The Path

"From farm work," Zelier answered honestly. "Oh? You're from a farming family?" Gray grew intrigued. His hands kept moving, but his mouth couldn't stay idle. "Here I thought you were some little young master who ran away from home to experience real life... Speaking of which, aren't mages usually people with deep pockets? Buying scrolls, buying wands, buying robes—everything costs a fortune." "There are exceptions once in a while, I suppose..." Zelier curled his lip. According to the memories Zelier had inherited, the original owner's background was nothing remarkable—just a poor peasant from the kingdom's border. From birth, Zelier and his parents had spent their days toiling alongside the crops, living with their faces to the dirt and their backs to the sky. After paying each year's taxes, their harvest was barely enough to keep them fed. The turning point came when Zelier was seven. It was an ordinary summer afternoon. Work in the fields wasn't too heavy, and his father, in a rare moment of leniency, hadn't hurried him along, allowing him to rest under the old locust tree by the ridge. The cicadas buzzed loudly. In the distance, the air warped under the heat waves, while sunlight filtered through the canopy to scatter dappled patches of light across the ground. Everything felt just like any other day—so mundane it induced drowsiness. Lying flat on the grass, Zelier squinted at the gently swaying leaves overhead, bored out of his mind. Yet at that very moment, the world suddenly changed before his eyes. It wasn't merely a visual shift, but an indescribable perception. He saw the wind. It was no longer invisible, but threads of faint cyan silk. He heard the earth, an endless, resonant and steady low rumble like a beating heart. He felt the light; countless golden particles danced in the sunshine overhead, warm and gentle. Immediately after, an irresistible, massive suction erupted, dragging Zelier's consciousness into a boundless dark universe. At the center of this dark universe floated a faint speck of light. Zelier's curiosity overpowered his fear. As his consciousness tentatively reached toward that light, the seed sensed his gaze as well, pulsing gently. A brilliant radiance swirled forth like a bubbling spring, bringing with it an extraordinary power. The name of this power was mana. Zelier had awakened his source seed. When Zelier's consciousness returned to reality, his heart was pounding uncontrollably, and his breath came in short gasps. For a farm boy, turning seven meant you were no longer a toddler who did nothing but play in the mud. You had to learn to tell good crops from bad, and learn to shoulder a half-man-tall hoe with frail, undeveloped shoulders under your father's scolding. Zelier's life was supposed to be filled with dirt and sweat, growing up step by step into a dark-skinned, taciturn farmer just like his father. Yet he realized that another, distinct path lay open to him. The name of that path was mage. For the next nine years, Zelier's life was divided into two parts. One part remained the peasant boy laboring in the fields, while the other was a seeker harboring a grand dream. Zelier began to seize every spare moment to teach himself. He would go into town and scour every corner for any scrap of information on magic; whenever bards with lutes slung over their shoulders visited the village, he would pester them to tell stories of mages. Using the savings he had scraped together over several years, he managed to purchase a damaged scroll containing a spell structure. Through relentless meditation and cultivation, he finally mastered Fireball. That year, Zelier was sixteen. The flame leaping from his palm brought him incomparable exhilaration. Yet that was also the year the king raised taxes. The common folk suffered greatly, and life grew unbearable. Having worked hard their entire lives, Zelier's parents finally succumbed to the crushing burden and passed away one after the other. After burying his parents, he sat by the ridge, leaning against that old locust tree and staring blankly into space for a long time. Zelier could have chosen to inherit the fields into which his parents had poured their life's blood and remained a farmer. In the end, however, he decided to take what little savings he had left and set out on an adventurer's journey, free of all ties. After all, a person ought to try living a different way. Seeing Zelier staring downward in contemplation, Gray assumed his remark had touched a sore spot, so he nudged Zelier with his elbow. "Don't take it to heart... I was just talking. If you're short on money, you can always save up slowly. The way you used magic earlier showed real talent. You'll make it." "Thanks." Zelier gave a friendly smile and said nothing more, merely continuing to grip the flap of hide firmly to assist Gray. Skinning and cleaning took considerable time. The group worked past midnight before finally finishing. As for the wolf carcasses, they were dumped into a nearby pit to rot. Fortunately, this pack was the apex predator of the area; all other carnivores stayed well clear out of fear, so despite the thick reek of blood in camp, no other predators were drawn in. Since Marcus and Gray had expended the most effort in the battle, the remaining night watch fell to Vallis. The rest of the night passed without incident. When Zelier opened his eyes again, crisp bird calls were already sounding outside the tent, and thin rays of sunlight filtered through the gaps in the flap. Dawn had broken. "Ah..." Zelier rubbed his eyes and sat up. The pallet beside him was already empty, with the faint sounds of Gray and Marcus talking outside drifting in. He hadn't slept very well. Since it was his first day after transmigrating, a chaotic tangle of dreams had left Zelier feeling unsettled. He still needed time to slowly come to terms with it all... Zelier scratched his messy hair and habitually checked his status panel. Strength: 65 Agility: 60 Constitution: 68 Spirit: 71 Intelligence: 66 Perception: 30 Charisma: 45 Luck: 41 Aside from the four points of Spirit added the night before, none of the other attributes had changed. Below Formula Deduction, the analysis progress for Grand Creation remained stuck at 0%. Seeing this, Zelier couldn't help but frown. Grand Creation—what kind of magic was that, anyway? Well, forget it... He would just ask when he visited the mages' official institution, the Mages' Guild. After all, the original owner's memories had only a shallow understanding of magic; there was plenty waiting for him to discover on his own. Zelier pushed aside the tent flap, and a cool morning breeze met his face. The forest air was remarkably crisp, laced with the fragrance of greenery, instantly invigorating his spirits. After a brief wash, Zelier caught the toasted black bread Gray tossed his way and ate it dipped in hot soup. The bread was quite hard, barely swallowable only once softened in the broth; biting into it dry would have been nearly impossible to chew. In terms of flavor, it couldn't hold a candle to the baked goods from his past life's memories, possessing barely any sweetness. Still, it served its purpose of filling his belly. According to Marcus's plan, the party was set to leave Ashwood Forest today and return to the Adventurers' Association in Blackstone Town to turn in the wolf subjugation quest.