Next Day
The next day, Felix went with his mother to the place they had been told to come.
Lucien Morvale was already there.
With a casual wave of his hand, a stack of books appeared in midair and dropped neatly into Felix's arms.
The weight nearly made him stumble.
There were almost seventy books—thick tomes and thin volumes, old leather bindings that smelled of dust and ink, pages filled with symbols, diagrams, and unfamiliar words. Books on every known branch of magic.
Lucien looked down at him.
"All of this," he said calmly. "You have to learn it. Every book. Understood?"
Felix straightened and nodded firmly.
"Yes… okay, sir mage."
Lucien frowned. "Don't call me 'sir.'"
"…Lucien," Felix corrected quickly.
"That's better." Lucien nodded. "After three years, come and find me at the Mage Tower."
Felix nodded again. "Okay."
Lucien lifted his hand.
"See you soon."
A sharp swoosh echoed through the air—and Lucien vanished without a trace.
________________________________________
Three Years Later
During those three years, Felix first learned to read and write.
Letters turned into words. Words into meaning.
Once he could read fluently, he began studying the books—again and again—memorizing theories, revising principles, and tracing diagrams until his fingers were stained with ink.
When his mind was exhausted, his father trained him.
Swordsmanship at dawn. Martial arts until sunset. Balance, footwork, discipline. His palms blistered. His muscles ached. Sweat soaked his clothes daily.
Felix never complained.
After three years of relentless effort, he finished every book.
All of them.
________________________________________
The Mage Tower
On the day they finally went to the Mage Tower, Felix walked beside his father.
The tower rose high into the sky, its surface gleaming with polished stone and glowing runes. Sunlight reflected off its walls, making it look almost unreal.
Felix stopped and stared.
"Wow, Dad… it's so big."
Arven snorted lightly. "Mages like shiny things."
Felix smiled. "Shall we go inside?"
They entered the tower.
Near the entrance stood a man—likely the receptionist.
He was an elf. Tall. Sharp-featured. His expression twisted with open disgust the moment he saw them.
"Tch. What do you want, human?"
"We are here to—" Arven began.
The elf cut him off.
"What else? Want a mage to bring water to your farm, commoner?"
Arven's hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
"Listen first."
The elf sneered. "Do you even know who you're asking for?"
"We are here to meet Lucien Morvale."
The elf laughed.
"Do you even know who that is?" he said mockingly.
"He is the master of this Mage Tower. Fifteenth strongest in the Leveran Kingdom—and he reached that rank at the age of twenty. Twenty."
He folded his arms. "He doesn't meet commoners like you."
Felix tugged on his father's sleeve.
"Dad… what's a commoner?"
Arven exhaled slowly. "It's nothing you need to worry about, Felix. Let's go."
"But I want to learn magic."
Arven looked down at him. "You're already good with the sword. Why insist on being a mage?"
"You wouldn't understand, Dad."
Before Arven could reply—
The front doors opened.
Footsteps echoed across the marble floor.
The elf stiffened.
A man entered.
Silver hair. Calm eyes.
Lucien Morvale.
His gaze immediately landed on Felix.
"…What happened?" Lucien asked.
Arven frowned. "You know my child?"
"And you are?"
"I'm his father."
Lucien nodded once. "So, Felix—what happened?"
Felix pointed. "That elf said we can't meet you because you're busy."
Lucien blinked.
"What? I'm not busy."
He looked at Felix. "I'm always free for you."
"Really?" Felix asked.
"Yes."
Felix hesitated. "He also said we're commoners."
The air turned cold.
Lucien slowly turned toward the receptionist.
"Do you want this Mage Tower shut down?"
The elf's face drained of color. "S–Sir?"
"Do you know who they are?"
"No, I—I don't—"
"Their surname," Lucien said flatly, "is Roswal."
The elf froze.
His knees gave out.
He collapsed to the floor, bowing deeply until his forehead struck the stone.
"P–Please forgive me! I didn't know!"
Arven stepped forward. "You don't need to do that. It's fine."
Lucien turned back to Felix.
"If you're here," he said slowly, "does that mean you finished the magic series I gave you?"
Felix nodded.
Lucien stared at him.
"…Impossible."
"No one other than the Archduke or the Imperial Emperor has ever finished those books in three years."
He studied Felix carefully.
"You are something," Lucien said quietly. "Do you know that?"
Arven crossed his arms. "Of course he is. He's my son. A Roswal."
Lucien smiled faintly.
"Come back tomorrow morning. Five a.m."
Felix's eyes widened.
"We'll begin your training."
________________________________________
Lucien looked at them for a moment, then sighed lightly.
"Since you're already here," he said, "I can't very well let you leave empty-handed."
He gestured around him.
"Take anything you want from here. These are magic artifacts."
Felix blinked.
"Magic… artifacts?"
Lucien nodded. "Magic artifacts are devices imbued with spells or mana formations. You can use them to do almost anything—communicate over long distances, defend yourself, attack enemies, enhance your body beyond its natural limits, or strengthen your magic."
Felix's eyes widened slowly as he tried to process the words.
"And if you want to look around the Mage Tower," Lucien added, "someone will assist you."
He pointed down the corridor.
Felix followed the direction of his finger.
So did Arven.
They both froze.
At the far end of the hall stood a towering figure of steel and enchanted armor. Runes glowed faintly along its plated body, blue light pulsing softly from the joints. It stood perfectly still, sword planted against the floor, like a silent guardian waiting for war.
Arven narrowed his eyes.
"…Is that a golem?"
Lucien smiled faintly.
"An armored golem knight."
The golem's core pulsed once—slow, heavy, and steady—sending a low hum through the stone floor beneath their feet.
They toured the Mage Tower.
There were mages of every kind—some robed in flowing garments etched with runes, others wearing fitted coats reinforced with enchantments. Some practiced spell formulas in quiet halls, while others argued loudly over theory. Mana pulsed faintly through the air, making Felix's skin prickle as if the tower itself were alive.
After the tour, Felix and Arven returned home.
Rose was waiting.
"You're back, darling," she said warmly.
"Yes," Arven replied. "We're back."
She looked at Felix. "What did Lucien say?"
"Tomorrow," Arven answered before Felix could speak. "Five a.m."
Rose nodded thoughtfully. "Then, Felix, you'll be busy after five. So at four a.m., you'll do warm-ups for sword training."
Felix froze.
"…What?"
"But why?"
"Because you're very talented with the sword and martial arts," Rose said calmly.
Felix sighed, shoulders slumping.
"…Fine. I'll wake up at four."
He turned toward the hallway. "I'm going to my room."
________________________________________
Inside his room, the air was quiet and warm.
In the corner sat the phoenix egg.
Its shell glowed faintly, soft light pulsing beneath the smooth surface like a slow, steady breath. Felix walked over and carefully lifted it into his arms. It was warm—comforting.
"Hey, little one," he whispered. "Time to feed you."
That day, when he had returned home after meeting Lucien, Felix had noticed something strange. The phoenix feather that had absorbed the fire magic had released that energy—and it had flowed straight into the egg.
Since then, Felix had practiced a few basic spells he had learned on his own.
Very basic ones.
Flint.
Water ball.
Gust.
Earth creation.
And one strange spell—the book called it Divine Light.
The books mentioned that holy magic existed, but only within the Holy Empire of Elanador. Felix didn't fully understand it, but the spell responded to him anyway.
He raised his finger.
"Flint."
A small flame ignited above his fingertip, floating quietly. Its heat brushed his skin without burning.
Felix frowned in concentration.
"Let's see… how much mana should I add?"
He inhaled slowly and poured more mana into the spell.
The flame grew brighter, steadier.
The books said that using magic expanded the mana within the body. At first, when Felix practiced Flint, he would collapse from exhaustion after feeding the egg a single flame.
But now—
He felt nothing.
No dizziness. No weakness.
He guided the flame toward the phoenix egg.
The fire vanished into the shell, absorbed instantly.
The egg pulsed—once.
Warm.
Content.
Felix smiled faintly.
"I'll make you stronger," he murmured. "So don't take too long to hatch."
The egg answered with a quiet, steady heat.
Like a promise waiting to break free.