8 – The Magician
“Will you become my disciple?”
With those words, Benjamin extended his hand.
Without saying a word, I looked at his palm.
Wrinkles engraved all over his bony hand. Each wrinkle was as deep as a valley.
I have a skill I learned during my long years of begging.
It is the ability to read a person’s character by looking at their palm.
The palms of officer’s wives are smooth without a single callus. Having grown up without hardships, they tend to trivialize the suffering of others.
But.
The hands that were filled with the traces of time showed that his life was a kind of blessing.
I suddenly looked at my own palm.
It resembled his.
“……”
I made up my mind and gave my answer.
No matter how many words I speak, I cannot convey the true intention.
Instead, I reached out my hand. It felt like the two valleys were filling each other’s empty spaces.
Crack.
*
Benjamin led me and opened a certain door.
The room right next to the warehouse where the bed was placed.
The bookshelf was filled with books, and the place was filled with the smell of ink and books.
It was Benjamin’s study.
“Take a seat where you want.”
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A circular desk. I sat on one of the two chairs placed there.
A wooden chair with leather backrest and seat cushion. It was undoubtedly the most comfortable chair I had ever sat on in my life.
“Wow…”
Whether he said anything or not, Benjamin sat on the chair opposite.
This room was like a picture drawn with the word ‘academic’. It didn’t quite match Benjamin’s eccentric old man impression, but if it was a professor’s study, it would be different.
The atmosphere created by the dim light and the oiled wood.
At the moment when I was overwhelmed by that atmosphere.
Knock-knock—
Benjamin tapped the desk.
“Eugene, as long as you are my student, I have no intention of sparing any effort. This is a firm and final decision.”
“……”
“And you won’t have as much confidence as I do, right?”
I maintained silence, but in truth, I couldn’t deny what was pointed out.
It was an accurate observation.
I had lived as a recluse for ten years. There was no way I could instantly switch gears just because someone pledged to support me after hearing a genius-like sound.
Being acknowledged felt good.
However, under the assumption that I knew the one acknowledging me.
I didn’t know Benjamin too well.
“Benjamin. I wish you could tell me more about yourself.”
“Sure.”
Benjamin nodded.
“Well, I can do a regular self-introduction. Benjamin Oslo, former chair professor at the Federal Magic University. Theoretical mage.”
“I, um, don’t know what that means.”
“Right. Above all else.”
He opened his eyes.
“You still don’t know magic. So, shouting about being a professor at a magic university and a theoretical mage won’t do you any good.”
“…”
Benjamin’s logic was generally sound.
Except for one thing.
Thud!
I placed the magic book on the table.
A dull vibration spread across the desk.
“You think I don’t know magic? Just a moment ago, you claimed to have seen me use it!”
If that’s the case, what is this spellbook?
Unless one is mentally impaired, they cannot deny knowing magic.
Just looking at the recently learned [levitation], it’s evident.
Floating in mid-air.
If that absurd harmony isn’t magic, then what on earth is it?
But Benjamin chuckled.
“Who said you can’t use magic?”
“What?”
“I mean, you may know how to use magic, but you don’t understand the essence of it.”
Their eyes met.
“Ask now. What is magic?”
“…What?”
“Don’t beat around the bush. You may not know anything else, but you need to know what you’re going to learn in the future. I’ll ask again. What is magic?”
Benjamin opened his eyes wide.
A gaze that wouldn’t tolerate a nonsense answer.
Well, it doesn’t matter.
Magic.
The pride that allowed me to continue a life resembling the gutter for nine years. My soul.
No matter how recklessly professors may ridicule my enlightenment,
I confidently replied,
“Magic is the realization of imagination.”
I hope for imagination to materialize.
Using the sky as a canvas, employing imagination as ink, drawing strokes on this world with the pen called magic.
Therefore, magic was essentially the embodiment of imagination.
After truly understanding this essence, I succeeded in learning the first magic, the [Disc].
Benjamin, upon hearing my response, nodded indifferently.
“It’s an acceptable interpretation. Imagination is indeed the essence of magic. That’s why a brat like you, having picked up a magic book, can write spells left and right.”
“Ugh, why suddenly use bad language?”
“Why? Because you’re wrong.”
Kuk. Benjamin, who let out a small chuckle, continued speaking.
“Magic. Do you want to learn it?”
“Yes.”
“But what do you think magic is?”
“The realization of imagination.”
“Can you ‘learn’ imagination?”
At that moment,
A sensation as if the world had stopped.
“….”
“If you can’t understand it, try thinking the opposite. Can you teach imagination? Can you extract the intuition and images in your mind and hand them over exactly as they are?”
“That’s true.”
“At least I can’t. It’s like trying to teach someone how to move their fingers, the same story.”
“…I see.”
There was a reason.
I learned magic on my own. With the help of magic books, in the most ignorant way imaginable.
I couldn’t teach others.
But how does a ‘magic university’ exist?
“If that were possible, then that person wouldn’t be just a prodigy. They would be insane. However.”
Tap, tap.
Benjamin tapped his finger. Light seeped out from my magic book on the desk.
“But, I can teach what’s written here.”
“Magic book…”
“We call what we can create with books as knowledge.”
He looked into my eyes.
“Magic is knowledge. Nothing else.”
Magic is indeed knowledge.
“Hmm…”
“hehehe, can’t quite grasp it, huh?”
I was caught.
“Thoughts manifest directly on the face. Well then, try standing up.”
She obediently followed his words.
As I stood up from the chair, Benjamin also rose, leaning on his cane.
“Show it to me with your own eyes. After reading the magic book, try casting the most familiar spell. Don’t worry; I’ve filled the magic power for you.”
“Understood.”
It was a simple task.
In the past five years, I had learned only four spells. One of them I had learned just a few days ago.
On the flip side, having used only that for five years, I was confident in my proficiency with magic.
The magic book, worn from years of use, was cradled in my arms. I then made instinctive movements.
Reaching my fingers towards the sky.
“[Disc].”
Ding.
It started with a single droplet. A blue dot emerged in the air.
But.
Imagine.
A vividly rotating blue disc.
At that moment, the form of the droplet began to transform.
Wooooosh!
We were indoors, so it seemed impossible to supply water through rain, but instead, more delicate adjustments were possible.
The realization of imagination was instantaneous.
I effortlessly lifted the shimmering membrane above my finger, without wasting an ounce of magic power.
It took only two seconds.
Benjamin swallowed his breath.
“…Impressive. Quite the skill you have.”
“R-really?”
“Yes. You’re talented. Now, hand me the spellbook.”
Even the slightest praise can make a whale dance. I obediently handed over the spellbook.
Thud! The membrane angrily burst into droplets, spilling onto the desk.
Whether he reacted or not.
Benjamin nonchalantly accepted the spellbook.
“Take a good look. Young Eugene. You’ll probably be amazed.”
“Me?”
Benjamin chuckled. The spellbook in his hands radiated a bright light.
“What is the greatest achievement of the founder of magic, Jean-Pierre Osulime?”
It didn’t seem like a question seeking an answer.
The old man’s gaze was directed towards empty space.
“Magic boasts thousands of years of history. It has passed through the hands of hundreds, millions of people, each leaving their own achievements.”
Thwock. He raised his finger, and a droplet floated above it.
Type 1 magic [Disc].
Impressive skill, but slow.
Witnessing someone else’s magic for the first time made it even more vivid. It felt like it took about seven seconds for the circle to take its complete form.
However, there was also a difference.
“Thanks to that, the era of whimsical magical consciousness, doodling magic circles, has become a distant tale.”
Precision.
A veil-like, sharp, and yet smooth barrier of water.
In terms of precision, Benjamin was overwhelming my magic.
That was the moment.
“However.”
Silence.
The moment Benjamin closed his eyes, the membrane began to ‘distort very precisely.’
I opened my eyes wide and looked at the circle that had been there.
“But why do we praise his name as the father of magic, leaving everyone else behind?”
It twists and turns in a messy manner.
But if you ask if it was irregular, not at all. The distorted circle, at some point, neatly wound up and turned into a long stem, slightly folded into a thorn, and elegantly bent into a petal.
A miraculous transformation.
On one hand, it also meant that Benjamin Oslo was systematically imagining all these processes.
Unbelievable. What humans can do.
And the next moment.
“The great achievement of Osulyeme can be summarized in just one word.”
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“The theorization of imagination.”
Paah!
A blue rose bloomed in the air.
It was originally a single layer of blue fabric, folded and folded again to create a single rose.
“…!”
I opened my eyes wide. It was something to behold.
It was extraordinary.
To conceive such intricate forms and their balance in one’s mind is beyond belief.
“Ah.”
Magic is indeed a discipline.
The theorization of imagination.
Not instinct and abstraction, but magic as a rigorous theory!
“This is what magic studies entail.”
Benjamin chuckled.
