Rune counted the seconds silently in his mind.
One second. Two. Three…
Under his unblinking gaze, the thick iron plate reddened again at an astonishing rate. The side closest to the fireball turned translucent orange-red, then slowly began to soften.
Finally, after just over a minute, the first droplet of molten iron fell from the plate and hissed onto the ground.
Then, as though a dam had broken, the second drop followed. Then the third…
The entire piece gradually liquefied into a small pool of glowing iron.
Rune ceased channeling.
“A little over one minute to melt this iron plate into slag. Pure iron melts between 1150°C and 1200°C. To achieve full liquefaction in such a short time… the temperature must be at least 1800°C or higher!”
“Accounting for possible timing error, let’s round up conservatively to 2000°C.”
After a quick mental calculation, Rune stared at the ping-pong-ball-sized fireball still burning steadily in his palm.
He delivered the final verdict.
“In other words, this fireball’s core temperature is at least 2000°C.”
“That’s nearly six times hotter than the baseline ‘Fireball’!”
Rune exhaled slowly.
The effect of compressing fire-element had proven far more terrifying than he had anticipated.
What did 1800–2000°C actually mean?
At that temperature, if the flame made direct contact with a normal human body — even for just 0.1 seconds — it would instantly carbonize flesh, turning living tissue into dead char.
In simple terms: parts of the body would burn to carbon in the blink of an eye.
With sustained exposure, ten minutes would be enough to reduce a person to ash.
Which meant this “Fireball” spell now possessed genuine lethality — and not just marginal lethality.
“Then let’s see what it can do when thrown.”
Understanding the destructive potential, Rune felt no wild surge of emotion — only calm focus.
His gaze shifted to a lone tree at the edge of the clearing.
Rough bark, waist-thick trunk. Perfect target.
He adjusted mana flow to maintain perfect stability.
“So… show me your limit,” he murmured, eyes sharpening.
Mental force formed a guiding channel.
His right arm tensed, hips sank and twisted, transferring full-body torque into shoulder and arm — exactly like throwing a fastball.
With a sharp forward snap, the mental tether combined with physical momentum hurled the incandescent white orb outward.
Whoosh—!
The blazing white sphere streaked through the quiet forest air, emitting a thin, piercing whine as it tore a fleeting trail of light. It struck the tree trunk dead-center, fifteen meters away.
Rune’s eyes locked onto the impact point.
Honestly, he hadn’t held especially high expectations.
After all, even at 2000°C instantaneous contact temperature, the damage was still limited — not enough to turn heads, certainly not yet at the level of a true Tier 1 mage.
And even with higher heat, it remained fire at its core… fire required dwell time, combustion spread, to inflict serious sustained injury.
So, just like the awakening itself, he had tempered his hopes.
BANG—BOOM!!
But the next instant shattered every assumption.
No prolonged sizzle of burning bark.
The moment the fireball touched the rough surface, something critical destabilized — the ultra-compressed energy core lost containment in a heartbeat.
A short, sharp detonation replaced every other sound!
Brilliant white light erupted — not earth-shaking, but brutally violent.
A ring of scorching shockwave blasted outward, kicking up dead leaves in a swirling storm.
Tree bark fragments mixed with instantly carbonized wood splinters sprayed outward like black shotgun pellets, pattering against nearby bushes and dirt.
Rune’s pupils contracted sharply. His expression changed.
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“…Explosion?” The word slipped out almost unconsciously.
He stared in disbelief at the impact site, body trembling — not from fear, but from the electric thrill of discovering something paradigm-shifting.
He strode quickly to the tree.
There, at chest height, gaped a bowl-sized crater several centimeters deep. The edges were ragged and violently torn; the center was pure matte black char, still trailing acrid blue smoke that stung the nostrils.
Even without touching it, residual heat rolled off in waves.
“It… actually exploded…” Rune extended a finger, hovering above the scorched wound. Heat prickled his skin.
Pure, unexpected delight.
He had hoped only for more efficient burning — but an explosion, even a small-scale one, carried entirely different implications.
A normal fireball might ignite fur or clothing and require time to spread.
But explosion meant instantaneous, violent energy release — catastrophic shock and concentrated extreme heat in a single pulse!
Look at this charred crater: contact-point material had vaporized and ionized in microseconds, producing something akin to plasma jet or high-energy stream destruction.
This was a qualitative leap!
“Lethality… achieved!” His heart hammered against his ribs.
The power was still modest in scale, yet its nature had fundamentally changed — from an auxiliary, intimidation-only skill to a genuine instant-damage attack vector.
“This level of impact and heat is more than enough to punch through the hide and muscle of a low-tierSlywind Rabbit or Forest Rat! A vital hit would cripple even a Tier 1 beast. If one shot isn’t enough, follow with a second — or close in with a blade while it’s reeling…”
“This is no longer ‘Fireball’… this is a miniature ‘Compressed Flame Grenade.’ With this, I finally have real offensive capability.”
Once the realization clicked, the path ahead opened wide.
Only now, staring at the blackened scar, did he render final judgment on the experiment.
“Test successful! The gates to the world of magic… have been blasted open by my own hand!”
Rune’s demeanor remained calm and rational, though flashes of light danced in his eyes.
The gods had granted him hope, then slammed the door shut.
Now he had personally blown that door apart — with the most violent method imaginable.
That final detonation had been the overture to a new beginning.
A wider future lay visible before him.
“With combat power like this, I can apply to join the village hunting team — hunt magical beasts legally, steadily, and gain experience!” He stared at the charred trunk as though peering into tomorrow.
Joining the hunting team meant reliable, sanctioned access to magical beasts — a constant stream of experience.
No more sneaking around, waiting for others to leave crippled prey for the finishing blow. He could fight directly, harvest experience personally.
The system, dormant for eighteen years, could finally run at full throttle.
He was entering a phase of rapid growth.
“Unlimited-upgrading Fireball…” He lifted his slightly singed fingertip, eyes burning. “Level 2 already reaches this level. What about Level 3? Level 5? Level 10? Will it evolve into something like a high-explosive charge? Or even more extreme?”
If Level 2 had produced such a leap, what would higher levels bring? Larger blast radius? Greater penetration? Splash damage?
Rune didn’t know.
But…
“The road is still long…” He clenched his fist, voice low but ironclad. “…but the direction is now perfectly clear.”
He glanced one last time at the skill panel in the corner of his vision: [Lv2: 0/200] and its empty experience bar.
The fire in his eyes burned with unshakable confidence — the calm, incandescent flame of an explorer and pioneer.
“This new compressed variant shall be designated ‘Fireball: Condensed v1’ — the foundational model for all future compressed fireballs!”
Calm restored, he named the spell properly.
The earlier orange-red version — Fireball: Condensed v0.5 — had been merely transitional.
Fireball: Condensed v1 was the current pinnacle.
Rune wasted no more time.
“Let’s go. Mana is nearly depleted. Time to return and request to join Uncle Brog’s hunting team!”
“Even though I only have one skill…” He clenched his fist, feeling the last traces of mana circulate more vigorously — as though responding to his breakthrough. “…with the power of ‘Fireball: Condensed v1,’ I qualify to enter the hunt.”
“Once I’m in the team, I can hunt beasts in volume and rack up experience!”
“Unlimited upgrade my fire spell!”
“The stronger the skill, the stronger the prey I can challenge. Stronger prey means richer experience, pushing the skill to ever-higher tiers… a perfect positive feedback loop!”
He cast one final, deep look at the vicious charred wound on the trunk — as though imprinting the mark into his very soul.
The sun sank behind distant mountains, stretching his departing shadow long across the forest floor. He strode toward the village, steps firmer and more purposeful than when he had arrived.
“Hey, look who it is — our village’s world-famous ‘trash mage’! Where you headed? More practice with your pathetic little spark?”
As Rune re-entered the village and walked inward, several youths his age exchanged glances and sauntered over, same old mockery on their lips.
“Gonna burn a piece of paper today? Or maybe a blade of grass?”
Rune did not hurry past in silence as he once would have.
He stopped abruptly, turned, and fixed a calm gaze on the ringleader’s face.
“First…” His voice was clear and level. “While it’s true I can only cast [Fireball], the title of ‘trash’ is not yours to bestow.”
The other froze for a second.
“You don’t understand that a flame’s essence lies in temperature — nor that, at equal volume, energy density is what determines destructive power.” Rune continued, tone devoid of anger — only clinical dissection. “Of course, you probably don’t even know that fire is one of the foundational pillars of civilization. That’s beyond your current scope. No fault of yours — your worldview simply matches your present level.”
He paused, eyes sweeping over the other’s robust but untrained physique.
“You awakened as a knight — a profession with far broader prospects than most. And what are you doing with it? Idling about, wasting days with others just as aimless, drawing what little sense of superiority you can from putting people down. You could be tempering your body, awakening the power in your bloodline, truly cultivating what you’ve been given — but you don’t.”
A trace of undisguised disappointment entered Rune’s voice.
“You revel in the vanity of the ‘knight’ title, flaunting this so-called ‘glory’ without ever developing the strength to match it. You seek superiority by belittling me — trying to prove you’re better than an ‘incomplete’ mage.”
“But… true strength is never proven with words.”
He shook his head slightly.
“Honestly, your mockery only makes me feel… pity.”
“From now on, please refrain from bothering me. Yes, I lack your ‘good fortune’ — I’m merely a mage who can only cast Fireball. But trust me… you do not want to actually test me in combat.”
Rune’s gaze finally settled on the other’s empty hands and unscarred, untrained arms — the implication unmistakable.
“After all… you’ve never even maintained proper training, have you? That sword of yours is mostly ornamental.”
The words — sharp, merciless, utterly unlike his former restraint — struck like an invisible slap.
The ringleader flushed crimson as every sore point was laid bare.
Shame at being exposed quickly boiled into rage.
“You… what did you say?!” He stepped forward aggressively, chest heaving. “You think I’m scared of you? That I won’t fight? Come on! I’m right here! What can your pathetic Fireball do to me? You’re just jealous! Jealous that I awakened a full knight profession with three combat skills! While you — another transcendent — got stuck with garbage that isn’t even a real spell! You pity me? I pity you! Hit me right here!”
He pounded his chest, roaring, “Show me what that firewood-sparking joke of yours can do! A toy for lighting campfires thinks it can compare to me?!”
