A Returner’s Magic Should Be Special - Chapter 35

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 35. Training! (1)

Chapter 8. Training!

And so their schedule devoted entirely to cultivation began!
Rising at six in the morning, they started each day with physical conditioning. Once morning training concluded, classes began immediately. There was no question of skipping lessons to focus on training. The acquisition of knowledge was itself part of their cultivation!
“I’m dying here! Please, please can we skip the evening session?”
Romantica’s protests, no matter how earnest, fell on deaf ears.
“No. We’re not.”
The answer was always the same.
When classes ended, evening training began. These sessions took the form of private instruction, carefully tailored to each individual’s needs. Where morning training addressed fundamentals, the evening work was designed to cultivate personal strengths and attributes.
Romantica’s private instruction took place in the Alpha Class Wind Attribute Magic training ground, a space whose open ceiling offered a view of the clouds beyond.
“What do you think defines Wind Attribute Magic?”
It was the opening question Dezir posed during her first lesson—a mundane one that any mage worth their salt could answer.
“It deploys incredibly fast. And it has excellent range.”
“Right. Which is why a Wind Attribute Mage can excel as a sniper better than practitioners of any other attribute. But as I said, there are limits at the 2 Circle level.”
Romantica nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words.
As a 2 Circle Mage, she felt painfully constrained. Her rapid, precise strikes channeled through Silent Chanting were undoubtedly refined, yet in raw destructive power she fell short. The moment a 4 Circle Mage appeared, her sniping became useless—she could only watch.
That had happened instantly.
“You need to reach 3 Circle.”
But that wasn’t all.
“And you must reinforce your projectiles’ potency enough to pierce at least 4 Circle defensive magic—acquiring enough offensive capacity to achieve that.”
“But 3 Circle isn’t easy at all! You need years of hardship, perfect mastery of 2 Circle, countless casting experiences to accumulate experience and develop fine mana control ability——”
Dezir cut her off.
“That’s the orthodox method for reaching 3 Circle, but the way I’m about to teach you is different.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to show you how to build 3 Circle in the shortest possible time.”
“…It’s strange that you know such a method. You’re a 1 Circle Mage.”
Beyond bewilderment—she’d grown weary of it by now. Everything that came out of his mouth was equally absurd.
“So you won’t try?”
“No, it’s not that, but——”
Romantica trusts Dezir. She trusts him with absolute conviction. If he says he can do it, then it can be done.
“Then good. Let’s start with this.”
Dezir withdrew an empty beverage tin from his bag and placed it on his open palm.
“What’s that?”
A picture is worth a thousand words.
Dezir drew a deep breath.
Crunch.
The tin began to crumple. It wasn’t happening as quickly as if he were crushing it by hand, though. The tin’s edges compressed methodically, its center bending into an arch like a bow.
Screech, creak.
Not long after those grating sounds began, the tin had transformed into a smooth, candy-ball-sized orb. One might have believed he’d brought an orb from the start.
Dezir handed the orb to Romantica as though nothing remarkable had occurred.
“It’s an upgrade on that time I made the ball move before. The difference? Instead of simply bouncing a ball, you must carefully adjust and compress the atmospheric pressure around it. Simple, right?”
Romantica felt her mind go blank.
‘What in the hell is this madman talking about?’
Creating pressure differentials wasn’t inherently difficult—one simply adjusted air density.
But that only covered the act of creating pressure differences. Using those differences to form a perfect sphere? That was a different world entirely.
Romantica couldn’t even begin to fathom how finely he’d adjusted the air density across the tin’s entire surface.
“Go ahead. Try.”
‘He’s really terrible.’
Romantica sighed and accepted the spare tin he offered her.
Difficult or not, if she was told to do it, a student had no choice but to comply.
She focused on the tin before her, letting mana flow outward as she began to manipulate the surrounding air.
‘Adjust the pressure. Control the air density. And form it into a sphere….’
Creak.
The tin can began to crumple. A loud metallic shriek filled the air.
As the tin can contracted toward its center, the outline of a circle gradually took shape. It was undergoing a process strikingly similar to the demonstration Dezir had shown earlier.
‘It’s working!’
Perhaps it was the sudden rush of relief that did it—the moment her barely maintained concentration faltered, pressure began to work against one side.
Crunch!
The tin can flattened completely, crumpled like a fried egg squashed on a griddle.
Romantica stared down at the mangled tin can resting in her palm, her face flushed crimson.
“Ugh… ugh…”
Dezir chuckled softly and collected the tin can.
“Just checking, but…”
He held it up before her eyes as he spoke.
“You do know the difference between a circle and a sphere, right?”

* * *

“We’re doing practical sparring today.”
At high noon, when the sun blazed relentlessly, Fram’s private lesson took place in the academy’s Sparring Arena.
A place where students sparred with one another, gauging each other’s skill. It was here that Dezir and Fram now stood.
“There’s no better way to fill gaps in experience than through actual combat.”
“Sparring? If it’s against another Knight-class… would it be Percival?”
Percival was an Alpha Class student who had faced Fram in a ranking tournament before.
He too was Knight-class and had once matched Fram evenly. That would make for decent practice.
But Dezir shook his head.
“A Knight-class opponent won’t nearly be enough to fill your experience gap. There’s someone far more formidable.”
Fram turned to follow Dezir’s gaze, looking back over his shoulder.
It was a man in his mid-thirties with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back tightly. He carried a longsword at his side.
“That’s Keirah. A third Circle Mage and Knight-class swordsman—a high-level Sword Mage. He serves as the Security Chief for the Mana Tower Eureli branch.”
Keirah was someone of considerable skill within the Magic Tower, and with Jord’s help, Dezir had managed to invite him at considerable effort.
Keirah stroked his stubbled jaw, an amused expression crossing his face.
“Hmm, so this delicate little girl is my opponent? This ought to be easy.”
The smile on Fram’s face hardened, muscles tensing visibly.
“Are you judging your opponent based on appearance alone?”
At Fram’s bristle, Keirah let out a teasing laugh.
“Oh, wait—is this actually a boy? Your limbs are so slender I couldn’t tell at all. My apologies for the misunderstanding.”
“Nngh…!”
Fram’s entire body trembled, clearly stung by the remark. He gripped the wooden sword in his hand so hard it seemed it might snap. Then he turned to Dezir.
“Can we start the match right now? This instant?”
“First, put this on.”
Dezir offered a shoulder guard to each of them.
Once Keirah and Fram had each taken one, Dezir began his explanation.
“Those shoulder guards have Response Alarm Magic enchanted into them. The moment the wooden sword makes contact, the alarm will trigger. If you can activate Keirah’s alarm before yours goes off, the training ends.”
“That’ll never happen in a lifetime.”
“We’ll see.”
Shortly after, Fram closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he opened them again, the atmosphere in his gaze had shifted entirely. It was the look that flickered across Fram’s eyes whenever facing an opponent.
‘He really knows how to provoke, like a true veteran.’
With that thought, Dezir spoke.
“Begin!”
Whoosh!
Without hesitation, they launched themselves toward each other simultaneously.
The match had begun.
Clash! Bang!
Steel sang through the air as blades whirled. The deafening din echoed across the arena. The exchange between Knight-class swordsmen unfolded at a speed no ordinary observer could follow.
“Huh, not bad at all. I thought you’d fall on the first strike.”
In raw speed, Fram held the advantage—a relentless barrage like a waterfall of attacks.
Merely defending against it bordered on miraculous.
Yet Fram lagged behind Keirah in experience. The man was the Security Chief of the Magic Tower, someone who had lived through countless encounters.
He received Fram’s onslaught with minimal movement, adapting to that ferocious pace.
“See? When you get worked up, you open gaps like this.”
Whenever Fram showed even the slightest opening, Keirah seized it, launching counterattacks that made Fram’s blood run cold more than once.
‘Tch!’
The moment Fram’s guard dropped again, his panic became his downfall.
In that instant, he lost the initiative, and control of the match shifted entirely to Keirah.
Fram twisted his body sideways in a desperate reflex.
Whoosh!
A sharp sound tore through the air. Keirah’s blade whistled past by mere inches—a hair’s breadth from ending him. That had been far too close.
‘I need to create distance.’
Fram judged that retreat was necessary now, and he stepped back to steady his breathing and widen the gap between them.
‘Wait—’
Fram noticed something amiss only after he’d retreated five paces.
Keirah, whom he’d expected to pursue, remained rooted to his spot without advancing.
“Still raw, I see.”
Keirah extended his hand toward Fram.
“Putting distance between yourself and a Mage. Reckless.”

Ice Blast.

A sphere of ice hurtled toward him.
As Fram pivoted quickly to evade, the ice orb suddenly detonated mid-air.
Billowing white powder enveloped him, and with it came a brutal cold that numbed his limbs.
His vision swallowed by the cloud.
“You’re not ready yet.”
Thud.
An instant later, Fram felt the wooden sword strike his shoulder.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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