The History of Crith – A Year of Learning

One year had passed.

Ryfel had long since outgrown his helpless newborn phase.

His tiny baby body had grown stronger. His movements were no longer clumsy, and his ability to understand the language had progressed rapidly—though speaking in full sentences still required some effort.

For an entire year, he had been fed knowledge by his family—his father’s passionate lectures, his mother’s patient guidance, and even Milal’s casual storytelling while she worked.

Through sheer determination, observation, and the genius mind from his past life, Ryfel had finally pieced together the history of this world.

And what a history it was.

Crith – A World of War and Magic

Sitting on Ryker’s lap, Ryfel watched intently as his father opened the large, ancient book once again.

This time, though—

He could understand.

Ryker:
"Alright, my boy, let’s see how much you remember!"

He ruffled Ryfel’s messy black hair with a tuft of gold, grinning as he pointed at a detailed map spanning across two pages.

Crith was divided into three dominant kingdoms:

Ryker:
"First, our home—Minas-Col!"

He tapped a detailed illustration of a fortified kingdom, surrounded by massive stone walls, with mist rolling over the landscape.

Ryfel blinked, staring at the map.

Ryfel:
"Mina…cool?"

His tiny voice struggled with the pronunciation, but Ryker beamed like he had just heard the greatest speech of his life.

Ryker:
"That’s right, my boy! Minas-Col! The kingdom of survivors!"

Ryfel frowned slightly, staring at the drawings of walls and fog.

Ryfel:
"Sur…vivors?"

Ryker’s expression softened.

He knelt slightly, adjusting Ryfel so he could look at him eye to eye.

Ryker:
"Son, do you know why our kingdom is hidden? Why we have walls so high, why the fog around us never lifts?"

Ryfel thought for a moment, before shaking his head.

Ryfel:
"Bad people?"

Ryker nodded firmly.

Ryker:
"Yes. Very bad people. People who have been trying to take away our freedom for centuries."

He pointed at the book again, his tone dropping lower.

Ryker:
"Minas-Col wasn’t built by chance. It was built by those who ran. Those who escaped. Those who refused to kneel."

His fingers trailed across an illustration of refugees, their clothes tattered, their bodies weak but their eyes burning with determination.

Ryker:
"The people who built this kingdom were once kings, nobles, warriors—all forced to flee when their homes fell. But they didn’t give up. They crossed the wilds, fought through the Outlands, and built something new."

Ryfel looked at the picture, then at his father’s serious expression.

He could feel it.

Even without knowing every word—this was important.

Ryfel’s tiny hand reached out, pointing at the tall walls in the drawing.

Ryfel:
"Safe?"

Ryker smiled, ruffling his hair.

Ryker:
"Yes, my boy. Safe. But only for now."

Ryker turned the page, revealing a chaotic, sprawling region, with dozens of different factions marked in various colors.

It looked messy. Unstable.

Ryfel tilted his head.

Ryfel:
"What… this?"

Ryker:
"That, my son, is Despera."

Ryfel blinked.

Ryfel:
"De…speh…wa?"

Milal, who was cleaning in the background, snorted.

Milal:
"Despera, Young Master."

Ryfel frowned. Why did every place sound so hard to say?

Ryker chuckled, tapping the book.

Ryker:
"Despera is a place unlike any other."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret.

Ryker:
"No kings. No rulers. No law."

Ryfel’s eyes widened slightly.

Ryfel:
"No… king?"

Ryker:
"None. There, the strong rule, and the weak suffer."

He traced his finger across different symbols on the map.

A mercenary guild.
A black-market trade hub.
A mage clan with no allegiance.

Ryker:
"It is a land of assassins, smugglers, and criminals—but also warriors, merchants, and explorers. If you have gold or power, you can buy anything in Despera."

Milal, who had been listening, sighed dramatically.

Milal:
"It is also a place where people disappear."

Ryfel’s tiny fingers clutched the book slightly.

Ryfel:
"Scary?"

Ryker chuckled.

Ryker:
"It depends. If you are strong, Despera is full of opportunity. But if you are weak?"

His smile faded slightly.

Ryker:
"Then you become someone else’s opportunity."

The page turned again, and this time—

The entire book seemed to darken.

The next illustration showed a massive tower, stretching high above all other kingdoms, looming like a shadow over the world.

Ryfel immediately felt uneasy.

Even in a drawing, the place looked oppressive.

Ryfel:
"…Bad?"

Ryker’s expression turned grim.

Ryker:
"Very bad."

He tapped the grand tower in the image.

Ryker:
"This is Runevia. The largest, most powerful kingdom in the world."

Ryfel stared at the illustration, processing the words.

Ryfel:
"Big… king?"

Ryker nodded.

Ryker:
"Yes. A king. And a kingdom where magic is everything."

He pointed at the figures in the artwork—mages dressed in lavish robes, standing over kneeling commoners.

Ryker:
"In Runevia, your magic decides your rank, your wealth, even your right to exist. If you are powerful, you rise to the top. If you are weak?"

His hand curled into a fist.

Ryker:
"You are treated like you are worthless."

Ryfel’s small hands clenched slightly.

Ryfel:
"…Strong win?"

Ryker nodded, smiling bitterly.

Ryker:
"Yes, my boy. The strong win. Always."

Milal crossed her arms, her voice dry.

Milal:
"If that were all, it wouldn’t be so bad. But Runevia does not simply seek power—they seek control."

She gestured toward the other conquered kingdoms in the artwork.

Milal:
"It is not enough for them to rule their own people. They believe they should rule everyone."

Ryfel exhaled, staring at the book.

He could feel it.

Even as a child.

Even without knowing everything.

Runevia wasn’t just a kingdom of power.

It was a kingdom of conquerors.

And they had their sights set on Minas-Col.

Ryker closed the book with a soft thud, looking at his son.

His usual boisterous energy was absent.

This time, he spoke gently.

Ryker:
"This is the world you have been born into, my son."

He ruffled Ryfel’s hair.

Ryker:
"And one day… you will have to find your place in it."

Ryfel’s small hands clenched into fists.

A thought settled into his young mind filled with the experience of Marcus.

"I will win in this new world as well."

Magic: The System

The morning sun shone through the Redimir estate, casting a golden glow on the polished wooden floors.

Ryker, grinning like a child about to reveal a grand secret, stood before his family.

Ryker:
"Alright, my boy! It’s time for your first magic lesson!"

He placed his hands on his hips, puffing out his broad chest, looking every bit like a proud noble lord.

Except—

A second later, he clapped his hands together.

Ryker:
"BUT FIRST! We must dress the part!"

Elda sighed, already predicting his antics.

Elda:
"Ry, we are still nobles—must you act as though we are simple farmers?"

Ryker (grinning):
"My dear wife! A true Lord of the Farmlands must be both noble and hardworking!"

Milal chuckled, already walking toward the wardrobe near the entrance.

Milal:
"Young Master, today you shall witness the great transformation of House Redimir—from Lords… to farmers."

Ryfel blinked, confused.

Then, before he could process it, his father whipped off his formal lord’s coat, tossing it dramatically onto a chair.

Ryker:
"BEHOLD! THE ATTIRE OF THE TRUE FARMER-KING!"

In a matter of seconds, Ryker had changed into his signature sleeveless tunic, his leather utility belt strapped tightly around his waist, and pouches filled with seeds.

His formal boots were swapped for sturdy knee-high farming boots, built for trudging through fields and controlling soil.

Ryfel (Thinking):
"This man… is a walking embodiment of freedom, he would have been great in America ahahaha."

Elda, meanwhile, elegantly slipped out of her formal noble attire, replacing it with her light beige embroidered blouse and woven earth-tone skirt, still carrying an air of graceful authority despite the shift in style.

Milal helped adjust her sleeves, tying them properly for practicality.

Her noble elegance remained, but now she looked like someone who could walk through fields without dirtying her dignity.

Milal:
"There we go, Countess. As elegant as always."

Elda (smirking):
"I suppose it would be improper for the lady of House Redimir to be seen struggling in the fields."

Milal, too, quickly shed her more formal maid uniform, switching to her practical short-sleeved tunic, apron, and flexible boots—her fingerless gloves already prepared for work.

And then, finally—

Ryfel looked down at himself.

Adoruned in just a small, soft tunic that barely covered his chubby baby legs.

His face scrunched in dissatisfaction.

Ryfel (Thinking):
"Unacceptable. I used to wear the finest suits as a Vice President!"

But before he could protest, Ryker hoisted him up onto his shoulders.

Ryker:
"And now that we are properly dressed, it is time—TO THE FIELDS!"

Milal pushed Elda’s wheelchair behind them as they stepped outside, the bright sun bathing them in golden light.

Ryfel’s baby eyes widened, taking in the vast, breathtaking farmlands before him.

And in that moment—

His clothing crisis was completely forgotten.

Magic: The System

Magic: The System – The First Lesson Begins

The warm morning air greeted them as the Redimir family stepped outside, the golden fields of the Farmland District stretching endlessly before them.

Ryker, still grinning like an excited fool, took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp, earthy scent of fresh soil.

Ryker:
"AHHHH! Smell that, my love? That’s the scent of prosperity!"

Elda shook her head, arms crossed, but the amused glint in her eyes betrayed her affection.

Elda:
"That’s the scent of manure, Ry."

Milal stifled a laugh while Ryfel, still balanced on his father’s shoulders, remained silent and observant.

His gaze flickered across the workers, his young mind already analyzing.

He saw a farmer motioning his hands, and instantly, a row of soil shifted, softening as if freshly tilled.

A woman raised a single finger, and a thin stream of water flowed gently through an irrigation path, never spilling beyond its intended course.

There were no wands, no incantations, no fancy theatrics.

Just will. Control. Command.

Ryfel (Thinking):
"They’re not casting spells. They’re directing the elements."

His tiny fingers curled slightly.

"This isn’t magic like in fantasy stories. This is… something else."

But before he could process further—

Ryker suddenly grabbed him and tossed him playfully into the air.

Ryfel’s entire soul left his body for a second.

Before he could internally curse his father, strong hands caught him midair, lowering him down gently.

Ryker:
"Now, my boy! It’s time you see magic up close!"

Elda:
"Ry, could you stop throwing our son like he’s a sack of grain?"

Ryker (grinning):
"NEVER! It builds character!"

Milal:
"It builds trauma."

As Ryker set Ryfel down onto the soil, the young boy turned his attention back to the farmers.

Their movements were too fluid, too natural for mere spells.

Every motion, every adjustment—they weren’t forcing magic to happen.

They were working with it.

Ryfel narrowed his eyes.

Ryfel (Thinking):
"The soil shifts, but it doesn’t break apart. The water flows, but it never spills uncontrollably. This isn’t brute force. It’s… cooperation."

A young farmhand walked past them, his hands coated in dirt. He knelt and pressed his bare palm against the soil, closing his eyes.

A few seconds later, the ground responded.

It moved.

Just slightly—almost imperceptibly. But to Ryfel, it was obvious.

Ryfel (Thinking):
"He’s not commanding the earth. He’s listening to it first."

His heartbeat quickened.

"So that means magic isn’t just energy—it’s an interaction."

Before he could think further, Ryker suddenly stomped the ground.

CRACK—BOOM.