Chapter 3: Magic Textbook.

His legs and hips had grown strong enough
that he could now walk on two feet.

He had also begun to speak the language of this world.

—

Having seriously resolved to live in this world,
I first pondered what I should do.

What had been necessary in my previous life?
Study, exercise, skills.

There were very few things an infant could do.
At best, when being picked up, I could bury my face in someone’s chest.
But when I did that to the maid, she made an openly disgusted face.
That maid definitely hates children.

I decided that exercise could wait a little longer,
and so I devoured the books in the house
in order to memorize the characters.

Language is important.

In Japan, the literacy rate is nearly 100%,
yet many people struggle with English,
and plenty hesitate to go abroad because of it.
Being able to speak a foreign language is considered a skill in its own right.

Therefore, my first goal was to learn the writing system of this world.

There were only five books in the house.

Books must be expensive here,
or perhaps neither Paul nor Zenith were avid readers—
probably both.

For someone like me who once owned thousands of books,
this was an unbelievable scarcity.
Though, to be fair, they were all light novels.

Still, even with just five books,
it was more than enough to learn how to read the characters.

The language of this world was surprisingly close to Japanese.
I was able to memorize it quickly.
The shapes of the letters were completely different,
but the grammar slipped into my mind with surprising ease.
All I really needed was to learn the vocabulary.

Having already heard the spoken language helped a great deal.
My father had read aloud from books to me several times,
which let me smoothly absorb the words.
This body’s excellent memory might have played a part too.

Once I could read the characters, the contents of the books became genuinely interesting.

I had once believed I would never find studying enjoyable in my entire life,
but thinking about it carefully—
it’s really no different from memorizing information for an online game.
Of course it’s interesting.

That said, does that father seriously think a baby can understand the contents of a book?
It was fine because it was me,
but for an ordinary one-year-old it would be met with utter disapproval.
They’d probably wail at the top of their lungs.

The five books in the house were as follows:

• Walking the World
A guidebook listing the names and characteristics of countries around the world.

• The Ecology and Weaknesses of Monsters in Fittoa
A book detailing the monsters that appear in the Fittoa region and how to deal with them.

• Magic Textbook
A magician’s textbook covering attack magic from beginner to advanced levels.

• The Legend of Perugius
A moralistic fairy tale in which the summoner Perugius and his companions fight the Demon God to save the world.

• The Three Swordsmen and the Labyrinth
An adventure tale in which three genius swordsmen of different schools meet and venture into a deep labyrinth.

The last two were battle novels and could be set aside for now—
the first three were genuinely educational.

The magic textbook in particular was fascinating.

Coming from a world without magic,
the descriptions of magic were endlessly intriguing to me.

As I read on, several fundamental points became clear.

1. To begin with, magic is apparently divided into only three major types.

• Attack magic: for attacking opponents
• Healing magic: for healing others
• Summoning magic: for calling forth something

Just these three. Plain and simple.

One would think there could be far more applications,
but according to the textbook,
magic was born and developed in the context of battle,
so it is rarely used outside of combat or hunting.

2. To use magic, one requires mana.

Conversely, as long as one has mana, anyone can use it.

There are two ways to obtain the mana used:

• Mana stored within one’s own body
• Mana drawn from substances that contain it

One or the other.

I can’t think of a perfect analogy,
but the former is like self-generated power,
while the latter is like using a battery.

In ancient times, apparently people used only the mana inside their own bodies.
But as generations passed, magic was researched and grew more complex,
and the amount of mana consumed increased explosively.
Those with abundant mana could manage,
but those with little mana could hardly use decent spells.
Thus, ancient magicians devised a method of drawing mana from external sources.

3. There are two methods of activating magic.

• Incantation
• Magic circle

No detailed explanation is necessary.
Either speak the words to activate the spell,
or draw a magic circle to activate it.

In ancient times, magic circles were apparently the mainstream method.
But nowadays incantations dominate.
This is because even the simplest ancient incantations took one to two minutes.
Completely unusable in actual combat.
Magic circles, on the other hand, could be reused multiple times once drawn.

The shift to incantations as the norm occurred
when a certain magician succeeded in dramatically shortening them—
down to about five seconds for the simplest ones.
From then on, attack magic came to be used almost exclusively via incantation.
Summoning magic, however—which doesn’t require immediacy
and often needs complex formulas—still primarily uses magic circles.

4. An individual’s total mana capacity is almost entirely determined at birth.

In a normal RPG, MP increases with each level-up,
but in this world it apparently does not.
Everyone is basically “Class: Warrior” when it comes to mana.
It says “almost,” so there is presumably some slight variation…

I wonder about myself.
The textbook says mana capacity is hereditary.
My mother can apparently use healing magic,
so perhaps I can expect at least a decent amount?

I’m anxious.
Even if both parents are talented,
my own genes might not do their job.

For the time being, I decided to try the simplest spell.

The textbook listed both incantations and magic circles for most spells,
but since incantations are the current mainstream
and I had nothing to draw circles with anyway,
I chose to practice with them.

For larger-scale spells, incantations grow longer
and must be combined with magic circles,
but for beginners that shouldn’t be necessary.

Highly skilled magicians can apparently cast without incantations at all—
“chantless” casting or “shortened incantation.”

But why does mastery allow one to cast without chanting?
If total mana doesn’t increase, it’s not like MP grows with levels…
Does proficiency reduce mana consumption?
No—even if consumption drops,
that doesn’t explain why the procedure itself can be skipped.

…Well, whatever.
Let’s just try it.

I held the magic textbook in one hand,
extended my right hand forward,
and read the incantation aloud.

“May the great blessing of water be upon what thou seekest.
Let the refreshing stream flow here and now—Water Ball!”

I felt a sensation like blood rushing to my right hand.
Then, as though that blood were being pushed out,
a fist-sized water orb formed at my fingertips.

“Ohhh!”

The moment I was moved—
splash.

The water orb fell straight down and soaked the floor.

The textbook said it was a spell that launches a water projectile,
but it just dropped on the spot.
Perhaps concentration is required to sustain the magic.

Concentrate, concentrate…

The feeling of gathering blood in my right hand.
Like this, like this, yes, like this…

I extended my right hand again,
recalled the earlier sensation,
and visualized it in my mind.

I had no idea how much total mana I possessed,
but I figured I shouldn’t waste it on repeated failures.
I would treat every single practice attempt as one I must succeed at.
First visualize perfectly in my head,
repeat it mentally over and over,
then actually perform it.
If I stumbled, go back to mental visualization.
Until it succeeded flawlessly in my mind.

In my previous life, that was exactly how I practiced combos in fighting games.
Thanks to that method, I almost never dropped combos in actual matches.
So this practice style shouldn’t be wrong… I hope.

“Suu… haa…”

One deep breath.

I gathered power as though sending blood from the tips of my toes
and the crown of my head toward my right hand.
Then, as though popping it out from my palm—
carefully, carefully, in time with my heartbeat, little by little…

Water, water, water, water ball, water projectile, water orb, water orb, water-orb-panties…

A stray thought crept in. One more time.

Squeeze it tight, twist it out—water water water…

“HA!”

The moment I unconsciously let out a shout like someone from a temple,
the water orb formed.

“Oh—eh…?”

Splash.

“…Ah.”

The instant I was surprised, the orb fell pathetically.

But just now—I didn’t chant, right?

What I did was simply imitate the exact sensation I felt when I used magic earlier.

Could it be that if I can recreate the flow of mana,
I don’t actually need to chant?
Is chantless casting really that easy?
Isn’t that supposed to be an advanced skill?

“If it’s this easy, then what’s even the point of chanting?”

Even a complete beginner like me had activated magic without an incantation.
Just gather mana at the fingertips
and decide the shape in my mind.
That’s all it took.

Then chanting isn’t necessary at all.
Everyone should just do it this way.

…Hmm.

Perhaps chanting is a way to automate the magic.
Instead of consciously gathering power from every vein in the body,
speaking the words handles everything automatically.
That’s all it is.

Like the difference between manual and automatic transmission in a car—
in reality, you could drive manually if you wanted to.

“Chanting automatically performs the magic for you.”

The advantages are huge.

First: it’s easy to teach.
Explaining “gather power from the blood vessels throughout your body like this…”
is far more difficult than just having someone recite the chant and succeed instantly.
Both teacher and student have an easier time.
Over time, chanting came to be seen as absolutely essential.

Second: it’s convenient in use.
Needless to say, attack magic is used in combat.
Closing your eyes and grunting in concentration during a fight
is far slower than rattling off a fast chant.
Which is easier—drawing an intricate picture at a full sprint,
or reciting a tongue-twister at a full sprint?

“Some people might find the former easier, though…”

I flipped through the textbook,
but there was no mention of chantless casting.
That’s strange.
From my experience, it wasn’t particularly difficult.
Maybe I have some special talent,
but it can’t be that no one else can do it at all.

What if it’s like this:

Most magicians—from beginners to experts—
continue using incantations their whole lives.
After thousands or tens of thousands of repetitions,
their bodies become so accustomed to chanting
that they no longer know how to do it without.
Therefore it’s considered non-standard and isn’t written in textbooks.

“Oh—that actually makes sense!”

Which means right now I’m doing something non-standard.
Pretty cool, huh?
It feels less like I discovered an exploit
and more like I just used a normal feature in an unintended way.

“‘Wait—you mean you narrated the story without using Crime Lord’s narrator?’
‘No, I just normally opened the channel with this narrator.’”
Something like that, right?

Uwaaah, I’m getting excited!

……

Whoa, hold on, hold on.
Calm down. Cool off.

In my previous life, I got carried away by this exact feeling
and ended up like that.
Because I could use a computer better than average,
I developed a superiority complex and screwed everything up.

Self-restraint. Self-restraint.

The important thing is not to think I’m better than others.
I’m a beginner.
A beginner.

It’s like a bowling newbie who luckily got a strike on their first throw.
Beginner’s luck.
Don’t mistake it for talent—
just keep practicing diligently.

Right.

First, chant the spell properly once to feel the sensation,
then imitate that sensation repeatedly while practicing chantless.
That’s the plan.

“All right—one more.”

I extended my right hand again—
and felt strangely sluggish.
Moreover, it was as though something heavy were pressing down on my shoulders.

Fatigue.

Was it because I concentrated so hard?

No—I was (self-proclaimed) a net-game pro.
If necessary, I could hunt for six days straight without sleep.
My concentration shouldn’t break this easily.

“Then… did my MP run out…?”

No way…

If total mana is fixed at birth,
does that mean my entire mana pool is only enough for two water balls?

Ugh. That’s way too little, isn’t it?
Or maybe because it’s my first time, there was a lot of mana loss?
No, that’s ridiculous.

Just to check, I tried one more—
and passed out.

—

“Honestly, Rudy, if you’re sleepy you have to go to the toilet and get into bed properly, okay?”

When I woke up,
it had been decided that I fell asleep while reading
and wet myself in the process.

Damn it.

To think I’d be seen as having wet the bed at this age…
Damn it… damn it…

…Wait, I’m still only two, right?
Maybe bedwetting is forgivable.

But seriously—way too little mana.
Haa… what a letdown…

Well, even with only two water balls,
it depends on how I use them.
For now, I’ll just practice until I can fire them off instantly…
Haa……

—

The next day, I was able to create four water balls without issue.
I felt fatigue at the fifth.

“Huh…?”

From yesterday’s experience, I knew the next one would knock me out,
so I stopped there.

Then I thought.

Hmm.

Maximum of six.
Twice as many as yesterday.

While staring at the five orbs’ worth of water in the bucket (prepared as a precaution against fainting),
I pondered.

Why did the number double from yesterday to today?
Was I already tired yesterday?
Was the mana cost higher because it was my first time?
Today I did everything chantless,
so whether I chant or not shouldn’t make a difference.

I don’t get it.
Maybe tomorrow it will increase again.

—

The day after that, the number increased further.

Eleven.

It somehow feels like the number increases by exactly how many times I used it.
If that’s the case, tomorrow it should be twenty-one.

The following day, just to be safe,
I only used it five times and stopped for the day.

The day after that—it was twenty-six.

As expected, it increases by the number of uses.

(Liar…!)

What do you mean “a person’s total mana is decided at birth”?
Don’t just arbitrarily decide something invisible like talent!
No adult has the right to judge a child’s talent like that!

Well, the lesson is: don’t swallow everything in books whole.
Maybe what this book says is on the level of “human happiness has limits”
or perhaps it’s talking about the results after training.
Maybe there’s a cap even if you train as hard as you can.

No—wait. It’s still too early to draw that conclusion.
I can still form hypotheses.

For example…
yes, for example:
it increases in accordance with growth.
Or perhaps using mana during infancy dramatically raises the maximum.
Ah—or maybe I just have a special constitution…
…No, I told myself not to think I’m special.

In my old world, they said exercising during growth spurts dramatically increases ability.
Conversely, training after the growth period yields poor results.

Even in this world, while they talk about mana and so on,
the basic structure of the human body shouldn’t be different.
The fundamentals are the same.
Then there’s only one thing to do:
train as much as possible before the growth period ends.

—

Starting the next day, I decided to use mana up to my limit every day.
At the same time, I would increase the variety of magic I could use.

Once I grasped the sensation, reproducing it chantless was easy.
For the time being, my goal was to completely master all beginner-level magic in every element within the near future.

Beginner magic, as the name implies, is the lowest rank among attack spells.
Water Ball and Fire Ball are especially introductory even among beginner magic.

Magic difficulty is divided into seven ranks:
Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced, Saint, King, Emperor, God.

A magician generally considered competent
can use advanced magic in their specialty element,
but only beginner or intermediate in others.

Those who can use ranks above Advanced
are called things like Fire Saint or Water Saint
and are held in high regard.

I’m a little envious.

However, the textbook only covered up to advanced magic
in the fire, water, wind, and earth elements.
Where does one learn Saint-rank and above…?

No—better not think about that too much.
If you start by making the strongest monster in an RPG Maker,
you’re almost guaranteed to burn out.
Start with the first slime.
Though, to be honest, I never even finished a game starting from slimes.

The beginner water-element spells listed in the textbook were as follows:

Water Ball: Launches a water projectile. Water Ball.
Water Shield: Ejects water from the ground to form a wall. Water Shield.
Water Arrow: Launches a 20 cm water arrow. Water Arrow.
Ice Smash: Hurls a chunk of ice at the opponent. Ice Smash.
Ice Blade: Creates a sword of ice. Ice Blade.

Ice apparently falls under the water element too.
I tried them all.

Even among beginner spells, mana consumption varied widely.
If Water Ball is 1, the others ranged roughly from 2 to 20.

For now I stuck mainly to water.
If I used fire and started a house fire, that would be dangerous.

Speaking of which—perhaps higher-rank spells consume more because of temperature?
It seemed that the higher the rank, the more spells leaned toward ice.

But spells described as “launching” things like Water Arrow
didn’t actually fly.
I must be doing something wrong somewhere…

Hmm. No idea.

The textbook also mentioned the size and speed of spells.
Perhaps after creating the projectile,
one must further manipulate it with mana?

Let’s try.

“Oh?”

The water ball grew larger.

“Ooh!”

Splash.

“Ooo…”

But it still fell.
After that, I experimented: making them bigger or smaller,
creating two at once, varying their sizes—
there were new discoveries,
but none of them flew.

Fire and wind floated in the air since they weren’t affected by gravity,
but they still vanished after a fixed time.
I even tried propelling a floating fireball with wind,
but it didn’t feel right.

Hmm…

—

Two months later.

After trial and error,
I finally succeeded in launching a water ball!

That breakthrough allowed me to understand the mechanism of chanting.

Chanting follows this process:
Generation → Size setting → Launch velocity setting → Activation.

By adjusting size and velocity during the chant,
the caster completes the spell.

In other words, when you chant:
First, the desired spell shape is automatically generated.
Then, within a certain time window, additional mana is poured in to adjust size.
After size adjustment, within another time window, more mana adjusts launch velocity.
Once the preparation time ends, the spell leaves the caster’s hand and fires automatically.

I think that’s correct…

The key was to add mana twice after the chant:
once for size, once for velocity.

If you skip size adjustment,
it never proceeds to velocity adjustment.
That’s why simply trying to launch it only made it bigger without anything happening.

Incidentally, when doing it chantless,
you must handle every single step of that process yourself.

It seems like a hassle,
but because you can skip the waiting periods for size and velocity input,
you can fire several times faster than with chanting.

Moreover, chantless allows you to interfere even with the generation phase.
For example—although it wasn’t in the textbook—
I could freeze a water ball into an ice projectile.
If I keep practicing, I might even be able to do things like Kaiser Phoenix (smug face).

The possibilities are endless depending on ideas.
This is getting fun!

……………………But fundamentals are important.

I’ll save the wild experiments for when my mana pool is much larger.

Increasing total mana capacity.
Being able to use chantless magic as naturally as breathing.
Those are my next two goals.

Setting overly ambitious targets right away leads to burnout.
Little by little, steadily.

All right—let’s do this.

And so, every day, I continued using beginner magic
until I was on the verge of fainting.