The Mage's Nest
The Mage's Nest Magic Grimoire flipped open its pages on its own and floated to the center of the workshop.
I shall commence constructing the barrier. It would be wise not to enter this room for several days.
With those words from the Grimoire, strands of glowing mana threads began to spill from each page. Like thousands of silkworms spinning cocoons all at once, they stretched toward the walls, ceiling, and floor, embroidering intricate, geometric rune patterns. Each time the mana threads sliced through the air, a faint shiiik sound accompanied the sharp scent of ozone.
Jinwoo watched the wondrous sight of his personal sanctuary—his crucible of ambition—taking shape for a moment before quietly closing the door and stepping outside.
A few days of free time. He left the rundown villa behind and headed to the most glamorous hotel in the heart of the city, a place utterly mismatched with his former self. His destination was the buffet restaurant on the top floor, where floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Seoul's skyline.
It was a realm of luxury he never would have set foot in during his past life, but his body as a mage now craved a different kind of "fuel." His metabolism had become abnormally hyperactive, transformed into a high-performance engine that burned mana as fuel. That engine demanded a constant supply of high calories and premium nutrition. Corner store triangle kimbap or delivery food could no longer sate the primal hunger gnawing at him. His tastes had grown discerning too, instinctively favoring gourmet dishes where the pure flavors of the ingredients shone over heavy seasoning.
He took a seat by the window, sipped the wine the waiter poured, then unhesitatingly grabbed a plate. Thick, freshly grilled medium-rare steak. Lobster roasted with rich butter aroma. Sushi topped with fresh tuna belly and sea urchin roe. Ignoring the stares around him, he piled his plates mountain-high and emptied them time and again. What would bloat an ordinary person after two plates left him with a pleasant lingering hunger.
Pausing to catch his breath, he pulled out his smartphone. His eyes caught a familiar name dominating the portal site's main news feed.
She had transcended mere gossip fodder to become a full-blown "social phenomenon." Jinwoo glanced around. The other patrons in the upscale restaurant were glued to their own smartphones, scrolling similar articles. Her narrative as the victim of a tragic incident, amplified by her doll-like mixed beauty, ignited the public's voyeurism and twisted protective instincts, fueling explosive popularity.
He checked the Mystery Gallery too. Sure enough, it was ablaze with talk of her.
Jinwoo clicked his tongue inwardly. Tch, fools. No different from crows circling a corpse.
The "crows" he meant weren't just the stalkers or reporters. With her elevated to this level of phenomenon, the government wouldn't sit idle. National Intelligence Service agents were surely monitoring the Kim siblings' home around the clock—bait to lure out his "unknown entity," and a test subject to study her peculiar case.
Jinwoo drained the last of his wine. The [Whisper of the Dream Demon] etched into her body would claim her as his own every night, but a real-world reunion would have to wait.
Guess I won't be fucking her again for a while.
Feeling a mix of mild irritation and satisfaction—like prized prey locked behind an unexpectedly sturdy fence rather than true regret—he rose to fetch dessert. She was still in the palm of his hand. No rush. The higher the world elevated her, the sweeter her tears at his feet would be.
The threat of fellow "kindred" mages that Jinwoo's Magic Grimoire had warned of was a universal truth, proven across countless dimensions and eras. But its knowledge lacked deep insight into the peculiar history of "Earth"—a speck of a planet where humanity, a barbaric and savage race, had unfolded its unique saga.
Contrary to the Grimoire's assumptions, modern Earth wasn't a bountiful hunting ground for mages but a barren wasteland where nearly all had gone extinct.
It began with the medieval witch hunts. No mere religious frenzy—this was a systematic, organized purge of magical knowledge and bloodlines. Countless mages and their heirs turned to ash on pyres, their grimoires and lore burned or sealed in the Church's deepest vaults. This first catastrophe made succession nearly impossible.
Scientific advancement followed, relegating magic to superstition and delusion. People ceased believing in mysteries; talented children who might have become mage heirs studied math and physics instead. Magic withered and faded.
The killing blow came in humanity's self-inflicted near-apocalypse: two world wars. Mages were no exception. In the trenches of World War I, defensive barriers tore like paper before poison gas and machine guns. Conscripted mages died as nameless infantry in the mud of the Somme and Verdun.
World War II was worse. Flying mages couldn't evade Messerschmitt cannons; city-incinerating fire magic paled against carpet bombings. Mages perished alongside "Muggles" in Dresden's inferno, Stalingrad's freeze, or Hiroshima's flash.
Survivors were few. They learned one truth: before humanity's collective madness, individual magic was powerless. To endure, they erased themselves—shrinking status, power, and abilities to lurk in society's shadows. Some entered long hibernation in deep underground sanctums or pocket dimensions where time flowed differently, awaiting humanity's end.
Their grimoires shared similar fates. Some sealed themselves in Mariana Trench depths per dying masters' wills; others languished as spoils in Vatican secret archives or witch-hunter descendants' vaults.
But Jinwoo's emergence changed everything. With his fame, global interest—and capital—in magic, mysteries, nightmares, and the occult surged insanely. This exploded the total "mana" pool, magic's lifeblood.
Unsealed grimoires without masters sensed it first. Judging now their time to reclaim power with new owners, they stirred. One slipped into a national library's rare books section, tempting ambition-filled despairing humans. Others roamed seeking traces of dormant ancient mages.
Even sealed grimoires seized the chance. Centuries-old bindings weakened under the mana flood. They attempted escape; a precious few succeeded.
Among them: legendary tomes. The grimoire of the immortal mage Count of St. Germain—who witnessed the French Revolution and Napoleon—[Even You Primitive Savages Can Do Easy Alchemy Grimoire!] eyed prospects from a European antiquities dealer's display.
Rasputin's grimoire, which shook the Russian Empire—[How to Easily Ruin an Empire Like a Cake]—prowled Kremlin depths for a charismatic chaos-bringer.
Medieval classics like [Solomon's Lesser Key], detailing his 72 demons, and [Grand Grimoire], essence of necromancy and demon summoning, awoke too—primed to stoke new-era turmoil.