The soft rustle of leaves filled the clearing as I stood under the open sky, surrounded by the thick embrace of the forest. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the ground with shifting patches of light.
Risu stood a short distance away, her hands held out and her expression calm. Despite the gentle look she always carried, her focus was sharp.
"Shall we start now, young master?" she asked softly, her voice as steady as ever.
I looked up at her, meeting her gaze with a faint smile before nodding. "Mm."
Without hesitation, we stepped apart until we were roughly one and a half meters away from each other, just as I had suggested earlier. I adjusted my footing slightly, making sure to keep myself steady, though my thoughts still lingered on the curse.
Risu raised her palm. At my signal, mana stirred faintly in the air around her, rippling outward like invisible waves before gathering above her hand.
A soft blue light began to form—a circular pattern glowing steadily as it floated above her palm.
I stared at it, waiting.
Seconds ticked by, but nothing happened.
No flicker. No distortion. No sign of the curse interfering with the spell.
I exhaled slowly, my shoulders easing just slightly as the tension melted away—for now, at least.
Then, I let my focus shift.
While the curse had yet to show itself, there was still something here worth my time—something I wanted to understand.
I stepped closer, my gaze fixed firmly on the glowing design as I began to study it.
The circle consisted of two rings—one larger and one smaller—connected by lines and patterns that reminded me of calligraphy. At first glance, the symbols seemed purely decorative, but closer inspection revealed something more intentional.
I narrowed my eyes.
The outer circle bore what looked like gentle strokes, curling and weaving in smooth arcs, while the inner circle had two distinct symbols. Unlike the outer designs, these felt sharper and more deliberate—almost like words.
I recognized them.
"Those are called hymns, aren't they?" I murmured, mostly to myself, but Risu's voice chimed in, confirming my thoughts.
"Yes, young master." She gave a small nod and extended her other hand to point at the symbols. "These two are hymns—we often call them augmentation hymns because they're used to enhance spells."
I tilted my head slightly, feigning curiosity, though I already knew some of this from the books I'd read.
"This one here," she said, pointing at the first symbol—a design resembling the ohm symbol I remembered from my old world, but with added flourishes. "It's called Mog."
"Mog?" I repeated, glancing back at her.
She nodded again.
"It's a very basic hymn, but it's useful. Mog enhances the casting speed of magic circles, making the spell form faster."
I let out a thoughtful hum, my gaze still locked on the symbol. The curved lines and sharp points seemed so intentional, as if each stroke carried meaning beyond what she was describing.
"And this one?" I asked, pointing to the second symbol—a design resembling two sticks crossing like scissors, with semi-circles extending outward on the top and bottom.
"That's Kri," Risu explained. "It's another simple augmentation hymn, but this one increases the speed at which the spell travels after it's released."
I nodded slowly, taking in her words.
"So these hymns… they act like buffs for magic?"
"Exactly," she said with a small smile. "They make spells faster, stronger, or sometimes add entirely new properties depending on how they're arranged."
I glanced back at her and smiled faintly.
"I see. That's… interesting."
But inwardly, my thoughts churned with a mixture of fascination and uncertainty.
I could already tell that these hymns were more than just simple enhancements. They were keys, perhaps even language-like structures, that dictated the behavior of magic itself.
It felt almost like programming—lines of code that shaped and altered the output. And if that was the case…
Could they be rewritten? Modified? Or even combined?
I shook the thought aside for now, focusing back on the task at hand.
Still, as the conversation died down, I found myself growing more uneasy.
The magic circle remained stable.
Even after several moments had passed, there was no sign of distortion—no sudden flicker or pulse to indicate the curse had activated.
"Alright," I said finally, stepping back. "You can release it now."
Risu didn't hesitate.
The glow from the circle flared slightly before collapsing inward, and in the next moment, a blue gust of wind burst forward, stirring the grass and leaves in the clearing.
The spell dissipated harmlessly, leaving nothing but the faint rustle of disturbed foliage in its wake.
I kept my expression calm, but my thoughts churned.
The curse still hadn't activated.
I glanced at Risu, who was looking at me with a small smile, clearly pleased with her performance.
"Was that alright, young master?"
"Mm. It was good," I said, nodding. "But let's try it again."
Risu tilted her head slightly, but her smile remained. "As you wish."
I stepped back into position, doing my best to steady my nerves.
If the curse really did have a range, then we'd need to keep pushing until we crossed it—even if it meant repeating this process over and over.
———
The clearing remained still as we resumed the experiment. Maintaining the same distance of 1.5 meters, we repeated the process again—using the tier-one wind spell, Gust.
The familiar light blue magic circle appeared in Risu's hand, but this time there was a difference.
The inner circle no longer bore the Mog and Kri hymns from earlier. Instead, it carried two new patterns.
I narrowed my eyes, studying the changes while Risu, ever attentive, began to explain.
"This one here," she said, pointing to the first symbol, "is called Surt."
I focused on the pattern—it resembled a trident, though its lines curved elegantly rather than remaining straight.
"It slightly increases the range of a spell," she continued. "It's more useful for area-of-effect magic rather than projectile spells, but it still helps."
Her hand shifted to the second hymn.
"And this one is called Hyp. Its design looks like a sapling—just branches, no leaves."
I gave it a closer look, noting its delicate structure.
"It reduces the mana cost of a spell," Risu explained.
I nodded, committing the information to memory.
The spell remained stable, showing no signs of disruption, so I gestured for her to release it.
A gust of wind burst forth, stirring the grass and leaves. I noticed the range had increased slightly, but the speed seemed a bit slower—likely influenced by the hymns.
Still, there was no reaction from the curse.
Suppressing a sigh, I motioned to repeat the process—again, and again, at the same distance.
We cycled through the experiment fifteen times, changing hymns and observing minor variations in effects. Despite the tedium, Risu remained obedient, never complaining or questioning my request.
Her smile, however, began to fade, turning into a more subdued expression. Understandable, given the repetition.
Still, she pressed on.
With no results at 1.5 meters, we reduced the distance—first to 1.3 meters, then to 1.1 meters.
The closer we got, the more attempts it took to feel satisfied.
I noticed the fatigue creeping in—not physically, but mentally. Staring at magic circles over and over was draining, even for me.
Risu, despite her outward composure, was beginning to show subtle signs of weariness—a faint tightness in her smile and a slight hesitation before forming the next spell.
By the time we reached 0.7 meters, I could feel the weight of the repetition.
Risu formed another light blue magic circle, this time casting a tier-one wind bullet spell—its size almost too large to be called a bullet.
I barely reacted, tired of seeing the same patterns and hymns over and over.
"Release it," I said with a faint sigh.
Risu did as instructed, and the spell shot forward, leaving me with the same result—nothing.
I tried to remain calm, though a small part of me hoped this would finally be it.
We repeated the process, pushing through seven more attempts.
And then it happened.
On the eighth attempt, Risu formed the magic circle, and I instinctively stared at it, already memorizing its patterns without much thought.
But this time… something changed.
The circle began to crackle, faint lines of distortion running across its surface.
Risu froze, her eyes widening in shock.
Before either of us could react, the circle shattered, scattering faint traces of mana into the air like shards of glass.
The sudden failure left Risu visibly bewildered, her expression caught between confusion and concern.
For me, however, there was only relief—finally, it had happened.
I kept my expression neutral, tilting my head slightly to feign ignorance as I turned toward her.
"I-I'm sorry!" Risu stammered, quickly lowering her hands. "I don't know what happened—I just… I lost control somehow!"
Her voice trembled slightly as if she truly believed it was her fault.
I resisted the urge to reassure her immediately, knowing I needed to make this believable. Instead, I hesitated, letting a faint look of uncertainty cross my face.
Risu, noticing my hesitation, fidgeted, her usual composure faltering.
"Young master," she asked softly, "do you… know something about this? Was this… you?"
Her question hung in the air.
I let my fingers fidget nervously, pretending to struggle with whether to answer.
When I finally spoke, my voice was low and tinged with reluctance.
"It's… my affinity," I said carefully, watching her reaction.
Risu blinked, clearly caught off guard.
"My matter affinity…" I continued, "it has some kind of side effect. I think it influences magic circles, but I can't control it. It's like… a byproduct that causes them to break if they're too close to me."
Risu's expression shifted to understanding, her earlier confusion beginning to ease.
"So you've… known about this?" she asked gently.
"Not for long," I admitted, keeping my tone nervous. "I only figured it out after the ceremony last week. But I didn't want to worry Mother until I was sure it wasn't dangerous."
Risu's face softened.
"I see," she said, her voice now more comforting than concerned. "I understand, young master. Don't worry—I won't tell Lady Rosalind."
To emphasize her promise, she patted my head before reaching out and linking her pinky with mine.
"I promise," she said with a smile.
I allowed myself to exhale quietly, relieved that the explanation had worked.
For now, at least, I had bought myself time.