Chapter 11: The Essence of Fireball (2)

“I’ll buy it.”

“Yes. I want to learn the magic from your scroll, Professor.”

Though he agreed, the seller seemed bewildered. The reason quickly became apparent.

When listing the Fireball scroll for sale, GeniusArkMage1004 had added this note:

“Ah, I see.”

So there was a backstory to this.

Whether he was a genius Archmage of the 10th circle or not, he seemed to have been someone with high self-esteem to begin with. That self-esteem had taken a severe beating over the course of our transactions.

“So, this will be our last trade?”

“Then, could you offer just a small discount…?”

Fair enough. We were already buying a Fireball skill book, originally worth around 800 million, for just 100 million. Asking for a further discount would be utterly shameless.

Soon after, the transaction was completed.

Below the Status Window, a futuristic rift in the shape of a gear appeared, and a long, rolled-up parchment sprang forth.

Immediately after the transaction was completed, the seller, whose authenticity as an Archmage remained uncertain, left the chat with those final words.

Moments later, a notification popped up:

To write my own review, I opened the other party’s profile, but…

Where their username had been, only the phrase “Deleted User” remained.

”…”

A faint bitterness settled in my heart.

It felt like I had just witnessed a genius, misunderstood by all and exiled from the world.

Archmage, this scroll was crafted by your genius.

I will master it completely.

With a solemn expression, I gazed intently at the tightly rolled scroll.

This item’s usage method should be similar to a skill book.

If I visually scan all the foreign script and symbols—similar to runes in a book—

The scroll will ignite, automatically imprinting the skill.

Thwap!

I unfolded the scroll with ambitious resolve.

Then…

”?”

[( ꒪д꒪ )?]

What was drawn inside the scroll was…

“A stick figure?”

The childishly scrawled stick figure seemed to be gathering a round ball of energy in its hands before unleashing it forward.

Nothing else was visible.

No plausible runes.

No elegant symbols representing the elements.

Only a series of stick-figure animations showing the stick figure gathering energy and launching a circular energy wave.

“No way,” I muttered, staring at the stick figure drawing. This was supposed to be the essence of Fireball.

“It better be,” I growled, glaring at the stick figure. I warned it as if it could hear me.

I’d bought this scroll despite the negative reviews because I’d trusted Management Mi’s promise: “We never sell defective merchandise.”

Now, I had a way to confirm if this was a proper scroll.

Activating Item Analyzer.

I unfolded the stick figure scroll and held it against the Status Window, which had switched to scan mode.

Ugh! Did you see that?! Management Mi was right all along!

Management Mi, who had been holding her breath waiting for the analysis results, burst into an ecstatic chat. I, too, let out a sigh of relief.

Thank goodness—he’s not just a senile old man, but a real Archmage.

But a problem remained.

“So… how do I use this thing?”

If it functioned like a regular skill book,

I should have acquired Fireball the moment I finished reviewing all the stick figure diagrams.

Yet my list of available skills remained unchanged.

The scroll hadn’t vanished in flames either.

Then, suddenly, at the very bottom of the Item Analyzer’s results screen, a tiny sentence caught my eye:

Ellikroid’s scroll has a different usage method than conventional skill books.

Repeating the poses drawn by Ellikroid on the scroll ten thousand times without rest will grant you the skill.

“What?!”

I stared incredulously at the scroll’s instructions.

So, these stick-figure poses…

This series of movements, like something straight out of a comic book—gathering energy and unleashing it forward—I had to repeat it ten thousand times?

Seriously, who was this Ellikroid or Akikroid geezer?

“This is completely perverted, isn’t it?”

Hoping for clarification, I glanced at Management Mi, but the response was as frustrating as ever:

The reply came with an infuriatingly smug emoticon.

I stared at the stick figures on the scroll, finally nodding in defeated resignation.

It was surprisingly detailed for such a scribbled drawing.

The movement of gathering energy with both hands, synchronizing with a step forward, was meticulously broken down into ten separate frames.

“Alright, if I can master the essence of Fireball, I should give it a try.”

I began adopting the stance based on the stick figure drawing on the scroll.

Standing slightly angled, feet shoulder-width apart, like a baseball pitcher winding up.

I gathered my hands and drew them back to just below my sternum.

Then, I thrust both arms straight forward, as if firing an energy beam.

“Fire-ball!”

I made sure to shout the skill name exactly as written on the scroll.

That’s how I first practiced the motion in the cramped space between my desk and bed in my tiny one-room apartment.

“Management Mi.”

Overwhelmed by intense disillusionment, I asked her, “How did I look just now?”

“Yes.”

Right, I probably shouldn’t have asked.

So that means I have to hold this pose nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine more times without resting.

As I stared at the scroll and repeated that thought to myself:

The updated Status Window answered helpfully.

Only one repetition remained until I mastered the skill.

“Huff… huff.”

My eyes, unfocused and dilated, stared at the words floating before me.

Three days had passed since I bought the scroll and began training to learn Fireball.

I had finally reached this point.

My mind was completely muddled.

Muscles screaming with agony after repeating the same motion ceaselessly for three days.

My sweat-soaked t-shirt clung to me, and the floor beneath was equally drenched in droplets.

That old man, Ellikroid or whatever his name was, had allowed brief water breaks.

But no time for showering.

Coming back after washing my face, only to find my progress reset—that nearly broke me.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

Executing the movement itself took only ten seconds.

If even a single movement out of the ten consecutive motions was performed sloppily or with incorrect posture, the count wouldn’t register.

This meant I had to repeat this grueling process for three sleepless days.

But finally…

This training, which was nothing short of absolute hell, had reached its end.

“Hoo…”

I took a deep breath, swallowing the bitter liquid that rose in my throat.

Gathering my trembling arms, I drew them back to my dantian.

“Fireball!”

With the chant of the spell, I thrust my arms forward with all my might.

Immediately afterward…

You have fulfilled the usage condition of the Ellkroyd Scroll: “If you can’t understand it with your mind, master it with your body.”

The notification I had so desperately yearned for appeared, and the scroll lying on the desk vanished in a burst of flames, turning to ashes.

Then, the notification panel shifted.

You have acquired a new skill!

Management Mi shoved a chat window overflowing with joy at me, but I didn’t respond.

No, that’s not quite right. I couldn’t respond.

The moment I confirmed the notification, my legs buckled, and I collapsed onto the bed.

Even as I surrendered to the overwhelming drowsiness, I couldn’t help but feel ridiculous.

“When the mind can’t comprehend, the body must learn,” they said.

Now, for the first time, I understood this perverse method of skill acquisition.

Just before drifting off to sleep, a status window flashed across my mind:

Ah.

So, he wasn’t an Archmage after all. Just a senile old man.

After sleeping soundly for about 12 hours, I checked my Status Window the moment I got out of bed.

The results of my three days of training had been added to the bottom of my Status Window.

But I was quite surprised.

Not only was the skill name something other than the plain “Fireball,”

“It’s S-rank?”

The rank had also been measured as S, not C.

Currently, the only known S-rank flame attack skills were cataclysmic spells like “Meteor” or “Fire Rain,” capable of obliterating even disaster-level monsters.

It was unlikely that a Fireball—a basic flame-type skill—would be classified as an S-rank.

I immediately checked the skill details:

“The description is so vague.”

Management Mi, who had been sneaking around, peeked into the chat window:

“That’s true.”

But it was unlikely that such a high skill rank would be assigned for mere healing reduction.

Then the enhanced power compared to a regular Fireball must be the reason.

“And why is the Mana cost marked with a question mark?”

Basic magic skills like Fireball or Ice Bolt usually cost 1 Mana per cast. But this skill showed no Mana cost at all.

“You want me to shoot Fireball in my room?”

Still, Management Mi’s point was valid. All this armchair theorizing was pointless; I’d have to see how impressive the skill actually was firsthand.

Of course, jumping straight into real combat was too extreme.

The best option was to use the guild’s Hunter Training Ground for now.

As I nodded, I suddenly remembered something I’d forgotten and clicked my tongue.

“Right.”

I was finally free.

The only useful facilities at Bicheon Guild had been the physical training room and the training grounds, which was a shame to lose.

I wondered if I’d have to use a Freelance Hunter Training Center now. But those centers were prohibitively expensive and required reservations days in advance.

“Hmm.”

There was one other option. It would have been impossible while affiliated with Bicheon Guild, but now that I was an unaffiliated freelancer, it might just work.

I picked up my smartphone from the bed and began typing a message.