Amidst a simple, murky action performed in the damp and dust choked gloom where cobwebs clung to every corner, a faint spark emerged to challenge the darkness that had reigned all night. This light belonged to none other than Ron and Quân as they traversed the hallways of the spectral mansion.
"The system is divided into thirteen core levels of the body and twenty one distinct types of magic, where every fundamental essence connects to a specific magical branch upon reaching level three. At that stage, awakening depends entirely on an individual's internal concepts, a phase that typically occurs during early puberty. Furthermore, there are eleven groups of magical chants and three categories of split magic. For instance, the majority of the population will awaken elements of Heaven and Earth or Mind and Body, having formed a subconscious bond with these forces since childhood. Once they elevate their core to level three, they gain the ability to manifest magic."
"That is fascinating. Is there some kind of limit, though? What about geniuses whose potential is hardwired into their genes?"
Quân asked with fervent curiosity, clearly enthralled by this new information. Although he could not yet verify the truth of these claims, he secretly harbored the hope that he might possess some overwhelming, kingly power that would allow him to claim a new crown for himself. Illusions of grandeur began to fill his mind, yet a single sentence from Ron was enough to completely upend his perception of the future.
"It is somber to put it this way, but the concept of a genius is largely meaningless. One could say that no magic is truly superior to another, for it is a matter of narrative and environment. To advance one's fundamental levels, we rely on two factors: the maturation rate of the core and the depth of experience one accumulates. At most, this is where talent manifests, yet it only serves to accelerate the process by a few years at best. Furthermore, once one reaches the sixth Divine level, advancing the core to the seventh requires finding one's own Path and harmonizing it with their magic. Regrettably, the Path is a vague concept with no method of attainment that does not involve profound scholarship and an iron will. Ninety percent of the population cannot reach level seven or beyond, and from that point onward, the process of advancement becomes increasingly perilous."
"Wait... so could thinkers like Karl Marx or Socrates have opened a Path?"
Quân had begun to grasp the metaphysical essence of what a Path entailed and followed up with a rigorous question. Ron answered immediately without a second thought.
"If they possessed a core, that realization would instantly catapult them past level six to level nine or ten. From there, however, they would require various other methods before they could advance any further."
"That is insane."
Quân realized that the Path was a conceptual entity tied to metaphysics and one's own cognitive capacity. He was not foolish enough to believe that simply reading more books would provide a shortcut, for if it were that simple, the Path would not be such an insurmountable fortress.
"What else is there? What is your magic?"
After a brief pause, Ron replied.
"My magic is Mortality. My Gift is Pseudo Mortality, and my core is currently at level three."
"A Gift? Mortality? Can you explain what those two actually are?"
Ron reflected for a moment before answering.
"A Gift is similar to a Path, yet unlike a Path which harmonizes with one's innate magic, a Gift remains distinct. If you possess dual system magic, a Gift will randomly attach itself to one of the two. Gifts involve inherent powers passed down through ages, yet they do not follow a genealogical lineage. For example, if someone in the past possessed Gift A, upon their death, that Gift would randomly reappear in someone else in the future. At any given time, Gift A might be absent from the world, or there may exist only one sole bearer of it. As for the rest, we shall discuss it later. We have arrived at your new home."
Ron and Quân stopped simultaneously. Before them stood a colossal gate, perhaps over three meters tall, hidden deep within the mansion.
"What the hell is this? A mansion with a Gate to the Underworld?"
Quân took an experimental step forward, having shed some of the terror that had gripped his heart during the journey. He noted that if a transmigrator carrying a Mortality core like Ron also possessed the wisdom of a past life to conduct research, he might have already resolved the lingering issues within this estate, perhaps leaving it in ruin merely to avoid prying eyes. Besides, Ron had no real reason to deceive him.
Right?
Quân was about to touch the exquisitely carved door when he suddenly snapped to attention. He looked at the gate, then back at Ron and the hallway, his gaze fixed intensely on the walls.
Why... why is there no ornamentation anywhere else?
He knew that for nobles or anyone who owned a mansion grand enough to house sprawling gardens and courtyards, every piece of interior architecture would bear some mark of intricate carving. This was not merely for aesthetics, but to assert that every centimeter of patterned wood signified their status above dozens of others. Yet here, with the exception of this door, not a single ornate decoration could be found, even on the exterior. Even if a place were abandoned, one could not simply strip away the carvings built into the house itself.
Furthermore, if ghosts truly existed here, why had they not attacked the two of them? Quân quickly deduced three possibilities in an instant: they feared the light, Ron was suppressing them, or they only attacked those they could locate.
Light? He was uncertain and could not prove it. However, why had Ron given him a lighter, a tool that provided minimal brightness and heat, if it were meant for protection?
Suppression? This was another factor he could not confirm.
Quân immediately realized that in this world, people were born with an intrinsic magical core. If he were a transmigrator, he might not possess a core at all, as Ron had mentioned the maturation of the core. Furthermore, regarding the philosophers like Socrates, Ron had said that if they possessed a core, their realization would instantly elevate them. This implied the core was a physical entity linking the mind and magic, something that could not be forced by symbolic logic alone but required time and practice. Notably, Ron had not used terms like "transmigration" or "reincarnation" when discussing the core.
This meant that Quân did not have a core body of his own. Perhaps magic utilized these fundamental cores to track living beings, either through observation or enhanced senses. As for Ron, a man with a Mortality core, there was no telling what he was capable of.
Quân then considered the possibility that there were no ghosts or spectral stalkers at all, but that made little sense. If that were the case, why would Ron not let him stay at his own house, or at least somewhere more hospitable? If there were ghosts, would it not be easier to monitor Quân's movements here?
Besides, if there are no ghosts, why does this place still exist?
In a world of magic, why had no one stepped up to clear out such a mansion? Was the former owner refusing to let go, or was there some darker mystery? Quân was unsure, but he found a jarring discrepancy in his memory.
Back on the bridge in the rain, Ron only realized it was raining when the droplets hit his clothes. Even then, it was dangerous within his sight, yet some had clearly fallen on him earlier. Why use a lighter when simple magic like transforming things into umbrellas or vines exists? Unless his magic is strictly limited to Mortality?
A powerful realization struck Quân regarding Ron's combat capability. Back in the alley, when Ron had been shoved into the trash, he had not made a single sound, even though the impact should have been painful.
What does this mean?
Only ten seconds had passed since these thoughts began, and his final conclusion was that he had to run.
"You! I..."
Quân intended to say something, but then he collapsed to the floor. His eyes grew vacant, and his breathing became labored. His vision blurred, and his very perception of space began to invert.