Chapter 5: Entry Level

Maestrin Manor, inside the study.

As soon as Charles returned, he locked himself in the study, repeatedly instructing the maid, Eve, not to enter, and to guard the door outside for him.

He sat for a moment at the desk, then spread out a piece of parchment.

Parchment, naturally, is paper made from sheep’s skin—stretched to its limits on a wooden frame, shaved thin with a knife, and dried into sheets. This paper is slightly thicker than ordinary paper, with a distinctive, rough texture.

Taking a deep breath, Charles produced a white quill pen, dipped it in ink, and began to sketch. The memories embedded in his body made it easy for him to master the peculiar technique required for this strange pen.

Then, something miraculous happened: his right hand moved steadily over the parchment, without a single tremor from start to finish. Each curve and line was impeccably precise, like a seasoned cartographer who had honed his craft for years.

“Incredible!” Charles was thrilled, but his composure faltered, and a mistake appeared beneath his pen.

He set the quill aside, blue eyes filled with awe. His hands had suddenly become astonishingly dexterous, nimble as a pianist’s.

He tried several more times, confirming that he had indeed grasped the basics of cartography. He could now perfectly draw some simple diagrams—totem sketches, as the other had described them—which amounted to manifesting the basic inheritance factor images.

These sketches were not mere anatomical drawings; rather, they were strange, cryptic forms that bore no resemblance to any living creature.

“However, entry-level skill only allows the depiction of basic inheritance factors. If I wish to tackle more intricate, even complete biological inheritance factors, I shall need at least mastery.”

He pondered for a moment, then opened the notebook he’d received, reading it carefully page by page.

“Totem drawing: manifesting inheritance factors through diagrams, enabling the infusion of source energy and runes. This forms the skeleton of a totem, the bedrock of all creation. There are four levels: novice, proficient, master, and grandmaster.”

The first page provided a simple introduction to the essence of totem drawing and its classification.

According to the notebook, proficient-level cartography was a skill every true Spiritmancer must master. It represents the transformation of their understanding of mysterious inheritance factors into personal knowledge, a process that generally takes months, or even longer.

Master level, however, was reserved for those Spiritmancers who specialized in cartography; others need not pursue it, and it was exceedingly difficult to attain.

The game he’d played before was just a casual pastime, with far less technical detail. Players only needed to nurture a totem, upgrade it with gems, and evolve it—no need to concern themselves with such complexities.

“Each person’s understanding of inheritance factors differs, so the patterns they draw are unique. This is the core of inheritance, the foundation of a Spiritmancer. To recognize the true nature of inheritance factors makes nurturing totems remarkably easy.”

Charles grew ever more curious about these so-called “inheritance factors.” Clearly, they were not DNA or anything of the sort from his past life, but something far more mysterious, reminiscent of magical elements in a fantasy world.

In his speculative interpretation, inheritance factors were akin to the bloodline of a divine beast flowing within a creature, and it was the Spiritmancer’s role to awaken it, guide it through evolution, ultimate evolution, and even super evolution, until it became a formidable divine beast.

He spent the entire night studying the notebook, reading it from cover to cover.

Unfortunately, it contained only information related to totem drawing, with nothing about how to nurture totems; evidently, the other intended to teach him further knowledge only after he had mastered cartography.

…

To the southwest of the manor lay the Faraday Mines, the family’s source of wealth and their most vital territory, where the bulk of the family’s guard was stationed.

This gold mine backed onto the Moonlight Forest, amidst hills that made it unsuitable for human habitation or agriculture.

In fact, the Maestrin family’s lands were already considered rich and fertile compared to their neighbors.

Located southwest of Goldflash Town was the Westspring Fortress—Field’s family domain—which marked the empire’s frontier, serving as Goldflash Town’s defensive bulwark.

South of it stretched the endless Duskwood and the Vogul Wasteland, where beasts burst forth daily, and every few years massive hordes attacked the fortress.

A family patrol returned from their rounds, having dispatched several careless wolves along the way. The flatbed wagon they pulled bore a few carcasses, the air thick with blood.

Despite daily patrols, the forest wolves and bears remained rampant, impossible to eradicate.

Just as they reached the manor gates, they spotted a familiar figure waiting there, who greeted them with a cheerful smile, asking, “Where’s Uncle Marcus?”

“Good day, young master.” The squad leader hurriedly dismounted, saluted, and respectfully replied, “Lord Marcus is at the mines—he’ll likely return by afternoon. Is there something you need?”

“Nothing urgent—I just want to learn some martial skills from him. They might be useful for the Imperial Royal Academy entrance exams,” Charles replied amiably, without any aristocratic airs.

The squad leader’s expression shifted to one of ingratiation. “Young master, shall I escort you there?”

This was the future master of the family; as a member himself, he was eager to curry favor.

“No need. I’ll wait until he returns,” Charles said, waving his hand and parting ways with the patrol under the squad leader’s disappointed gaze, making no effort to seek Marcus out himself.

With the Imperial Royal Academy’s entrance exam approaching, Baron Buyano forbade him from venturing out. Thankfully, the baron was seldom home; otherwise, Charles wouldn’t even have time to visit Bruce in town.

He returned to the study and casually flipped through several books.

The writing in this world was neither Latin nor ideographic, but resembled the script of certain minorities in the Flower Kingdom—Tibetan, in fact—though somewhat more complex, with additional grammar and script requirements.

“Good thing I’ve assimilated the other’s predictions, or learning this would’ve been troublesome,” Charles thought with relief, earnestly studying the thick tomes in his hands.

He now knew he was in the Harrison Empire, but as a casual game, no one bothered to study the world’s lore. His quests had always been handled by spending points and auto-grinding; he had no idea about any specific plot developments.

He remembered only the major factions: the world was divided into eastern and western continents, ruled by three great nations—Harrison, Lorensas, and Atlant.

As for the rest… Who remembers the names of minor characters in a MOBA or fantasy game’s backstory?

Unable to recall more, Charles opened the window and stuck his head outside to clear his mind.

A gentle breeze blew, carrying the scent of unknown flowers and revealing the endless expanse of the Moonlight Forest in the distance.

A winding path led through the woods, the only road to the Faraday Mines, and the sound of hoofbeats could be faintly heard.

Moments later, a troop of cavalry approached from afar.

Their leader rode a black stallion, clad in black armor, his physique intimidatingly robust, with brown hair tied into a ponytail. Upon seeing Charles, he smiled, pulled off a leather glove, and waved.

Charles quickly signaled him to wait, hurriedly leaving the study and jogging over.

“What is it, young master?” Marcus asked, smiling warmly at the approaching youth.

As the baron’s foremost warrior, Marcus had earned great merit for the family and held a high position, so he was not required to show deference to the heir.

However, he had never married or had children, and had come to regard Charles as his own son. Though stern with outsiders, he was gentle with the young man, indulging his whims.

“Uncle Marcus, I feel too weak lately. I wanted to ask you how I can quickly improve my speed, strength, and overall physical fitness,” Charles asked, a bit shyly.

“Haha, muscle is a man’s true romance! I’m glad you finally brought it up!” Marcus laughed heartily, leaping down from his black stallion, which the groom promptly led away.

He approached Charles, his towering presence like a wall, enveloping the youth in a weighty sense of awe.

“Come with me—I’ve been ready for this for a long time!”