Chapter 71: Awakening Conditions

Ion’s group enjoyed a feast prepared by the elves before leaving the village. They had planned to depart right after burning the letter, but the elves insisted on keeping their benefactors a bit longer.

Borrowing three horses, they galloped north to meet Sarah Harundas, then Iliand’s commander, Killia, who would introduce them to the dragon that foresaw the Demonkin’s emergence.

If the dragon is the Breeder, I’ll need to lure and kill it discreetly. Dragons value their kin.

Ion didn’t want to make enemies of other dragons.

The journey went smoothly. When monsters appeared, Zieg and Semir handled them without Ion lifting a finger. Unlike in the elf village, where they bombarded him with questions, they stayed quiet—perhaps sensing Ion might ditch them if they overstepped again.

“Master Ion, let’s camp here. The sun’s down, and the horses are exhausted,” Zieg said.

“…Alright.”

Five more hours would reach the Black Marsh, but Ion agreed not to push the horses.

Zieg lit a campfire and prepared dinner: vegetable soup, roasted potatoes, and salted chicken skewers. He offered some to Ion, but Ion declined, planning to eat the rye bread the elves gave him during his watch after the others slept. Zieg didn’t press further, used to Ion’s refusals.

“Soon we’ll meet the famed Lord Sarah. Semir, you’re close with her, right?” Zieg asked.

“Yes, friends since childhood,” Semir replied.

“What’s she like? Heard she’s bold.”

Ion could’ve used flight magic to reach Sarah faster, but waiting for her to exit the field was necessary. Plus, eavesdropping on their conversation could yield useful information.

“She’s always preferred swords over books. No talent for magic, but a peerless genius with a blade. Sir Zieg, don’t act cocky around her.”

“I’m an archer, but I’m decent with a sword. I’d love to spar.”

“That’s exactly the cockiness I mean. Reach Aura Master before challenging her.”

“Soon enough. Just watch.”

Flutter. Baba, dozing on the pot, flew over.

“Zieg, forgot me? I’m hungry too.”

“Oh, right. Here.” Zieg pulled a banana from his subspace.

“Yum. So good.” Baba deftly peeled and munched it.

Zieg and Semir exchanged glances, a silent agreement. Semir spoke.

“Why don’t you use your subspace, Master Ion?”

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve never seen you use aura. Even against Giants, you used only mana, never opening or closing a subspace.”

Ion realized they’d deduced he wasn’t awakened. As he pondered a deflection, Zieg sighed.

“We won’t judge if you’re not an aura user. My parents aren’t awakened, nor is my best friend. I don’t resent or blame them. Not everyone meets the awakening conditions based on their circumstances.”

“Exactly. Judging them is wrong,” Semir added.

Ion noticed something odd. They spoke as if they knew the awakening conditions—and implied some blamed non-awakened for not meeting them.

“Do you two know what the awakening conditions are?” Ion asked.

“Huh? Of course. Who doesn’t?” Zieg said.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Hah,” Zieg chuckled dryly. “You know things we don’t but miss what everyone knows.”

They really knew? Ion’s eyes widened. Semir began.

“The awakening condition is…”

“No, no, me!” Zieg raised his hand, speaking gravely, like a patriarch revealing a family secret. “Aura awakening is a divine gift given only to those who strive to prevent the world’s destruction.”

Crackle. Munch.

Over the campfire’s crackle and Baba’s banana chewing, Zieg explained.

“Even you must know Idea was heading toward ruin before the Cataclysm.”

“…”

“You didn’t know that?”

Reading Ion’s expression, Zieg continued.

“For thousands of years, Idea used abundant atmospheric mana. Humans, elves, dragons—all grew accustomed to magic’s convenience, arrogant in their mastery.”

“…”

“People developed magical devices, eventually creating mana generators.”

These machines produced mana indefinitely in a given space, unlike the natural mana used before.

“Within three years, side effects emerged. Mana oversaturation caused spirits to go berserk.”

Spirits—cute, playful, childlike beings now sleeping in the orphanage. Ion realized something.

I haven’t seen a single spirit since arriving.

Teacher brought spirits from Idea. They weren’t common but lived in deep valleys or lake bottoms, dozens frolicking together. Yet, despite traveling forests and staying in the mana-rich elf village, Ion hadn’t seen one.

“How’s mana oversaturation linked to spirit rampages?” Ion asked.

“Dunno, but they’re connected,” Zieg said. “Anyway, voices warned against using magical devices—”

“I’ll explain,” Semir interjected. “Spirits, feeding on mana, don’t feel ‘full.’ They stop absorbing only when a space’s mana is depleted, digest it, then start again.”

With oversaturation, mana never ran out. Spirits absorbed endlessly, eventually going mad, attacking people, animals, and plants like field monsters. These crazed spirits were called “frenzied spirits.”

The letter was left fifteen years ago by the one who saved our village during the Spirit Frenzy, the elder had said.

This was that frenzy.

“No record of spirit rampages existed in Idea’s history—mana was never this abundant. Some scholars warned about oversaturation’s effects, but few listened,” Semir said.

Ion felt uneasy. This mirrored Earth’s climate crisis—warnings ignored.

“The problem was, even during spirit rampages, people didn’t stop mana generators. They were too reliant on magical devices for convenience.”

Many depended on magic for livelihoods—flight devices for travel, temperature regulators for comfort, enchanted trinkets…

“They thought, ‘Spirits only live in remote areas, and suppression teams handle frenzied ones, so no problem.’”

Ideans made two mistakes:

1. Spirits wouldn’t go extinct, right?
2. Even if they did, would it matter?

These proved disastrous. Spirits regulated atmospheric mana. As their numbers dwindled, humans and elves contracted Mana Sickness, rotting organs. It spared no one—newborns, deep-sea animals, desert plants.

“Some tried to reduce mana generation—avoiding devices, volunteering for spirit preservation. But others kept consuming, believing dragons or gods would fix it.”

Idea crept toward ruin until the Cataclysm. The common trait of aura awakeners was soon discovered: those who worked to reduce mana generation, even in small ways—like riding horses instead of magic vehicles—awakened.

“Post-Cataclysm, mana oversaturation worries faded. Field byproducts auto-regulate mana. Some called the ‘system’ a divine blessing, though that talk’s died down with the Giant war,” Zieg said, peeling another banana for Baba.

He looked at Ion, explanation done. Ion, lost in thought, spoke.

“I thought, except for the mass awakening on Cataclysm day, individual awakenings happen in life-threatening situations.”

“There’s a prerequisite: you must have tried to counter mana oversaturation, even slightly. Those who ignored warnings and consumed mana freely don’t awaken, even at death’s door—they just die,” Zieg said, sighing about his non-awakened parents.

Semir added, “Now answer us. Are you awakened, Master Ion?”

“…”

Ion didn’t respond, lost in confusion.

The system identified those who tried to save their world from ruin. Teacher knew this, making orphans plant trees, limit meat and seafood, and ban disposables. Her methods worked—all the orphans awakened on Cataclysm day.

Except me.

Why didn’t I awaken? Ion, who loved plants, planted more trees than anyone and ate vegetarian. He met the conditions perfectly.

Yet he didn’t awaken.

Why?