It was late into the night. Yet within a quiet dormitory building, a young man named Ember remained awake, busy inside his bedroom. Warm yellow candlelight illuminated his handsome but solemn face as he sat alone, deeply engrossed in his work.
In his hand was a dark-gray object resembling a stone brick. Ember sat before a cluttered study table, repeatedly blowing on the brick as if brushing away invisible dust clinging to its surface.
This was no ordinary stone.
Strange symbols were neatly engraved across the brick, interlocking with one another to form a mysterious and deliberate pattern. Their shapes were foreign, sharp, and unsettling to the eye.
Ember picked up a thin ink brush from the table and dipped its pointed tip into a dark bluish-purple ink. With steady hands, he carefully traced the engraved runes one by one. He moved slowly, as though afraid that even the slightest mistake would ruin everything.
Several minutes passed before he finally set the brush down. The ink dried, seeping into the carved grooves, and the symbols on the stone brick became clearer—sharper, more distinct, as if they had been waiting for this moment.
Next, Ember held the brick with both hands and closed his eyes.
His expression turned solemn.
It was as if he were drawing something out from the depths of his own body, channeling an unseen force into the stone. Not long after, something strange occurred.
The ink-filled rune pattern began to glow with a dim, dark-purple light. At the same time, the stone brick started to vibrate—so faintly that it was almost unnoticeable.
Ember stared without blinking.
Exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds after the runes lit up, the brick suddenly cracked apart. With a dull sound, it broke into several pieces, scattering across the table.
Ember finally let out a sigh.
"Still failed, huh?"
But despite his words, a faint smile soon appeared on his face.
"I'm almost there…"
At this point, perhaps no one but Ember himself could understand what he had been doing over the past several months. Everything was part of his secret research.
One might wonder why—or even what he was trying to accomplish—but it all began with a single situation and an ambitious idea.
Four years ago, after turning fourteen, Ember had managed to gain admission into a local wizarding academy: the Sacred Bluelake Academy. Ever since childhood, it had been his dream to become a powerful and prestigious wizard of the Lianto Region. Entering a magic academy felt like a massive leap toward that lofty goal.
Unfortunately, reality did not share his enthusiasm.
Upon entering Sacred Bluelake Academy, Ember underwent further evaluations. That was when he learned the truth—his magical aptitude was terrible.
To say it was "not the best" was merely a way to comfort himself. In truth, his aptitude ranked among the worst in the wizarding world. Most people born with similar limitations had long since given up on the path of magic.
Still, poor aptitude did not mean magic was completely impossible. It only meant that training would be unbearably slow and learning spells would be far more difficult than average.
Fortunately, the academy was not cruel enough to expel students with weak talent. Sacred Bluelake Academy was a low-ranked institution funded by the Herbert Kingdom, receiving resources based on enrollment numbers. That was the only reason someone like Ember was allowed to remain and study.
Even so, the blow to his confidence was severe.
If he continued down this path, there was a ninety-five percent chance he would end up as nothing more than a low-ranked servant under a true wizard—working menial tasks just to survive.
That future was far from what Ember had envisioned for himself.
Yet instead of giving up, he pushed himself harder than anyone else. He studied relentlessly, practiced endlessly, and poured everything he had into wizardry.
Unfortunately, it made almost no difference.
He remained at the bottom of his class when it comes to magic. Wizard knowledge and theories proved to be useless when one can't apply them in reality.
Then, during his second year at the academy, Ember experienced an unexpected and uncommon epiphany.
"Hello, Professor."
Ember politely approached a white-haired old man seated on a quiet bench beneath a tree's shade.
"Hello there, boy. What is it?" The old man smiled warmly.
He was Professor Hord Elkins—a wizard instructor at Sacred Bluelake Academy, well-known for his easygoing nature. Rumor claimed that he was over two hundred years old. Students often saw him sitting on that very bench, gazing out at the vast beautiful blue lake nearby.
"I… um… I recently read a book you wrote in the Tower of Knowledge," Ember said nervously. "The one about The Ways of the Ancient Shamans. I found the concepts you mentioned very intriguing."
"Oh?" Professor Elkins turned his gaze back toward the lake. "That old work of mine. Go on."
"Is it really true," Ember asked carefully, "that the Ancient Shamans of the Northern Continent could create large numbers of powerful magic-wielding barbarians—strong enough to defeat even high-ranked wizards?"
"It is," the professor replied calmly.
Ember's eyes lit up. After a brief pause, he continued, "Then why does no one seem to use their methods in this era?"
"That's where you're mistaken, boy," Professor Elkins said. "Some people do still use them. Not just the shamans, in fact, but also wizards. It's simply an uncommon and deeply flawed practice."
"Flawed?"
"Yes."
"May I ask why, Professor?"
Professor Elkins sighed. "I might as well explain everything to you, so you don't get some crazy and dangerous ideas. Listen carefully. The biggest flaw of these shamanic methods is that they burn the life force of a person. The ancient barbarians of the North were indeed very strong, possessing magical abilities despite being born without any magical potential; but they also live much shorter lifespans compared to even normal humans. Second, inscribing Rune Patterns in a human body is very dangerous and they are also hazard-prone when activated. Rune Inscription errors can lead to fatal injuries and even death. A knowledgeable opponent fighter or wizard can also easily exploit the vulnerabilities of an exposed Rune Pattern. Third,..."
As the professor continued, Ember discarded some ideas while new ones formed in his mind.
Professor Elkins never would have imagined that his words would leave such a profound impact on a student whose name he didn't even know.
In truth, the solution to Ember's problem was simple—if only to say it.
If one lacked a strong magical aptitude, then the answer was to acquire it.
Potions, pills, and magical treasures capable of enhancing the magical aptitude of a wizard already existed. Unfortunately, their cost was astronomical. Only wealthy wizards, merchants, and aristocrats could afford them.
Ember, an orphan with no backing, would never earn enough—even if he worked for decades.
He was truly hopeless.
That was, until he read Professor Elkins' book.
If ancient shamans could turn ordinary humans into magic-wielding warriors… then what about someone with even a sliver of magical aptitude?
"If I wasn't born with it, then I'll acquire it. And if I can't afford it… why not make it myself?"
It was a crazy—and perhaps stupid—idea.
Creating something from nothing was always harder than simply taking it from elsewhere. Perhaps that was why no one had ever tried. Most wizards preferred to believe they were too intelligent to waste time on such madness.
Yet perhaps Ember possessed the perfect combination of ignorance and ambition.
The right mindset.
The right aptitude.
The right lack of resources.
The right encounter.
And the right moment...
Back in the present, Ember gathered the fragments of the shattered stone brick and dumped them into a wooden pail already filled with similar failures.
Then, exhaustion finally caught up with him.
He extinguished the candle and lay down on his bed.
"The Central Modified Four-Swirl Loop Rune Pattern is still unstable," he murmured. "If I can fix that, I can proceed to the final phase… Only two months left."
Moments later, Ember succumbed to sleep.