Mana. The lifeblood of the world.
That's what they called it.
The word floated around in stories told by hearthlight—old tales of witches healing wounds, of sorcerers taming storms, of court wizards who pulled fire from thin air. People spoke of mana like it was a gift, a divine breath.
But I didn't breathe it. I read it.
Mana was in everything. I could feel it—not like warmth or weight, but like potential. Like pressure behind a valve. Sometimes it whispered. Other times it screamed.
When I touched a rock, I didn't just sense that it was hard or heavy—I felt how much stress it could take before breaking, how its structure flowed under pressure. And more importantly... how it could be changed.
Most people couldn't feel that. And if they did, they didn't understand it.
But I had a cheat.
It wasn't the menu. That just gave me access.
The real cheat was the knowledge I carried from Earth. Years of building, measuring, refining.
Mana may be magic, but material physics still applies. I… I hope.
A week after I fixed the hoe, I made something new.
Something small. Personal.
My first real invention.
[Stored Materials: Ashwood (x1), Bone (x1), Iron Scraps (x1)]
[Essence Capacity: 3/20]
[CRAFT — Input Design Required]
No recipes. No blueprints. Just instinct and engineering logic.
I pictured it in my mind: a hand-powered rotary drill. Crude, yes—but with sharpened bone for the tip, iron scrap for the socket, and ashwood for the handle, I could build a tool this world hadn't even imagined.
The system responded not with instructions—but possibility.
[Design: Rotary Drill – Crude]
[Components Valid. Proceed?]
[Y/N]
I said yes.
The pieces floated in front of me—not literally, but in my mind's eye. I snapped them into place with thought and tension. Mana flowed through the gaps like glue and force, binding elements together with unnatural precision. The bone became denser. The wood bent and reinforced itself. The iron hummed slightly.
When it was done, I held it in my little hands.
Rough. Imperfect. But real.
My invention.
My magic.
The next day, I snuck off toward the old orchard—mostly abandoned, save for the gnarled stumps and mossy stones that older kids used for pretend sword fights.
That's where I met Lisette.
She was older than me—maybe 6 or 7—dressed in homespun robes two sizes too big. She was perched on a rock, muttering words into a chunk of glass that glowed faintly.
I watched, fascinated.
She didn't see me right away.
"Burn," she whispered. The glass flickered. "Burn. Burn. Flamia."
Nothing.
"Flamia."
Still nothing.
She groaned, threw the glass, then turned—and jumped when she saw me.
"Who're you!?"
"Kleo," I said, holding up my crude drill. "What were you doing?"
"Magic," she said, wiping dirt from her hands. "I'm practicing fire conjuration. My brother's a wizard apprentice in the lord's manor. He says I'm a sorcerer, though. Mama says I'm talented. Who gave you that?"
"I made it."
"You? That's dumb. You're a baby."
I shrugged. "Wanna see it work?"
I crouched near a fallen stump and spun the drill into the wood. It squeaked, then groaned, then started to bite.
Lisette's eyes widened.
"Is that... magic?"
"Not really," I said. "It's just applied torque. Spinning force. The mana holds the parts together, and maybe smooths the rotation."
She blinked. "The what?"
"Nevermind."
Lisette stared at me for a long moment.
"You're weird."
"Yup."
"You don't chant spells or use runes?"
"Nope."
"Then how do you do it?"
I paused. Then tapped my chest.
"I don't use magic," I said. "I just understand how things work. Mana's like... my wrench. My glue. My power tool."
She looked at me like I had spoken in goblin.
And maybe I had.
Later that evening, I thought about what she said.
My brother's a wizard apprentice.
There were people out there with formal training. Books. Scrolls. Systematic knowledge. Wizards built magic like recipes. Sorcerers, like Lisette, tried to wrestle it into shapes that matched their will.
I designed machines. Functional. Purpose-built. Not just enchanted objects, but devices.
I wasn't a wizard.
And I wasn't a typical sorcerer.
I was something else.
I opened the menu again.
[Stored Materials: None]
[Essence Capacity: 0/20]
[New Entry: Mana Signature Detected — "User-Specified Constructs" Enabled]
[WARNING: Unstable designs may overload mana flow. Injury risk: moderate to severe.]
"Good to know," I muttered.