**Chapter 4**
—
That night.
After a long and exhausting day, Dale finally returned to his room.
Sir Helmut, the knight commander, had officially organized a raid unit and departed for the Demon King’s domain. Around this time, Dale’s parents were likely giving their all to fulfill their son’s wish.
*They really are a devoted couple.*
With that thought, Dale gave a faint, bitter smile.
His tutor, the sage Sephia, had not shown herself since that day.
Sitting cross-legged on a bed filled with soft down, Dale closed his eyes and focused on the flow of mana coursing through his heart. He slowly extended his hand.
The stream of mana flowing through his palm began to shimmer faintly, carrying a chill that seemed to seep into the air.
*First, I must learn to control my own body.*
It wasn’t modesty or a desire to hide his talent. Quite the opposite—today’s mistake had stung even more because of how gifted he was. As his thoughts wandered there, the image of Sephia’s shocked face surfaced in his mind.
—*What was that?*
Dale remembered that gaze, one of disbelief and fear.
*I don’t want to be seen as a monster.*
And with that came the memory of a holy knight’s mocking laughter, the very one who had driven a sacred blade through his back.
*In the next life, I’ll be a Demon King—one without blood or tears.*
Their fates had crossed and twisted.
Whoooosh!
The moment his focus wavered, mana burst violently outward.
“……!”
The temperature in the room plummeted. Frost spread out from where Dale sat, crawling across the floor and furniture in pale white streaks.
A chilling cold that spiraled endlessly below freezing.
He hurriedly centered his consciousness, gathering his scattered composure. The raging frost withdrew, dissolving once more into glittering motes of mana.
*A truly innate gift.*
When calm returned, he realized—the thought wasn’t about his former self, the Hero of the past life. It was about *this* body, this bloodline that had inherited the pure essence of the Black Duke.
A vessel fit for a Demon King—one bestowed by the age itself.
—
—
He couldn’t sleep even as dawn deepened.
Eventually, Dale left his room and walked toward the castle’s inner courtyard, the one where he had spent the morning with Sephia. He thought that walking beneath the white marble colonnade might help clear his thoughts.
But there, he encountered an unexpected figure.
His tutor, the elven archmage of the Sixth Circle—Sephia.
“Miss Sephia?”
“At this late hour? What brings you here?”
Her long ears twitched slightly, surprised. Perhaps, like him, she had come out for a walk.
“I couldn’t fall asleep.”
“I suppose you’ve had a lot to think about.”
Her reply was gentle, too mature and composed for a child. Still, Sephia’s crystalline blue eyes softened with a kind smile.
“Happy eighth birthday, Dale.”
“Thank you, teacher.”
A belated birthday greeting. Dale scratched his head awkwardly.
“So, I brought you your birthday present.”
“A present?”
“Didn’t we make a promise?”
At her unexpected words, Dale tilted his head.
“That we’d find the kind of magic you truly wish to study.”
It was something she had expected would take several weeks—but the matter had ended in a single day. And what she had seen during that process had been astonishing.
*This child’s talent is dangerous.*
If one day his magic were to be wielded with malice, the outcome would be catastrophic.
Thus, taking on the role of Dale’s tutor carried a weight far greater than she had first imagined.
“Let’s think together about the path you’re meant to take.”
“Teacher…”
That day, after speaking with the Black Duke, Sephia had made up her mind—just as Dale’s father had made his own.
*May the wisdom of the Sage guide Dale onto the right path.*
In Sephia’s hands was an old, worn book—the symbol of that shared resolve.
A gift prepared for his eighth birthday.
The title read: *Basic Necromancy.*
—
—
A few days later.
Centered around the grand ducal castle, the city of *Saxen* was the heart of the duchy—and one of the Empire’s greatest cities.
Crowds filled the stone-paved streets, where diamond-shaped cobbles gleamed faintly under the light. Dale walked among them, unassumingly.
There were no pompous processions or noisy heralds announcing his presence.
For the noble son of the Duke’s house to stroll the city so casually was nearly unthinkable.
Of course, a few knights were secretly shadowing him for protection—but that was all.
After all, his trusted tutor, Sephia, was with him.
It was clear how deeply the Duke and Duchess trusted her.
“You look quite cheerful today.”
“Yes!”
At his bright, boyish smile, Sephia couldn’t help but smile herself.
Both cloaked to conceal their identities, they rented horses from a nearby stable and rode out toward the plains beyond the city’s northern gate.
North of Saxen lay the *White Mountains*, a range that bordered the Demon King’s realm—an area ordinary folk had no reason to visit. Only mercenaries on monster-hunting commissions ever ventured there.
In other words—it was a hunting ground for monsters.
“From now on, this will be where I teach you magic.”
Leaving the distant escorting knights behind, Sephia dismounted. Dale followed suit.
“Here?”
She nodded, scanning their surroundings. The ground was covered in deep snow. Soon, her pointed ears twitched.
“Can you cast *Ice Bolt* and hit that?”
Far away, a rabbit peeked nervously at them from the snow.
“The rabbit…”
“You’ve hunted before with your father, haven’t you?”
Dale had indeed joined his father on hunts since a young age.
This world was one ruled by strength. Children learned early to hunt, wield weapons, and even take lives.
Still, hearing those words from an elf made him feel oddly conflicted.
“I understand.”
There was no reason to hesitate.
—*Bang!*
He channeled mana through the circle at his heart, refined it, and gathered it at his fingertips. A sharp crystal of ice formed—then shot forth like a bullet.
The rabbit trembled once and fell still. Instant death.
“Do you know why the same spell can appear so different depending on the caster?”
Sephia spoke softly, her tone subdued. Dale shook his head.
“It’s because magic is a mirror of the heart.”
“……”
“Therefore, a mage inevitably reveals the landscape of their soul through their magic.”
Magic, at its essence, was the projection of one’s inner image into the world through mana particles—turning imagination into reality.
So the spells people named—*Ice Bolt*, *Fire Wall*, and the like—didn’t actually exist as fixed forms.
Those names were merely *shared concepts*, a way to standardize imagination.
That was why mages honed their minds endlessly—to control their inner images and align with the spirit their magic sought to embody.
For example, the Blue Tower prized “order through harmony,” while the Red Tower pursued “order through power.” Their philosophies shaped how their magic manifested—whether as water, fire, or other forms.
“It may be a bit hard for you to understand just yet.”
She smiled faintly, but Dale did not return it.
He understood perfectly well.
Through that mirror of the heart, Sephia was seeing Dale’s *true self.*
The nature of the magic he wielded.
“Your magic,” she said quietly, “is gifted in taking life.”
Sephia’s voice deepened.
“When I first saw your magic… to be honest, I was afraid.”
As expected, she had seen it—the true form of his power. But her next words caught him by surprise.
“That’s why I’m grateful I get to teach you.”
“Teacher…?”
Her sapphire eyes glowed softly with kindness.
“I believe it’s fate that brought me to your side.”
With that, Sephia drew out the *Basic Necromancy* tome from within her cloak.
“……!”
Unlike *grimoires*, which required binding contracts, a *magic book* could be read and studied freely by anyone. But to gift a tome containing the secrets of necromancy—it was not a gesture made lightly.
“Then let’s begin our lesson.”
“Yes, teacher!”
Dale nodded vigorously.
—
—
A few weeks later.
A dead rabbit shuddered—and slowly stood up again.
It moved stiffly, like a puppet dangling from invisible strings.
A *zombie rabbit.*
*So fast…*
Sephia could feel nothing but awe at Dale’s progress.
In just a few short weeks, he had mastered the art of animating corpses.
Raising the dead was fundamental to necromancy—something even the most basic students at the Black Tower spent months, sometimes years, learning to control.
Compared to that, the Ice Bolt—simple condensation of mana into cold—was child’s play.
And yet, Dale’s achievement didn’t end there.
“Next.”
“Yes, teacher.”
Dale extended his hand again. Blue mana swirled at his fingertips.
The threads of mana controlling the rabbit tightened, moving it like a marionette. Around it, icy winds began to swirl violently.
Frost gathered and built up, forming a wall of ice.
At first glance, it looked as though he was trapping the rabbit in a block of ice—but no.
With deft control, Dale manipulated the mana threads like an expert puppeteer.
The rabbit moved freely, unhindered by the armor of ice encasing it. When Sephia tested it by casting an Ice Bolt of her own, the icy armor shielded the rabbit perfectly.
A layer of frozen protection—the First Circle water spell, *Frozen Armor.*
“I blocked your bolt, teacher!”
“Yes, very well done.”
Sephia smiled and nodded approvingly.
Even though she had reduced her spell’s power, the fact that Dale had learned *Frozen Armor* only a few days ago made this all the more remarkable.
The rabbit’s icy armor now boasted resilience rivaling steel.
*His growth is unbelievable.*
Dark magic and water magic—since that day, Dale had been learning both under Sephia’s guidance.
*Please teach me water magic as well.*
His request had surprised her.
A dual-element mage, capable of mastering two attributes simultaneously, was rare even among seasoned archmages.
At first, she thought it was childish greed.
But when she suggested taking more time to learn, Dale had answered with a stubbornness far beyond his years:
*Didn’t you say we’d find the path I’m meant to take—together?*
In the end, she couldn’t refuse.
After all, learning the fundamentals of both elements couldn’t hurt. So she began teaching him basic water spells alongside dark magic.
And this was the result.
The rabbit—stiff in death, clad in its crystalline armor—moved as lightly as if it wore nothing at all.
Water and darkness intertwined seamlessly, harmonizing within him.
He absorbed every lesson like a sponge, every spell like a born prodigy.
Even learning one of these arts at this pace would be enough to call him a genius of the century.
Without realizing it, Sephia recalled the Black Duke’s legion of the dead—an army clad in frozen armor, marching relentlessly forward.
The image sent an involuntary chill down her spine.
