Chapter 27: The First Spark

The heavy iron gates of the Ashborn estate had long since closed, shutting out the biting northern winds.

Inside his darkened room, Arthur sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor. In the corner, perched silently atop the wardrobe, the Frostwing owl blinked its glowing blue eyes.

Arthur took a slow, measured breath. One day had passed, and only six days remained to fulfill the royal order. Even now, in the dead of night, he could hear the faint, rhythmic vibrations. The valley blast furnaces were roaring. His father was in a desperate race against time, but amidst all of that, Arthur needed to ensure his own foundation was secure.

He looked down at his lap. Resting against his knees was the title-less black book.

He ran his fingertips over the deeply carved crest. The only thing he knew about the artifact was that it acted as a gateway between him and the Ashborn ancestors. Ever since their brief encounter, Arthur had wanted to reach out and seek guidance, but the book remained dormant. Whatever unknown conditions were required to trigger the connection, he hadn’t met them yet. And obviously staring at the dark leather wouldn’t force it open.

With a quiet sigh, Arthur set the book aside. He would have to rely on himself for now.

“Let’s get this started,” Arthur muttered as he closed his eyes and turned his focus inward. It was time to test what he had learned from watching the High Mage train Aria.

But first, he needed a baseline and a complete understanding of the way the nobles were traditionally taught.

He gathered a fraction of his mana, forcefully pushing it up the broad, primary vessels of his right arm. He opened his mouth and spoke the long-form incantation, using the slow execution to give himself enough time to internally map pathways.

“Element of ash, heed my call and burn.”

He felt the mana drag heavily through his arm, slowly channeling into his vessels. A moment later, a standard bright orange flame flickered to life above his palm. The spell worked as intended, but it felt incredibly inefficient—like pouring a massive bucket of water to fill a small cup. Much of the energy was wasted just fighting the natural resistance of his own body.

He closed his fist, snuffing the flame out.

Next, the shortened form. He gathered the mana again, pushing it down the same wide pathway.

“Ignite!”

The mana rushed faster this time, obedient to the condensed verbal trigger. The flame sparked quicker, but the friction within his arm was still there.

Arthur let the fire die. Now it was time to apply Marcus’s lesson. You do not push mana with raw force; instead, you guide it with intent. He kept his focus on the main circuit in his arm. This time, instead of forcing the energy, he tried to calmly invite it to flow, accompanying the action with a spoken cast.

“Ignite!”

The resulting flame was noticeably smoother, and the transition was less jarring. However, the wide primary pathway still wasted its potential, as it would always cool down the mana before it reached the fingertips.

The only solution to achieve perfect efficiency was to use the micro-pathways directly connected. Arthur’s eyes closed again, guiding a tiny sliver of mana toward the small vessel.

The energy flowed until it scattered at his wrist, dissipating harmlessly into his muscles.

Arthur frowned, adjusting his focus. He tried again, guiding the mana with a slightly firmer mental grip. Nevertheless, it failed again. He had overcompressed, and a sharp, needle-like pain pricked the tip of his finger.

He didn’t grow frustrated. This was the process: failing again and again until it succeeded.

Arthur took a deep breath, calming his heart rate. He visualized the flow as not a forced current but as a natural extension of his own pulse. Locking his intent on the exact chemical reaction he desired—pure combustion—he guided the mana flawlessly through the correct pathway.

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At the very tip of his index finger, the air warped.

With a sharp, crisp crack, a perfect, hyper-concentrated blue spark flared into existence. A singular point of blinding, azure light, burning with a quiet intensity. The efficiency was absolute.

Arthur stared at the blue spark, a genuine smile, a tired smile, pulling at his lips. This moment marked his first real achievement in this world.

A second later, the focus broke, and the spark vanished. The sudden mental toll of the silent, intent-based casting hit him all at once.

A dry cough escaped his lips. “My throat feels like sandpaper,” Arthur muttered.

Using the bedpost to push himself up, he quietly opened his bedroom and stepped out into the silent, moonlit corridors of the estate.

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