Ch 23 Second Floor

“W-what…?”

Ivan winced internally as the word left his lips, sounding dumb even to his own ears.

Wasn’t balancing a mana cube with both hands the foundation of all magic?

The left hand drew the internal mana, the right hand shaped the geometric structure, and together they stabilized the volatile energy. Without that physical symmetry, the cube would shatter before the spell could even form.

Asterion’s brow twitched. He asked again, his voice laced with a sliver of irritation.

“I asked what losing an arm has to do with magic.”

“Because… without both hands to balance the flow of mana, the cube collapses in on itself,” Ivan stammered, his face pale with nervous tension. “I know it might be difficult for someone of your caliber to understand, but…”

He swallowed hard. His throat felt like sandpaper, but he forced himself to push past his fear.

“I—I know I’m severely lacking! I know it might be impossible for you to accept someone as broken as me as your disciple… but still! I swear I will do my best! I can do anything you ask, if you’d just accept me.”

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he made his desperate pitch.

Asterion stared down at him.

“A disciple,” Asterion repeated. “I have no intention of taking on something so bothersome again.”

“…W-what?”

That was the rule Asterion had set for himself the moment he woke up in this new era.

During his century-long reign as the continent’s sole Archmage, Asterion had taken in plenty of disciples. They had traveled with him as loyal companions, clinked mugs together at taverns, and there were those that trusted him with their life that they bared their deepest secrets to him.

But almost all of them had left this world before him.

Some died because they were simply too weak to survive the brutality of this world. Others died because standing next to the Archmage made them a prime target for assassins. And some… died because they betrayed him for his power.

Asterion sighed.

Humans.

It wasn’t that his disciples were inherently evil. They were just… weak. Fragile bodies housing fragile minds.

Whether they pushed their limits too much trying to unlock new realms of magic, got ripped apart hunting monstrous beasts, or simply succumbed to the quiet rot of old age…. In the end, they all died.

That was also why his old adventuring party had been precious to him. They were anomalies, like him. Blessed with unnaturally long lifespans because of their overwhelming power. People who could actually stand by his side. But in the end, even they had perished.

So why should he take another disciple?

He’d just be adding another variable in his life. An anchor that would drag him through yet another cycle of responsibility and grief before he could finally rest.

At that blunt rejection, all the blood drained from Ivan’s face. He looked like a man who had just been handed his execution orders.

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“Then… c-could I at least beg for a single piece of advice?” Ivan asked.

“Advice?”

“Y-yes, Exalted One!”

Seeing the kid practically vibrating with desperate, dog-like anticipation, Asterion’s eyes narrowed into slits as he smiled.

“Only if you drop that incredibly cringey ‘Exalted One’ nonsense.”

“B-but how can a mortal like me stand before a god and—“

“Listen. I am just a passing, humble maze—I mean, mage. Understood?”