Baking is fun and enjoyable. I always found something special in making food for others, especially when it comes to the sweeter side of cooking. Even though you are feeding a lot of empty calories to people, it will be the highlight of their day. While talking to their family after a day of work, the father will talk about the incredible croissant he had for breakfast, not the plain sandwich he had for lunch.

And I always craved that recognition, the love of someone you can feed. It’s a natural instinct for me, a need to be worthy of something. And even though I don’t care about wider recognition, I care a lot about it in a smaller, one-on-one setting.

But now, something is different.

I look at the book where new ink appears to give me yet another life lesson, and I can’t help but think I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never felt this warmth in my chest for something other than love. Is this love?

Baking is as easy and rewarding as playing a video game, but there’s always something that makes it tiring. I can’t bake non-stop like this. My brain simply wouldn’t work, and it wouldn’t want to work.

Magic is different, somehow. It grips the chords of my soul in a way that I never expected possible. It consumes my attention like dating Penelope Cruz in her twenties would have.

Is this why I have not gained even a level in [Baker]? Is my heart simply refusing to acknowledge myself as a baker? Is it just a hobby? My brain feels like Jell-O, and this thought slides in against my will. Normally, I’d ignore it, but my weary state makes it so that I’m floating and bouncing ideas around, not under my own purview; it just happens.

Am I Joey the [Baker], or am I Joey the [Mage]?

Suddenly, another thought intrudes.

Should I have foreseen Lucinda’s intentions? Was it really about trust, or was it more about not wanting to see the truth?

As mentioned previously, trust and kindness are the two most important things in the world. But I wonder if I wasn’t just lying to myself.

Was there a part of me that wanted to test Lucinda?

My dreamy state volunteers a new question, a whisper of my subconscious.

Was I really intended to test her? Was that the reason I gave her my magic, to see if she would leave me afterward?

I purse my lips before ending up in a rueful smile. That smile becomes a sigh as my thoughts run rampant.

“I am not a [Baker],” I say aloud.

It was not the first time I thought it. It was a factual statement, a simple acknowledgment of reality. But alas, even reality can hurt. Or should I say that especially reality hurts?

“I’m a [Mage],” I say with a smile.

See, that’s the thing. There’s some relief when I say such things aloud.

“I’m a [Mage],” I repeat.

I mean, I’m also not a [Mage] since my class is a tad more complicated than that. But let’s talk about that later. A man is entitled to his little secrets.

I look at the book.

‘This lesson is true for every profession, dear student. It doesn’t matter if you are working as a [Bricklayer] or as an [Archmage]. Confidence is paramount for your magic. You will find that some challenges can only be overcome when you have overestimated your capabilities. Being prudent is good for the dangerous daily life of an [Archmage], but if you don’t know when to be adventurous and heroic, you will only be a glorified [Mage]. [Archmages] are meant to be the pinnacle of the world. They are what moves countries around. They can spell – mark the pun, student – the beginning or the end of a war’

The book makes new ink appear just below.

‘Be careful about moving around, student, but when you move, be relentless.”

For the first time since I started using the book, I feel a bout of pride take over my heart. I feel the same foolishness of a young knight ready to go to battle. I can’t help it. I feel like I’m getting closer to a level of existence that I have only read about in fiction.

I inhale the stale air in my room as if it came straight from the Garden of Eden.

“Book, show me the last Cantrip.”

The book turns a page, and something different appears this time—it’s not the usual jet-black ink. It’s deeper, and it’s emitting a profound aura, thick with Mana.

I blink.

Then, I blink again.

I blink another time, just to make sure.

This is not my room, is it?

I’m in a huge room lined with pearl-white walls. There is thick energy around me, and the environment feels richer than anything I’ve ever experienced. A huge chandelier hovers in the middle of the room, levitating halfway through the ceiling.

“The first person able to clear the hardest trial,” a voice comes from behind me.

Turning, I find myself staring at a middle-aged man wearing a simple white robe, in tone with the rest of the place. His eyes, though, have multi-colored irises that shine slightly.

“I would have expected a Vanedenis to be the first to complete this. But my book was indeed not that well-made. I tried my best, but it ended up being a fatal contraption. It’s actually surprising that you made it and are still alive. After that stupid Dragon had raided my treasury, I figured that my consciousness and my last gift to the world would rot in her cave.”

I realize my tiredness has gone away and that my mind has never been sharper.

“I think you have many questions for me. But let me anticipate some of them if you don’t mind. I’m Magister Mulligan, but my real name is Lord Juler. I’m from the Epodes family, and even if you were to know Vanedenis Lore, you wouldn’t know me. Just know that I’m Lord Juler, [Supreme Archmagus] of my era and probably many others. Only the very ancient records that go back to the fall of the Dragons document of a stronger spellcaster than me. I helped Skialaer and Filaer win their war, but magic was always my focus. I have brought the Hydras low, without them even realizing. That puny little snake with seven heads tried to oust me. He could have hoped to defeat me with nine heads, maybe. But don’t allow an old man to reminisce so much. You are currently seeing a projection of the consciousness I had infused in the Omnium Compendium. I’ve been watching you, Joey Luciani, and I’m surprised that—”

My brain finally catches up to where this conversation is most likely going.

“WHOA! I have to stop you right there! Vanedenis? You are one of Vilith’s people? Oh, hell no,” I say, putting my hands up. “I’m not fighting that war on your behalf! Hell no!”

I start backpedaling and looking for an exit from this hellish place. I’m 100% sure there isn’t one, but looking for it can’t hurt. I think.