Chapter 58 :  Where Magic Learns Its Name

The journey was far from over—but it no longer felt lonely.

Though his mastery of Water Manipulation had surged ahead, now standing proud at level fifty-five, his elemental craft—Spirit Creation—still lagged behind. But Curtis  paid it no mind.

“There’s time yet,” he mused. “From now on, I’ll do right by it.”

It was when over half of his mana had been drained by spiritcasting that Curtis  finally spoke.

“Shall we call it a day?”

“Yup!”

Lilia’s voice rang clear as her flail shattered the final orb of water in a spray of glistening mist.

She skipped over to Curtis ’s side, eyes sparkling with the mischief of a child who’d discovered a new game.

“Brother Curtis ! I’ve got the perfect name for your spell!”

“I told you, you don’t need to name it for me.”

“But you’re terrible at naming things!”

“I don’t even say them aloud, so what does it matter?”

“That’s no excuse! If you keep calling them ‘One Finger, Two Finger,’ people are going to think you’re casting laundry instructions!”

“…I wasn’t going to—”

“You totally were!”

Curtis  sighed in surrender. “Alright. What name did you come up with?”

“Water Shell—Su-ryu-tan!” she declared proudly.
“Because it’s a burst of flowing water!”

“…Excuse me?”

“Flowing water, compressed and launched—like a projectile, right?”

“Well, uh…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’ll… keep that in mind.”

It did have a certain punch to it, Curtis  admitted inwardly. But since it was the spirit, not he, who launched the attack, perhaps something like “Water Spirit Shell—Su-ryeong-tan” would be less misleading.

Not that he was naming spells for style. No, there was reason and structure behind this seemingly frivolous act.

Lilia had once revealed that mages from noble bloodlines often broke down their magic into named techniques, shouting them aloud during both training and battle.

For the past two months, Curtis  had pondered deeply the reason behind such a practice.

“They’re not just casting spells—they’re systematizing them.”

Magic, in this world, was never meant to be rational. Unlike the sciences of Earth, magic here was more akin to instinct than design. It resembled psychic force more than structured sorcery.

A human does not calculate to lift an arm. They simply will it—and the arm obeys.
Magic was the same.

Once awakened to mana, a person could use their magic as naturally as breathing, even without formal training.

But just as athletes performed better with scientific training, the mage families sought structure. They studied, refined, optimized—stripped instinct down to its bones, then rebuilt it.

It was like crafting a perfect recipe. Follow the steps, and you would always get the same exquisite result.

Perhaps Curtis ’s theory was wrong—but he believed it wholeheartedly.

Because it worked.

Take today’s training: in the past, Curtis  would’ve simply commanded his spirit to fire “some amount of water at a reasonable speed.”
Now, he had precise parameters. Volume, velocity, force—each tied to a coded command: Spirit Shell One. Two. Three. Four.

Like pressing hotkeys.

And the more he trained, the less conscious effort it required. Like a swordsman who no longer needed to think before parrying.

For a mage, this reduction in mental strain was invaluable.
He hadn’t increased the raw amount of water he could wield—but now, within those limits, he could cast with greater fluidity, less resistance.

“Still not going to start shouting spell names, though,” he thought with a smirk. “That’s where I draw the line. No point in adding theatrics just for show.”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Curtis  noticed Lilia watching him intently.

“Still mulling it over?” she teased. “Just accept Water Shell! It’s catchy!”

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” he replied.

“You had such a serious face!”

“I was just reflecting on how effective this training has been.”

“Ah, well… I have been pestering you a lot lately. But there’s nothing else to do right now…”

The topic shifted naturally. Curtis , grateful to be freed from the name debate, answered with a dry chuckle.

“We’ve earned the break. Frankly, we overdid it.”

“Right? First we had nothing to do, now we’ve done too much!”

There was a simple reason why Lilia—normally ever on the hunt for aberrant beasts—was instead cooped up at the church, sparring with Curtis .

They’d been too efficient.
Their success had been so complete that they’d nearly emptied the frontier of powerful prey.

Of course, lesser aberrants still prowled in every direction—but Lilia’s ambitions demanded silver-tier monsters or higher. Beasts worthy of the hunt. And such creatures were rare by nature.

They’d scoured ruins, followed rumors, chased down every lead—and done so too well. Now, the surroundings had fallen quiet.

“To find any more, we’d probably have to climb into the mountains… or delve deep into the basin,” Lilia said with a frown.

“It’ll be far more dangerous.”

“Yeah. And I doubt Sister Jenny would approve—”

“Approve what?”

“Eep!”

Lilia jumped at the sudden voice. Jenny had stepped into the backyard unnoticed.

“I believe I heard my name?” she said, eyebrow raised.

“N-no! Nothing important!”

“Hm.”

Jenny regarded her with suspicion for a moment, then shrugged.

“Well, I’ll ask about it later. That’s not the pressing matter right now.”

“Something happened?” Curtis  asked.

“A message just arrived from the diocese—sent via the regular courier. They’re summoning us back to Abacar.”

“What? What about our current missions?”

“I’m not sure yet. That’s something we’ll have to ask when we arrive.”

Then, turning to Curtis , she added:

“And you, Brother Curtis . You’ve received a formal invitation as well.”

Curtis  raised an eyebrow. “From the Church?”

Jenny nodded. “Not just the Church. The High Seat of Magisters. They want to meet you in person.”

Lilia whistled. “That’s… serious.”

Curtis  said nothing at first. The words sank in like pebbles into deep water—quiet, but causing ripples all the same.

He stood, brushing dew from his cloak.

“Well,” he murmured. “Looks like rest will have to wait.”

And somewhere in the stream, the spirit stirred.

“An invitation?”

“Yes. Here it is.”

To Curtis ’s questioning gaze, Jenny handed over a letter enclosed in an elegant envelope of cream vellum, sealed in gold.

He broke the seal and unfolded the message within.
Despite its opulent presentation, the letter’s contents were surprisingly simple. A polite summons—no, more an earnest request—to come and speak in person. No commands. No decrees. Only a signature.