Chapter 16: Aldovian Language
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In this world, magic was real.
I knew from the goddess that there were myriad ways to improve my magic and Magic Core.
But before I improved any of these aspects, I had to comprehend them first.
After waking up from the ground of the hut, I walked out of there to greet the world. I was greeted back with an icy-cold wind as I suddenly remembered why I did not do something like this before.
I sat down in front of my hut in a lotus position again as I closed my eyes and focused on my abdomen.
My Magic Core was revealed to me.
It was a golfball-sized core. White/Gray was the primary color, and every once in a while, there would be some brown dots, while green and red dots appeared less frequently.
It could be said that:
White/Gray = Lunar
Brown = Earth
Green = Wind
Red = Fire
Did the dots indicate which elements I had an affinity with?
"Water Beam"
"Water Vortex"
"Droplet Cannonball"
Shouts resounded at my campsite, which, to my disappointment, resulted in nothing.
How was it that I could not even cast water magic? Did that mean that if you had zero affinity and attainment in some elements, those could not be cast?
I continued to focus on my Magic Core and saw that something was ingrained into it.
As I willed some Mana onto it, an ability I learned intuitively, reality distorted and tore through space as something warped into existence, and the engraving disappeared.
A book.
The book had a brown leather cover, its surface was rough. It looked unassuming but this book was anything but ordinary. A faint scent of old parchment and ink rose from its pages as I turned to see which language the translation was in. The yellowed paper crinkled under my fingertips, dry yet smooth.
In my first life I could speak Korean, French, English, German and I had started learning Russian.
One could say that learning languages was not diffucult, but that would be a lie.
Learning a language takes time and must be practised. People often do too little and expect to much. You could compare it to jumping rope—those who do it frequently and consistently are rewarded with quick progress. In the same vein, those whopractise irregulary and without effort are often the one to demand results the most, as they grow impatient
Beeing alone in a forest where speaking with others would be a rare occurence may not be the best condition to aquire language skills.
But I had to start from scratch.
The list of things I needed to do became more and more.
1: I had to practise wielding Magic.
2: I had to learn a new language.
3: I had wanted to learn Aura and how to throw daggers.
I also couldn't forget to finally complete my hut, hunt for food, and make use of the materials I had gathered from the beasts.
The book translated English letters into Aldovian script. The characters bore a resemblance to the Latin alphabet, yet they had a peculiar elegance—some letters curled like delicate vines, while others stood rigid and unyielding.
I began with the basics, tracing the unfamiliar symbols with my fingertips, whispering their sounds into the cold air of my hut. The wind, ever uninvited, slipped through the gaps in the wooden walls, sending shivers down my spine.
By midday, I set the book aside. My stomach's quiet protests had grown into a dull ache. It was time to light the bonfire and prepare a meal. My day was scheduled—study in the morning, work on my shelter at noon, and if time allowed, practice magic under the setting sun.
After eating, I let out a breath, my warm sigh turning to mist in the frigid air. Stepping toward the hut, I focused on the gaps between the logs, picturing the earth rising to fill them. My Magic Core stirred, and the ground responded—small clumps of dirt lifted, weightless for a moment, before settling neatly into place.
But dirt alone wouldn't hold. I gathered small stones, pressing them into the gaps with numb fingers. A faint, earthy scent filled the air as I worked. To solidify the structure, I scooped up handfuls of snow, rubbing them over the damp soil. The cold bit into my skin, but I watched as the moisture seeped in, the dirt hardening into place as if the earth itself was sealing my home.
With the gaps finally sealed, the biting wind could no longer creep inside. The hut, though still humble, now felt less like a temporary shelter and more like a place I could truly endure the nights.
Now, I could speng my time practicing magic.
I took a deep breath, steadying my stance as I chanted:
"Moonlight Veil."
The words left my lips like a whispered command, yet they carried weight, a resonance that stirred something unseen.
A shimmer spread from my fingertips, like liquid silver unraveling in the air. Soft, ethereal light pulsed around me, casting shifting patterns on the snow-dusted ground. It was as if the very essence of moonlight had woven itself into a translucent cloak, draping over my body. The world beyond the veil seemed hazy, distorted—as though I stood between reality and a dream.
For a a few minutes, I felt weightless, my presence fading, dissolving into the world. The cold air no longer pressed against my skin; instead, a quiet, soothing stillness embraced me.
The magic unraveled.
I hadn't dismissed the spell—it had simply faded on its own. A hollow exhaustion settled in my chest, and an unsettling emptiness pulsed within me.
My Magic Core was drained.
I raised my hand, willing another spell into existence—anything, even a flicker of light.
Nothing.
The realization struck me like a stone in the dark. My entire mana pool had been consumed after just a few minutes of "Moonlight Veil".
Was that my limit?
If this was truly all I had, then magic alone wouldn't be enough.
I clenched my fists.
I needed to grow stronger. In every way possible.
Magic, body, mind—everything had to be sharpened if I was to survive.
The moon hung silently above the treetops, a cold witness to my resolve.
Tomorrow, I would begin anew.