Arcane Heir: History's Strongest Mage

"Oh, be careful not to eat too much of that, young Michael," a lazy voice drawled from across the table. Magnus, who had yet to put so much as a crumb on his plate, was leaning back in his chair, eyes fixed on Michael as if he'd been watching him for some time.

Michael swallowed the last bite in his mouth, a faint unease creeping into his voice. "Why?"

"It's magical beast meat," Magnus replied with a sly grin. "Specifically, Crimsonback Bull."

Magical beast meat? Michael's mind reeled.

Wasn't that supposed to be impossible to eat? Consuming the foreign mana within magical beast flesh could cause mana corruption…

He set his knife and fork down, color draining from his face. The memory of foreign mana tearing through his body—its invasive burn and suffocating pressure—was still painfully vivid.

"Don't listen to him, Michael," Melody's cool voice cut across the table. "Chef Heston is renowned across the nation for his ability to prepare magical beast meat properly."

She leveled a glare at the still-amused Magnus.

Magnus shrugged lazily and chuckled. "Hey, I never said it was inedible—just don't overdo it."

The banter hinted at a shared history between the two, but Michael barely noticed. His attention had shifted inward, tracing the quiet pulse of mana within his meridians. To his surprise, there was no violent clash, no corrosive bite—just a soothing wash of warmth.

Unlike the chaos of absorbing wild mana, or the agony of resisting the violet mage's foreign mana, this felt… nourishing. As though his meridians were a long-parched desert, finally kissed by rain.

It doesn't seem dangerous… As long as I don't eat too much, it might even help me.

Cautiously, he took another bite. The rich, savory flavor bloomed across his tongue, and again his mana stirred with delighted ease—no warning signs, no pain.

Perhaps sensing his careful approach, Rose spoke up from nearby. "Apparently there are records of ancient mages eating every kind of magical beast," she remarked matter-of-factly, "though until recently, the method of preparing them was lost."

That's the second time someone's said that. The first had been the headmaster during his grand speech.

"When you say lost, what exactly do you mean?" Michael asked, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.

Rose chuckled softly, setting down her cutlery. "Well, you haven't had your first history lesson yet, have you? I won't spoil the details, but magic society used to be far more advanced than it is today."

Around the table, a few students nodded knowingly. Others were too engrossed in their meals to notice—Rudy, for one, was attacking his plate of magical beast meat with reckless enthusiasm.

Michael leaned back slightly, curiosity stirring. His mind went to the contents of his storage ring—the pill bottles with strange inscriptions, the weathered magic scrolls—remnants of a language no one seemed to understand anymore.

Rose tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Most of it was lost during the Great War," she continued. "You've heard of the mana-scarred lands in the south, right?"

Heard of it? Michael thought dryly. I almost died there.

"Yes, I've heard of that place," Michael replied, masking his emotions beneath a neutral tone.

Beside him, Rudy froze mid-bite, his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as he turned to glance at Michael. For a moment, Michael feared he might blurt out what he'd told him back in the dorm, but thankfully, Rudy simply chewed and returned to his meal without a word.

"Well," Rose began, her voice almost casual, "the mana-scarred lands are one of three wastelands scattered across the continent—lands so corrupted by the Great War a thousand years ago that nothing can survive there. The damage is permanent. Any and all records from before that time were lost in the war… along with countless spells and knowledge of the Arcana."

"So that's what the headmaster meant when he spoke of regaining what was lost…" Michael said, his tone thoughtful.

"Essentially, yes," Blake interjected, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. "Before the Great War, Arcanist mages were common. Our ancestors possessed methods to strengthen their souls and delve deeper into the Arcana—methods that ignored the limitations of one's birthright rings."

Michael stiffened at the revelation.

Could it be connected to those pills in my storage ring?

Blake's tone took on a scholarly precision. "It may sound like a legend, but there are records—fragments—that suggest it's true. In fact, it's the very reason the Arcadius family founded Arcadia Academy: to rediscover and restore these lost arts."

Michael could only nod, his thoughts already spiraling. The battle in the mana-scarred lands, the dead violet mage, the strange ring he'd claimed from the corpse—it all felt like threads from the same tapestry.

Could I be holding the key to unlocking the potential of all mages? His gaze flicked, almost imperceptibly, to the storage ring on his right hand.

The weight of the possibility pressed on him, making it difficult to think clearly.

"Alright, that's enough," Magnus said lazily from his seat, his chin propped on one hand. "Let's not drown the first-years in ancient history on their very first day."

Rose and Blake exchanged a glance but didn't argue. It seemed even a few casual words from Magnus carried authority.

"They'll learn most of this in class anyway," Blake said with a light shrug.

"Thank you for the information," Michael managed, forcing his focus back to the table. But his appetite had dimmed, replaced by the gnawing awareness of the value—and danger—of what he carried.

If the pills truly were remnants of a forgotten age, his first instinct should be to hand them over to the academy for research. Yet he hesitated. Doing so might not only expose the ring but also secrets about himself he wasn't ready to share.

Until he could trust the academy's intentions, it would be safer to remain silent.

It's only the first day. I still have four years until I graduate. There's no need to rush. Perhaps I can even find a way to replicate the pills before then.

Of course, that would require identifying what the pills actually were—and discovering their effects. For that, he would need knowledge. The kind only Arcadia Academy could offer.

Michael stabbed his fork into a large piece of chicken and shoved it into his mouth with renewed determination.

He chewed twice, then grimaced. It's cold…