Chapter 19:
The office was immaculate—too immaculate, given the bureaucratic warfare supposedly raging within. Sunlight streamed through tall windows veiled in gauzy curtains, casting golden shafts across the polished hardwood. Rich mahogany panels lent the room a ceremonial weight, softened only by two leather sofas arranged with unnerving symmetry before an impressive desk.
Behind it sat Liora, framed like a portrait by three towering windows. Her brow was furrowed, pen dancing across a siege of paperwork—folders and loose sheets piled like besieged fortresses. A cheerful vase of yellow wildflowers stood defiantly amidst the chaos, a brave—though fleeting—attempt to charm the soul-crushing machine of bureaucracy.
Then the calm shattered.
At the room's center, a green light blossomed. Glyphs spiraled outward in rhythmic rings of emerald. The glow coalesced, shimmered, then collapsed inward with a soft flicker.
Where it dissipated stood a Dryad.
Wreathed in sunlight and spring's first breath, she seemed sculpted by nature. Golden-green hair cascaded down her back like living silk. Her eyes burned with divine dawnfire, radiant as dew on new leaves. Her skin glowed an earthy warmth, kissed by ancient roots and morning mist.
She wore a gown of living leaves and vines, woven in artistry only nature could muster—greens and yellows flowing in harmony, leaf-like motifs arching from her shoulders. Tiny sprouts adorned her hair as natural ornaments.
Liora sprang to her feet—not in fear, but recognition etched across her features.
"You..."
---
A vast library spread out nearby, heavy with the scent of parchment and time. Stone walls rose high, book-lined shelves reaching a mezzanine above. Stained-glass windows filtered sunlight into jeweled hues that danced across wooden beams.
On the upper floor, Selene sat at a long oak table buried under open volumes. Her long black hair, threaded with midnight-blue highlights, shimmered in the afternoon light. Deep violet eyes, sharp as obsidian, scanned each page with unwavering focus.
She paused, voice soft but intense:
> "We've been here two months. We thought the test measured mana—how much we had, how well we could use it. Simple. But that wasn't it. The crystals resonated with something deeper."
Selene closed the tome gently, gaze distant.
> "Arcanum."
She traced a fingertip across the page.
> "Alistair said: 'Mana is fuel. Arcanum is the law behind the spell. It's what lets the concept of fire exist at all.'"
She inhaled, the words lingering.
> "With mana, you can hurl a fireball. Without Arcanum? Fire wouldn't even be possible."
---
The realization had cracked something in her. She stood, closing the book with a soft thud.
> "Arcanum is rare. Demon Lords struggle to access it—and that takes centuries."
She set the book aside.
> "But we… we can use it because we don't belong here. Our souls resonate differently. Summoned heroes aren't bound by this world's architecture. This 'resonance drift' gives us access to the laws behind magic—not just the how, but the why."
Selene's eyes darkened.
> "Not everyone survives it. Tap into Arcanum without grounding, and your soul can shatter."
At the landing, she flicked her fingers and a soft blue aura floated the books back to their shelves in a silent dance of order and magic.
---
She approached a grand arched door carved with floral motifs and slipped inside a classroom bathed in late-afternoon gold. High-backed chairs glimmered in rows as if waiting centuries' return. The air presented a solemn hush—like the breath before revelation.
Stones walls whispered of long-dead scholars. Above, a crystal chandelier hung like a cluster of frozen stars, scattering light across deep-blue banners emblazoned with an ancestral crest nearly forgotten.
Selene's heels clicked softly on polished stone. She glided down the aisle, voice and posture refined. At a window, she paused—sunlight pooling across her hair like molten silk. She paused, then eased into a seat in the third row. The chair sighed—a quiet acknowledgement of purpose—not protest.
Moments later, the silence broke. Front and back doors swung open, admitting a tide of chatter and laughter. The chamber's reverence bent gracefully, reshaping itself for the present.
Elion entered with the current, his eyes seeking her. He found herself seated alone, smiled easy and familiar, and slid into the seat beside her without waiting.
Selene didn't turn. She offered a slow sidelong glance—violet judgment softened by ancient restraint.
Elion grinned. "May I sit here?" he teased, voice warm and mischievous.
"Why ask," she replied coolly, "when you've already made yourself at home?"
Elion chuckled and rubbed the back of his head. "Fair. Old habits die hard. Still working on manners."
Her eyes rolled—just slightly—but the hint of a smile lingered.
---
The bell chimed, its mellow echo filling Class A‑1. Master Thorne appeared in the doorway: tall, weathered, draped in drab robes that had witnessed more wars than he would ever discuss. His long, light-green–flickered eyes surveyed the room with a veteran's disinterest.
He tapped his chalk on the board:
> "Magic = Mana Required"
He cleared his throat, voice a gravelly drawl:
> "Listen up, rookies. You lot lump magic, abilities, blessings, curses—divine sparks? Enough. Let me clear the fog."
He sketched a triangle on the chalkboard, chalk dust settling like faint stardust.
The chalk scraped again, rough against slate, echoing across the vaulted room like distant thunder.
> Magic
‣ Requires mana
‣ Elemental / structured / ritualistic
‣ Fireballs, barriers, healing, summoning
> Abilities
‣ Do not require mana
‣ Innate, conceptual, soul-tied
‣ Instant regeneration, mental immunity, soul damage
Old Thorne tapped the board with a knuckle—once. The room stilled.
> "Magic runs on mana, same as a lantern runs on oil. Want to toss a fireball? Mana. Heal a wound or summon a hawk from light? Still mana. Always mana."
He stabbed the chalk again—hard enough to chip it.
> "Abilities? Whole different beast. They're woven into your soul. Into your concept. That brat in the back—if he ever awakens a 'Spatial Immunity' trait, he'll be warping space like it owes him rent. No mana needed. Just existence."
Murmurs stirred. Minds began to churn.
Selene Akashiro raised an eyebrow, pen stilling mid-note. Her voice, when it came, was precise, measured.
> "So magic is... a system. Rules, rituals. Abilities are who we are."
Thorne actually nodded. "Exactly. Magic is access. Abilities are identity."
---
A hand rose, pale and unhurried.
Veltharia. Pink-haired, unnervingly calm. Her golden eyes held the kind of composure that didn't belong to teenagers.
> "What about True Mana? You mentioned it before. It doesn't follow the same laws, does it?"
That silenced the room. Even Vance Kerren quit flipping his pencil.
Thorne's smile came like tectonic movement—slow, subtle, ancient. He erased the top line and scrawled new words in deep, deliberate strokes:
> True Mana ≠ Mana
True Mana > Logic
He turned.
> "True Mana," he said, "is the outlier. The anomaly. The heretic element. It doesn't obey the world."
"It rewrites it."
---
Luthar leaned in, red hair falling into his eyes. "So it's like... cheating?"
Thorne shrugged, pacing now.
> "Only if you think altering causality counts as cheating. True Mana discards limits: no casting time, no cost, no rules."
Vance scoffed. "So, what, we just awaken it one day and boom, gods?"
> "More like boom, corpses," Thorne replied. "Awaken it wrong, and you'll collapse under your own narrative weight. True Mana bends reality around you—if you can hold the shape. Most try to burn down the laws before they even learn the alphabet."
From the front row, a soft, even voice broke through.
Irelia Noctheis. Sky-blue hair. Calm violet eyes. The kind of quiet that demanded attention, not because it asked—but because it understood.
> "So if someone with True Mana cast a water spell in a vacuum… it would still work?"
Thorne turned fully to her, respect flickering in his gaze.
> "Correct. And if they cast it yesterday, the effect might arrive tomorrow. Or already have."
---
He circled back to the board and wrote again—large, slow, deliberate.
> Mana is to magic what gasoline is to a car.
Abilities are part of you—like breath, or will.
True Mana is the act of rewriting the engine itself.
---
Arms crossed—quiet as ever. Not asking questions. Just listening. Measuring.
Veltharia's stare was glass-smooth, almost blank. But the gears behind those golden eyes turned fast and deep.
Irelia returned to her pristine notes. One line at a time. One truth at a time.
Vance groaned loud enough to break the spell. "Why do we even need theory? Just give me a sword and point me at a monster."
Thorne didn't even blink.
> "And when that monster rewrites the battlefield mid-swing? When your flame spell turns into flowers? When gravity stops working for you and only you?"
He gestured at the chalkboard—at the words, at the room, at them.
> "You'll learn the difference between casting and becoming. And when you do—pray you're still human enough to care."
Silence fell again.
But it was a different kind this time.
Heavier. Expectant.
Back at Haruto original world something unknowingly happened to the world mana start flow in the world
The reason was Haruto Satoru.
He possessed infinite mana and near-infinite True Mana — not absolute, but enough to warp the laws of existence.
His presence alone reawakened the flow of mana in a world long thought barren.
Where once there was silence, the world began to breathe magic again.
Mana had not flowed through this world in centuries — perhaps longer.
Its return was not silent.
The moment the world remembered magic, something else remembered hunger.
Creatures born of mana, twisted by ancient echoes, began to stir.
Some clawed their way from long-forgotten caves. Others simply appeared, as if the world had been waiting for the signal to release them.
Haruto's presence wasn't just a miracle.
It was a summoning bell — and the monsters had heard it.
The sky above the mountain ridge shimmered faintly — not with light, but with pressure.
Trees swayed though no wind blew. The clouds froze in place, caught between time and awe.
Below, where roots once slumbered undisturbed, the ground trembled.
Then the cracks opened.
From deep fissures in the earth, pale claws scraped against stone. The first creature emerged — a beast of bone and shadow, eyes glowing with a raw, feral hatred. Its breath hissed steam, despite the chill in the air.
More followed.
Down in the lowlands, an abandoned lake boiled over as something massive stirred beneath its black surface. Glowing fins, like ancient sigils, sliced through the water as a serpentine creature coiled to the surface — born not from evolution, but from awakened memory.
From forgotten ruins, glowing eyes lit like candles one by one.
Spirits of war. Revenants. Creatures that were never supposed to walk this world again.
---
> Magic is not neutral. It is primal.
It does not come quietly.
And Haruto Satoru — with his infinite mana and near-boundless True Mana — had not simply revived the arcane.
He had pulled the veil back.
And the things that dwell behind it were already stepping through.
---
A sky-blue mist poured across the valley as if the air itself had turned to mana vapor. Creatures unseen in recorded history howled their birth-cry into the wind. Some were malformed. Others were too perfect, too alien — mana given form with no logic, only instinct.
And far, far away, beyond the horizon, something opened a single glowing eye.
It had been sleeping.
But now... it was not.
The monsters weren't the only ones who heard the call.
Something deep within humanity responded too.
Instinct. Lineage. Dormant sparks.
And when the cities burned…
They ignited.
---
Skyscrapers crumbled like sandcastles beneath monstrous limbs. Bridges snapped. Streets split wide. Panic was the first reaction.
But not the last.
In the center of a collapsing metro plaza, a teenager screamed — not in fear, but in pain.
His body surged with heat as tendrils of silver flame burst from his skin. His eyes glowed like twin stars.
He raised a hand to shield himself…
And a wall of blazing energy erupted outward, vaporizing the incoming beast.
People stopped running.
They started staring.
In the mountain villages, a blind girl dropped to her knees as something old and luminous flooded her mind — ancient visions, spells in languages she never learned.
The cane she carried cracked.
And from her palms, light poured forth like holy water, reshaping her into something divine.
---
> It was never about giving power.
It was about unlocking what was already there.
The return of mana and the birth of True Mana didn't just enhance the world…
It reintroduced choice.
And those willing to stand would awaken.
---
On a rooftop, a boy once bullied for being weak stood before a rampaging mantis beast twice his size.
He didn't flinch.
He breathed in — and the air crystallized around him.
The beast struck.
And shattered against his now metallic skin.
---
Fire. Ice. Wind. Shadows. Even abstract forces — gravity, sound, memory — began awakening in random individuals.
The world was no longer predictable.
It was dangerous. Beautiful. Terrifying.
And just beginning.
Outside, the world moved on—oblivious to the Sovereign sealed within his dominion.
Haruto stood alone, deep within the heart of his Pocket Realm—a space no longer bound by finite logic.
Before him stretched a cathedral of stars.
Infinite reflections of possibility.
Multiverses folded into threads of his will—each one spinning, unraveling, reforming.
All his.
He stood silent, back straight, eyes burning with quiet awe.
> "So… my power really is boundless in here."
The words left him like a breath held too long—low, amused, edged with the smirk of a god waking up to his own divinity.
And then came her voice.
Seraphina.
Whispered like wind through crystal.
Sharp. Soft. Eternal.
> "Yes. Within this space, you are absolute, my Sovereign."
"But remember—boundless power is still bound by context. Even the infinite has edges... if you step beyond the equation."
Haruto's gaze didn't waver. He touched his.
> "I see... So I'm only boundless here. The moment I step out, reality starts setting rules again."
He exhaled—a slow, weary sigh that rippled across creation like a breeze across glass.
> "Tch... Fun's over."
"Guess I'll head back to Liora. The others are probably getting bored without me."
He turned, cloak sweeping behind him like the curtain of a closing act.
The stars he created shimmered one last time—then blinked out like dying embers.
And with that...
The Sovereign of Threads walked back into a world still foolish enough to think it could contain him.
Beneath a luminous moon and a star-scattered sky, a tranquil open-air hot spring steams gently into the night. The stone-lined pool reflects the celestial glow, while evergreen pines sway quietly in the breeze. A bamboo fence encloses the sanctuary, offering both privacy and harmony with nature. In the distance, the faint glow of a modern city contrasts the timeless peace of this secluded oasis—where the only sound is the soft ripple of water and the whispers of the wind
As the mist clear out Chloe relaxing in the hot water her tall wolf ears wool glow at the moon
Chloe says Man , he lift without tell me...hey Fuyume you where with him when is he coming back
Fuyume (ears twitching, tail swishing anxiously, voice soft but puzzled):
> "I… I don't know when he's coming back. I was standing right in front of him just a moment ago—smiling, talking—and then… the next second, I'm here."
(Her voice drops to a whisper)
"Just like that… he was gone."
(A small, forced smile tugs at her lips)
"Tch… Typical Haruto—always doing things without warning
Liora (tone calm, composed, arms folded, eyes sharp but thoughtful):
> "He's always been like that—distant, decisive… reckless when it suits him."
(pauses, sighs lightly)
"But… over time, I've seen it. The change. He's not as cold as he once was. He's learning—slowly—to feel again. To care."
(glances aside, voice firm again)
"That doesn't mean I'll let him slack off. Someone has to keep him in line."
(then, almost like an afterthought)
"My name is Liora. I serve under Lord Haruto. And I make sure he doesn't lose sight of who he's becoming.
Fuyume (pouting slightly, , tone teasing but sincere):
> "Ugh… it's so boring when he's not around. Like, seriously! Who am I supposed to mess with? Who's going to scratch behind my ears without getting all flustered?"
(she giggles, then smiles softly)
"It's just not the same without you, my lord…"
Fuyume (grinning mischievously, eyes narrowing as she leans close):
> "Whoa~ Liora... those are seriously big. Damn, girl."
(She rests her head lightly on Liora's chest with a smug smile)
"So soft, too~ I could nap here forever..."
Liora (blushing, flustered, and flinching as she pulls Fuyume away):
> "H-Hey! Hands off! Lord Haruto hasn't even touched me like that!"
Fuyume (laughs playfully, backing off with a shrug):
> "Aww, how tragic. All that firepower, and still no sparks, huh?"
Liora (face red, standing up with indignation, finger pointing):
> "What?! Don't talk like he's into you either!"
Fuyume (flicks her wet hair back dramatically):
> "Please~ back when we traveled together, I hugged him so close my tails curled around him—and guess what? He didn't pull away~"
(The tension sparks; they lunge at each other, both slipping and falling with a splash. Water surges up... and lands right on Chloe, who had been silently sitting nearby.)
Chloe (sighs, soaked, slowly sinking deeper into the water to hide her face):
> "...I don't even see my lord that way..."
(Softly, almost to herself)
"To me... he's more like a father."
Three days had passed.
At long last, Haruto Satoru returned — and his schedule? A total mess. Meetings, negotiations, and apparently... orcs. Vhalzareth had something cooking, and Haruto didn't even get a chance to breathe.
In the lavish drawing room, bathed in the soft glow of golden chandeliers, Haruto sat like a sovereign on a crimson velvet couch. One leg crossed, back straight, eyes half-lidded but always watching — his aura subdued, yet undeniably imperial. Behind him stood Liora and Vhalzareth, twin shadows of loyalty. Liora, poised and graceful, exuded quiet force. Vhalzareth towered in ominous silence, his dark armor humming with restrained violence.
Across from him, reclining on a matching couch, sat a Dryad. Her skin shimmered with a faint green hue; leaves braided into her hair swayed gently, as if moved by a breeze no one else could feel. Her ancient gaze was calm, but beneath it — weariness.
The air smelled of incense, earth, and old tension — the kind that clung just before choices split kingdoms apart.
Haruto muttered inwardly, "Ughhh," dragging the thought like it pained him.
"Busy day already... One council meeting, and a diplomatic visit with the orcs Vhalzareth dragged in. Great."
He gave the Dryad a nod and spoke with casual authority.
"Pleasure. I'm Haruto — the guy keeping this little city from falling apart. So... what brings the honor of your leafy presence?"
The Dryad bowed her head slightly, her voice smooth as flowing water.
"I am Druantia, daughter of Verdessa, Queen of the Dryads. My mother sent me to request a favor."
Haruto raised an eyebrow, confusion flickering in his eyes.
"A favor? You'd think the one asking would show up herself. Or... maybe Dryads don't do things the usual way in this world."
He leaned back, lacing his fingers together.
"Alright. Let's hear it. What kind of favor are we talking about?"
Druantia hesitated, her fingers clutching her robe.
"Our sacred forest... our realm... is under siege. The sea monster — Leviathan — is poisoning the land. We ask for your help."
Her head bowed again, this time lower. Genuine fear trembled in her voice.
Haruto observed her. The way her shoulders shook, how her aura dimmed... she was scared. Not for herself — for her people.
He sighed.
"Okay."
Her head snapped up, hope flickering to life, her aura brightening with it. But then—
"But," Haruto continued, voice hardening, "what exactly do we gain from this? You're asking me to risk my people. Their lives. And from where I'm standing, this sounds like your problem, not ours."
The room went still.
"So unless you've got something more valuable than their lives... I'm not interested."
Druantia nodded solemnly.
"My mother will compensate you. Handsomely."
"Hmm..." Haruto mused to himself, smirking internally. "Like I'd let my people die. Worst-case scenario, one of my spiders kicks the bucket. I can just bring them back — perk of the job."
He kept his voice flat.
"What's the offer?"
Druantia looked him straight in the eye.
"For your aid, my mother offers you the entire forest."
Haruto blinked.
"...Heh."
Behind him, Liora and Vhalzareth shared a brief glance. Even they were surprised.
Haruto tilted his head.
"So it's that important to your people."
He rose, his coat flowing with the movement. His presence seemed to grow larger, heavier — like a storm forming behind calm eyes.
"Alright then. Deal. You'll have my full support."
Druantia stood as well. They clasped hands — old magic and new authority binding the pact in silence.
Haruto turned, walking toward the arched doors.
Looks like a war's brewing.
He smirked to himself.
"Good timing. I've been meaning to test just how far I can push my power.