The White Light of Infinite Aptitude
“Apostle.”
“Uh, yeah? Hold on. Honestly, I feel a bit wronged too, you know? I did exactly what you said, so how was I supposed to know the crystal ball would shatter?”
“No, it did break because of you... Sigh. Let's let that slide for now. That's not the important part.”
He was letting it go just like that. Yoahim didn't know much about the price of magic tools, but he was aware that an aptitude-testing crystal ball was no cheap trinket. He nodded deeply, impressed by his master's magnanimity in overlooking the shattered orb.
Jeron fetched a broom and dustpan, handing them to Yoahim.
“Sweep up the glass shards with this. Don't leave them lying around—you might cut yourself.”
That much he could handle. Yoahim swept the fragments into the dustpan as instructed. Meanwhile, Jeron began his explanation.
“As you saw earlier, the crystal ball normally reveals the type of magic you're most apt for through the color of its light. Red for fire magic, blue for water magic, something like that.”
But when Yoahim had infused it with mana, it hadn't changed to any color at all. He swept steadily, letting out a soft hum as he waited for the next part.
“If you have aptitude for two types of magic, it might show two separate colors or blend them together. The former happens when the magics clash, the latter when they can fuse. Either way, it's extremely rare. And even rarer is when it emits pure white light.”
The glass shards on the floor sparkled under the ceiling lights, reflecting no color but pure white brilliance. That was Yoahim's aptitude.
He had no idea what the white light meant. A vague excitement mingled with unease. Staring at the shards for a moment, Yoahim resumed sweeping.
Over the soft swish of the broom, Jeron's voice continued.
“Why did the crystal ball show white light? There are two reasons.”
He held up one finger. Yoahim swallowed hard, bracing himself.
“First: no aptitude at all.”
“...What?”
“The crystal ball shows a color even for the slightest aptitude. It differentiates by intensity—faint for weak talent, vivid for strong. So even the most pitiful talent will produce some color when you infuse mana.”
But, Jeron continued,
“if the talent is so minuscule it's immeasurable, no color appears. As I said, weak talent makes the light pale. Too weak? It fades to white.”
Yoahim swallowed again. Does that mean I have no talent?
Second, Jeron raised another finger.
“Aptitude for all magic.”
“...People like that exist?”
It sounded utterly absurd. Jeron had said even dual aptitudes were incredibly rare. Aptitude for every kind of magic? Impossible.
Magic, like any study, had fields. Mastering them all perfectly went beyond mere genius.
“Every great archmage who left their mark in history produced white light. In this era, only one mage has ever done so, as far as I know.”
“Who?”
“Lilith. Lilith, master of Kalsara Tower.”
Yoahim nodded—it made sense. Lilith, Kalsara's tower master and a level 200 archmage, was an obvious fit. Game characters didn't have fixed aptitudes anyway. They could learn any magic the player chose; nothing was inherently off-limits.
“The crystal prioritizes the strongest aptitude, but if all are equal, it shows white—like mixing light's primary colors into white. All exceptional, so white overall.”
Jeron's fingers clenched into a fist.
“But as I said, utterly negligible talent across the board also yields white. Equal nothingness, after all.”
Yoahim nodded quietly.
“Of course, I don't think your talent is that lacking, Apostle. If I'm right, you have aptitude for all magic.”
Yoahim agreed—not out of ego, but logic. Lilith had all-around aptitude because she was a game character; skills unlocked everything. Yoahim was the same. Dark Knights weren't mages, but they could fill that role limitedly, learning spells via skillbooks like mages.
In the game, holy and black magic were distinct, barring Dark Knights from holy skills. Here, they shared roots despite appearances. That's why Yoahim could learn magic.
In short, game-character versatility plus this world's unified magic laws had produced this result.
“As expected of the Apostle—blessed abundantly by Kakal. Though it means I'll suffer, crafting a special curriculum for you.”
He called it suffering, but Jeron looked thrilled. Talented masters craved talented pupils. Teach one thing, they grasp three or four—the master would itch to impart everything.
“So, what do I learn first?”
“I planned to skim basics then focus on your aptitudes, but we'll change that.”
“To what?”
Jeron's face grew solemn.
“Everything, from the start. Basics to advanced.”
“...Won't that take forever? When do I learn Blood Magic?”
“Do you know why black magic is dangerous, Apostle? Half-baked skill leads to corruption. You have great talent, but that's it. Whether it blooms depends on diligent practice. Hence, basics first. A well-built tower doesn't crumble.”
Yoahim had learned this truth training swordsmanship with Kelcia. Foundations were key to mastery. He felt ashamed for forgetting in his haste. Nodding, he held no more objections.
Jeron's solemnity melted into a smile.
“Then let's begin. For starters... yes, these.”
He pulled several books from the shelf, handing them over. Magic tomes, not skillbooks—ordinary ones. Yoahim read the titles slowly. Five volumes, all on magic basics and beginner spells.
“I said basics, but not from absolute zero. You've used magic and know mana control. So, beginner spells first. Not all magic shares formulas or activation. Learning varieties broadens insight and refines mana control.”
Plus, beginner spells aid higher ones. Yoahim opened a book as Jeron added this. Tension gripped him—he'd never self-taught magic. Shield and Lightning Bolt came from skillbooks; Magic Missile from an item.
Ditching skill cheats to learn like real mages here. It wouldn't be easy.
“Ask if anything's unclear.”
Yoahim eyed the first page. Even a beginner tome was dense with baffling text—his head spun already.
I don't get any of this?
Furrowing his brow, he forced through sentences. Concepts trickled in, then slipped away. At this rate, half a book a day seemed impossible. He flipped pages rapidly, flip flip, focusing on diagrams of magic principles, skipping annotations.
In thirty minutes, he'd skimmed one book. Recalling the diagrams—geometric shapes explaining magic via lines and points, designed to reveal truths just by visualizing.
Yoahim painted with mana as his brush, magic his canvas. Dots to lines, lines to planes, planes to solids. From a speck, mana gained form.
Cold water poured from his fingertips.
Mistake.
He bit his lip at the dripping water. Wrong. Twisting raw mana wasn't enough; refine and control it into a stable form.
This was twisted mana, not magic.
Visualize the form. The spell I want.
Recall the diagram. Check dots straight? Lines crooked? Planes warped? Fix errors, then imagine strongly.
Magic was manifesting imagination's miracle. Yoahim controlled mana thus.
Water rose upward instead of falling, forming a hemisphere then a perfect sphere. It cycled up and down flawlessly, unbroken.
Water Ball. Basic of basics, yet succeeding thrilled him.
Not as hard as I thought. Now, back to mana.
Wasteful to dispel, but can't flood the workshop. He reverted it.
Impressive.
Jeron, watching silently, narrowed his eyes.
Mana control's shaky but passes. Great mana sensitivity. Learning speed... beyond expectations.
Yoahim had exceptional magic talent. He'd grow fast; knowledge would accelerate it further.
But... something's off. Blocked, somehow.
Viewing Yoahim's magic, Jeron sensed oddity. His eyes saw Yoahim racing magic's path to the end—and halting midway, blocked.
Why? What did it mean? He couldn't say.
But he wouldn't dismiss it as illusion.
I'll investigate.
Jeron observed intently, probing the sensation and mirage's truth.
He had to—as Yoahim's master. Masters guide pupils to run their hardest.