You'd think three years would feel like an eternity when you're a toddler stuck in a baby's body, but time… it slipped by like water between my fingers. I blinked, and I was four years old.
Not a baby anymore, technically—but also not quite "big" in anyone's eyes except maybe Aquarina's.
She still calls me "stronger than a bear cub," which I assume is a compliment, considering she comes from a clan that wrangles bears for fun.
But yeah, four years. And not much has happened at least, not in the way you'd expect from someone with infinite mana and a hyper-accelerated growth plan.
The remnants of the Demon King's forces vanished like smoke right after our first real fight. No more desperate beast attacks, no more chaos. We've had the occasional oversized lizard wander too close to the house, sure, but nothing requiring fireballs or screaming.
I suppose, technically, I've been living the dream. A peaceful life. Comfortable.
But peace has its own kind of danger. It dulls your senses if you let it. And I don't like being dull.
So while the world decided to take a nap, I did the opposite. Every morning I pushed myself harder magic drills, physical training, meditation, mana control. You name it, I probably invented a toddler-safe version of it. And let me tell you, doing weighted pushups with a one-year-old's arms while reciting elemental chants? Not easy.
Still, I've gotten stronger. Way stronger than when I first stepped outside to hunt with Aquarina. My body's filled out more. Muscles are still small, sure, but I've packed enough strength to lift boulders my size and hurl them across a clearing. My control over mana has sharpened too, but even with all that… I'm far from "overpowered."
Turns out, being born with limitless mana doesn't mean your body can handle limitless anything. That's where things get tricky.
I've spent the past three years practicing how to carefully infuse mana into my Mana Veins those internal conduits awakened by touching the Spirit Stone. At first, I thought it was just some fancy elf trick passed down from Mom's side. But nope. It's like unlocking turbo mode on a toy car… except the toy might explode if you push it too far.
The more mana I pour in, the faster everything runs—metabolism, reflexes, senses, stamina, clarity of thought. I can feel the heat run through me when I hit peak flow, like lightning under my skin.
But.
The pain kicks in if I slip up. Sharp, crushing, vein-splitting pain. It starts in my chest, then crawls up my neck and down my limbs like molten fire. If I overcharge, I risk bursting my own veins. I've already blacked out twice from it.
And don't get me started on regeneration. I used to think having infinite health would mean I could bounce back from anything. Lost a limb? No problem! Take a hit that could knock out a wild ogre? Easy! But the reality? It's complicated.
My health pool may be endless, but the regeneration speed isn't. If I exploded from internal mana overload, I wouldn't just "reform" like a slime monster. I'd be lying in a field as scattered meat chunks, waiting hours for my body to piece itself back together. Not ideal. Especially if my parents walked in on that mess.
Can you imagine the conversation?
"Leon! Why are your lungs over there?!"
"Uh… training mishap?"
So yeah, I've set some internal rules: no mana surges past the threshold unless it's life or death. And even then, only if I have backup or a healer nearby. Preferably Mom.
That said, I've found ways to extend my endurance. By circulating mana in slow, pulsing flows through my veins—rather than dumping it all at once—I can stay in peak condition for around thirty minutes. After that, I collapse. Full system crash. Nap mandatory.
The cooldown? Four to six hours of rest, no shortcuts.
Of course, I tried cheating once by chugging mana-restoring herbal juice I mixed myself. Didn't help. Gave me the runs instead. So, lesson learned: even magical toddlers aren't above digestive revenge.
Naturion—my floating seed spirit—has been a solid partner through all this. We train together daily, usually at dawn, when the mana density in the air is at its best. Unfortunately, he's still my only spirit.
Three years, and I haven't found another one willing to bond with me. Spirits are picky, apparently. And some are just straight-up rude.
Yggdra—my mutated Eden Tree—has grown to nearly ten meters tall outside the house. Her canopy glows faintly with starlight at night, and she hums when it rains. She's asleep most of the time, but her presence alone strengthens the land. The apples she grows? Best damn fruit I've ever tasted. Mana-rich, juicy, perfect for boosting stamina.
I wanted to grow more like her. A forest of Magic Trees. Spirit factory. But Mom shut that down hard.
"You will not insult nature by farming spirits like livestock, Leon!" she had snapped with a fire in her eyes that made even Dad back away.
I tried arguing—just a little. "But what if I space them out properly? Rotate crops? Enrich the soil—"
"No."
"Organic cultivation?"
"No."
So for now, one Magic Tree it is. But when I grow up and travel the world? I'll plant wherever I damn well please. Might even become the Magic Farmer King of Gacia. Has a nice ring to it.
Anyway, when I wasn't playing pretend horticulturist or nearly blowing up my insides, I focused on Fire Magic. I developed my own metric: Embers. The building blocks of every spell I conjure. Took me a year to refine the concept, but now it's second nature.
Here's the system:
100 Embers = Basic spell.
Fire Whip, Fireball, Fire Wall. Standard stuff. Quick to summon, efficient.
200–500 Embers = Intermediate.
Fire Spear, Fire Blade, Fire Arrow. More power, more control needed.
500+ Embers = Advanced.
Flame Vortex—my current favorite. A swirling inferno wide enough to cook a dozen Wild Boars at once. Requires full concentration and usually someone to cover me while I chant. Otherwise, I'm wide open.
1000+ Embers = Dangerous tier.
Flame Burst. My personal nuke. Wiped out a mock target that simulated a Wild Boar Emperor once. Nearly singed my eyebrows off.
My spellcasting has also become silent when I need it to be. No more shouting incantations unless I'm showing off for Aquarina—which I sometimes do, just to see her eyes light up.
That brings me to my birthday. Four years old. Cake made from monster eggs, roasted meat, and apple cider from Yggdra. Pretty great.
But the real gift? The bomb my mom dropped after the celebrations.
She sat me down, her expression calm, serious—the "magical mentor" version of herself.
"I suppose it's finally time to introduce you to the world of magicians and sorcerers, Leon," she said.
My eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"You've done well strengthening your core. But now… it's time."
"Time for what?"
"To open your Magic Circle."
And that's when I realized… everything until now was just prep.
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