like it was scanning everything: first the ceiling, then the magic tool, next Jerom. Then it snapped to Yoahim.
"Ugh!"
The moment their gazes met, Yoahim understood the source of Jerom's chill. It wasn't a human stare. The eye floating over the crystal wasn't some parlor trick either.
This is a divine gaze. A god's mystery.
Kakali...
The god was watching her apostle.
"Hm? Apostle? What's wrong all of a sudden?"
Jerom hopped down from the chair at the sound of Yoahim's voice. Yoahim pressed his fingers to his eyelids and shook his head.
"Nah, it's nothing. Just a quick dizzy spell."
"I heard you sparred with Lord Haellagos today. Must've worn you out. We'll end the orientation here for now. See you tomorrow."
"Got it. Catch you tomorrow."
Yoahim gave a casual wave and headed for the workshop door. He snuck a glance at the crystal—nothing there now.
How obsessed is Kakali with me...?
Yoahim sighed as he stepped out. Gods didn't meddle directly in mortal affairs. Even the sun god Raello only occasionally sent down oracles, never making personal contact like this. Neither the priests of the holy Verona Kingdom nor Liana, the saintess of Melos, had ever faced Raello in person.
Yet Kakali popped into Yoahim's dreams whenever she felt like it. And now she was slyly spying on him too.
I get it, honestly. I'm her last hope.
Unlike Raello, Kakali was sealed away. For her to break free, her apostle Yoahim's role was crucial. He had to grow strong enough to crush all her enemies. Fail that, and liberation was impossible.
So her direct interest in him made perfect sense.
Probably got worried when I said I was learning blood magic.
As Jerom had warned, blood magic was dangerous. Its immense power could corrupt and tempt one to depravity. Kakali was the goddess of death, not slaughter. She took no joy in meaningless or deviant killing.
A sealed god could only hope her sole apostle stayed on the right path.
"Gonna rest up today and prep for tomorrow."
Yoahim left Jenahe Tower and returned to Spire Tower. As always, Leon and Sasha had a meal ready and waiting. After eating his fill, he bathed and hit the sack. That had been his routine for the past month. No energy left for anything else after grueling training—he was out cold the moment his head hit the pillow.
"Apostle, we'll head out for training. Food's on the table—make sure you eat."
"Mmm... yeah, sure..."
Half-asleep, he mumbled a reply to Sasha's voice. Once her footsteps faded, he slowly dragged himself up, rubbed his eyes, washed in the bathroom, scarfed a simple breakfast, and headed back to Jenahe Tower.
The sunlight was warm. Even after a full night's sleep, it felt perfect for a nap. But Haellagos's adjutants were out there risking their lives on the battlefield right now.
The all-out war that kicked off when Yoahim and Aljes toppled Levia Castle was still raging after over a month. To ease their burden, Yoahim needed to get stronger—fast. End the war, then deal with Melos's moves.
Withered Land can't fall, not if we want Kakali revived. It's our last stronghold.
If it crumbled, he'd have to rebuild from scratch or throw in with Bellrallion. But Bellrallion—self-proclaimed first follower of Kakali—could never coexist with him. The guy had twisted the goddess's will.
Yoahim had no intention of repaying Raello's followers' persecutions in kind. Vengeance only bred more vengeance.
"Welcome, Apostle."
Jenahe Tower basement level 5, room 507. Jerom greeted him as he entered, properly dressed this time in a mage's black robe. He shrugged.
"Looks like the temperature control's busted. Prototype glitches. Leaving it for now—I'll fix it later. Shall we start the lesson?"
Jerom beckoned him closer. As Yoahim approached, Jerom reached for the crystal orb—the same one from yesterday where Kakali's eye had appeared.
Yoahim flinched, but Jerom didn't notice as he fiddled with it.
"First, let's check your magical aptitude. Magic is mana manifested through imagination. In theory, talent lets you work miracles. But almost no one can invent entirely new spells from scratch—not even geniuses."
Jerom placed his hand on the orb and channeled mana. Colors swirled inside like paint in water.
"So most mages use established spells. Like following blueprints. But no mage has equal aptitude for every school."
The lights vortexed toward a point, merging into one color: red, tinged with black. Like the flames from Jerom's blood magic.
"It's like school subjects—some excel at math, others language. This orb reveals aptitude. See? I'm gifted in fire magic. The weird shade... that's from blood magic."
Jerom pulled his hand away. The dark red faded completely.
"Your turn. I need to know your aptitude to focus on the right spells."
Yoahim nodded and stepped up, swallowing hard before slowly extending his hand. Jerom's warmth lingered on the orb. He took a deep breath and poured in mana.
"Control the flow—steady speed, moderate amount. Not too fast or too much."
Aptitude test ain't easy, Yoahim grumbled inwardly, adjusting as instructed. The orb hummed, swirling colors just like before. He kept the mana steady, watching.
Wonder what mine is.
He'd never thought about it—mostly stuck to basic spells like shields or lightning bolts in fights.
Doesn't matter much either way.
Aptitude didn't lock you out of other magic. Jerom's fire gift didn't stop him crafting temperature tools. It just meant less efficiency for mismatches. Knowing yours let you invest wisely, grow faster.
So... what is it?
Yoahim watched anxiously as the lights swirled and merged.
The unified light writhed, as if shedding a mask to reveal itself.
"Huh?"
"Hm?"
Jerom and Yoahim blurted in unison. Something impossible had happened.
"Why isn't it changing?"
Yoahim thought he'd cut the mana by mistake. But no—the light stayed colorless. Mana still flowed, yet no color emerged.
"This orb broken or what?"
When a measurement comes out wrong, blame the tool first. Yoahim eyed the orb suspiciously—then a sharp crack rang out.
"Huh?"
Crack... crash!
A hairline fracture spiderwebbed across the orb, shattering it with a piercing shatter. Yoahim stared blankly, then cleared his throat.
"Uh, see... it was defective from the start. Look, crack right here. Yeah? Wasn't me—it was already busted... right?"
Jerom ignored his babble, eyes glued to the wreckage.
Shit. He's pissed? If he makes me pay... Ask Haellagos to cover it? But it broke on its own—defective, right? This all my fault?
Jerom was certain.
The orb isn't broken.
It had shown Yoahim's aptitude perfectly: pure white light. Jerom knew what that meant. Something extraordinary.
And the real issue?
Apostle or not, he shattered this priceless thing because he can't control his mana!
Jerom barely restrained the urge to smack Yoahim upside the head.