William woke up standing on the prow of the ship, drenched in sweat and shivering uncontrollably. He stumbled, his legs giving out beneath him, and fell to the deck with a thud. Trembling, his breath shallow and rapid, he shouted, "Angel! What the hell just happened? Show me what I've missed!"
Angel's calm, robotic voice responded, "No abnormalities detected. Initiating memory playback."
A translucent screen appeared in front of William, showing a video log from the past hours. It began with him lying on his bed, seemingly trying to sleep. But after a few minutes, he rose—stiff, mechanical, expressionless. His face looked like a lifeless mask, like a puppet with glass eyes.
The video showed him walking slowly toward the prow, moving like a wind-up toy. Once there, he simply stood. Not blinking. Not twitching. For an entire hour.
None of the sailors dared approach. They only watched from a distance, murmuring among themselves.
"That's not me," William muttered, shaken. "That thing… that thing wasn't me…"
Angel confirmed: "The recording duration: 63 minutes and 21 seconds. No discrepancies in physical or neurological activity were detected. Memory comparison complete. Consistency: 100%."
William's voice was a whisper now. "But it felt like I was in that other world for a whole day…"
He rubbed his face and turned to head back to his cabin. As he shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers brushed something hard and smooth. Pulling it out, he found a small porcelain figurine—delicate and beautifully made.
"I… picked this up there," he whispered, his voice cracking.
He remembered clearly finding it inside that eerie mansion. He had slipped it into his pocket, intending to gift it to Little Star.
"Angel," he said, heart racing, "check the footage. That figurine—track it."
Angel ran a full scan. "Item not logged at any point. Pocket inventory remains unchanged since initial boarding."
William's breath caught in his throat. "That's impossible… it's here. It's real."
"Anomaly detected," Angel said, "but cause unknown. No rational explanation found."
Panic gripped him. He stumbled back into his room and collapsed onto the bed, curling up under the covers like a frightened child. His breath hitched. He wanted to believe it had been a dream—but the figurine in his hand told a different story.
A month passed.
The first few days, William barely left his room. His eyes were red and swollen, haunted by dark circles. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. Every creak of the ship made him jump. He spent hours reviewing the footage, trying to find something—anything—that could explain what had happened.
Slowly, the paranoia faded. With no injuries, no lasting effects, he began to convince himself that it had all been a hallucination. A trick of the mind, maybe triggered by stress or mana depletion.
He returned to his routine—clinging to it like a lifeline. Sword training in the morning, reading in the afternoon, meditation at night.
One of the books Aurus had given him described the customs and power structures of mages. The information was sobering, to say the least.
Mages were divided into Apprentices and Formal Mages. Apprentices ranged from Level 1 to 3, defined by the number of spells they could cast and the strength of their mana wave, also known as "magical power."
Formal Mages were Levels 1 to 9.
Levels 1–2 were Official Mages.
Levels 3–4 were Titled Mages.
Levels 5–6 were known as Calamities—and rightly so.
Anything above that… was unrecorded. But legends spoke of Levels 7 to 10—beings of godlike might.
The mage society was brutal. Ruthless. Cold.
Apprentices were treated as vermin—worse than servants, worth less than slaves.
They were forbidden from speaking unless spoken to.
They had to bow whenever a mage passed.
They could never make eye contact with someone of higher rank.
Any mage could order an apprentice to do anything—and as long as some form of "equivalent compensation" was offered, it was perfectly legal.
Insulting a mage meant instant death.
And even among mages, there were no safety nets. If you challenged someone stronger and died, it was your own damn fault. The mage guild wouldn't lift a finger for you.
Human experimentation was forbidden—but only for mages below Level 2. If you had power, you could do as you pleased. Experiments, curses, forbidden rituals—all of it was fine as long as you were strong enough to silence any witnesses.
Knights were also mentioned. It was strongly advised to never fight a knight above Level 2. And facing a Grand Knight in close combat? A death sentence.
Resources followed a simple law: "Finder's Keepers." Either you got there first or negotiated a deal. Otherwise, tough luck.
William felt the weight of it all settle on him. Among mortals, he might be powerful. But among mages? He was just another fly. A slightly bigger one, maybe—but a fly nonetheless.
The third book was a detailed guide on meditation. It emphasized the importance of daily practice under moonlight, if possible. For those below Apprentice Level 1, it warned against meditating more than once every three days to avoid nervous system overload, which could cause irreversible damage.
According to this, William qualified as a Level 1 Apprentice—but without even a single spell to his name, he still wasn't truly a mage.
The final page of the book contained instructions for a basic spell: Fireball.
So that month, he stuck to a strict regimen:
Morning: Sword training. He had mastered five of the 24 Plum Blossom Strikes—a decent feat, considering it wasn't his main focus.
Midday: Meals and time on deck. He socialized with the sailors, who eventually sparred with him for fun. Each one of them was a Level 2 Knight at minimum, which meant they could've crushed him like a bug—but they treated him kindly.
Evening: Spell practice. His goal was to completely exhaust his mana each night, even to the point of fainting.
Late Night: Four hours of deep meditation to refill his reserves and strengthen his magical core.
By the end of each session, a sharp pain would lance through his head—a sign, according to the book, that he had hit his limit.
Going further wouldn't help. It would only hurt.
And yet… even with the pain, the fear, and the confusion, William kept going. Because deep down, he knew something was coming. Something darker than even that cursed dream.