Blackstone City, border of the Starlight Principality.
The weather had cooled, and yellowed leaves drifted across the cobblestones, whispering that summer's heat had finally passed.
Old Geller, the butler of the Merlin estate, drew his collar tight against the chill and steadied the wooden box in his hands. The courtyard was quiet except for the wind rustling through the hedges.
He crossed the yard and stopped before a small, secluded residence at the edge of the property. A faint frown creased his lined face. He still could not understand why Young Master Magus had chosen to live here, so far from the main house, and why he insisted that no servants disturb him.
The boy said he liked solitude—but this corner of the estate was more than quiet; it was desolate.
Since Lord Merlin had died in battle and his two sons had been exiled to the border city of Blackstone, Magus, already withdrawn by nature, had become almost reclusive. He spent his days buried in books or tinkering with obscure experiments, rarely speaking to anyone.
Fortunately, the younger brother, Rune, was his opposite. Rune had thrown himself into martial training and, at nineteen, had already become a High-Level Knight, admired by his men and beloved by the people. Under Rune's rule, Blackstone—long tormented by raids from the Black Scale Lizardmen—had finally found some stability.
Old Geller's heart eased whenever he thought of Rune. But the older brother still worried him.
He knocked softly on the wooden door.
"Young Master Magus, I've brought you the silver moon flowers you requested."
A faint, tired voice answered from within. "Leave them at the door."
"Yes, Young Master."
Geller set the box neatly to the right of the door, bowed out of habit, and turned to leave.
Moments later, the latch clicked. A pale youth of sixteen or seventeen stepped out. His frame was thin, his face drained of color, but his eyes gleamed with quiet focus. He picked up the wooden box and slipped back inside, closing the door behind him.
The interior was sparse but meticulously organized. Long tables lined the walls, crowded with bottles, jars, and strange materials—herbs, powders, and preserved specimens. In the center stood a wide experiment table, half-consumed by glassware: flasks, test tubes, beakers, and retorts.
Because the windows were sealed and the air unventilated, the room smelled of mixed chemicals—pungent, sweet, and faintly metallic, undercut by a sharp odor like disinfectant.
Magus set the wooden box down, then picked up an unfinished book and resumed reading.
Half an hour later, he closed the final page with a quiet thud. Instantly, faint golden text shimmered before his eyes:
[You have finished reading Basic Potionology. Skill Progress + 0.5%.]
[Potion Making progress 100% — Skill acquired: Potion Making Lv 1.]
Magus exhaled slowly, a rare smile touching his lips. After two months of study and countless failed experiments, his potion-making proficiency had finally reached the first level.
He glanced toward the corner, where a stack of more than twenty books rested—treasures left behind by the previous owner of this body.
Atop the pile lay a thick, black-bound volume. Strange, twisting characters covered its cover—letters no human tongue could pronounce. Yet somehow Magus could grasp their meaning: "Enlightenment."
It was the Apprentice's Book of Enlightenment, a ritual text that awakened latent spiritual power. Those with true wizardly aptitude could, by reading it, become Level-1 Wizard Apprentices and step onto the path of the arcane.
Those without aptitude, however, risked madness—or death.
The book's previous owner had been one of the unlucky ones. His reckless attempt at enlightenment had cost him his life. Magus had awakened within that corpse.
Still, the strangest part was not the possession itself but the realization that this world was familiar.
It was the setting of a virtual-reality MMORPG he had played in his previous life—a vast continent of swords and sorcery known as the Starlight Continent.
Back then, he had joined during Version 2.0 – Return of the Wizards. This era, however, was the beginning of Version 1.0 – Knight Wars, a time when the power of magic had all but vanished. The wizards had abandoned this world a millennium ago, seeking richer realms where elemental energy still thrived. Only when that energy returned—one thousand years later—would the wizards come back.
For now, the stage belonged to knights.
"A pity," Magus murmured. "If I'd known more about Version 1.0 back then, I might have had a better start here."
But he was not without advantages.
With a thought, a translucent blue panel appeared before him, glowing faintly in the dim room.
[Name:] Magus Merlin — Human Male, Age 16
[Spirit 1.5 / Constitution 0.7]
[Skills:]
Star Ring Meditation Lv 1 (103 / 1000)
Potion Making Lv 1 (0 / 1000)
His Player Panel—the second gift of his transmigration.
Through it, every aspect of his growth was quantified. Each skill had a progress bar. Progress was guaranteed: effort would always yield improvement.
"As long as I keep grinding," he whispered, "I'll keep getting stronger."
Then he summoned his second gift. The panel flickered, rearranging into a ten-by-ten grid of empty squares, each rimmed in faint light.
[Synthesis Cube]
This was his golden finger.
The Synthesis Cube could merge multiple items of the same type into one, creating a higher-quality version—stronger, purer, or longer-lasting.
He turned to the wooden box that Old Geller had delivered. Inside, on a layer of crimson velvet, rested ten delicate silver moon flowers.
These flowers, prized among nobles, were often steeped into tea for their refreshing fragrance. Their true power lay in a compound that stimulated mental clarity. Properly extracted, its potency could be magnified many times over.
Magus carried the box to the center table, carefully removed the blossoms, and placed them into a clean beaker. Then he struck a spark to his alcohol lamp, watching the blue flame dance beneath the glass.
"It's unfortunate that I couldn't find a magic stone," he murmured. "A proper stone lamp would yield far better control."
In this era, the world's elemental energy was thin—a barren Elemental Desert. Magic stones, once abundant, were now almost nonexistent. Without them, no one could hope to advance beyond the level of an apprentice wizard.
But Magus had something far rarer than a magic stone. He had the Cube.
He poured water into the beaker and sealed it with a glass lid. Under steady heat, the liquid began to bubble, releasing waves of pale silver steam. The scent that filled the room was cool and invigorating; even breathing it made his thoughts sharpen.
After several minutes, the water inside turned a brilliant silver-blue. The bubbles slowed. When half the liquid had evaporated, he lifted the beaker, examining its contents with satisfaction.
Approximately one hundred milliliters of silver moon flower essence.
[Successful extraction – Potion Making Proficiency + 1.]
He divided the extract into ten equal portions of ten milliliters each. Then he opened the Synthesis Cube interface and placed one vial into a grid. A translucent tooltip appeared:
Silver Moon Flower Essence – Purity 37.12%.
Increases mental activity by 21.47% for 10 hours 35 minutes.
He placed the remaining nine vials into the adjacent slots. The Cube's right-hand grid glowed, and a single vial materialized within—a liquid far purer and more luminous than before.
Silver Moon Flower Essence – Purity 76.44%.
Increases mental activity by 160.24% for 10 days 14 hours 22 minutes.
Magus smiled.
Ordinary extracts could never stack their effects. Ten vials might last five days at most, with only a modest boost to alertness. Yet one synthesized vial now offered more than ten times the potency and twice the duration.
That was the power of the Cube.
Without hesitation, he raised the vial and drank. The cool liquid slid down his throat, spreading like liquid starlight. A tide of clarity surged through his mind; his fatigue evaporated.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, spine straight, hands resting lightly on his knees.
"Star Ring Meditation—begin."
As his breathing slowed, faint rings of starlight shimmered behind his closed eyelids. Thoughts quieted. Awareness deepened. Within that tranquil void, Magus felt his mind expand—each thread of consciousness weaving into something vast and luminous.
The silver-blue glow of the essence mingled with the invisible flow of his spiritual energy, amplifying it. His soul seemed to hover between waking and dreaming.
Time passed unnoticed.
Outside, the evening wind sighed through the trees, scattering the last yellow leaves across the cobblestones.
Inside, the flicker of the alcohol flame threw moving shadows against the walls, as if bowing before the boy lost in meditation.
And so began the first night of Magus Merlin, the last scion of a fallen house—
the boy who would one day turn the laws of creation itself into an equation,
and who, by the power of synthesis, would rebuild the lost art of wizardry.