109

After handing over the prey I had hunted, I began practicing magic once again.

Magical energy naturally regenerated over time, and although the rate could be improved slightly through training, the total amount of mana one possessed showed almost no change regardless of effort. Because of the principle that it always tried to return to its original state, training to increase it was mostly considered a waste of time.

I had been told that even if one made great efforts to raise their capacity from 100 to 101, neglecting practice for just three days would return it to its original level. Hearing that had completely killed my motivation.

There was even a record of someone who had trained for ten years only to lose all progress in three days, so nowadays no one bothered to train it anymore.

This was the same for every race, which was why humans, who had low mana capacity, regarded mages as “those blessed with talent.”

Because of all that, my options when it came to using magic were extremely limited. Either employ it for small, daily conveniences, or as a surprise attack to create an opening in combat—essentially two choices.

And so, I began my training in earnest to master that single strike.

(First, I need to give form to what’s in my head. Efficiency can come later.)

Because my goal was clear, I could actually enjoy the process of working toward it.

And with an excellent instructor, even someone without much talent could make progress. Naturally, I was advancing smoothly.

That evening, I decided to demonstrate the results of my day’s training.

“I suspected as much… you’re more dexterous than you look.”

Number Six remarked after watching my display.

What I had done was simple: I used magic to “breathe fire.”

It wasn’t anything like a dragon’s breath—just a short burst of flame, like blowing out a puff of fire.

Still, that single attempt consumed about half my total mana.

Efficiency was essential, and I clearly needed to move on to the next stage.

I could now also “ignite the tip of my tail,” meaning I could trigger magic from almost any point on my body.

The problem was that it still took far too long.

About twenty seconds of buildup to breathe fire, and ten seconds to use magic through the tail.

That was already much faster than before, but it was still unusable in actual combat.

At the very least, it needed to activate instantly.

I exhaled slowly, focusing on steadying my breathing and restoring my mana.

Mana recovered best when left untouched.

So, if I simply stayed still in a natural state of rest, my small reserves would fully recover in less than an hour.

Mana deficiency symptoms generally appeared once a person’s reserves dropped below a certain threshold, so I deliberately pushed myself that far to learn my limit—a useful experiment.

For reference, in my case, symptoms appeared once I fell below ten percent, whereas for elves, the benchmark was closer to five percent.

Apparently, humans were about the same, leading to speculation that “body size might be a factor.”

The day ended, and at last, it was time for the long-awaited dinner.

When the sumptuous meal was brought in, I couldn’t help but lean forward and let out a soft “ohh.”

It came at the perfect time—just when I needed a break.

Dish after dish was served, each one plentiful and visually promising in quality.

When I pointed at the food and asked,

“Is this really all right?”

Number Six replied apologetically,

“We forced you into an unwanted fight.”

It seemed this was payment for that. I might’ve had mixed feelings about it, but considering how much she had helped me with my magic practice, I couldn’t complain.

Well, I decided—I’d judge everything by the quality of this meal.

(This tongue of mine, trained on Imperial cuisine—can elven cooking truly impress it?)

I cut into a thick slice of venison steak, using cooking tools as improvised utensils, and brought a piece to my mouth.

My “knife” was actually a kitchen blade, and the “fork” a long, two-pronged skewer, the kind used for barbecues.

Each bite filled my mouth with savory flavor. The meat was cooked perfectly, and the sauce’s faint tang tied everything together beautifully—truly exquisite.

That subtle sourness came from using a lean cut of meat.

Any stronger, and the balance would’ve been lost, yet they had pushed it to the limit with remarkable precision.

I swallowed slowly and looked up at the starry sky.

Without saying “delicious,” I simply nodded in silent approval.

No words were necessary—my actions spoke for themselves.

Seeing me eat so neatly with utensils like a human, the elven woman who had served the meal let out a baffled “Eh…”

“Did you also learn that from Imperial books?”

To the exasperated Number Six, I showed a note that read, ‘I’ve been secretly practicing.’

I added another note, ‘I’m observing reactions for fun,’ giving what I thought was a very intellectual justification. Her expression said otherwise.

I overheard someone mutter, “Human wannabe,” but ignored it and continued enjoying my meal.

There was plenty of food.

How long had it been since I’d last eaten like a human, savoring every bite?

By human standards, this was easily a five-course meal’s worth—quite the expense, but I could pay for the rest with sentiment.

One by one, the elves drifted off, returning to their duties or meals, apparently uninterested in watching a monster eat.

Eventually, only one remained—the inevitable Number Six.

“How is the taste?”

I held up a note that said simply, ‘Delicious,’ and kept eating quietly.

“Why do you imitate humans?”

I tore off a piece of bread, chewed, and paused, pen and paper in hand.

‘Did I use the wrong etiquette?’ I wrote, partly to buy time while thinking of an answer.

“That’s not what I mean. You’re a monster. Why do you choose to eat like a human?”

Her tone was mildly annoyed, perhaps realizing I had dodged the question.

Thanks to that brief delay, I came up with a proper response and quickly scribbled it down.

‘According to books, “Culture is rooted in the land. When you visit a land, follow its customs.” It said that customs often have logical reasons—ignoring them can cause illness or worse. So, I follow them to stay safe.’

The small scrap of paper barely fit that much text.

As I showed it to her, I continued writing.

‘Of course, that was written for humans, but I can’t say it never applies to me. In short, I’m using human knowledge to ensure my safety.’

It was easy to forget, but Number Six belonged to the Natural Harmony Committee.

If I said something that aligned too closely—or too little—with her ideals, I risked being drawn into complications.

I had to remember my guiding principle: “Maintain a moderate distance.”

‘Besides,’ I wrote, ‘many find it amusing when I act like this. When I once grilled and ate meat in front of a mercenary group, their reactions were priceless. That’s what got me interested—it’s half a hobby now.’

Number Six gave me a look that clearly said, You’ve got to be kidding me.

“…Well, at least I understand.”

Understanding, perhaps—but not acceptance.

I resumed eating beside her, quietly croaking in satisfaction, “gua gua.”

Now that I thought about it, maybe I should’ve created a wider range of vocal patterns.

Watching Number Six’s retreating back, I lifted my bowl of soup to my mouth.

There was no ladle to use as a spoon, so I drank it straight.

Though her question had made me think a bit, for now, I chose to simply enjoy the meal.

Tomorrow would bring new things to enjoy.

“I doubt I’ll sleep tonight,” I thought, like an excited child unable to rest before a school trip.

Still, since I hadn’t slept the night before, I figured I should rest while I could.