The era resembled ancient Rome or Greece; simple white robes, fastened with bronze clasps, were elegant. Sandals clacked on sun-warmed stones. Merchants called out from behind carts, peddling fruits, leather goods, and glowing implements. The scent of bread, wine, and flowers filled the air.
Ronan and Frieren walked through the bustling marketplace. The clamor of commerce, footsteps, laughter, bartering, created a steady rhythm. Ronan's gaze scanned the surroundings, relaxed yet attentive. Frieren, more reserved, stayed close.
Sunlight dappled through towering sycamores, casting shadows. Light filtered through in rippling patterns. Despite its classical feel, the town pulsed with magical devices embedded in the walls, sconces glowing without fire, enchantments reinforcing stone.
Passersby glanced at Frieren; elves were rare. Their ears, beauty, and grace marked them as different. Some stared with curiosity, others with unease. Children paused, mouths agape. Older townsfolk whispered. Frieren ignored it. Her mind was elsewhere.
She pondered: did high-temperature magic require a staff? Ronan's spellcasting played in her memory, fast, precise, unembellished. No chants, focus objects, or dramatic gestures. Just a snap of his fingers.
She'd initially assumed it was flair. But it wasn't about spectacle; it was mechanical, measured, intentional. A subconscious gesture, enhancing presence, not power. Anyone could mimic the motion, but the magic remained elusive.
"Still thinking about that?" Ronan asked, seemingly reading her thoughts.
She blinked, startled. "Don't worry; all magic is unique. Like the water magic you taught me."
His tone was calm. He looked up, lost in thought, at a tree branch where doves cooed. "Because it requires imagining water vapor condensing, it's usually used as a water cannon. But there are exceptions: water needles, water bullets."
Images flashed in Frieren's mind: ice shards, streams slicing through wood, pinpoint strikes.
He continued, "Remember yesterday? With equal power, the smaller the surface area, the greater the damage. This applies to water and temperature. Instead of heating the surrounding area, heat the target internally. This increases efficiency and stamina. Even a genius has limited mana."
He tapped his temple. Efficiency. Focus, control, precision.
Frieren understood. The beauty wasn't in complexity but simplicity. Because mana consumption was low, a staff wasn't needed. The staff was a crutch. She'd overestimated channeling objects.
She'd been wrong, assuming more mana equaled greater power. It was a common belief, but in the early days of magic, who would have thought of ratios? Survival demanded power, not elegance. Times had changed.
Her mistake was treating that as absolute truth.
She pressed a finger to her lips, mind racing. If this method were widespread, it would revolutionize magic…
, Revolution…?
The word echoed. She froze, one hand hovering over her satchel. Why a revolution? Ronan had simply reduced mana output and targeted weaknesses. Simple, yes. But simplicity in hindsight was deceptive.
Why was this unknown? Was it oversight… or suppression?
She found it both baffling and logical. Magic was old, but not immutable.
She looked at Ronan with awe and curiosity. He was different, powerful, knowledgeable, but different in his approach.
"Where did you learn this? Why haven't I heard of it? If humans had known this, magic wouldn't be stagnant."
Her voice was steady, but urgent.
"Strange?" Ronan smiled. "Not at all. People weren't stupid; they lacked the insight. Before machines, who would have thought water could cut steel?"
He spoke calmly. He wasn't claiming invention, only application. He said nothing more, walking into the marketplace. The conversation was over. The crowd swelled around them. Smells of chestnuts, fruit, and ozone drifted past. Ronan's pace never changed. Frieren, captivated by the magical tools, forgot her earlier thoughts, her eyes wide with wonder.
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