"Teach me."
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"You sure, kid? Training isn't just waving your hand around and writing 'Fire.'"
I nodded firmly without hesitation.
He sighed, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Well. Looks like you've made up your mind…"
He lifted his cane
"Follow me."
-----
We walked all the way to the back of an alley where nobody ever came.
The old man leaned his cane against the wall and crossed his arms.
"All right. Show me what you can do. Go on, all three of your words."
I took a deep breath.
My invisible brush materialized between my fingers.
F I R E.
Red runes appeared. A small, wavering flame burst forth…
The old man grimaced.
"Looks like a lighter."
I blushed.
"B L O C K."
Pale blue runes floated in front of me. A translucent barrier appeared…
and cracked at the slightest breeze.
The old man sighed.
"Looks like powdered sugar."
I clenched my teeth.
"P U S H."
A puff of air sent some old papers skittering into the wall.
The old man burst out laughing.
"HAH! You call that a spell? Even my morning fart has more power!"
I turned my eyes away, humiliated.
"…That's all I know how to do. I'm worthless."
The old man whacked me on the head with his cane.
"Hey, idiot. Who told you that knowing how to write the word was enough?"
I stared at him, surprised.
"…Huh?"
He raised a finger.
"You've got three words. So what? Three words are enough to survive… and even defeat opponents stronger than you… if you know how to use them."
He stepped closer, his gaze suddenly serious.
"You see the Scriptorial like it's some rigid thing: you write 'FIRE,' you get a flame. You write 'BLOCK,' you get a shield."
He shook his head.
"Wrong. The power of a word depends on your understanding, your mastery, and your spiritual reserves."
> "…I don't understand."
"I'll show you."
He closed his eyes.
His invisible brush shimmered between his fingers. Slowly, he wrote:
** P U S H **
But instead of a tiny gust of wind, a massive shockwave exploded around him.
The cobblestones cracked. The walls of the alley vibrated. A trash can flew ten meters away.
"W… WOAH!! 🤩🤩"
The old man lowered his brush.
"Same word.
Same number of letters."
He tapped me on the chest.
"But not the same power. Because I put my will, my control, and my energy into it."
My eyes widened.
"…So that's why my spells are so weak?"
"Exactly, kid. You write the words… but you don't understand their essence."
He picked up his cane again.
"From today on, I'm going to teach you to understand what you write."
I stared at him.
"…Do you really think I can do it?"
He burst out laughing.
"Hah! You've already got more guts than half the Scriptors I've ever known."
Then his gaze turned suddenly wistful.
"You remind me of someone… at your age."
He sighed. "He only had three words, too. But he mastered them better than any Rank A Scriptor."
He lifted his cane.
"All right, kid. We start tomorrow at dawn. And don't forget—bring me food."
Despite myself, I couldn't help but smile.
"…All right."