Silence filled the classroom after Carmilla finished her long explanation.
It wasn't the silence of boredom… but the silence of people trying to grasp something far greater than what they were used to.
I sat in the back row, leaning against my chair, staring at the board where the remnants of the lesson still lingered.
Mana Engineering.
Even for me, the lesson hadn't been simple.
I knew the concepts—or at least, I thought I did.
But the way Carmilla explained them made me realize the clear difference between knowledge and true understanding.
Knowledge tells you that a technique works.
Understanding tells you why it works.
I noticed some students staring at their hands, as if trying to imagine mana flowing inside them.
Others whispered quietly, reviewing what they had just heard.
Carmilla finally broke the silence.
"Don't worry if the lesson felt heavy."
Her gaze swept across the class.
"Mana Engineering isn't something you understand in a single day. Even professionals spend years before claiming they understand even half of it."
She paused briefly, then added:
"But that doesn't mean you're incapable of starting."
She raised her hand, and a small crystalline panel appeared on the desk in front of her.
"That's why we won't move directly into combat applications."
Several students sighed in relief.
"We'll start with something much simpler."
She touched the panel, and a three-dimensional projection appeared—mana flowing through the human body.
"For this week," she said calmly,
"I want you to observe your mana only. No shaping. No pressure. No reinforcement."
Soft murmurs spread through the room.
"Watch how it moves. Where it slows down. Where it deviates. Where you feel discomfort."
Then her tone hardened.
"Anyone who cannot feel their mana… will never become a Mana Engineer, no matter how high their level is."
I had already been doing that for some time.
But hearing her say it so plainly made me smile inwardly.
After a few more instructions, Carmilla ended the lesson.
"That's all for today. You may leave."
Students began to stand, the noise gradually returning to the classroom.
I rose slowly, gathering my books, when I heard a voice call my name.
"Nyx."
I turned.
Oriana was standing near the front rows.
"Do you have time?"
I didn't hesitate.
"A little."
We left the classroom together, walking through the quiet corridors.
She didn't speak at first.
Then she suddenly said,
"Today's lesson… was strange."
I smiled faintly.
"Strange?"
"It feels like I've been using mana my entire life… without ever truly understanding it."
I didn't answer right away.
"That's normal," I said finally. "Most people use power before asking how it works."
She walked beside me in silence, then asked:
"And you?"
I looked at her.
"Did you feel the same?"
I hesitated for a moment.
"To some extent," I replied. "But this is the kind of explanation I've been looking for."
She stopped suddenly and looked at me.
"You always talk as if you've… experienced these things before."
I showed no reaction.
"Maybe because I observe more than I speak."
She laughed softly.
"That's a slippery answer."
We reached a crossroads inside the building.
"I'm heading to the dorms," she said.
I nodded.
"I'll stay a bit longer."
We parted ways.
I headed toward the individual training hall—but didn't enter right away.
Instead, I sat on a nearby bench and closed my eyes.
I let my mana move freely.
No pressure.
No control.
Just observation.
I noticed small things.
Places where the flow was more stable.
Others… less so.
There was no pain.
But there was disharmony.
I opened my eyes after a few minutes.
"So that's what she meant."
I entered the hall—but didn't summon any opponent.
Instead, I stood at the center.
I planted my feet firmly on the ground and held the sword with both hands.
Not a combat stance—just a neutral one.
As if starting from zero.
I raised the sword slowly, then brought it down in a straight slash.
The movement was clean—but something felt missing.
I repeated it, adjusting the wrist angle slightly.
Then a third time… and a fourth.
My body began to move in a steady rhythm—simple sequences:
Vertical cut.
Light rotation.
One step forward.
Then retreat.
Everything was purely physical.
Then I allowed mana to flow… nothing more.
I didn't force it into the blade.
I didn't increase its density.
Just a thin thread moving with the motion.
That was when I felt the real difference.
The strike didn't become stronger—
but it became cleaner.
The sword moved more smoothly, as if its path had become clearer.
I executed another sequence:
A side dash.
A half rotation.
Then a short strike aimed at a specific point in the air.
I stopped.
Took a deep breath.
I repeated the same movement, but this time focused on the transition between steps.
At that exact moment, I noticed the mana lagging—just a fraction of a second.
I adjusted the timing.
Again.
This time, body and mana aligned better.
"It's not about power…"
I murmured quietly.
"It's about timing."
I continued training for a while—without increasing speed or intensity.
Just repeating… and observing.
When a light fatigue settled into my arms, I finally lowered the sword.
Later, I left the hall.
That evening, back in my room, I found a message on the crystal device.
Academy Notification:
> A new section has been unlocked in the Academy Library:
Foundations of Mana Structure
Available to First-Year Students.