The end of September marked a new phase in our education. The introductory weeks and initial trials were over, and the Academy was moving on to the core curriculum: dedicating two full months to the intensive study of a single element.

  The first element chosen was Water.

  "Water is considered the safest element for first-year students," the instructor explained as he paced the lecture hall. "Its structural properties provide the best foundation for understanding the mechanics of mana and the principles of its flow. Water magic is the absolute basis for healing, warding, defense, and the control of one's own internal energy currents."

  He paused, letting the information sink in before delving into history.

  "In ancient times, the northern tribes mastered Ice magic. Their lands were freezing, their climate unforgiving. To survive, they learned to transmute moisture into indestructible icy constructs—forging spears, walls, and entire fortresses out of frozen mana. Ice mages were renowned for their raw power, absolute control, and endurance. Their techniques required flawless precision."

  He turned to the other side of the room. "Conversely, in the distant South, clans developed the magical manipulation of blood. In a land plagued by war, extreme heat, and disease, they found a way to manipulate the body's internal currents—first to seal wounds, and later, to invent lethal offensive techniques. But blood magic proved to be incredibly unstable. It meddled too deeply with the mage's own physical vessel, often leading to irreversible mutations and madness."

  The instructor looked at the class severely. "Due to widespread abuse, Blood magic was officially classified as a Dark Art and strictly forbidden. But the element of Water itself is pure. It carries no inherent malice. Water heals, fortifies, absorbs impact, and protects. It is the very first stepping stone toward mastering more complex disciplines: advanced healing, ice, multi-elemental currents, and internal mana regulation."

  He then outlined the practical goals for the next two months.

  "You will learn to feel mana as a continuous current. You will learn to direct it, divide it, slow it down, and accelerate it. Water is not about destruction. It is the path of understanding."

  There would be two main tasks for the final exam.

  First, the control of one's own blood. The instructor held up his hand, revealing a thin cut that was already sealing itself before our eyes. "During the exam, you will inflict a small wound upon yourselves. Your task will be to stop the bleeding using magic. Not by freezing it or burning it, but by actively managing your internal mana flows. A mage who cannot control their own blood has no business trying to manipulate the bodies of others."

  The second task tested external control. "You must reverse a natural current. On the mountain training course, water naturally flows downhill. You will be required to subjugate that flow and force it to travel back up the stone channel. This is a fundamental test of how well you can project and guide mana outside your own body."

  The instructor closed his heavy tome. "Do not think about raw power. This is not a test of strength. This is a test of your understanding of mana's true nature. Water is clarity. Serenity. Softness. Precision. Whoever masters this element will have no trouble mastering any other—even the most volatile, such as lightning, spatial distortion, or shadow. We begin practical training tomorrow. Be ready."

  The next day, the Water Magic training hall was completely silent.

  The instructor had set up long tables, each holding a large metal basin filled with crystal-clear water. We each stood before our own basin.

  "Today, you begin," the instructor said strictly. "The primary objective is to feel the structure of the water, how it responds to your mana, and how it submits to your will. Remember: not force, not volume, but intent and control."

  Exercise 1: "Lifting the Water"

  "Draw the water upward," the instructor ordered, walking down the aisle. "The form is entirely up to you. A sphere, a blade, a stream, or floating droplets. The only requirement is to keep it perfectly stable."

  The students approached the task in vastly different ways.

  For Princess Elinia, it was child's play. She lifted the water with a soft, effortless gesture, as if the liquid actively wanted to obey her. The water flowed seamlessly from a perfect sphere into a ribbon, then into a spinning ring. It was a mere warm-up for her.

  Finn Rainford managed to lift the water, but it trembled constantly. His inherent aggressive, fiery nature bled into his mana, making it incredibly difficult for him to maintain a fluid, gentle hold.

  Lucille Arvent worked flawlessly. Her stream was as precise and rigid as a geometric blueprint. Not a single drop wavered. It was the textbook technique of an Archmage's heir.

  Siren and Tara Walter, despite being swordsmen, displayed impressive control. Siren lifted his water smoothly and steadily. Tara was sharper and more abrupt, but the form held together.

  Reynar Helwood used his affinity for air to keep his stream light and buoyant, making the task significantly easier for him than for the others.

  Astra Failmore was careful, but her water kept instinctively trying to shape itself into therapeutic, pulsing waves—the deeply ingrained habit of a healer.

  For Edgar, Miella, and Kairen, it was a profound struggle. Edgar treated the water like molten metal, trying to force it into shape with blunt pressure. Miella's stream shook violently. Kairen could barely keep his water in the air.

  Noah Levander's water barely moved. But for a brief second, it seemed to dissolve into a shimmering mist, as if turning into a phantom illusion. The instructor frowned at him but didn't say anything.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Then there was me.

  As a "typical, average Ice Mage," I needed to show the exact level of proficiency expected of me. And I delivered.

  I lifted the water effortlessly, but intentionally injected tiny, erratic tremors into my mana, making it look as though I wasn't used to handling the element in its liquid, fluid state. I kept my shapes simple—an elongated stream, followed by a basic sphere. Not too good, not too bad.

  The instructor nodded as he passed. "Helvard. Stable enough. Your affinity for ice gives you a slight advantage here."

  I simply lowered my eyes, hiding my relief.

  Exercise 2: "Trajectory Flow"

  The instructor snapped his fingers, and glowing, intricate light paths illuminated the floor beneath us.

  "Now, you must force the water to travel rapidly along these trajectories. Accelerate as much as you like, but not a single drop is allowed to leave the glowing line."

  This proved to be exponentially harder.

  Finn's water immediately splashed everywhere as he pushed it too aggressively. The swordsmen could barely get their water to move along the track at all. Astra's water kept trying to pulse rhythmically instead of flowing smoothly. Noah kept accidentally turning his water into smoke.

  Only three people managed to keep their streams fast and perfectly clean: Elinia, Lucille, and... me.

  For me, the exercise was insultingly easy. The water obeyed me on a molecular level; I could have guided it through the air to trace ancient demonic runes if I wanted to. But I made sure to act as though I was struggling slightly. I kept my speed moderate, allowed the stream to wobble occasionally on sharp turns, and made my face look strained with concentration.

  The instructor nodded approvingly. "Helvard, your control is very stable. But you will need to work on your acceleration."

  Good, I exhaled internally. No suspicions.

  Elinia, meanwhile, was visibly bored. She sent her water rocketing through the course faster than anyone else, even casually shaping it into little swirling figures on the hairpin turns. Her innate connection to the elements was undeniably terrifying.

  "You have grasped the first steps," the instructor summarized at the end of the lesson. "Tomorrow, we will work with complex streams."

  The next day was significantly more demanding.

  On each of our tables lay a square metal plate. It was exactly one meter wide and five millimeters thick. It was steel-carbonate—a dense, standard alloy used specifically to train high-pressure water cutting.

  "The task is simple," the instructor announced calmly. "Cut the plate in half. The cut must be perfectly clean and straight."

  There was no threat or tension in his voice. He knew the task wasn't inherently complex, but it demanded absolute precision, immense stability, and a profound understanding of water's physical nature.

  Elinia simply raised her hand. Her water instantly condensed into a razor-thin, highly pressurized stream. She swept it smoothly across the metal, and the steel parted silently, cleanly sliced in two.

  The instructor didn't even blink. He expected nothing less.

  I did exactly the same, only slightly faster. For me, it didn't even require conscious thought. I knew the exact angle, the necessary pressure, the required density, and the precise molecular vibration needed to slice through the alloy. The steel parted as if cut by a beam of light.

  But the rest of the class? They were hitting a massive wall.

  Siren, Tara, Miella, and Kairen all approached the task exactly as they would approach a sword strike: with raw power, forward momentum, and brute force.

  The result was identical for all of them. The pressurized water hit the steel, shattered their own magical structure, and exploded into a chaotic spray of mist. The metal didn't even have a scratch on it.

  Finn tried to cheat by accelerating his water with a burst of fire mana. But the infusion of heat caused the water to lose its density; the moment it struck the iron, it instantly vaporized into a useless cloud of boiling steam.

  Edgar, being a Metal Mage, assumed he would understand the material better than anyone. But that was exactly his downfall. He tried to "crush" the water stream through the plate like a hammer striking an anvil. Water does not obey blunt force. Frustrated, he increased the pressure, and his stream collapsed even faster.

  Eventually, the frustrated swordsmen, along with Finn and Edgar, gravitated toward the Princess's table.

  "Elinia, how did you do that?" "How do you keep the water from shattering?" "Why doesn't yours break apart on impact?"

  The Princess frowned, her expression turning serious as she genuinely tried to find the words.

  "I... I just feel the current," she started hesitantly. "It goes where it needs to go. I... I just guide the general trajectory..."

  She waved her hands vaguely, her explanation quickly devolving into nonsense. "The pressure has to be... soft. But no, not entirely soft. You have to put mana into it... but not all the way. Don't push it, but don't pull it either. Just... follow it..."

  Finn scowled. "You literally explained absolutely nothing."

  "I think I understand it even less now," Edgar groaned.

  The swordsmen exchanged helpless glances. The Princess's technique was born of pure, innate, instinctive genius. It was something she inherently felt, not something she could actively teach.

  I let out a quiet sigh. I couldn't help myself. I walked over to the group.

  "The problem," I said calmly, stepping up to the table, "is that you are all trying to move the water as if it were a solid object. But water isn't an object. It's a current."

  They all turned to look at me, listening intently.

  "You are using your mana to physically push the water," I explained. "But you shouldn't do that. You need to use your mana to build a path that the water naturally wants to flow down."

  Siren narrowed his eyes. "Build a path?"

  "Yes." I nodded. "You don't need to micromanage every single drop. You only need to define four parameters. First: Form. So the water knows its boundaries. Second: Speed. So the current becomes a pressurized blade rather than a puddle. Third: Trajectory. So it knows exactly where to go. And fourth: Purpose. So the stream 'understands' that its objective is to pass through the metal, not just hit it."

  I gestured toward the metal plate. "This is the most important part: you do not use your mana to guide the liquid. You use your mana to guide the space that the liquid occupies."

  Finn looked at me, a stunned expression on his soot-covered face. "So... I shouldn't be pushing the water... I should be pointing the way?"

  "Exactly."

  "And then the water... will just adapt on its own?" Edgar asked.

  "Yes," I confirmed. "Water will always seek a path. If you build that path with mana pressure, the water will flow through it effortlessly."

  They all rushed back to their plates to try again.

  Finn went first. This time, instead of blasting the water forward, he focused entirely on establishing a rigid direction. His stream instantly became visibly denser. It stopped spraying everywhere. Slowly but surely, it began to bite into the steel. A thin, clean cut appeared.

  He frowned, staring at his work, and then—for the first time since we met—spoke with genuine sincerity. "...Thanks."

  Miella and Kairen tried next. Applying their swordsman's precision to the concept of 'trajectory' helped immensely. With every passing second, their streams grew sharper and more stable.

  Edgar focused entirely on 'Form.' His stream suddenly took on the rigid, vibrating qualities of a physical metal wire—thin, deadly, and perfectly stable. He began carving through the plate.

  The instructor walked down the aisle, inspecting the sudden, dramatic improvement across the class.

  "Excellent work," the instructor praised. "It seems you've all finally grasped the underlying principle."

  No one said a word. But as they continued cutting through their steel plates, every single one of them knew the truth.

  It was my explanation that had pushed them over the edge. So much for staying entirely invisible.