In the living room, Miya was sitting on a small stool, hunched over the desk, which was covered with sheets of paper. She had even used up an entire bottle of ink.
Nasha couldn’t understand why she was working so hard. It was just handwriting practice—at the very least, she should take a break.
“Miya, why don’t you stop for now and practice a bit later?”
But the overly perfectionist, golden-haired little girl stubbornly shook her head, then devoted herself once again entirely to her practice.
Though Nasha worried that this sort of relentless training might have some kind of side effect, she had no idea how to stop her.
Fortunately, the faint sound of horse hooves brought a sliver of hope—it was the signal that Roland had returned.
If it was Miss Roland, she’d surely know what to do to stop Miya.
With this thought in mind, Nasha hurried to the door to welcome her.
Butler Sebas and Head Maid Cheryl were already there, waiting to greet the dust-covered Roland.
As the grand doors swung open, the two of them spoke in unison, “Welcome back, Miss Roland.”
Roland, who had just walked in, was taken aback by the grand reception.
“Is this really necessary?”
“It is the proper etiquette of competent servants,” the Butler explained.
As long as they didn’t set up a hundred-man honor guard every time she came back, Roland didn’t really mind the two’s behavior.
“Where’s Miya?”
Seeing that the first person Roland cared about upon returning was Miya, Nasha was briefly elated, and quickly stepped forward to report what had happened that morning: “Um, Miss Miya has been acting a little strange… She’s been practicing her handwriting since this morning, and hasn’t stopped to rest even once.”
Roland frowned, “Take me to her, quickly.”
Following the maid into the living room, she saw Miya sitting with her back to the group, frozen in her posture, her right hand moving the pen nonstop, occasionally reaching out to dip it in ink before continuing to write.
Roland could see at once that something wasn’t right, so she called out, “Miya!”
Hearing the familiar voice, the girl finally paused. After confirming that it was her mother who had called her, she grabbed the paper from the table and ran over to Roland, excitedly seeking praise like a child who had finished her homework.
Roland took the papers and found that not only could Miya now write beautifully and neatly, but there were even quite a few characters she hadn’t taught her, and the layout was pleasing to the eye as well.
If it hadn’t happened right in front of her, she would’ve really suspected that Miya had been possessed by some transmigrator carrying a genius system. Otherwise, how could anyone explain such outrageous learning ability?
But compared to Miya’s exceptional talent, what Roland cared about more was whether things were as Nasha had described.
“You practiced all morning without taking a break—is that true?”
But Miya just looked at her in confusion, as if thinking she hadn’t done well enough.
“I want you to practice handwriting, but not to the point of disregarding your health. The reason to practice is for your own sake. It’s perfectly fine to rest as long as you can express yourself.”
Miya lowered her head, looking quite dejected that her efforts weren’t being acknowledged.
Roland didn’t want to simply scold her, so she said, “Since you’ve practiced for so long, can you write your thoughts on paper and show me?”
Miya nodded ever so slightly, picked up her pen, and slowly wrote something on the paper, then held it up. There were only three characters: “I’m sorry.”
She hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet Miya was still blaming herself for the problem.
Even Roland’s heart of stone softened for a moment. She knelt down, her tone becoming gentle, “Why do you need to apologize?”
“Because…” Miya continued writing, “I did something that made Mom upset.”
Roland stroked her cheek. “How could that be? I don’t dislike how hard you try. I just hope you’ll think a little more about yourself when you work hard.”
“But I want to do better.”
Looking at the anxious scrawl on the paper, how could Roland not feel Miya’s determination? But such effort shouldn’t be just to earn praise; that wasn’t healthy.
“Perfection is important, but perfection is like a circle with no end. If you can, I hope you’ll learn to pause somewhere along the way. Think of it as my second request for you, besides practicing your handwriting. Okay?”
Miya didn’t understand what her mother meant, but she was a good child—she listened to what adults said.
“Well, since there’s nothing urgent now, why don’t we play a game? Let’s call it the Circle-Cross Game.”
Roland did, in fact, have important things to do, but compared to Miya, nothing else really mattered.
As they played, Roland got an even deeper sense of just how terrifying Miya’s talent was.
The Circle-Cross Game was extremely simple; most people could pick it up right after hearing the rules. But Miya not only picked it up instantly, she played incredibly well, giving her next move without much thought.
At first, Roland had intended to let Miya go first, but the pressure kept building, and she was forced to increase the grid from three-by-three to four-by-four, making it even more complex, just to maintain her dignity as a mother.
By the time she finally managed to drag things out until lunchtime, Roland was drenched in sweat, feeling as though she’d sweated more during this game than in all the physical exams in her previous life combined.
She kept her composure and said, “Let’s stop for today, Miya. Time for lunch.”
Miya didn’t suspect anything, taking Roland’s hand as they went to the dining room.
As expected, lunch had fewer dishes than usual, but Roland was already prepared for this. She’d seen the accounts—the income had indeed dropped considerably, and the biggest shortfall was from the Magical Ore Mine.
She planned to deal with the mine after she’d finished studying the Magic Book she’d bought from Jasper. Otherwise, if she always relied on Greym to hold down the fort whenever she went out, wouldn’t that make her seem like a useless master?
As for letting Miya study Magic, she also planned to wait a few days before asking Isiah for help. With Miya’s Light Attribute Magic Affinity at one hundred percent, she’d definitely be able to learn Light Attribute Magic efficiently.
After the meal, Miya still wanted to play games, but Roland was already a bit afraid. She found an excuse to brush her off, conveniently leaving the mess for Nasha to handle.
A good maid like Nasha would surely understand her mistress’s good intentions.
Hiding away in her bedroom, Roland finally had some time to herself. She took out the Magic Book and began reading, trying to understand and learn the Magic described within.
According to the book’s preface, setting aside the types of Magic, and only classifying by function, power, range, and consumption, Magic was divided into eight levels. Among them, Eight-Level Magic was also called Forbidden Magic. Mages were also divided into four levels: Mage Apprentice, Trainee Mage, Archmage, and Title Mage.
A Mage’s rank didn’t have much to do with how many spells they mastered or the level of spells, but rather focused on their knowledge, thinking, and understanding of Magic. All those who became Archmages were learned scholars, fully qualified to serve as Court Mages and safeguard the Royal Family.
As for Title Mage, it specifically referred to those geniuses of exceptional talent, who from childhood possessed magical gifts far beyond ordinary people, able to create unprecedented, unique Magic all their own.
For example, the first Title Mage in history, Rainica Sylvia, whom the world called the Omniscient Witch, or Haviland Eleanor, who invented Immortality Magic and was also known as a Witch.
It was hard to even imagine how powerful these people must have been.
“If I could adopt people like that as daughters from a young age, maybe even the Emperor would have to keep me in his own palace and pamper me, huh?”
Harboring such unrealistic fantasies, Roland continued reading.
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