Chapter 7: Thaumaturge — Part 1.
After an exhausting day of grueling, hands-on work, Beltrán returned home practically half-dead, with barely enough appetite to finish his meal before collapsing onto his bed. He felt frail and weak, much like the state he had experienced when he had suffered from Prana deficiency.
A wave of discomfort overtook him as he tried to rest, but in the end, Beltrán managed to fall asleep by relying on the military breathing technique drawn from his alternate memories.
The next morning, the routine repeated itself.
Beltrán woke up somewhat late and hurried through breakfast before quickly changing and preparing for the trip to the institute. Waiting outside the house was Aliss, seated in a carriage.
The memories of Sir Aliss's torturous training nearly made Beltrán stiffen on the spot. As the day progressed, he could already feel his bruises and sore muscles growing worse.
Nothing particularly interesting happened during the ride. Their arrival at the institute, unlike the previous day, went mostly unnoticed, which made dealing with the social anxiety he had clearly yet to overcome far easier.
This feeling is horrible. I feel like I'm going to throw up.
As his stomach twisted painfully at the whispers and conversations of the students arriving alongside him, Beltrán cursed inwardly.
Before, he would have simply kept his head down and endured the discomfort that had become routine over the past year. But now, he felt detached from it, and that only made him even more irritable than usual.
After pushing through the initial stomach pain and the anxiety born from a year of harassment, Beltrán made his way to his classroom, lost in thought over the lessons from previous classes.
From what he had gathered and analyzed in geography, there were thirteen officially recognized "continents" in this world—a striking contrast to the seven continents of the other world whose memories he possessed.
These continents were physically connected to one another. What distinguished them as separate continents were the different factions that ruled each vast expanse of land, most of them established during the Great War.
The existing continents were: Recolta, Umbría, Replicantia, Trei-Gaeta, Lustarm, Elysium, Proscris, Stanca, Temath, Flaere, Ceata, Prustir, and Interniz.
As far as I understand, we're currently in Recolta. The nearest city—and where I'm living right now—should be Realta, which is close to the provincial capital, Saphir. That means we're in northern Recolta, roughly midway from the border with Umbría.
For someone carrying the memories of an entirely different world, memorizing names like these was not especially difficult.
It felt no different from memorizing maps from certain video games or the geography of a novel he particularly enjoyed.
As he reflected on it further, Beltrán noticed several obvious similarities with the other world.
To his critical mind, the resemblance was too strong to dismiss as mere coincidence.
That thought led him to form a tentative hypothesis regarding the origin of the memories he carried.
The hierarchy, roads, territorial distribution, kingdoms, even the common logic of society—this world still shares too much with the other one.
Maybe these memories come from some kind of alternate world. A parallel copy of this one.
Satisfied with his modest progress through simple deduction, Beltrán decided to focus fully on his current lessons.
He intended to stand out gradually, careful not to fall behind or neglect his grades.
One mistake could ruin his future in his father's eyes.
After the regular classes ended, lunch became the next activity Beltrán could actually enjoy.
Having learned from the previous day, he ate quickly, finishing his meal in only a few minutes. The moment he was done, he hurried directly to the building where the statue of the hero Fareth stood.
When he arrived, he found the same young lady from before.
She was around 1.75 meters tall, nearly two heads taller than Beltrán.
This time, her brown hair was styled into an elegant side braid that rested delicately over her shoulder. Her pale blue eyes focused on him as he approached the statue where they had agreed to meet.
A subtle smile appeared on her face as she addressed him in an amused tone.
"So, the story interested you enough to come back."
Ignoring the teasing remark, Beltrán asked curiously,
"How does it end? I doubt Fareth really died."
The smile on her face gradually softened into a thin line.
She looked away from him and let out a heavy sigh before glancing back at him from the corner of her eye.
"Sometimes… it would have been better if he had."
Sometimes?
A faint suspicion stirred within Beltrán.
He glanced around.
Standing before Fareth's towering statue, the ever-present radiance of the sky cast a shadow over the two of them. The usually gray-toned atmosphere seemed to deepen into a heavy darkness.
The young lady continued her tale.
Fareth had once had a lover named Aesterica, one of the ancient mages who still commanded Words of Power—words capable of ordering the very nature of things to bend to her will.
As Fareth's body lay still, his beloved approached him.
Overcome with grief at the death of the greatest love she had ever known, she broke into tears, her brilliant mind struggling to accept his cruel fate.
But she refused to.
Calling his name like thunder, Aesterica cried out to him, commanding him to return from death.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
And when she was about to utter her fifth plea, in a tongue as ancient as existence itself—
Fareth breathed again.
A miracle.
The people erupted into celebration, their cheers deafening.
For this was no ordinary man.
He was a hero who had overcome every adversity, even escaping death itself.
The young woman paused and gestured lightly toward Beltrán, who had remained utterly focused on her story.
"From this point onward, the tale diverges. In one version, Fareth lived out the rest of his days beside his beloved, dying peacefully in her embrace beneath the setting sun."
So that's what she meant by sometimes.
No one really knows how Fareth's story ended. Were the records lost?
The statue itself, along with the reverent way his story was told at its feet, betrayed the authenticity of the legend.
Yet as with so many tales in the other world, its true ending remained unknown.
"What's the other version?"
Beltrán asked, doubt flickering across his face.
The young woman's expression darkened.
"Fareth never died. Everyone around him faded away, and eventually he lost his mind. They say he's still out there even now, wandering the world in search of his lost lover and vanished friends."
She looked at Beltrán with a trace of pity.
"I think immortality is a punishment only gods can endure."
Beltrán fell silent.
He stared at Fareth's towering figure, dark and imposing.
What had truly become of that hero?
It was likely a truth he would never have the chance to know.
"That one was shorter."
Beltrán finally said, breaking the silence.
"There wasn't much more to tell. If you're interested in the details, you can always investigate on your own."
She offered him a faint smile.
"My name is Samantha."
Beltrán arched an eyebrow.
"Why tell me your name now?"
Up until now, she had behaved like a deliberate mystery.
He had assumed she intended to keep playing the role of the enigmatic lady behind the statue.
After all, it was the kind of thing people their age did for amusement.
"This is our second meeting. This time, I gave you my story and my name."
Her smile turned playful.
"What will you give me in return?"
Beltrán froze.
He realized he had completely misunderstood her.
At this moment, he found it impossible to follow her train of thought.
She was actively unpredictable, and that made her strangely dangerous.
He disliked not being able to keep up.
The only way to even the scales is to play along.
His goal wasn't simply to satisfy her curiosity and hand her more opportunities to tease him.
He also wanted to build some sort of friendship with her.
"I might have something that'll entertain you for a while. Yesterday…"
And so Beltrán recounted the events of the previous day.
He described the actions he had taken and how he had managed to overcome the difficulties of physical conditioning class.
He was meticulous in describing his sensations and emotions, but deliberately vague when it came to revealing the trick he had used to pass.
His aim was to intrigue her—to make her genuinely wonder.
To his surprise, the girl listened in complete silence.
He had expected boredom.
Instead, she seemed thoroughly engaged.
She laughed at certain moments, frowned with concern at others, and nearly bounced with excitement as he described his confrontation with Larson.
"Sounds like your life is pretty entertaining."
She laughed softly after hearing how his story ended in overwhelming physical pain.
Naturally, Beltrán deliberately omitted the extra training Sir Aliss had subjected him to afterward.
There were reasons he had no intention of revealing that just yet.
Still, he had discovered something extremely valuable when he woke that morning.
His constitution was exceptional.
Even while ignoring the pain, his body recovered at an accelerated pace.
From his knowledge of muscle physiology, Beltrán knew proper recovery should take one to two days—three for those less adapted.
And yet, upon waking, he had the strange certainty that a single day would be enough.
A near-miraculous recovery.
Digging through his memories, he recalled that the beatings he had endured throughout the year had also begun healing faster over time.
After a little more conversation, the time to return to class arrived.
As Beltrán walked away, he prepared himself.
Just like the day before, practical lessons awaited him.
Fundamentals of Thaumaturgy.