It has been eight years since I was reborn in this new world.
My routine has remained the same. Nothing exciting or dangerous has happened.
But for about a week now, I have been feeling something different when I meditate. I cannot describe it precisely, but it feels as if there is a barrier that I need to cross.
Yes, I am close to unlocking my magic. It took one year of meditation, but I am finally nearing that point.
Now, a dilemma arises.
According to the books, I must break this barrier, but there are many worlds where a brute-force approach harms rather than helps.
As eager as I am, I decided to gamble on the slow method.
I begin to feel the barrier, trying to understand what it is.
Why does it exist?
What is its purpose?
At this stage, I remembered that the books say elves are one with their magic. So I ask myself—why?
Could it be that they do not have this barrier?
No. Even elves must learn how to sense magic, so there is the possibility that, unlike humans who break the barrier, they are able to open it instead.
This seems very plausible.
My theory is that, due to the elven mentality—where instead of cutting or destroying, they shape and mold—this reflects in how they deal with magic. A clear example is how their homes are sung directly into living trees.
So when they encounter a barrier, they attempt to go around it rather than force it open.
By opening it instead of destroying it, I theorize that I will gain better control, as well as facilitate the expansion of my energy reserves.
I believe this barrier is like a dam gate—if destroyed, I would lose all control over the flow.
This makes sense when we look at the difference between human and elven mages. It is not a matter of knowing more of the Ancient Language—it is a matter of control.
It may also be the secret behind their superior strength. Imagine a narrow channel suddenly being flooded by an uncontrolled torrent. It would damage the channel, causing leaks or even bursting it entirely.
In this world, magic is also the life force of a living being, so it may be possible to use it to nourish the body—just as other worlds use life force, ki, or chakra.
The more I think about it, the more confident I become.
I begin my meditation. With one year of practice, it takes me less than a second to reach a clear state of mind.
I sense the barrier again. It feels like plastic film, stretching under pressure.
Now I must discover how to control it.
I try everything—ordering it to open, imagining a door.
Just as I am about to leave it for another day, another idea arises: what if I try to attract what is on the other side of the barrier?
I focus my mind on drawing in whatever lies beyond it. After some time, I feel something—very faint, but more than anything I had felt in recent days.
I shift my thoughts toward creating a connection—something that allows me to access what is inside without breaking the barrier.
I imagine a small faucet, because I want control over the flow.
As I focus on this image, on its function and internal mechanisms, it forms. I cannot see it, but I know it is there—waiting to be opened.
With a brief thought, I open it slightly.
Everything changes.
The sensation of unlocking magic is almost like gaining a new sense. I can feel things in a way I cannot properly describe.
Even while limiting the amount, I can feel that my body is reaching some kind of limit.
So my theory is correct—breaking the barrier would be harming me.
As eager as I am to begin testing magic, I must restrain myself. First, I do not want to draw attention. Second, magic in this world uses the Ancient Language, and I know very little of it.
However, I believe I can test some theories.
My first theory concerns strengthening the body. Here, I would not be using magic, but life energy, which—as far as I can feel—is a passive ability of this energy.
Now I want to test its limits.
Is it possible to focus it, as in xianxia novels, to strengthen the skin, muscles, bones, and organs? I want to see if focusing on specific parts improves the result.
I am in a world of magic and trying to recreate xianxia cultivation. Ironic, isn't it?
But it would be a good way to eliminate one of the weaknesses of mages in this world—their bodies—if my theory proves correct.
I spent three months conducting tests to remove any doubt.
I must say that the results were not what I expected.
Cultivation as such does not work. I should not be surprised—if it did, the elves would have discovered it long ago.
However, it seems that performing physical activities while consciously redirecting energy to the most fatigued areas improves the body ten times more than normal.
It appears that the idea of energy being responsible for elven superiority over humans was correct. By controlling the flow, my body was able to absorb and adapt.
I still do not have absolute certainty, but it is undeniably an improvement.
Now, onto experiments with the Ancient Language. Unfortunately, I know only a few words—only those mentioned in the books.
Stenr rïsa—as far as I remember—means "stone, rise."
It was used by Brom to train Eragon, so I believe it is a good entry point for a beginner.
When I speak the words while focusing on a small stone, I feel my magic move and connect to the stone in my hand. Upon connecting, I sense my energy transmitting something to the energy within the stone—almost like a command.
Soon after, the stone begins to draw in my energy and slowly rises.
When I stop supplying energy, the stone still floats for two seconds before falling. From what I can feel, those two seconds were the remnants of my energy within the stone.
I spent two days testing this. I replaced stenr with deloi, which means soil or earth, and it worked the same way. However, loose earth dispersed into a cloud of dirt and dust.
My mind was working at full speed, forming theories, until I reached one that I could find no flaws in.
What if the magic system of this world works like connecting one system to another? One system transmits a command or program to be executed, and the receiving system processes the command, evaluates the required energy, and executes it.
I believe this theory is correct.
First: we must provide commands coherently—sometimes even through thought—which fits the concept of sending a command.
Second: according to the books, I cannot issue commands to something outside my area of influence. For example, I must mentally reach someone if they are not within my field of vision in order to use magic on them.
Therefore, there is no absolute need for the Ancient Language to perform magic.
All that is required is a form of communication that the world understands. I believe this is what the Grey Folk did—they taught the world their language.
This is also why it is considered the Language of Truth. With every spoken phrase, the world verifies it. If it is false, it generates an error, and the world does not accept it.
I almost forgot—there is also communication through intent. The books report that it is possible to perform magic using intent alone, but it is dangerous. A single deviation in intent can produce catastrophic results.
But what if it were possible to teach another form of communication—such as runes?
It would be an interesting experiment to bind certain concepts to runes. It reminds me of enchantment systems in many games—but would I be able to make the world accept runes?