"Have you had your breakfast, Cayle?"


    Revan''s voice was casual as he chewed on a slice of bacon, the salt and fat still coating his tongue.


    A brief pause. Then, measured as always, Cayle responded. "No, Young Lord. It is mandatory that you be fit and well—"


    "Since I am now, I ask of you to join my lonesome."


    He cut her off without looking, but he could feel her hesitance.


    Her head remained bowed as she shook it. "It would be preposterous to do such a thing."


    Revan exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temple. ''First, the way I''m speaking is making me want to throw myself out a window. Second, do I really look like some tyrant overlord? I''m fifteen. Do I have ''merciless dictator'' written on my forehead? For fuck''s sake…''


    He sighed, setting his fork down. "You offended me, Cayle."


    That made her pause.


    Slowly, she lifted her head, her dark eyes finally meeting his. He realized then that he had never truly looked at her before. She was always in the background, always present but never intrusive. Her gaze held a peculiar shade—dark, but with flickers of green and blue buried beneath strands of black hair that often concealed her face. Small in stature, but not frail. Even beneath the full cover of her maid''s uniform, Revan could see it now—the faint, toned definition along her arms, the signs of someone who had wielded something heavier than a tray before taking up her duties.


    She''s trained.


    Noted.


    "As to not lose your work here, join me on the opposite side of the table. With your food."


    Cayle hesitated, eyes flicking between him and the seat. Then, with a soft exhale, she turned toward the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned with her plate and silverware, settling into the chair across from him.


    Her meal was a stark contrast to his. Mashed potatoes, boiled greens—plain, functional.


    Revan quirked a brow as he stabbed a piece of bacon with his fork, pointing at her plate. "Does everyone here eat like that?"


    She shook her head. "I prefer it. Unlike others, I have a weak stomach. I have to be fit."


    She did not touch her food immediately. Instead, she waited.


    Revan noticed.


    She was waiting for him to take a bite first.


    Suppressing a sigh, he cut a piece of his omelet, bringing it to his mouth. The outer portions had been salted a bit too generously, but it fit his taste well enough. Satisfied, Cayle cut into her broccoli, scooping it with a bit of mashed potato before eating.


    "You can rest for a day," Revan said, swallowing down another bite. "Because seeing that food—no disrespect, Cayle—makes me want to murder myself."


    Cayle said nothing.


    Revan clicked his tongue, spearing a particularly thick slice of bacon and setting it on her plate.


    Her eyes flickered. Back and forth.


    "Young Lord," she started, voice uncertain. "I don''t think this is appropriate—"


    Revan leaned back slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "Our family has three mansions. The most southern one—my beloved parents reside in. The one in the capital—where my younger sisters and elder brother live. And finally, this one, passed down to me by my grandfather." The words flowed easily, plucked straight from El Ritch''s memories. "For the last ten years, this estate has been under my name. My authority."


    He tapped his fingers against the wood, watching her expression.


    "This is my mansion. And I believe I can make a few cultural changes."


    Then, as the thought settled fully in his mind, something lit behind his eyes.


    ''I am a fucking genius.''


    "From now on," he continued, "one can talk however one likes. However one wants to. However one damn well pleases—so long as the sentence makes sense in context." He gestured vaguely, lips twitching. "Got that, Cayle? Yeah?"


    She blinked at him.


    A pause.


    Then, carefully, "I do think, Young Lord—" She hesitated, coughing lightly into her fist. "That would be inappropriate—"


    "Nuh-uh."


    She frowned. "Uh… what—"


    "Nuh uh."


    Her lips parted slightly, then closed as she exhaled. "...Your mansion, your wishes?"


    Revan smirked, nodding. "Now you''re getting it."


    Cayle sighed.


    Then, with barely a thought, she picked up her fork and ate the slice of bacon.


    Revan took another bite of his omelet, feeling particularly pleased with himself. ''Finally. At least I have a place where I can, quote-unquote, unleash modern slurs.''


    Revan didn''t let silence settle. Without missing a beat, he leaned slightly forward, his expression shifting into something halfway between curiosity and self-satisfaction.


    "So, any thoughts about me being a Conjurer? Does it make me… awesome?" A slight grin pulled at his lips as he watched Cayle''s reaction.


    She tilted her head, brow furrowing slightly. "I do not understand. Why would I be in dread watching you be a Conjurer?"


    ''Ah, fuck, old English…'' Revan groaned internally. He had been dealing with it since waking up in this world, but every now and then, the phrasing still threw him off.


    "I meant inspired or captivated," he corrected with a small cough, slicing into his bacon and spearing a piece of omelet onto his fork before placing them both into his mouth. He chewed slowly, giving her time to respond.


    Cayle remained composed as ever. "I do believe it is in great interest that you have achieved something awe-inspiring. Lord Otto and Lady Elefa would be very proud and praise you for your accomplishment—"


    "Seriously, Cayle?!"


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Revan groaned aloud, his frustration spilling over before he could stop it. Cayle actually flinched—not from fear, but from the sheer surprise of his outburst.


    "I''m asking your opinion! Why are you always so damn politically inclined?" He gestured vaguely, exasperation leaking into every word. "I''m fifteen, not some senile old lord who can''t handle a straight answer!"


    Cayle, to her credit, did not waver. Her face remained perfectly neutral, voice even. "I believe that was my opinion, unfiltered."


    Revan exhaled slowly. She''s just a maid. Of course, she wouldn''t be quick to share her personal thoughts. She was here to do a job, not to make friends.


    But Revan wasn''t about to let that slide.


    If he couldn''t speak freely about his life, then he would start by prying into theirs.


    —


    After breakfast, Aldric and Cain arrived, pulling Revan back into the demands of the day.


    Cain''s lessons on mana manipulation proved more structured than the book''s vague ramblings, and while Revan had already grasped the fundamentals, Cain''s refined techniques helped him solidify his control.


    Dusk fell, the sky painted in deep hues of red and purple as Cain and Aldric eventually departed.


    Revan, however, wasn''t done.


    Moving carefully, he slipped behind Cayle as she made her way through the hall. But before he could even think to startle her, she stopped, turning her head slightly.


    "Yes, Young Lord. Do you require assistance with something?"


    Revan blinked.


    ''She caught me? What the shit?!''


    He recovered quickly, lifting a single finger. "Actually, yes."


    Cayle regarded him with quiet patience.


    "I need to inquire about something," Revan continued. "Tell me about the village you''re from."


    She hesitated for only a moment before answering. "I hail from the Hills of the Free Men. My village is small, situated within one of the valleys there."


    Short. Direct. No embellishment.


    Revan nodded, letting the answer settle before waving a hand. "That''s all. Thank you."


    She gave a small bow and turned away.


    —


    The same routine continued, but tonight, Revan pushed further.


    Now, it was manifestation.


    "You raggedy-ass book, give me something good this time. I promised a bitch I''d be the strongest—I have to fulfill it at least once."


    With perception and manipulation under his belt—or so he told himself—he moved onto the next stage. The book''s structured explanation provided clearer direction than before, making the process feel almost deceptively simple.


    The first exercise: a hollow sphere of grass strings, with a small pebble nestled inside. The goal? To gather the surrounding mana around the pebble, molding it into a visible shape.


    Revan scoffed as he read. ''This is the easiest thing this book has ever asked me to do.'' Compared to the cryptic nonsense it had given him before, this was practically a gift.


    Or so he thought.


    He worked throughout the night, attempting again and again to shape the mana, to wrap it around the pebble in a visible form. Each time, he failed. The mana dispersed too quickly, his control faltering at the final step.


    By the time dawn broke, he had yet to succeed even once.


    —


    A sharp knock rattled the door.


    "Young Lord, your breakfast is ready."


    Cayle''s voice.


    Revan stirred slightly but did not wake.


    Another knock.


    "Young Lord?"


    Nothing.


    Cayle sighed, knocking once more—this time, firmer.


    Still no response.


    —


    Revan was finally woken not by Cayle, but by Aldric.


    "Aw, is there a tired princess~?"


    A finger poked his cheek.


    Revan''s eyes shot open, his brain barely processing what was happening before his hand swung outward on instinct. Aldric dodged with an easy chuckle, stepping back as Revan groggily sat up, rubbing his temples.


    "Fuck off," he grumbled.


    Aldric only smirked. Cain raised a brow and Cayle had her hands on her face, "It''s a sweet banter. Audience need not be worried~" Aldric defended him playfully.


    Revan spent barely a minute freshening up before heading straight back to his chambers.


    No breakfast. No distractions.


    He had wasted an entire night failing at manifestation, and he knew why.


    He did not have enough mana manipulation to sustain the shape. His core could generate the energy, but directing and holding it in place required more than what he had.


    So, he adjusted.


    As Cain guided him through his usual exercises, Revan moved with careful subtlety. In minuscule, nearly undetectable increments, he began concentrating Cain''s mana into his core instead of letting it flow freely.


    Small steps.


    Precise adjustments.


    No sudden movements.


    If Cain noticed, and he did most probably, he said nothing.


    And Revan, ever the student, ever the obsessed idiot—continued.


    Throughout the night, Revan continued. Again, and again. And again.


    Failure met him at every turn. The sphere collapsed. The mana dispersed. Every attempt at manifestation crumbled before it could take form. But between the repeated failures, something became clear—the structuring was missing.


    ''If I can''t visualize it, it won''t happen.''


    The realization brought a grin to his exhausted face. He was getting closer. The problem wasn''t the flow, nor the exertion. It was the lack of a defined construct. He needed more than just raw willpower—he needed a precise image.


    Another night passed in relentless trial and error, yet the result remained unchanged. Even so, Revan did not stop.


    This time, he didn''t even bother trying to sleep.


    By the time the first rays of dawn filtered through the drapes, he stood from his desk, body aching but mind still sharp. He made his way to the washroom, forcing himself through the routine of bathing and brushing his teeth, the cool water grounding him just enough to keep moving.


    At breakfast, he tore into his food with ravenous focus, the exhaustion settling in his bones but doing little to dull his mind.


    "Cayle," he spoke between bites of chicken and rice, "what did people in your village eat?"


    Across the table, Cayle paused mid-bite. She had finally stopped resisting his invitations to eat with him. After three or four days of relentless nagging, she had accepted it as a routine—simply sitting across from him without need for further instruction.


    "Berries, Young Lord," she answered simply, cutting into her greens. "And fruit. In the cold and damp, they are the easiest to grow and provide the best energy."


    Revan hummed in acknowledgment, scooping another bite into his mouth. The food was simple, but nourishing. At the very least, it kept him functional.


    After breakfast, Cain and Aldric arrived, and the training resumed.


    Revan had to show something for his progress, or Cain would adjust his lessons and slow him down. That was the last thing he wanted. So, he demonstrated the result of his manipulation training, guiding the flow of mana through his body with refined control.


    Cain exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "It takes a month to gain even a basic grasp of manifestation, even for prodigies. To do it so soon… I can''t believe it."


    Aldric, ever unimpressed, merely offered a dry glance before turning away.


    Cain wasted no time pushing Revan further, expanding the training beyond manipulation into proper manifestation. The lessons began with simple structures—first two-dimensional forms, then three-dimensional constructs. It was precise work, tedious in a way, but it helped. It gave Revan the structure he had been missing, and soon, finally, he managed it.


    A perfect sphere of mana, forming around the small pebble within the grass-string hollow. The sphere was a two dimensional construct technically, he had broken the sphere''s surface in parts and visualized the two dimensional constructs bending and forming a structure that is three dimensionally round and hollow.


    But the next step—the next demand of the book—brought only frustration.


    "Make the sphere intangible yet present in surface structure."


    ''That shit ain''t even possible.''


    Revan ground his teeth as the sphere cracked again, splitting in uneven halves before dissolving into nothing. It was the same result, over and over.


    ''How the fuck am I supposed to make the atoms intangible? What the fuck is this nonsense?!''


    The dawn broke, light bleeding into the sky. His eyes burned from exhaustion, his limbs heavy with fatigue.


    Three days.


    Three constant days without sleep.


    His body was claiming its due.


    "Fuck this… Curiosity kills the cat. I''ll sleep tonight. Enough of this Gandalf bullshit. I need to sleep."


    Dragging himself from his chair, he forced himself through the motions—washing up, changing clothes, making his way to the dining hall where breakfast awaited.


    Cayle was already seated across from him, eating in her usual quiet, methodical manner.


    Revan pushed his fork through his omelet absentmindedly, his mind still caught in the puzzle.


    ''How… That shit isn''t even possible… Even if I were Einstein, it''d only be doable if I could see at a microscopic level. That second part of the book is fucking wack—''


    "—Lord Elphonse?"


    The voice barely registered.


    "Young Lord Elphonse?!"


    His mind snapped back into focus, his head jerking up as Cayle''s gaze met his own. Her plate was empty. His… was barely touched.


    She studied him carefully, a faint crease between her brows. "Are you unwell, Young Lord?"


    Revan exhaled, shaking his head. "No… No."


    She tilted her head slightly. "Then is the food not suited to your liking?"


    Another absent shake of his head, his thoughts still tangled.


    For a moment, Cayle simply watched him, unnoticed by Revan as he continued to poke at his food. Then, finally, she sighed.


    "Young Lord."


    His eyes flicked up.


    She hesitated briefly, then asked, "Would you mind telling me how it feels to use mana?"


    Revan blinked. His fork paused midair.


    "I''ve never had the opportunity to ask a Conjurer," she admitted. Her voice remained level, but there was something else beneath it—curiosity.


    A distraction, perhaps. A ploy to make him eat.


    But even so, it was progress.


    And for the first time that morning, Revan smiled.