The Taste of Chaos, the Threshold of Arcane Legacy

A few more days bled away.

True to my technical projections, a series of peaceful days ensued without a single hair of a tracker manifesting within the perimeter. Midway through this stretch, under the tactical guise of foraging for rare medicinal herbs, I ventured out to secure baseline provisions and scanned the terrain for any hunting activity. I discovered the trackers clustered tightly around the extreme outer boundary of the forest, systematically hunting venomous stags.

The creatures were an absolute hazard to human civilization and were fundamentally impossible to domesticate as exotic pets. However, within the consumer market of high-tier mages, they were highly coveted commodities that commanded astronomical prices. The venom glands intricately connected to their elongated fangs served as critical raw chemical reagents for rare elixirs and lethal toxins.

‘It isn’t a suspicious operational choice.’

It was highly probable that their deployment into the forest had been single-mindedly calculated to harvest venomous stags from the very beginning. Due to the volatile properties of that biological toxin, even apex predators within the forest typically refrained from consuming them—especially within a resource-abundant environment like the Monster Forest. In fact, because their reproduction rates occasionally spiked out of mathematical equilibrium, I had personally stepped in to cull their numbers on a few historical occasions.

As I suspected, leaving them entirely to their own devices posed no logical threat. I journeyed back from the nearest municipal village carrying a massive haul of food supplies on my shoulders, single-mindedly focused on packing the inventory into an arcanely engineered refrigeration unit… only to be caught red-handed by Lucalis.

“You explicitly stated you were heading out to forage for medicinal herbs. Is that supposed to be a medicinal herb?”

“…….”

“Is an educator permitted to continuously feed blatant fabrications to a minor? The deep, contemplative facade you put on the other day was nothing more than absolute tactical deception, wasn’t it?”

Stepping aggressively into my immediate coordinate, he violently inverted my secondary storage pouch. A miniature wooden carving of a two-headed stallion and a grotesque bronze water kettle—which systematically extended its metallic tongue and let out an eerie, mechanical chuckle whenever it was filled with liquid—clattered violently against the floorboards.

“To make matters worse, you didn’t even restrict your expenditures to sustenance. Was the vast collection of absolute monstrosities lining the walls of your private quarters not mathematically sufficient to satisfy you?”

“How dare you designate them as monstrosities! Every single one of those items is a highly cherished—”

Lucalis sharply narrowed his eyes, his glare cutting off my sentence. “A collection of crude wooden sculptures that practically scream at the viewer to never gaze upon the realm of fine art again if you claim to have carved them yourself? Or perhaps those hideous ceramic dolls where the underlying anatomy defies all logical comprehension? Fine, let us mathematically concede those parameters for a moment—but why on earth are you purchasing raw stone? Why are you converting financial capital to acquire random fragments of rock that are literally rolling around the landscape in every direction?!”

“That is fundamentally not a random fragment of rock; it belongs to a highly refined artistic discipline known as Suseok—scholars’ viewing stones—and it signifies—”

“Hey.”

…Yes?

“You explicitly claimed we were entirely out of funds.”

…Yes, those specific syllables did indeed pass my teeth.

“Did I formulate the rule stating we needed to severely restrict our baseline expenditures for the foreseeable future? No, those were the exact parameters you laid down to me.”

I am entirely in the wrong. I offer my deepest, most unconditional apologies. I possess zero logical leverage to argue my case even if I were granted ten mouths. Therefore, I desperately pray for you to cease this cross-examination… at this rate, I will literally suffer a biological expiration via verbal bludgeoning.

Huffing with ragged breaths of sheer irritation, Lucalis let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. Muttering a sharp “Whatever,” he scrambled directly back into his hammock, burying himself beneath the fabric.

I spent the entirety of the morning navigating the house with extreme caution, carefully monitoring his behavioral cues. The exact millisecond the lunch hour arrived, I immediately initiated the process of baking fresh cookies. The precise moment I retrieved the fermented dough from storage, Lucalis’s backside—which had been thoroughly wedged into the contours of the hammock—visibly twitched with intense interest.

The child possessed an immense, undeniable weakness for cookies. While the baseline flavor profile certainly played a critical role, he seemed uniquely fascinated by the reality that they were a food source constructed entirely from scratch by hand. Observing him during these microscopic windows, he perfectly mirrored the unadulterated innocence of an ordinary ten-year-old child.

“This is…”

While navigating the municipal market, I had taken the liberty of purchasing a brand-new set of cookie cutters. They weren’t the highly decorated, intricate variants utilized within high aristocratic estates, but rather the utilitarian tools engineered for common village bakeries; consequently, their physical silhouettes were rather rustic. Nevertheless, I had calculated that expanding the structural variety of his baking shapes would trigger a positive psychological response—and my projections mapped perfectly onto reality.

“Consider it a gift.”

The precise millisecond the words left my mouth, Lucalis’s fingers reflexively darted toward his bracelet. Toying with the metallic surface with an intense, subconscious focus, he muttered a microscopic, ant-like “Thank you.” Watching him express his authentic emotional state without a filter was genuinely endearing.

By the time the afternoon concluded, Lucalis had successfully stamped out a geometric matrix of roughly two hundred cookies. Despite merely operating as a baseline assistant throughout the culinary process, the sheer physical exertion had completely shattered my stamina bar, leaving me utterly collapsed across the sofa. Surveying my hollow frame, the boy leveled a grand declaration:

“I shall assume full operational command over tonight’s dinner.”

I raised my glazed, hollow eyes to meet his gaze. Standing before me was a textbook culinary novice, overflowing with raw, unbridled motivation and a terrifying amount of unearned self-confidence.

“I have proven my capacity to master standard household maintenance tasks through structured observation. Consequently, executing a baseline scrambled egg dish falls well within my current mechanical capability.”

“At what precise historical coordinate did you undergo formal culinary training?”

“Through continuous visual tracking the exact moment I crossed paths with you.”

“…….”

“Furthermore, I have successfully engineered cookies today.”

“…….”

I chose to place my absolute faith in Lucalis. In doing so, I succumbed to the textbook cognitive bias that every single parental figure in the history of civilization invariably falls prey to at least once: My child is an absolute, multi-disciplinary prodigy; therefore, he will execute any given task with flawless precision!

A few hours later, a blackened, thoroughly charred mass of an unidentifiable compound was ceremoniously deposited onto a ceramic plate before me.

“Is this… a physical coal deposit?”

“It is a scrambled egg dish.”

The instant the identification sequence cleared my brain, I swiftly snatched the plate out of his reach.

“Absolutely not. Refrain from ingesting this substance. I shall execute a clean remake immediately.”

Lucalis’s features instantaneously froze into a rigid grimace, but I remained entirely unyielding, swiftly sliding a freshly prepared dish of golden scrambled eggs and perfectly seared sausages directly in front of his coordinate. Then, I deliberately reached out and began consuming his culinary creation. Hmm. I have navigated this mortal plane for a continuous duration of two thousand years, yet this specific flavor profile marks an absolute historical first for my palate.

The profound dejection that had briefly anchored itself across Lucalis’s posture vanished, replaced by an explosive burst of frantic agitation.

“Why on earth are you actively ingesting that catastrophic failure?!”

“This marks the absolute historical first culinary dish you have engineered with your own hands; therefore, throwing it into a waste receptacle is a logical impossibility.”

I had already mapped out your exact behavioral response in my calculations, you little rascal. Without a single shred of hesitation, I threw the remaining mass of c—scrambled eggs directly past my teeth and swallowed it whole.

“More importantly, you haven’t let the parameters of our academic curriculum slip from your memory, correct? We initiate your formal studies tomorrow morning. You are strictly forbidden from utilizing a sudden gastrointestinal anomaly born from tonight’s dinner as a tactical excuse to avoid—urk.”

“Hey!”

The physiological blowback of consuming an absolute biohazard arrived with a slow, immensely heavy momentum. The surrounding visual field began to spin violently along a catastrophic axis, and the hardwood floorboards rapidly rushed up to meet my perspective. If my biological systems expire over a mistake this profoundly idiotic, I won’t even be able to formulate a logical defense during the afterlife.

‘Let us at least pivot the trajectory of my skull to avoid direct structural impact,’ I thought silently as I clamped my eyelids shut. Yet, the impact zone—which should have been incredibly rigid and excruciatingly painful—felt remarkably soft. No, from a purely tactile standpoint, it wasn’t the texture of the floorboards at all.

“Jay!”

My eyelids snapped open in profound surprise, a deeply gratified, serene smile rapidly blooming across my features.

An entire half-year had bled away since my initial encounter with Lucalis. Throughout that continuous duration, his chosen nomenclature to address my identity had been strictly limited to “Hey” or “Listen here.” To put it in precise mathematical terms: this terrifying, frantic burst of emotion marked the absolute historical first instance where my actual name had cleared Lucalis’s teeth across a uninterrupted span of seven months. It was a monumental landmark.

I was physically powerless to prevent a massive grin from spreading across my face. Catching sight of my expression, Lucalis’s features instantaneously shifted into a deeply judgmental, ice-cold grimace—resembling a thoroughly unimpressed llama. Evaluating his facial mechanics, it was clear he was immense relieved that my consciousness remained intact, yet the volatile state of my physical systems left him entirely paralyzed, thoroughly incapable of calculating his next logical course of action.

It was the definitive empirical proof that the half-year I had invested into his development had not been a mathematical waste. Unable to endure the continuous, unyielding grin plastered across my face any longer, Lucalis completely lost his temper and unleashed a furious roar:

“Cease that idiotic smirking and focus every ounce of your cognitive capacity on remaining conscious!”

I refuse to comply with that directive. Allow me to savor this historical victory for a brief moment. Ha-ha!

Though I had explicitly issued the baseline medical warning to Lucalis, the catastrophic biological failure manifested exclusively within my own systems.

It was an absolute mathematical certainty, given that I was the solitary organism who had actively ingested that unidentifiable black compound. My gastrointestinal tract was locked in a state of violent, nauseating distortion, and a heavy, throbbing migraine battered my skull. Though Lucalis adamantly commanded me to remain in a state of absolute, passive rest, I thoroughly refused to authorize that course of action.

Today marked the official initiation of his formal academic curriculum. I fiercely argued that if I was destined to suffer from intense biological distress, I would do so directly beside his learning desk. Letting out a heavy, defeated sigh, Lucalis marched across the house, retrieved a portable cot, and wedged it securely into the extreme corner of the study.

The room had originally been engineered to serve as a baseline storage repository, but under the absolute pressure of my unyielding demands, the compact space had been completely repurposed into a formal study. The sheer physical labor required to purge the entire inventory and execute a comprehensive deep clean had left my entire skeletal structure aching with intense fatigue, yet surveying the finalized environment filled my chest with a profound sense of accomplishment. Naturally, the overwhelming majority of the high-mass objects had been physically transported via Lucalis’s muscles, while my contributions were strictly limited to stumbling around his periphery while feebly operating a damp rag.

‘There was an immense concentration of structurally delicate artifacts within the room; consequently, utilizing raw kinetic magic to execute the relocation was a logical impossibility.’

“What is the operational purpose behind this metallic pillar?”

“Ah, that specific item. I had preserved it under the assumption that a logical utility might manifest down the line, but it appears I completely neglected to clear it from the perimeter.”

“Good gods. Is this… Black Iron?”

Within the current macroeconomic framework of this world, raw iron was an exceptionally scarce, highly valued commodity. Pristine, high-grade iron was a luxury exclusively restricted to world-renowned master forges or the heavily fortified private treasuries of top-tier aristocrats. And within that strict mineral hierarchy, Black Iron reigned as the absolute, peerless apex.

A specimen of pure Black Iron devoid of any chemical impurities possessed a scarcity value so immense that it could be utilized as an official form of emergency currency during macroeconomic crises.

Furthermore, while the current generation retained virtually zero historical knowledge regarding this parameter, the metal possessed a terrifyingly potent efficacy when deployed against magical beasts; the monsters themselves were driven by an innate, evolutionary instinct to fiercely avoid any weapon forged from its matrix.

‘Though the overwhelming majority of the global supply was thoroughly obliterated during the Great Invasion.’

An ancient, fragile sunfish simply happened to possess a modest residual reserve tucked away.

To take a material of that unimaginable scarcity and forge it into a solid, unadorned pillar? It was entirely logical for Lucalis to look upon the artifact with absolute bewilderment.

“Your assessment is correct.”

“Why on earth would anyone execute such a grotesque waste of resources… What was the original operational intent behind this pillar?”

“Spear technique cultivation.”

Lucalis froze in his tracks.

“Cultivated by whom?”

His irises flared with an absolute, unshakeable certainty that there was a zero percent mathematical probability that my fragile frame had ever initiated spear training. The sheer reality that a fortune in Black Iron had been converted into a mere training implement had been thoroughly relegated to the background of his thoughts. For some inexplicable reason, a spark of deep, coiled irritation began to ripple across his posture.

“The individual who occupied this residence beside me prior to your arrival. Though he has long since breached the perimeter to wander the outer world, it is highly probable that your trajectories will intersect down the line.”

My thoughts drifted back to my second formal disciple—the boy I had taken under my wing immediately following Vanessa. A uniquely compact, profoundly extraordinary entity who had completely shattered my solemn vow to never authorize another disciple for the remainder of my natural lifespan, forcing me to throw my doors wide open through the sheer weight of his existence.

‘Come to think of it, the timeline indicates that his global wanderings should be drawing to a natural close; it is almost time for him to show his face around here to deliver a formal greeting.’

I wondered what catastrophic chemical reaction would manifest the exact millisecond Luca and Kleck crossed paths.

…I should prioritize relocating any fragile, high-value glass artifacts to a secure facility well in advance. Especially the expensive ones.

“Regardless, to think I would survive long enough to hear my actual name clear your teeth. Luca, do you possess any desire to execute a secondary attempt at that scrambled egg dish?”

“…….”

“Could you please refrain from projecting absolute, unadulterated contempt through your facial mechanics? That specific expression inflicts a non-trivial amount of emotional damage, you know.”

Letting out a soft, dismissive scoff, Lucalis smoothly turned his attention downward and flipped open his textbook. It was the core educational manuscript I had selected after weeks of grueling deliberation—the intermediate volume of the internationally renowned Wyreta Curriculum. It was an educational framework possessing an immense amount of institutional authority, universally adopted as a mandatory core requirement within the Apex Academy’s Imperial Sovereignty program.

Prior to initiating our formal lecture, I launched a series of diagnostic queries to map out Lucalis’s baseline cognitive baseline—seeking to verify exactly what concepts he had mastered within the palace walls, and where his boundaries lay. Even though my data models had already projected an exceptional rate of comprehension and an elite tier of academic achievement, the real-world results left me utterly stunned. His operational progression velocity defied all logical limits.

Concurrently, Lucalis was experiencing an entirely different flavor of profound internal shock.

‘You possess an intimate understanding of Devinard’s Imperial Sovereignty?’

‘I explicitly stated I would educate you on the matter, did I not? It naturally follows that I understand the parameters.’

‘Are you claim you have also mastered High Priestess Misrenas’s Classical Rhetoric?’

‘Mastery is an understatement; my comprehension is thoroughly calibrated to an instructional tier…’

‘There is absolutely no mathematical way… You cannot possibly claim to possess the proprietary curriculum established by Grand Mage Wyreta for elite successor refinement?!’

But of course I possess it. That specific curriculum was the absolute first educational framework I had to master when I was raising Vanessa. It served as a terrifyingly dense, historical testament to exactly what madness manifests when an absolute apex powerhouse happens to be a hopelessly doting, overprotective guardian.

‘How is this logically possible? Academic consensus states that unless an individual is a verified mage—specifically, a Grand Mage operating within the exact same mathematical tier of power—comprehending and instructing that specific curriculum is a systemic impossibility.’

“…….”

Like I’ve been trying to tell you, I am a Grand Mage… you know what? Forget it. Let us abandon this line of dialogue.

Regardless, our formal academic journey officially initiated.

“Let us establish our primary long-term milestone: secure entry into Obsidian.”

In truth, his current cognitive baseline was more than sufficient to effortlessly shatter the academy’s formal entrance examination if he sat for it this exact second. However, given that the entire geopolitical apparatus of the Empire was currently hunting for his coordinate with bloodshot eyes, my strategy was to personally shelter, conceal, and educate him within this forest for the next few years.

‘Furthermore, institutional regulations dictate that the absolute minimum baseline age required for formal enrollment is thirteen.’

The timeline aligned with absolute mathematical perfection. As I nodded to myself in deep satisfaction, Lucalis’s features instantaneously locked into a expression of profound, rigid severity.

“What?”

I had formulated my strategy under the assumption that the prospect of eventually breaching the forest perimeter would trigger a massive cascade of joy within his psyche, making this aggressive pushback an entirely anomalous variable.

“Is it your explicit operational intent to forcefully enroll me into Pavila Obsidian?”

“Hmm? Ah. Yes, that is the core trajectory, correct?”

As my confusion mounted, a piece of intelligence I had harvested from Ramsphils’s background report suddenly flashed across my memory.

His biological mother, the First Imperial Princess, had been systematically broken and executed after suffering a catastrophic defeat within the war of succession, and Lucalis had been forcefully decoupled from the capital under the guise of an ‘overseas academic deployment.’ It was a political maneuver that was indistinguishable from absolute exile. Given the high probability that the transit route itself had been rigged with lethal hazards prior to his sudden disappearance, his violent psychological allergy to the mere concept of the Academy was entirely logical.

‘I truly am an absolute idiot, continuously blundering through these critical interpersonal dynamics like a fool.’

Flipped into an immediate state of anxious agitation, I scrambled to deploy a rapid series of defensive tactical explanations.

“Rest your heart in absolute safety. I possess zero logical intent to permit your enrollment under your true royal moniker. We shall execute an airtight, mathematically flawless identity falsification protocol, and I shall step forward to serve as your formal financial and legal guarantor… That being said, please do not misinterpret my intent; I have zero desire to utilize that leverage to control or manipulate your trajectory. I harbor an absolute, visceral disgust for aristocratic society, and I possess a zero percent interest in the acquisition of political authority!”

“…….”

The structural temperature of Lucalis’s expression remained entirely sub-zero. Recognizing that my standard arguments were failing to breach his defenses, I finally reached deep into my tactical reserves and deployed my absolute trump card.

“The exact millisecond you obtain your formal graduation certificate from the Academy, you are completely authorized to sever your ties with me and leave this forest forever.”