Vincent stepped back, but Shirone didn’t move—still studying the groove.
At first, Vincent wondered if he was slacking off—but quickly dismissed the thought.
’He’d never deceive me.’
He waited impatiently, yet Shirone remained still.
’What’s he looking at? Chopping wood is about the body, not the mind. Just lift the axe, Shirone. Swing with all you’ve got.’
Contrary to Vincent’s thoughts, Shirone was experiencing a quiet revelation.
Strike the same spot—but twist slightly.
Though the principle was ancient, in Shirone’s mind, it transformed into something far greater.
And that understanding was evolving into something... powerful.
"I think this’ll work. , here."
Finally, Shirone pointed to a notch in the tree and spoke.
"Should I try to break it in one swing?"
"Hahaha! You haven’t even chopped halfway through—you think it’ll snap like that?"
"If I’m lucky, maybe."
Of course, a seasoned woodcutter could exploit a tree’s weak point to fell it with fewer strikes. But even Vincent, skilled as he was, struggled with such precision—let alone a child like Shirone.
"Alright! Let’s trust my son’s luck!"
Vincent humored him anyway. Whether Shirone succeeded or not didn’t matter; his eagerness alone was commendable.
"If I break it, grant me one wish."
Vincent tensed. Was he about to ask to learn letters? Or to attend school like the wealthy kids? What if he begged to be sent away?
"When you go to the city to sell goods this time... take me with you."
Vincent nearly sighed in relief but masked it with a booming laugh.
"That’s all? Gladly! I’ll grant that anytime!"
Shirone hefted his axe, smiling—until his expression stilled moments later. Vincent shuddered.
The boy’s gaze fixed on the tree as if seeing something invisible.
It struck the notch perfectly, yet with a subtle twist no human could perceive.
A sound like thunder split the air. Vincent’s eyes widened.
The axe’s impact splintered the wood, and with a groan, the tree collapsed under its own weight.
Vincent couldn’t believe it. Shirone had just performed Thunder Split—a legendary technique among lumberjacks.
Even I’ve only managed it once, and that was pure luck.
It relied on a precise confluence of factors: structure, load, grain alignment—a near-impossible feat. Most woodcutters stumbled into it accidentally; few could replicate it deliberately.
Not that anyone needs to. Trying too hard just exhausts you.
But in the world of swordsmen, where how you strike matters, this phenomenon was studied. A technique even novices dared not attempt.
Shirone’s joy stemmed less from the feat itself and more from the promise of visiting the city.
"Dad! You’ll keep your word, right?"
As the boy bounced excitedly, Vincent’s mind churned.
He no longer knew if Shirone was meant to be a woodcutter—or if forcing that path would doom him.
The cart passed through the city gates.
Vincent gripped the reins, leading the way, while Shirone—perched atop the cargo—gazed around with sparkling eyes.
The sheer number of people in the streets set his heart racing.
There’s plenty of time.
The cart was laden with goods from the mountains: hides for weapon shops, meat for grocers, organs for apothecaries or magic stores. The rounds would take at least four hours, including haggling.
At the grocer, Vincent hoisted a sack of meat and turned to Shirone.
"Be back before sunset."
"Don’t worry. I memorized the way."
"Stay on main roads. No alleys. If anyone asks why you’re alone, point to the nearest shop and say you’re waiting for me."
"Got it. Last time was fine, anyway."
Vincent’s chest ached at leaving his son, but their survival hinged on the deals ahead.
Shirone’s first stop outside the market was Creas’ grandest library.
The boy’s pulse quickened as he stared up at the colossal, ornate building.
Did this place hold all the world’s wisdom?
Curiosity urged him inside, but entry was forbidden to non-nobles.
Two schoolgirls exited, arms stacked with books. Shirone hastily sidestepped.
They were just people. Every society had its villains, and surely some nobles were kind.
Yet Vincent had warned him like a ghost story:
Nobles wielded the wealth and power to shatter commoners’ lives on a whim.
That might be true. But...
Shirone watched the girls’ retreating backs.
Driven by stubborn longing, he trailed them toward the noble district.
What lives did they lead?
But his wonder crumpled under the district’s opulence.
People built this... to live in?
The crown jewel was a school so vast it dwarfed mountains.
Shirone halted, reading the archaic script carved into its archway:
Alpheas Magic Academy
The one word whose meaning eluded him.
Countless books mentioned it, yet none explained its principles—as if non-mages were unworthy of understanding.
"Hey! What’re you doing here?"
Guards at the gate barked at him. His ragged clothes stood out like a stain.
"Scram! This isn’t a place for gutter rats."
Shirone fled—but after running endlessly along the academy’s towering wall, he stopped, breathless.
How big is this place?!
Then an elderly voice carried from beyond the wall:
"Now, today’s topic: What is Magic?"
"Aww, no! Show us magic! Just one more spell!"
"Fire! Make fire, Headmaster!"
Peering up, Shirone spotted an ancient tree whose branches overhung the wall. The headmaster seemed to teach beneath its shade.
The children sounded young—unsurprising, given noble heirs’ early education.
"Hohoho, setting fires at school would earn you scoldings. But if you answer my riddle, I’ll show you something fun."
"Yay! What’s the riddle?"
Shirone’s curiosity hooked him.
"What talent is most crucial to learning magic?"
The question was subjective, but these were gifted children. Soon, answers trickled in:
"Effort! Magic takes lifetimes to master!"
"Knowledge! I’ve read over a hundred spellbooks!"
Others cited focus, memory—all reasonable, yet the headmaster remained silent. Shirone imagined him smiling.
"Money! Magic needs so many expensive things!"
Laughter erupted, the headmaster’s guffaws mingling in.
Now Shirone burned to know:
Not effort, knowledge, or money? Then what?
Finally, the headmaster spoke.
"The most vital talent is insight."
The headmaster groaned playfully before explaining:
"Insight is more precise than knowledge, swifter than effort. For example: What’s one plus one?"
The children chorused, baffled by the simplicity.
"Indeed. Now, why is one plus one two?"
They faltered. None knew how to explain the obvious.
"That frustration is insight. Long ago, people didn’t know one plus one equaled two. It took ages of study to prove. Yet you know it instinctively, without proof. That’s insight—the fastest way to grasp truths."
Shirone was enthralled.
"Magic is like that. It existed before we understood it. Some uncover it through toil, others see it naturally. Insight is the key."
"So... we don’t need to study?"
"Hohoho! Put that way... yes, that’s true."
Sometimes, harsh truths were packaged as common sense to soften the blow.
Shirone sensed Alpheas’s reluctance.
"Then why go to school?"
"Insight is rare. Scholars spent centuries proving why one plus one is two. Yet some know without proof. We call them geniuses."
"Mom says I’m a genius!"
"She’s not wrong. Everyone is born with talent. Cultivate it, and anyone can become a genius."
Shirone’s heart swelled.
—Anyone can be a genius.
Would he ever get the chance to scale this towering wall?
"Ah, child behind the wall. What do you think?"