A wizard, seeking apprenticeship
Reston's perspective
Not a lie.
Cannot accept it.
That noble person could not be slain by the likes of a church.
Yet the town is abuzz with the report.
The place where a sacred beast was said to have been—could not have been a small grove. The state was one of utter devastation.
Scars of destruction as if a barrage of great magic had been unleashed.
Residual magic still thick in the air.
Seems to have been dark magic, but even I cannot determine the specifics.
Not dark magic. Even that could not leave such dense traces of magic still lingering.
Then, Abyss Magic.
Abyss Magic.
The highest tier of dark magic, said to exist.
I have never seen it in person.
This is the first time I have witnessed that noble person maintaining such a skill.
If so, then this residual magic must be the trace left by that person using Abyss Magic?
Something feels off. Yet, to leave such an effect, the opponent must have been formidable indeed.
The idea that she was slain now carries sudden weight.
I left the city, its streets alight with fervor, declaring myself the one who would slay the beast of the gods.
Even someone of her stature… dies, when the time comes.
How vast this world truly is.
How insignificant I am, in comparison.
My purpose faded. My will to live drained away rapidly.
Returning to the Empire may bring punishment for breaking my confinement.
It will not be severe. But even that feels burdensome now.
Perhaps dying forgotten in some remote place would be a fitting end.
Suddenly, it occurred to me—perhaps it would be better to die where I met that person.
A brilliant idea.
If that’s settled, then let us proceed with the transfer immediately.
And in the world I was transferred to, I met that person once more.
The form had changed, but that oppressive presence—unforgotten.
Split into two, yet my eyes cannot be deceived.
Both are genuine.
What?
…As expected.
Impossible. Even splitting like this?
She does things no one would dare imagine, without hesitation.
On the other side, the form of a white Shiro.
Previously it had been black, but now it has shrunk slightly and changed color.
Yet the two distinctive foreclaws remained intact.
On one side, a black spider.
This one is somewhat larger.
No scythe. Appears identical to a common Talatekt species.
Curious how the division occurs, but likely a method beyond the capability of a human form such as mine.
Then, one should learn something other than that.
I realize I had already volunteered to become a disciple.
Spoke passionately for several hours.
Seems I’ve managed to provoke disbelief.
It’s over.
I lost myself, spoke too fervently—overdone.
But now it’s clear.
This person understands human language.
After all, it’s unthinkable that someone of this stature would not comprehend speech.
Yet, despite understanding my words, there is no reaction.
Seems discipleship will not be granted.
Yet, I am not being treated with disdain either.
Immediately after transfer, this person directed a quiet killing intent toward me, but that has now dissipated.
At least, I won’t be killed immediately.
Not welcomed, but not excluded either.
Appears to be maintaining a stance of non-intervention.
Then, I shall observe this individual’s actions. Determine how they have reached the peak of magic.
I made this decision and began observation.
After a few minutes of observation.
I felt as though the world had turned upside down.
Unprecedented.
That single phrase suffices.
When we met previously, I did not notice from a distance.
Multiple skills activated simultaneously—same as before.
Yet, observing more closely, up close, I realized the sheer impossibility of what they were doing.
This individual constantly maintains multiple micro-level spells around their body.
Multiple spells, simultaneously.
Even confirming just four types—shadow, earth, wind, light—was enough.
The precision of these spells, so fine as to be almost imperceptible, caused me to gasp in awe.
What exquisite, minute magic.
Magic is a means of attack.
Thus, power is required. Magic without power is unnecessary.
Therefore, magic naturally seeks power and grows in magnitude.
The ultimate paradox: magic of extreme smallness.
Ordinarily, such a thing would hold no meaning.
Yet I am certain.
This is the essence of magic.
The ultimate technique.
To make magic large requires no effort.
Simply channel greater force.
But to make it small?
Simply reducing the force is insufficient.
A fragile, intricate structure demands precise construction.
To channel magic into such a delicate framework requires delicate control.
A refined skill, unattainable through brute force.
I immediately attempt to replicate the technique.
Begin with the fire I am most accustomed to—test it first.
Result: failure.
Flames spread across my entire body. Seared.
Panicked, extinguish the flames—laugh involuntarily.
Such difficulty.
To perform such an absurd act as breathing.
Tried various other elements afterward—same result. All failures.
Yet, there was gain.
The reason for this: skill level progression.
Each time I failed, the skill level increased—confirmed.
Magic and resistance—both improved.
Yes. This act, which appears entirely wasteful, was a method to raise skill level.
Constantly project the smallest possible magic at myself—within the limit of no injury.
Who would conceive such a thing?
Even if someone thought of it, who would attempt it?
Being with this person brings nothing but new discoveries.
The journey has proven longer than anticipated. Rations are nearing depletion.
Return to the city?
No. This once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—no return to the city.
Ha. Indeed.
If I am to live alongside this person, I should consume the same food.
The food this person consumes.
There must be something in it.
I fell ill.
Poison.
I thought I would die.
Yet, this person remains remarkable.
I have never heard of such a title—“poisonous eater.”
I must thank them for granting me the chance to earn it.
From now on, I will continue to refine my skill at their side.