Ruger nearly lost his focus just after entering a state of total concentration. As he recited the Word of Flame, his teacher, Immanuel, actually crouched in front of him, seemingly curious about the Word of Flame and examining the object in his hands-the so-called scalded molt of a Moonworm.
It was truly baffling that a species could scald itself, even to death, because of a mutation that caused atavism.
Ruger steadied himself and continued reciting his Word of Flame.
Sometimes, he vaguely seemed to understand what he was saying, as though it was more than random cries and grunts. Aside from improving the effects of the corresponding spells, it seemed to carry meaning of its own, just like a language used in ordinary conversation. But unlike normal language, the Word of Flame did not clearly describe something through individual words or sentences. Rather, that entire long string of cries seemed to describe a single thing, and even then, incompletely. Perhaps it could not even be called a thing.
He simply could not yet perceive it more clearly. Moreover, the long string he uttered continued endlessly, without stopping or reaching an end. Everything he said formed a single sentence-an endless sentence born without a period.
The object in his hands grew hotter and hotter, while he pondered a question.
That sense of being called.
Standing outside the alley where the shop was located, he had felt that vague call. Thinking back on it now, could it have been related to his mastery of the Word of Flame?
Or was it simply something about him?
He remembered hearing that excessive spirituality could sometimes allow someone to sense unexpected things.
A day passed quickly.
Ruger eyed the egg-shaped object before him with a strange look. After a full day of practicing the Word