[ Creation of Arts ]
As one might reasonably infer, the arts refer to the manifestation of skill and imagination given form.
In the novel that Reol knew, the concept of 'arts' extends beyond craftsmanship and expression. One can assume it is the foundation of magic itself, too.
According to the novel, this blessing traces back to a story reminiscent of scripture, where God warned Adam and Eve never to eat from the fruit that was His alone. But being coaxed by a devil, they ended up disobeying Him.
Thus, humanity inherited a fragment of God's creative dominion: the ability to shape reality through will, imagination, and intent. Yet such power demanded balance, as such a curse befell, causing humans to have a finite lifespan rather than God intended.
Magic, in its purest form, is described as limitless.
There are no rigid spells, no predetermined outcomes. The only true restriction lies in the user's creativity, understanding, and mental clarity. For this reason, the author chose to name magic the arts, emphasizing creation rather than power.
Reol noted it was a clever way to name it.
Despite the boundless nature of the arts, practitioners are classified from F-class to S-class. F-class individuals possess no ability to wield the arts, while those ranked S-class approach the realm of demigods.
The existence of such ranks may seem contradictory in a magic supposed to be without limits, but the explanation is simple.
Humans were never meant to carry power reserved for gods. Their body, mind, and soul each impose their own thresholds.
When a practitioner forces the arts beyond what their vessel can endure, the result is catastrophic... cells rupture, mana overloads, and in extreme cases, the body simply ceases to exist.
Hence, this was why most never dared to push beyond their limits.
It was also the very reason Reol hesitated now.
Still, an agreement was an agreement. Having already consented, he could only proceed with caution and do his utmost to ensure no harm came of it.
The child stood quietly before him, wearing a fitted sleeveless shirt that outlined his lean, well-defined build. For someone so young, his physique was unexpectedly refined.
Reol took note of it in his mind.
Ordinarily, to determine a person's rank, one must require exposure to life-threatening circumstances.
The Adventurer's Guild often relied on such methods, using the concept of life-threatening circumstances to fracture the mentality, instead of putting someone in danger itself.
But Reol could not afford such an approach.
Mental illusions were not his specialty, and attempting them without precision would do more harm than good.
In the past, the system would have guided him, automatically showing their rank on the screen, filtering options, calculating risks, and feeding him exactly what he could and could not do.
Now, with the system gone, he felt painfully aware of his own limitations.
Useless, he thought grimly.
"Then I suppose I'll take the safest route first," Reol murmured to himself, and he glanced at the child, noting the slight shiver from the cold morning air. He reminded himself to keep things simple, as there was no reason to push recklessly.
After standing around for over an hour and growing thoroughly bored, Sethos finally gave up. "Sir… are we done yet? It's cold…"
Sethos had woken up earlier than planned, determined to make sure Reol had no chance of slipping away. The early rise, combined with the cold and the morning dew, left him yawning and rubbing his eyes more than usual.
Reol, perfectly unbothered as if he were staring at a particularly uninteresting stain on the sky, gave a single nod and lazily gestured toward the axe lying on the ground.
"Alright, let's get started. Pick that up and start chopping some trees."
Sethos froze mid-step, eyes as wide, and slowly turned toward the axe. "Wait… what?!" His voice cracked somewhere in disbelief.
"I said go chop it," Reol repeated, his tone seemed to show seriousness, which somehow made the situation 1000% worse.
"I heard you… But aren't you supposed to be teaching me magic?"
"Yes, I am teaching you magic," Reol replied quickly. "And the first lesson is called Don't Argue with Me, Pick Up the Axe."
"But…"
"If you hate it that much, you can quit right now."
"No!" Sethos shrieked, flinging himself at the axe like a caffeinated squirrel. He grabbed it, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, and spun around heroically. "There's no way I'm giving up! Just you wait—I will make you teach me magic, even if it kills me!"
*****
Chop... Chop... Chop...
Sethos planted his feet firmly, raised the axe with all the heroic flair stance, and attempted to bring it down on the nearest tree…
Thunk.
But the tree didn't even flinch.
"Uh… sir?" Sethos called out, wobbling as he tried to lift the axe again. "Is it supposed to be this heavy?!"
Reol, still leaning against the tree with the enthusiasm of a rock, let out a single, perfectly flat sigh. "Yes. That's why I said start chopping, not start flying."
Sethos gritted his teeth, muscles straining, sweat forming on his forehead despite the cold morning air. The axe barely sank an inch into the tree. Every swing sent him wobbling, legs threatening to betray him at any second.
Thunk.
Thunk.
"Why… why is it so… heavy?!" he gasped, glancing at Reol as if expecting some magical cheat code to appear.
Reol, for his part, raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. "It's called physical effort, kid. Magic can't do the work for you."
The child's face turned a peculiar shade somewhere between red and purple as he heaved the axe with every ounce of his strength. Leaves rustled, snow slipped under his boots, and a small flock of birds apparently decided to judge him silently from a nearby branch.
Thunk.
One pitiful scratch appeared on the tree.
Sethos collapsed onto one knee, chest heaving as if he'd just sprinted a marathon. "I… I can't… I'm not built for this… sir…" he gasped, wheezing dramatically.
Reol stared at the boy for a long, silent moment, clearly trying to process the dramatic collapse in front of him. Then, without a word, the axe was snatched up and swung effortlessly, each chop sending splinters flying as if the tree were nothing more than cardboard.
"When I was your age, I had to cut down every tree on the mountain before I could even touch the arts—no, I mean… magic."
It wasn't a lie; the system had forced it as a quest. Yes... Every. Single. Tree.
The boy blinked with his mouth agape, clearly not buying it. "No way! No way! No way! I… I wanna learn magic, not… be a woodcutter arrrghh!"
With a long, exaggerated sigh that followed the child's whining... a head shook slowly. Then Reol's lips curved into a sinister smile. "Oh? You wanted to learn magic so badly?"
"Alright then… I'll teach you."