After lunch, Rhys returned to the small desk and reopened the treatise where he'd left off, notebook ready.

  The feeling reminded him of his university days, quiet hours spent reviewing lectures, annotating theories, and drinking too much cheap coffee.

  With practiced ease, he twirled the dip pen between his fingers. It was a habit born of long nights spent thinking through equations back in his old world. The pen itself was made of metal, fitted with a split nib that held ink longer before needing a refill. By Earth’s standards, it would’ve been a fine invention of the fifteenth century.

  “Still better than a quill,” he murmured, smirking to himself. “With my handwriting right now, a feather pen would turn this notebook into a crime scene.”

  He let out a soft whistle as he turned the page.

  The second half of Fundamentals of Magic detailed the classification system of Arath’s spellcraft, compiled from hundreds of years of research and accumulated arcane scholarship.

  In time, the researchers had divided magic into five distinct tiers.

  Each tier was further split into three sub-levels: Primary, Expert, and Master.

  The criteria were far from precise; they depended largely on how proficiently a mage could wield spells within their respective tier.

  If a mage had mastered one spell beyond the common standard, people would often call them an Expert.

  If they could wield a spell to its highest potential, without regard for how many spells they knew, they were regarded as a Master.

  “So the subdivision emphasizes quality over quantity,” Rhys mused. “And the owner of this body was considered a Master Troposphere-tier… Looks like he was something special.”

  The admiration made him uneasy, as if he were praising himself, and, technically, he was.

  The room remained still and quiet, broken only by the soft rotation of the hourglass on the table.

  Before long, Ingrid entered again, this time with a small woven basket filled with herbal concoctions in glass bottles. She walked directly to the shelf to arrange them as part of her daily duties.

  As she passed behind him, she cast a subtle glance his way.

  When she saw him reading Bratos’s book, her lips curled into a faint smile.

  Rhys, oblivious to the stare, remained absorbed in the text. A question nagged at him: could he use magic the same way Rein had in the dream?

  He imagined himself casting a spell and, on impulse, began waving his hand in the manner he assumed a mage might do, mimicking scenes from fantasy films he had watched back on Earth. Of course, nothing happened.

  He caught sight of himself in the nearby mirror, mid-absurd gesture, and burst into laughter.

  But another laugh echoed his own.

  Rhys spun around to find Ingrid covering her mouth, shoulders trembling as she tried to suppress her giggles.

  His cheeks burned. He shifted into a fake stretching motion, arms out wide, chin up.

  Ingrid shook her head and continued arranging the bottles.

  Rhys, desperate to bury the embarrassment, quickly resumed turning pages.

  The five tiers of magic were as follows:

  Troposphere Tier.

  The lowest tier, closest to the ground, and the most widely used among mortals. Spells in this category were sometimes called first-circle magic. They encompassed everyday practical arts, including the basic cantrips used throughout society.

  “So that means Magic Missile, the spell Rein used in the dream, is just first-tier magic? But that destructive force… it was no different from a real arrow. It could kill a person with a single shot.”

  Rhys pondered in silence, his brows knitting together.

  If even first-tier spells carried such danger, then the higher tiers… he could only imagine the devastation they might unleash.

  He recalled the Lightning Sphere spell Rein had wielded in the dream.

  The memory alone made the hairs at the back of his neck rise.

  On the next page, Professor Bratos explained that most low-tier spells relied on the use of raw mana, unprocessed and impure. Without undergoing the refining process, such mana possessed severe limitations.

  Moreover, many spells of this tier were merely human attempts to imitate the arts of the gods. They could never compare to the true arcana passed down from the Divine Realm.

  “Bratos mentioned earlier that ancient magic was more potent than the spellcraft humans devised later on. I was wondering why that was.”

  He tapped his pen thoughtfully.

  “In theory, this contradicts the development of knowledge and technology. Anything built atop accumulated experience should surpass what came before it.”

  Rhys pressed his lips together as he considered the problem.

  “So if mana must be refined first, like purifying crude oil, then purity must be a core requirement for higher-tier magic.”

  His mind drifted to metallurgy.

  “When forging steel, the first step is always removing impurities such as sulfur, phosphorus, and oxides. Without that step, no blade could ever reach its true strength.”

  This condition alone could become an enormous barrier to the magical progress of Arath.

  If mortals sought to replicate divine technologies but lacked the same capability, tools, and refined techniques, the best they could create would be nothing more than high-grade imitations, forever inferior to the original.

  Like a true katana versus a cheap replica — the process defined the product.

  Rhys enjoyed jotting such reflections into the margins of his notebook alongside the information he gathered.

  He continued.

  Next came the Stratosphere Tier, the second level of spellcraft, already far beyond the reach of most mages. Though Arath harbored countless practitioners, the majority remained trapped within the Troposphere Tier.

  The reason was simple: they could not complete the refinement of mana.

  Those who reached the Stratosphere Tier gained the ability to wield spells of far greater power and precision, an entirely different realm of sorcery.

  Rhys’s thoughts flickered to the mysterious warlock.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  That suffocating darkness, that overwhelming force.

  “At the very least, that man was a Stratosphere Master.”

  Yet something else bothered him.

  Bratos wrote about a concept known as the Magic Limiter, an innate restriction preventing lower-tier mages from learning higher-tier spells.

  “But Rein… learned and cast higher-tier spells without ever refining his mana.”

  Rhys stopped reading.

  He sat in stillness, replaying the memory of the dream.

  Perhaps Bratos’s writing did not tell the whole truth.

  Even if Rein had used that cursed staff, an arcane weapon designed to halve casting time at the cost of far greater mana consumption, that alone could not explain everything.

  He remembered clearly: Rein had defied the Magic Limiter entirely.

  He had mastered a Stratosphere spell through sheer will, without the prerequisite refinement.

  Rhys tapped his fingers on the table, an old habit resurfacing as he thought.

  For now, he decided to set the mystery aside.

  He turned the page.

  The next tier was the Mesosphere Tier—the third level of spellcraft.

  Rhys paused.

  It was described as a height attainable only by mages of exceptional skill, talent, and experience—those whose arcane mastery had earned recognition from the gods themselves.

  Recognition from the gods…

  He exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes flicking briefly back to the previous page as if checking whether he’d misread something. He hadn’t.

  For the Mesosphere Tier involved an intricate and sacred magical system known as the Sanctuary System.

  Rhys’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the book.

  The Sanctuary System bound a mage directly to the deity they worshipped, granting power and knowledge beyond mortal comprehension. Through this divine link, the mage could learn spells once used by the gods themselves.

  “…So this isn’t just magic anymore,” he murmured. “It’s licensing.”

  Such individuals were known as Disciples.

  Bratos wrote that throughout the entire continent of Aetheria, only a scant few had ever reached this level. Each Disciple possessed enough power to shake the foundations of an entire kingdom.

  Rhys leaned back against the chair, gaze unfocused for a moment.

  One person. One connection. One god.

  Enough to destabilize a nation.

  The clearest example lay in the Cultists—those who forged connections to the Sanctuary Systems of forsaken gods.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Through that profane link, they seized dominion over Arath and plunged the world into a catastrophic war that claimed millions of lives.

  Rhys didn’t turn the page immediately.

  A god abandoned by the system… still capable of granting power.

  That implication sat heavily in his chest.

  Then came the next tier.

  The Thermosphere Tier.

  Named after the atmospheric layer defined by extreme temperatures, it symbolized the fourth level of magic—where practitioners learned to command the fundamental forces of the universe.

  Bratos stated that only those who deeply comprehended the divine arts could hope to reach this stage. Such mages were often called Apostles.

  Rhys let out a quiet, humorless breath.

  “Of course they are.”

  It was said that in the present era, only two individuals across all of Aetheria had ascended to this height: the Archmage of Arcadia and the Flame Emperor of Calandria.

  Two.

  Across an entire continent.

  Bratos personally believed that functional spellcraft ended at the fourth tier. Yet because most magical texts referenced a mythical fifth tier, he included it out of obligation—despite doubting its existence.

  Rhys could practically hear the old scholar’s irritation bleeding through the ink.

  The Exosphere Tier.

  The outermost layer of the atmosphere, representing the final and highest realm of magic.

  Bratos emphasized that this tier was virtually unattainable for mortals. Only the gods themselves could wield such sorcery, for it concerned dimensions—and the bending of reality itself.

  Ancient myths spoke of Avatars—vessels or incarnations of the gods—who had descended during the Divine War to battle the heretical Disciples. These beings were said to wield magic beyond imagination, existing as living extensions of divine will.

  But Bratos underlined that such tales remained unverified legends.

  Since the end of the Divine War, no mortal had ever reached the Exosphere Tier again.

  “If such beings truly existed,” Bratos wrote with thinly veiled sarcasm, “those who survived the battle against the heretical Disciples likely returned to the Divine Realm long ago.”

  The professor’s tone grew noticeably more cynical in the later chapters, the reverence of earlier passages giving way to sharp skepticism.

  Rhys closed the book partway, thumb marking the page.

  “…So the ceiling exists,” he muttered quietly. “And it’s not meant for humans.”

  He exhaled, then let out a faint chuckle under his breath.

  Bratos, he suspected, was a mage who had reached the limits of his own talent, stared upward, and found only silence. So he turned to theory instead — and sharpened it like a blade..

  Time slipped into evening.

  Hours had passed with Rhys submerged in thought and text, oblivious to the world around him.

  He hadn’t even noticed when Ingrid left, nor did he notice the untouched dinner she had set on the table.

  Some habits, it seemed, persisted even after death and reincarnation.

  At last, Rhys set the book down, poured himself a glass of water, and drank. His parched throat felt soothed at once.

  He reviewed the chapter on “How Magic Is Used,” repeating the concepts slowly in his mind.

  Most people of Arath could sense mana, the fundamental energy that sustained all magic, even if they could not see it.

  They gathered mana around the Core Mana Circle that enveloped the heart, allowing them to cast spells at will.

  A Master Troposphere-tier like Rein should possess at least one fully developed Core Mana Circle, capable of storing large amounts of mana.

  For higher-tier mages, the number of circles increased.

  If a Core Mana Circle was damaged, the consequences were dire, sometimes fatal.

  Recovery was possible, but slow, often crippling a mage’s future growth.

  “Like a fuel tank or a battery,” Rhys muttered. “If it explodes while running at full power, that’s the end of it.”

  He used the analogy to help himself understand the unfamiliar concept.

  As he absentmindedly chewed on a piece of cold bread, hunger only now catching up to him, he recalled Master Chloe’s earlier words: Rein’s body had undergone restoration.

  The “major injury” she mentioned, Rhys now realized, must have meant damage to the Core Mana Circle near the heart.

  He placed a hand over his chest and felt the steady beat beneath his palm.

  The image of the young mage, his chest pierced clean through by his own staff, surged into Rhys’s mind.

  A sharp pang shot through his sternum, as if the body remembered what the soul had only witnessed.

  His legs trembled.

  A cold shiver rippled across his skin.

  Sweat gathered at his temples.

  His hands clenched and stiffened of their own accord.

  But the sensations gradually faded.

  Rhys steadied his breathing, regained composure, and slowly sat back down.

  He finished the cold meal on the tray without tasting much of it.

  After tending to his nightly routine, he returned to bed, lay back against the pillows, and opened the notebook he had been filling with annotations. His eyes fell upon a line he had underlined himself.

  Bratos wrote that those who could manipulate mana did so by refining their perception through some form of medium: magical tools, arcane weapons, sigils, incantations, or other conduits.

  “Mana perception…?”

  Rhys murmured, his brows knitting as he pushed himself upright.

  “Strange. I’ve been in this body for over two weeks, yet I haven’t sensed a thing.”

  He glanced left and right, ensuring he was alone.

  Perhaps meditation would help.

  He closed his eyes and tried to sense the flow of power in the room, any hint, any ripple, any warmth or vibration.

  Time crawled by.

  Pins and needles spread up his legs until both limbs were numb.

  Rhys opened his eyes.

  Nothing.

  The room was unchanged, silent and ordinary.

  “Ridiculous… what the hell am I wasting time on?”

  He grumbled, letting himself fall backward onto the bed.

  The sigils etched across the ceiling glowed faintly above him.

  He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and forced down the irritation rising within him.

  Behind him, in the cabinet Ingrid had neatly arranged, the vials of herbal arcana shimmered softly. Their colors swirled in a slow, delicate spiral, casting muted lights across the wooden interior.

  A gentle fragrance drifted into the air.

  And then, just as quietly, the phenomenon faded.

  Moments later, Rhys drifted into sleep, wrapped in the strange sensation of being held by someone from behind.

  This glossary defines core magical terms and systems introduced in Chapter 5. For prior entries, see previous chapters.

  Tiers of Magic

  Troposphere Tier

  The first and most common level of magic, often referred to as “first-circle magic.” Used in everyday society. Includes cantrips like Magic Missile.

  Stratosphere Tier

  The second tier, requiring mana refinement. Most mages never reach this level.

  Mesosphere Tier

  The third tier, unlocked through the Sanctuary System, where mages form divine pacts. Mages at this level are called Disciples.

  Thermosphere Tier

  The fourth tier, where users are called Apostles, capable of controlling fundamental forces of nature.

  Exosphere Tier

  A mythical fifth tier, reserved for gods and Avatars. Said to involve reality-bending magic far beyond mortal reach.

  Core Concepts

  Magic Limiter

  An innate barrier that prevents mages from learning higher-tier spells without proper mana refinement. Rein is shown to have bypassed this, suggesting a unique anomaly.

  Sanctuary System

  A divine system of magic requiring a bond between the mage and a deity. Grants access to powerful sacred spells. Common among Disciples, both holy and heretical.

  Disciples

  Mages who have bound themselves to a deity through the Sanctuary System.

  Apostles

  Mages of the Thermosphere Tier, rare individuals said to rival nations in magical strength.

  Avatars

  Mythical incarnations or vessels of the gods. Said to have fought during the Divine War. Associated with Exosphere Tier magic. Their existence remains unconfirmed.

  Core Mana Circles

  Magical constructs located near the heart that store and regulate mana flow. Damage to these circles can cripple or kill a mage. Higher-tier mages possess multiple circles.

  Mana Refinement

  The process of purifying raw mana, essential for casting higher-tier spells. Compared metaphorically to metallurgy: removing impurities like forging steel.

  Some answers lead straight into deeper contradictions.

  And where there are exceptions, there are cracks.

  And where there are cracks… there is opportunity.

  a flaw in the system,

  or a flaw within himself?

  See you in the next chapter.

  —Re:Naissance