The next morning, Ludger found himself in the backyard with Cor, who had insisted on starting his hour right after breakfast. The mage adjusted his long robe and tapped the side of his book, his expression as calm and scholarly as ever.

“Listen closely, Ludger,” Cor began, kneeling down so his sharp eyes were level with the boy’s. “Mages and sages both wield mana, but they walk different paths. Mages, like Maurien, focus on shaping the elements directly. Fireballs, lightning bolts, streams of water—power that bends the world by force of will.”

He tapped his temple with a bony finger. “Sages, however, treat mana as an extension of the world itself. We study the flow of energy, the harmony between mind, body, and spirit. A Sage doesn’t just wield power—they guide it. It’s less about brute force and more about control, efficiency, and resilience.”

Ludger tilted his head, scratching his cheek. “So… one side throws fire, the other sits around meditating?”

Cor chuckled under his breath. “That’s one way of putting it. But you’d be wrong. A Sage can be the difference between a mage who burns out after a few spells and one who can cast all day without falling over.”

He straightened, his tone turning firm. “That’s why sages are rare. It’s a harder path. Less flashy, but more rewarding if you’ve got the discipline.”

Ludger smirked faintly, raising his brows. Discipline, huh? Not really my strongest point… but if this helps me squeeze more juice out of my mana, I’ll take it.

Cor flipped open his book, pages covered in neat, sharp handwriting. “We’ll start with the basics. Breathing. Posture. The art of letting mana flow with your heartbeat. It won’t be exciting. You’ll want to quit. But endure it, and your spells will grow sharper without you even realizing it.”

Ludger sighed, crossing his arms. “Figures my first lesson would sound like yoga.”

Cor arched a brow. “What’s yoga?”

“...Never mind.”

Ludger sat cross-legged in the grass, his small frame stiff with irritation while Cor corrected his posture for the third time.

“Straighten your back. Shoulders relaxed. Don’t slouch,” Cor instructed, his voice patient but unyielding. “Now… breathe with intent. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Feel the rhythm of your heartbeat, and imagine mana flowing with it.”

Ludger closed his eyes and did as told—at least, he tried. His breaths came slow, his chest rising and falling. The minutes dragged on, the sound of wind rustling through the trees his only companion.

He focused, waiting for that familiar ping of the system. Any moment now, a new skill should pop up. Any moment…

But nothing came.

After what felt like an eternity, Ludger cracked one eye open. 'That’s it? Just breathing? I didn’t even get a skill notification.'

Ludger sighed, puffing his cheeks. No skill, no progress. Just sitting around like a wannabe monk. This feels like a scam.

He tapped his fingers against his knee and muttered, “Wouldn’t it be faster to just… teach me one of those basic Sage tricks? Don’t they have something simple to get started, like ‘Mana Control for Dummies’?”

Cor raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Impatient, are we? You sound like Arslan when he was your age.”

Ludger froze, then grimaced. “Ouch. Don’t compare me to him.”

Cor chuckled softly, but his eyes grew sharp. “Be patient, boy. The Sage’s strength isn’t in flashy spells. It’s in turning what you already have into something greater. You’ll understand… if you endure.”

Ludger leaned back, groaning. Endure, huh? Great. A whole hour of breathing with no skill gain. This Sage business better be worth it.

Ludger sat there, his legs already starting to ache from sitting cross-legged, while Cor’s steady voice carried on about breathing and rhythm. He half-listened, but his mind drifted elsewhere—toward the one thing that had been both a blessing and a puzzle since the day he woke in this world.

The system.

He’d gotten so used to it that he almost forgot how strange it really was. Every time he found a master—Maurien, Selene, Arslan, even Aronia—the system did its little trick. Suddenly, he had a new class, a new job, a skill dropped in his lap like it was some kind of souvenir.

But how?

It wasn’t like they handed him a book of secrets. Maurien hadn’t whispered “Create Water” into his ear. Selene hadn’t carved “Hard Fists” into his bones. Yet the moment they were registered, the system acted as if it already knew what they could do—and decided to give him the first crumb.

Maybe… maybe it scanned the abilities of his so-called masters. A neat little package of their paths, broken down into skills, and then it gave him one as a starting point. Or maybe it was something else entirely—something far creepier.

He pictured the system lurking like an invisible judge, recording every skill in existence, waiting for him to find someone who fit the mold. Register a master, and voilà—the system pulls the data from who-knows-where and throws me a freebie.

Ludger’s lips curled in a faint smirk as he tapped his knee. Or maybe it’s worse. Maybe I’m just stealing little bits of their essence without them realizing. Wouldn’t that be a nasty surprise?

The thought lingered, unsettling and exciting in equal measure.

Either way, one truth was obvious: the system wasn’t just a tool. It was a mystery. And the more he used it, the more he realized it might be playing a game of its own.

Weeks slipped by with little to show for them. Ludger sat through Cor’s lessons, cross-legged, breathing until his shoulders went numb, waiting for the system to reward him with something—anything. But day after day, the silence in his status screen remained.

Still, something subtle changed. At first, it was like trying to hear a whisper in the middle of a storm. But slowly, Ludger began to notice it: a current deep inside him, flowing in rhythm with his breaths. Mana. It was faint but undeniable, like a thread woven into his veins.

One morning, as Ludger sat with his eyes closed, Cor’s sharp gaze narrowed on him. The boy’s breathing had steadied. His body no longer fidgeted after a few minutes. And in his stillness, mana clung to him like dew on grass.

“…You can feel it now, can’t you?” Cor finally asked.

Ludger opened one eye, smirking faintly. “Took long enough, but yeah. It’s there. Feels… weird. Like a second heartbeat.”

Cor stood, brushing dust off his robes. “Good. Then it’s time for the next step.” He raised a single hand, and with a precise gesture, a small spark of bluish-white light gathered at his fingertip. With a flick, it shot forward—a concentrated dart of pure mana that zipped across the yard and struck a wooden post with a sharp crack.

“This is Mana Bolt,” Cor explained. “The most basic of Sage techniques. Not raw destruction like a mage’s fireball, but refined control. You shape your mana, condense it, and release it with intent.”

Ludger’s system flickered at once.

(Class Registered: Sage — Master: Cor)

(Skill Acquired: Mana Bolt Lv.01)

Ludger blinked at the glowing notification in his mind, a grin spreading across his face. Finally.

He raised his hand and mimicked Cor’s gesture. The mana inside him shifted, tugged along with his will. A pale spark gathered, small but steady, and then zipped forward with a weak pop against the dirt.

Cor arched a brow, clearly surprised. “So fast…”

Ludger smirked. Finally. Weeks of breathing exercises and yoga poses weren’t a waste after all.

Class: Sage (Lv.01 — 0/100)

Per Level Bonus: +2 Intelligence, +4 Wisdom

Skill: Mana Bolt (Lv.01 — 0/100)

Condenses raw mana into a projectile and releases it. Accuracy is dependent on intelligence and dexterity. Cost: 10 Mana per cast. Range: 10 meters at base, improves with level. Power: Damage scales with (Intelligence × 1.5) + (Wisdom × 0.5)

Ludger stared at the floating text in his mind with glee. So it’s not just a spark—it actually scales. Intelligence for power, Wisdom for control… I like this.

He tapped his knee thoughtfully, his grin widening. And with +2 INT and +4 WIS per level, this class is going to stack nicely. Not bad at all. Guess the boring meditation had a purpose.

Name: Ludger

Level: 17 (1,450 / 1,800)

Current Job: Cook (Lv 25 – 620 / 2,500)

Current Class: Pugilist (Lv 16 – 1,300 / 2,200)

----------------------------------------

Health: 590 / 590

Mana: 910 / 910

Stamina: 610 / 610

Strength: 57

Dexterity: 58

Intelligence: 82

Vitality: 59

Wisdom: 91

Endurance: 61

Luck: 27

----------------------------------------

Class Skills (Pugilist):

[Hard Fists Lv 25]

[Iron Guard Lv 17]

[Quick Fists Lv 02]

[Straight Cannon Lv 03]

[Slot 5]

Job Skills (Cook):

[Knife Handling Lv 30]

[Seasoning Sense Lv 22]

[Fire Control Lv 19]

[Food Preservation Lv 18]

[Dish Presentation Lv 15]

----------------------------------------

Other Classes:

Mage (Lv 13 – 1,000 / 1,300)

[Create Water Lv 18]

[Tinder Lv 10]

[Dust Lv 01]

Swordsman (Lv 11 – 750 / 1,200)

[Basic Swordplay Lv 12]

[Parry Lv 5]

[Thrust Lv 1]

----------------------------------------

Bonuses per Level Up:

Cook Job: +1 DEX, +1 INT, +1 WIS per level

Pugilist Class: +2 STR, +2 VIT per level

Mage Class: +2 INT, +2 WIS per level

Swordsman Class: +2 STR, +2 DEX per level

Sage Class: +2 INT, +4 WIS per level

While staring at the floating words of his status screen, Ludger tapped his finger against his leg. His parameters looked better than ever, all those hours of training and sneaking practice finally stacking up. Still, the question that gnawed at him wasn’t about the numbers—it was about how to use them.

Should I go ahead and just throw the skill out in front of everyone? Shock them all at once, make them see that I can learn faster than anyone else? He smirked at the thought. Seeing Arslan’s jaw drop would be priceless, not to mention the looks on Selene and the others.

But then another idea pulled at him. Or… maybe I should play it the “normal” way. Pretend I’m struggling like any other kid, slowly learning bit by bit until they teach me. Then when the system boosts me ahead, I’ll look like a genius instead of a freak. A reputation like that could work wonders later.

He rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing as the translucent numbers shimmered in front of him. Fame was a currency of its own, and in this world, it seemed as powerful as silver coins or magic spells.

“...Tch. Show off now or build it up slowly, huh? Guess either way, it’s going to get me into trouble.”

Ludger closed the screen with a sigh, already weighing which road would make the bigger impact.

In the end, Ludger leaned back against the wall and decided to play it safe. No sudden flashes of brilliance, no fireworks to make jaws drop. If he pretended to learn at a steady pace, it would keep people off his back and build his image as a “talented prodigy” instead of some freak who pulled skills out of thin air. Fame worked better when it grew slowly—it looked more natural.

Still, as he went through the motions of practice, he couldn’t shake the prickling on the back of his neck. Cor’s eyes were on him. Not the casual gaze of a teacher waiting for improvement, but a sharp, dissecting stare. Like he was peeling Ludger apart layer by layer, trying to see what gears spun behind the boy’s calm expression.

When Ludger fumbled deliberately on a gesture, Cor didn’t even blink. He just folded his arms, lips pressed thin.

...Yeah, he knows I’m holding back.

That realization made Ludger’s stomach twist, though he didn’t show it. He forced a small frown, let out a sigh, and redid the gesture with the same “slow learner” attitude he had planned from the start.

But inside, he was already bracing himself. Cor wasn’t the type to ask directly, but he wasn’t the type to ignore things either.

The training wound down when Selene barked her last command and told Ludger to stretch. His arms hung heavy, not from real exertion but from the act of pretending to be exhausted. Elaine hurried over with a damp cloth, fussing as though her son had just returned from the battlefield.

Cor, however, wasn’t ready to let things end. He crouched in front of Ludger, book balanced across his knees, his sharp gaze pinning the boy like a hawk sizing up prey.

Ludger settled cross-legged, releasing a slow breath. He could have fired a Mana Bolt on command—fast, clean, efficient—but that would be too much, too suspicious. Instead, he tugged carefully at the stream of energy within, weaving it in his palm the way Cor had demonstrated in earlier lessons.

A faint shimmer gathered, a fragile mist coiling into a ball of light. For a moment, it almost resembled a proper spell. Then the threads unraveled, and the glow collapsed into nothing.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, feigning frustration. “See? I told you it’s hard.”

Cor’s eyes lingered, calculating. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth shifted. “Still… for a first attempt that was commendable.”

Ludger, meanwhile, kept his focus inward. He replayed that fleeting moment when mana bent to his will—not the System’s. It had been sloppy, unstable, weak… but it had been his.

In the days that followed, Ludger began to steer his efforts toward the Sage class. Among the many options available to him, it stood out as the most rewarding. Each level granted him more points than the others, and Cor’s teachings gave him a ready excuse to advance without drawing too much suspicion. Leveling it early was efficient—almost effortless compared to the physical grind of Pugilist or the mundane repetition of his Cook’s duties.

His days quickly filled. Mornings were often claimed by Selene’s relentless drills, afternoons bent toward Cor’s lectures on mana control, and evenings were split between Elaine’s demands in the kitchen and whatever “fatherly wisdom” Arslan tried to press into their short hours together. It was a life that might have crushed another child, but Ludger thrived in the rhythm, always hiding just how far ahead he truly was. He also went to check on Aronia often.

Still, he knew better than to lose sight of the most important part of his routine. No matter how crowded his schedule became, he always carved out time for Elaine. Whether it was helping her dice vegetables with practiced precision or simply sitting by her side while she hummed an old tune, he made sure she never felt abandoned.

She clung to him more tightly than he sometimes liked, eyes flashing with that fragile, dangerous edge whenever she feared he was slipping too far into the adventurers’ world. Ludger could see it in her—the darkness of years spent alone, the paranoia of a woman who had once been left behind. If ignored, it might grow into something far more troublesome.

So he stayed close, offering smiles and idle chatter, keeping her laughter alive with small jokes and exaggerated stories from his training. In her presence, he let himself be a boy rather than the strategist he was forced to become.

And though it demanded effort, it worked. Elaine’s grip softened. Her smile grew more genuine.

For now, that was enough. Still, eventually, all things come to an end…