Chapter 3 – Waterflow Manipulation 

It was far too vivid, far too sudden to dismiss as mere illusion.

What Curtis  saw hovering before his eyes were not phantoms, nor tricks of the mist—but letters. Words. Hanging in the air like echoes of fate.

Not hallucinations. Not spirits.

Just words.

Was this what happened when one went mad from too much reading? Curtis  had never been so obsessed with books to begin with.

Wherever he turned his gaze, the glowing letters followed, drifting lazily before his eyes. He tried waving his hand through them.

His fingers passed straight through.

“I… I can’t even move them?”

But the moment he thought it, the letters vanished—dissolving into the air like mist beneath sunlight.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“Can… I bring them back?”

As if in answer, the words reappeared—just as vivid, just as unreal.

It was madness. And yet, it came with an unexpected side effect.

Only minutes ago, Curtis  had scooped up the family’s secret tome with trembling hands, not out of reason but out of raw, surging emotion. He knew it would have been wiser to leave it behind, and yet—his heart refused.

Now, with this strange phenomenon commanding his attention, the firestorm of emotion dulled, and cold reason began to rise once more.

Only now did Curtis  feel a curiosity—not driven by loyalty, but by the tome itself. By what secrets it held.

He focused on the letters drifting before him.

The first line:

[Waterflow Manipulation]

A magic—one that governed the dance of water.

Of course. The Pelagius family were famed across the realm for their dominion over water magicks. If this phrase appeared after touching the family’s heirloom, the connection was clear.

The second line:

[Progress to First Acquisition: 1%]

A breath caught in Curtis ’s throat.

Could it be…? Would mastery come when the bar reached 100%?

Had touching the tome triggered that first step? Would reading it bring the progress higher?

Curtis  swallowed hard.

In this world, no commoner didn’t dream of magic. Mages stood on a higher plane—respected, revered, sometimes feared. They shaped nations and shook mountains.

But for someone like Curtis  to learn magic? Nearly impossible.

Not because of a lack of talent, but because of gatekeeping. Magic was a legacy passed through bloodlines—guarded, hoarded, worshipped. Outsiders were almost never permitted even a glimpse.

A few nobles would sell an apprenticeship to the rich and powerful, but such offers were as rare as stars in daylight. And Curtis ? He was far from rich.

A handful of savants in history had unraveled magic on their own—but those weren’t “commoners” in any meaningful sense.

No. This could very well be the only chance Curtis  would ever have.

“…No harm in taking a peek, right?”

Surely just looking wouldn’t damage the tome. Even if it did—Zerion had told him to burn it if he must.

Yes, only minutes ago he was prepared to leave it behind.

But magic had a pull that few hearts could resist.

With cautious reverence, Curtis  placed his fingers upon the cover.

The tome creaked open.

“Huh?”

A sound escaped him without meaning to.

His brows drew together in confusion.

There was nothing inside.

Page after page, he flipped through it with growing frustration. It was small enough to fit within his coat, not thick, not dense. Yet not a single word graced its parchment. No ink, no diagrams, no arcane glyphs.

Just a blank book.

“What the hell…?”

He had expected ancient prose, cryptic incantations—something. Anything.

Surely Zerion wouldn’t joke with his dying breath.

Could it be written in invisible ink? Something only readable by bloodline? Some magical trigger he didn’t know?

Whatever the case, one thing was certain: Curtis  had no idea how to read this book.

“Great. Just great…”

He let out a long breath, disappointment heavy on his shoulders. He shut the tome, his thoughts bitter.

Then he saw the letters again.

[Waterflow Manipulation]
[Progress to First Acquisition: 2%]

“…It went up?”

His eyes narrowed.

All he’d done was flip through the empty pages. That was it.

Curious, he opened the book again and turned a few more pages while keeping his eyes fixed on the floating words.

A moment passed.

[Waterflow Manipulation]
[Progress to First Acquisition: 3%]

A quiet laugh escaped him.

It made no sense. What hidden mechanism could make progress tick upward from the act of page turning?

But logic didn’t matter right now.

He didn’t need to understand it to use it.

If turning pages advanced his progress, then so be it.

“Shame I don’t have time to hit a full hundred here.”

It only took a few minutes per percentage—but time was a luxury Curtis  didn’t have. If a second wave of assassins was on their heels, staying put would be suicide.

Even if reaching 100% granted him true magic, there was no guarantee it would be enough to stop what was coming.

Zerion had magic. And he had fallen.

The possibility of pursuit—unconfirmed though it was—made Curtis ’s decision clear.

Safety first.

He slid the tome into his coat and stepped out of the carriage.

Unhitching a single horse, he climbed into the saddle.

His destination: the city they had been headed for all along.

Quinis.

Judging by the sun’s slow crawl across the sky, nearly two hours had passed.

Curtis  was exhausted.

Though trained in horsemanship as part of his duties, he’d rarely ridden far. Zerion always traveled by carriage, and Curtis  by his side.

Horseback was rough at the best of times—torture for the unaccustomed. His whole body ached.

But he saw it now. The city walls rising in the distance.

A harbor city of ten thousand souls—Quinis.

As he approached, he saw a long line of travelers queued at the gate. But Curtis  didn’t stop.

He rode straight toward the entrance.

“Halt!”

As expected, the guards blocked his path. But seeing that he dismounted calmly, they didn’t draw weapons—only stepped forward, wary but respectful.

Their voices were formal, their stances alert.

Though clad in simple finery, Curtis  bore himself with the grace expected of a noble’s aide—never outshining the master, yet never sullying their image.

No ordinary gate guard would dare treat such a man lightly.

“I am Curtis , attendant to the fifth son of the great House Pelagius—Lord Zerion Pelagius. This shall serve as proof.”

He withdrew the signet ring.

Quinis lay under the direct rule of House Pelagius. Any guard who failed to recognize their crest had no business wearing the uniform.

“Confirmed! You may pass!”

No need to dismount. No further questions.

Curtis  rode through the gates without delay—headed straight for the seat of local governance.