In Mogar, mages spent decades reciting verbose incantations and offering prayers to the Elemental Spirits to ignite a simple fireball. Derek quickly realized the entire system was built upon superstitious guesswork.

Sitting in the hayloft under the cover of night, he held up his palm. A marble-sized orb of blue flame hovered silently above his skin. It produced no smoke, made no sound, and burned with a heat three times greater than the village master's best forge fire.

“They think mana is divine will,” Derek smiled faintly, watching the flame contract into a needle of pure white plasma. “It’s not will. It’s an ambient subatomic particle that reacts directly to neural electromagnetic impulses.”

He released the concentration. The plasma vanished instantly, leaving behind the clean scent of ionized air. The aristocracy guarded magic behind gilded gates and noble bloodlines. But science belonged to anyone who could understand the math—and Derek intended to teach this medieval empire a lesson in elementary physics.