Chapter 17: Understanding Magic! The Essence of the Interface!

The moon hung high in the vast, star-strewn sky, its pale glow casting a serene luminescence over the towering spires of Hogwarts. The ancient castle, nestled among rolling hills and darkened forests, stood as a monument to centuries of magical heritage. Beyond its stone walls, the sleepy village of Hogsmeade lay bathed in silver light, its cobbled streets quiet, its warm-lit windows a beacon against the cool night air.

But in a small wooden cabin on the village outskirts, a different kind of glow flickered into existence.

"Lumos!"

The soft incantation barely disturbed the silence, yet its effect was immediate. A bright, steady light flared into being at the tip of Ian's wand, pushing back the shadows that clung to the walls. The glow illuminated the room's sparse furnishings, revealing the simple yet elegant craftsmanship of the wooden chairs and the sturdy table pushed against the far wall. Even the delicate spiderweb in the corner shimmered under the newfound radiance, its tiny occupant momentarily frozen in the sudden exposure.

Ian lowered his wand slightly, watching the way the light played against the surfaces of the cabin. This time, the spell hadn't flickered or died out prematurely. This time, it remained firm, steady—obedient to his will.

A slow breath escaped his lips.

It had taken hours of relentless practice, countless failed attempts, but at last, he had grasped something crucial—an essential truth hidden beneath the surface of spellcasting.

The light at the tip of his wand was not mere illumination. It was not some artificial mimicry of sunlight, nor a conjured reflection of natural luminescence. No—Lumos was something far more profound.

It was his light.

A manifestation of his intent.

A reflection of the power within him, drawn forth by belief.

That was the true nature of the spell.

Or at least, that was the understanding Ian had reached tonight—a preliminary insight, but an insight nonetheless.

He turned his wand in his fingers, watching the glow shift ever so slightly as his focus wavered. The realization left a strange weight in his chest, a mix of satisfaction and intrigue.

"A world shaped by belief…"

Even though he had prepared himself for the bizarre nature of magic, experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely.

All magic, he now realized, originated from the wizard himself. It wasn't merely a mechanical process of reciting the right words or performing the right gestures. It was an extension of will, a force that demanded conviction to function properly.

Power came from belief.

He had read similar theories before—rumors, speculations whispered by scholars and philosophers who sought to define magic beyond the structured framework of spellbooks. But now, having felt it himself, Ian knew there was truth to those words.

Perhaps, if he continued down this path—if he studied enough spells, experimented enough, deepened his understanding—he could one day uncover the true origins of magic.

To pull back the veil on a mystery that had puzzled wizards for centuries.

The thought was both exhilarating and daunting.

"But to reach that point, I still have a long way to go."

A dull ache pressed against his temples, signaling the creeping onset of fatigue.

It wasn't the kind of exhaustion that came from lack of sleep, nor the sensation of a physical strain. Instead, it felt like the mental burnout of intense concentration—the weariness of a mind pushed to its limits.

And yet, Ian realized something peculiar.

His magical energy hadn't been depleted, not in the way a game's "mana bar" would visibly drain with each spell cast. There was no distinct feeling of an empty reservoir, no internal sense of having run out.

Instead, it was a strange kind of sluggishness—an inertia settling over his magic.

As though his magical reserves hadn't disappeared, but had simply tired.

"So it's not about running out of magic—it's about my magic growing fatigued. Like a muscle that needs rest after exertion."

That made far more sense.

Magic, it seemed, didn't function like a limited energy pool with a set number of uses. Instead, it behaved more like stamina—something that naturally replenished over time but could be overworked if pushed too far.

It explained why some spells felt more draining than others, despite not technically consuming more magic. The complexity and intent behind the magic likely influenced how much it strained a wizard's reserves, rather than outright consuming them.

"Good. That's useful to know."

His eyelids grew heavier as the fatigue settled deeper. It was late. He needed to rest.

At least the exhaustion would help him sleep.

Otherwise, with all the excitement of today—learning his first proper spell, grasping the fundamentals of magic—his mind would have been far too restless for sleep.

He chuckled softly at the thought.

It reminded him of when he was younger, staying up all night after getting his first gaming console, unable to stop himself from playing just one more round.

Tonight, his magical exhaustion served as a more effective sleep aid than any potion.

His bedroom was neatly arranged, the bed freshly made with crisp sheets that carried the faint scent of lavender. Someone had clearly replaced them recently, saving him the trouble.

Grateful for the small convenience, Ian took a quick shower before slipping beneath the covers.

Outside, the gentle murmur of a nearby stream blended with the rhythmic croaking of frogs. The night was peaceful, undisturbed.

And yet—

He hesitated.

Even in his exhaustion, Ian found himself opening his interface one last time.

It was almost an instinctive urge—as if to reassure himself that the magic he had learned tonight wouldn't simply disappear while he slept.

A ridiculous thought.

But he checked anyway.

---

Name: Ian Prince
Class: Bloodline Sorcerer
Magic Power: Level 4

Skills:

Lumos (Level 1): 1/100

Language Proficiency (Level 4): 743/800

Anatomy (Level 5): 69/1600

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Level 3): 86/400

Psychology (Level 6): 84/3200

Extraordinary Traits:

Psychology Trait: Mind Perception

Anatomy Trait: Butcher's Instinct

---

His Lumos skill had successfully reached Level 1.

Another step closer to unlocking a new Extraordinary Trait.

His magic power was only Level 4—not exactly extraordinary—but Ian felt no disappointment.

After all, magical strength naturally increased as wizards matured.

Raw power wasn't the key to being a great wizard.

Mastery was.

"That old man at the wand shop wasn't wrong. I am going to be a remarkable wizard."

A small smirk touched Ian's lips. His confidence swelled slightly.

And why shouldn't it?

His system—the interface—was an unprecedented advantage.

Unlike others, who had to rely on trial and error, Ian could track his progress with absolute precision. Every increase in skill proficiency deepened his understanding, allowing him to refine his abilities at an accelerated rate.

Most wizards learned spells the same way people followed recipes—mimicking established steps without truly grasping the underlying principles.

But Ian…

He wasn't just learning spells.

He was learning magic itself.

That distinction would make all the difference.

He wondered how much further he would have to go before he could cast a spell without a wand—before he could reach the level of true magical understanding.

But that was a question for another night.

For now, exhaustion won.

His thoughts blurred, slipping into the quiet pull of sleep.

Tonight, he didn't control his dreams.

And so, for the first time in a long while—

His dreamscape was untamed, filled with bizarre, shifting visions of the unknown.