César leaned against a wooden staff, eyes closed as he tried to sense the flow of mana rising from the ground.
The mana vein pulsed beneath the earth.
It was neither visible nor spectacular. It emitted no light and did not distort the air. Yet César knew it was there—a constant, deep vibration, like the heartbeat of something buried.
He had already suspected that the place where he chose to build his base contained a mana vein, but he wanted to know its exact location. Under Asia's guidance, he had learned to better perceive the ambient flow of mana.
From that moment on, he began probing the terrain.
After several hours of searching, he found it.
Fortunately, it lay close to the first wooden house he had built and near the other houses still under construction. It was a stroke of luck. There was no need to relocate or rebuild anything.
César looked at the finished houses and those still being raised. As days passed, more and more structures took shape. Now that he knew the vein's precise location, he ordered the houses to be built around it, leaving the center empty.
For the future temple.
The first houses were nothing more than crude huts—rough wood, crooked roofs, uneven walls. Nothing worthy of being called a city.
Still, they stood near the mana vein.
Those who lived there would have a great advantage on the path of mana.
César marked the ground with a stick.
"This is where the foundation of faith will stand," he murmured.
'The stories are ready. The path of power is planned. Only the diffusion remains… but it is not time yet,' he thought. 'I will wait until they all form their mana cores first.'
Gobol looked around in confusion.
Since César had ordered the construction of the wooden houses, no one had been allowed to live there except his siblings, his parents, and César's women.
Gobol did not mind. He would obey his brother no matter what. Still, he did not understand what was so special about this place. In his opinion, it would have been better to settle closer to the river—or remain in their safer caves.
With hesitation, he asked:
"Why not closer to the river? It's easier to live there. Or we could return to the caves."
César shook his head.
"The river gives water… but you know those creatures hunt us there. It's dangerous here too. But with this—" he stomped the ground firmly, as if standing directly above the mana vein, "—this is the path to our power. The path marked by the god who spoke to me. This is our future."
He had only mentioned vague things before—such as a god speaking to him. There was no need to explain further. They were under his influence. Whatever he ordered, they would obey.
But he preferred to do it this way.
They still retained a degree of free will.
And more importantly, in the future, more people would gather here—and he would not be able to control everyone forever.
The goblins—just over a dozen—moved cautiously around him.
Like most creatures of the continent, they used mana in a crude, instinctive way.
But that would soon change.
That night, César sat by the fire with a sharpened branch and damp soil as his canvas. He drew lines, circles, simple markings.
They were not runes.
They were ideas.
'Mana is everywhere,' he reminded himself. 'But not everyone can touch it.'
In his past life, power had always belonged to others—money, influence, physical strength. Here, strength was the true currency, and possessing mana meant power.
"Not everyone can practice," César murmured, narrowing his eyes.
Although all living beings possessed mana, few had the quantity and capacity necessary to use it—and even fewer could open their veins.
At first, he had planned to teach the process gradually. Those who succeeded would leave the caves and move into the wooden houses.
But events did not move at his desired pace.
The arrival of the dark elves and pigmen who prayed to that mysterious god—possibly the evil deity spreading monstrous crystals—had accelerated everything.
He did not have time to wait.
He did not have time to search for talent.
So he decided to allow all the goblins to move into the houses, making it easier for them to open their mana veins. With the dense ambient mana, he would guide them through the process.
Perhaps this method would produce many more magi.
Though few would possess true talent.
Even so, in this situation, César preferred numbers over quality.
The next day, he gathered the goblins.
He looked at them carefully before speaking.
"Beneath these houses, there is mana," he said. "Many of you may not understand what that means. But soon, you will."
Some exchanged uncertain glances.
"My mother, Luna, and my wife, Asia, have already taught a few of you the process of opening your mana veins. Now it will be taught to all," César continued. "And those who succeed… will ascend. Times have changed. Rank will no longer be based on age. Those who open their veins will be valued more. Better food. Privileges. Mating rights."
A murmur spread among the goblins.
Gab, César's father, spat on the ground and glared at them sharply until silence returned.
Many were excited.
Opening those veins meant better houses, better food, better protection.
"You will receive privilege not because you are strong now… but because you will be the future of the clan," César added.
Gobio frowned.
Luna had been teaching him the concept these past days, but he struggled—and feared he might fail.
"And those who can't?" he asked.
César did not look away.
"You will work. You will live. You will eat. But that is all."
There were no protests.
For many, little had changed. In goblin tribes, the strong always had everything, and the weak bowed their heads.
But now there was a new possibility:
The physically weak could rise.
And the strong might be the ones forced to bow.
A new hierarchy had been born.
That afternoon, César descended alone to the point where the vein's pulse was strongest. He sat cross-legged, palms pressed to the soil.
He had not been idle these days.
He had already opened several veins.
But some remained.
He focused on opening the rest.
The flow was violent—untamed.
If someone unprepared forced it, their body would collapse.
César understood that immediately.
This step was nothing extraordinary. Merely the beginning of a mage.
A foundation.
But it was enough.
If he became the first goblin to fully accomplish it—if he proved that goblins could do it—everything would change.
Lycantropos and dark elves had practiced this system for years on the continent. Many had heard of it.
Many tried.
Many failed.
Because they lacked guidance.
In part because elves and lycanthropes were unwilling to waste time and mana guiding other races who might one day become enemies.
Some powerful devilhuman races tried blindly.
And failed.
Thus was born the idea that only lycanthropes and dark elves could cultivate this system.
In truth, it was misinformation spread by those two races—to prevent other devilhuman races from coveting their system.
But that would change.
Once he created a group of magi.
They would be the foundation of his future.
Many devilhuman races would come to him willingly.
That would be the cornerstone of his empire on this continent.
César opened his eyes.
Determined.
He was not thinking merely of survival.
He was thinking of ruling.