Excerpt 24
(Page 1, Section 1)
Learning something entirely new takes effort—even for those who are highly intelligent. But when a topic is even slightly familiar, the process becomes much easier, especially if there’s a small point of reference to build on. The more familiar it is, the more naturally it tends to come. And if it’s something you’ve studied before, relearning it often requires little to no effort.
That’s why it’s important, whenever possible, to approach new topics with at least some point of reference—no matter how small. Doing so can save you a significant amount of time and frustration. For example, if you're learning math, studying something like trade alongside it can provide helpful context. Concepts like calculating profits, losses, and percentages give you something concrete to relate back to, making abstract math much more approachable.
In the end, your learning path is your own. Some people choose the hard way—others simply don’t know there’s a better way. But knowing how to build on what you already understand can make all the difference.
Source: The Layers of Learning – Imperial Magister Solvarad
Excerpt 24 End
“Zamongarai, zamongarai, zamongarai…”
Hassan gritted his still-forming teeth, each repetition clawing at his nerves like a slow, rhythmic torture. The elf had been chanting the word for what felt like an hour—maybe longer—and showed no signs of stopping. Worse still, the elf wasn’t even paying attention anymore. He was casually scribbling on a piece of parchment, multitasking as he continued his monotonous chant—his voice droning on like some ambient enchantment woven into the air.
Hassan tried to squirm, but he couldn’t even move. The elf had stuck him—literally—to the table with some kind of magic seal, pinning him down like a museum specimen.
He stared at the parchment. The sketch clearly depicted a zamongarai: towering horns, muscular frame, animalistic stance. The word written above it was likely “zamongarai” too. It might have meant “minotaur” more generally, but context told him it was probably specific to their kind. Hassan had already memorized it, both visually and phonetically. He even knew how to spell it in this world’s symbols. But saying it aloud? Not yet. That felt risky.
He wanted to appear harmless—just a dumb child. Because that’s what they thought I was. A baby zamongarai. A toddler barely capable of thinking. If he started talking too early, especially with clarity, it could raise questions—bad ones.
But the constant repetition was unbearable. The sound felt like it wasn’t just echoing in the tent—it was vibrating inside his skull. Even when he clamped his ears shut, the word still rang through as if bypassing sound entirely. Magic. Definitely magic.
Half-zoning out, half-fuming, Hassan clenched his jaw until—finally—he cracked. And with it, his first word in this world slipped out before he could stop it.
“Zamongarai!”
It burst out of him before he even realized what he was doing.
The tent fell into silence.
The elf froze, his pen hovering above the scroll mid-stroke. Hassan’s breath caught in his throat. Oh no.
The elf slowly turned to look at him, wide-eyed.
Damn it! I was supposed to wait—say it slowly, stumble through it like I was still learning. Not blurt it out like I’ve been biting my tongue for an hour! Hassan’s thoughts spiraled in panic, scrambling for an excuse, a cover—anything to explain himself.
But then, to his surprise, the elf… smiled.
His features softened, almost amused, as he calmly set the scroll aside and drew out a fresh sheet of parchment with deliberate ease.
Hassan blinked, confused. Was… that it? He’s not suspicious? Or is he just pretending not to be?
Without a word, the elf started sketching again.
A new image appeared: a simple drawing of a tent. Then, he pointed at it and began again.
“Tent, tent, tent…”
He pointed back to the zamongarai image.
“Zamongarai, zamongarai, zamongarai…”
Really? Does he actually think we’re making progress, or is this just some kind of confirmation—to see if I’m possessed or not?
Either way, this was going to be a very long day.
For the first time since entering this tent, Hassan found himself wishing the weird, creepy elder would come back and drag him away. At least the elder didn’t try to melt his brain with repetition magic. Worse still, now he had to keep pretending to learn at a believable pace. He had to think about when to speak, when to hesitate, how to make small, ‘baby-like’ errors… all while trying to train his Mind Manual and Soul Manual under this sensory assault.
#####
“Zamongarai… tent… table… sun… zamongarai…”
The words droned on like some sacred mantra turned into a headache. Hassan’s eyelids twitched as his bloodshot eyes followed the elf’s finger moving from image to image. Tent. Table. Sun. Zamongarai. Over and over. The same tone. The same rhythm. Like an inescapable curse.
He could feel the strain pressing into the corners of his mind—like he was being force-fed language through a funnel jammed into his ears. Who teaches like this? What kind of psycho calls this education?!
He wasn’t even restrained anymore. At some point during the hours of repetition, the restraints had faded—dismissed by the elf with barely a gesture. Though the threat of being magically re-pinned kept him from trying anything clever. Not that it mattered. Escape wasn’t on his mind anymore. Only survival—from this.
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Night had already fallen—twelve long hours gone. And still, the elf pressed on with the lesson, relentless as a machine, showing no sign of fatigue or mercy.
To make matters worse, he’d somehow devised a way to conjure a bland, gray food paste whenever Hassan’s stomach growled. It tasted like ground chalk and disappointment. Worst of all? The elf didn’t even bother handing it to him—he levitated it straight into Hassan’s mouth, like feeding a feral beast.
And as if that wasn’t demeaning enough, the elf had permanently conjured a diaper onto him—one that magically vanished and renewed itself after each time he defecated, like it was part of some twisted childcare routine baked into the lesson plan.
This isn’t learning. This is magical torture. Is this how elves teach their kids?!
Then, suddenly—a voice from outside.
A familiar one.
Hassan perked up. Even the elf’s unnervingly smooth face faltered for a fraction of a second, twisting into something close to panic.
The elf’s eyes widened. Without hesitation, he flicked his fingers, and Hassan gently floated down from the table, landing softly on the floor—like a cherished guest being posed for a portrait. The scrolls and drawings were arranged neatly beside him, as if they’d just wrapped up a pleasant study session rather than survived a mind-numbing ordeal.
With a final flick of magic, the elf even removed the conjured diaper.
Then, unbelievably, the elf plopped down beside him with a radiant smile and an unnaturally cheerful tone, as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
“Yes! Very good! Now say—tent, tent, tent…”
You bastard, Hassan thought, watching this bizarre transformation. His jaw dropped in disbelief. Are you seriously pretending like we’ve been buddies this whole time?!
Just as Hassan tried to process the absurdity, the tent flap opened.
The elder.
The old zamongarai stepped inside, eyes flicking around the room with that heavy, intelligent gaze. His stare landed on the elf—then on Hassan—then finally on the stack of parchment covered in rough drawings.
The air shifted.
The elder narrowed his eyes, his expression unreadable, and spoke to the elf in a deliberate tone.
“How is… is he… good?”
Hassan felt a chill crawl down his spine at the elder’s words. “Is he… good?” The phrase was simple, but its weight hit hard. Was this really some kind of test? Were they checking if I was... possessed? Controlled? A threat?
Panic welled in his chest. Did they suspect something?!
But then, instead of alarm, the elf lit up with theatrical enthusiasm. He clapped his hands, lifted a scroll into the air, and practically beamed with pride.
“Yes! Very good! He… speak… of… word!”
It was like watching a teacher boast to a parent about their star pupil. The elf showed no hint of suspicion—just smug satisfaction, like he’d just proven how brilliant his teaching methods were.
The elder raised an eyebrow but remained silent, his face unreadable as the elf rummaged eagerly through the pile of scrolls like a child searching for their favorite toy. With an overly dramatic gasp, the elf yanked out one of the earliest drawings—the normal-looking zamongarai sketch—and hoisted it into the air like it was a priceless masterpiece.
Then, with a grin far too proud for someone teaching basic vocabulary, he held the drawing out toward Hassan, jabbed a finger at it, then at Hassan, and declared,
“Zamongarai!”
The elf glanced back and forth between Hassan and the drawing with smug satisfaction, radiating the kind of self-congratulatory energy only a tutor utterly convinced of their own brilliance could muster.
But when Hassan didn’t respond, the elf’s expression faltered into confusion. After a pause, he resumed with renewed insistence:
“Zamongarai, zamongarai, zamongarai…”
Hassan’s heart thudded.
It all clicked.
They weren’t suspicious—they were amazed.
They thought he was some kind of prodigy. The elf hadn’t been testing him for deceit or signs of possession; he’d genuinely been trying to teach him—even if his method amounted to little more than drawing pictures and chanting the same word on loop.
And now, unbelievably, the elf was basking in the glory of it all, already taking full credit for being a brilliant, groundbreaking educator.
That smug piece of—
Despite himself, Hassan felt torn. A part of him still wanted to escape and never look back—and he probably could, if he simply stayed silent. Refused to play along.
And yet… as maddening as the elf was, this might be the only path to learning magic. To understanding their language, their culture, their power structures. The key to surviving here—or maybe even finding a way back to Earth—could lie in enduring this ridiculous, humiliating process.
Maybe, for now, he just had to play along.
So he looked at the drawing, took a slow breath… and did the one thing he hated most in that moment.
He gave the smug bastard his victory, dragging the word out in a sluggish, half-coherent slur—just believable enough to pass for a clueless toddler.
“Zamongarai.”
The elder blinked. Then his eyes widened—just slightly—and a grin slowly spread across his face, full of pride… and something else Hassan couldn’t quite name.
Just as he’d suspected, they weren’t suspicious. They were impressed.
It could still be a trap—some kind of act—but those reactions had felt too instinctive to fake. Too fast. Too real.
The elf and elder exchanged quick, rhythmic words in a language that moved too fast for Hassan to follow—fluid and sharp like a stream over stone. Then, without a word to him, the elder stepped forward, leaned down, and gently lifted Hassan into his arms with surprising care.
Hassan didn’t resist.
The old zamongarai nodded to the elf, then stepped into the cool night air.
And for the first time since arriving in this strange world, Hassan saw the moon.
It wasn’t like Earth’s—at least, not entirely. It was a full moon, glowing in radiant white light. But there were parts of it, dark irregular patches, that didn’t shimmer like craters. They absorbed light rather than reflected it—black voids etched into the moon’s surface like scars across a pale eye. The sight filled him with a quiet awe… and something else. A sense that this world was much, much more mysterious than it looked.
But as his eyes adjusted to the night, another sight took his breath away.
The town.
By day, it had seemed simple—almost primitive. But now, in the soft flicker of firelight, it came alive with silent tension. The great shapes of the zamongarai moved through the darkness like shadows carved from muscle and horn. Scattered around the open spaces were glowing campfires, illuminating their forms. Though their gatherings were smaller now, each cluster seemed sharp-eyed, alert.
And they were all armed.
Some bore massive axes strapped to their backs. Others carried spears, clubs, or strange curved blades. But the most arresting sight was the few who held staffs—smooth, dark rods etched with glowing glyphs. These magical marks pulsed in the night, a soft radiance shifting in rhythm, like heartbeat lanterns.
That’s not a party. That’s a watch.
It wasn’t celebration that brought them outside.
It was readiness.
Even from a distance, Hassan could feel it—the tension beneath their movements, the way their heads snapped toward distant sounds, the cautious glances skyward. They were prepared for something. Maybe a threat. Maybe tradition. Either way, he suddenly realized just how much he still didn’t know.
But one thing was unmistakably clear: they were ready for anything—and they were dangerous.
As they passed, many of the zamongarai stopped and offered a subtle nod or a low bow to the elder. Respect. Authority. Even the staff-wielders—a rare few—inclined their heads.
Who is this old man? Hassan wondered. A teacher? A leader? Or something more?
Before long, they returned to the caregiver’s tent. The elder called out, his voice low but commanding. The caregiver emerged and listened as the elder spoke. Their expression shifted mid-conversation—first curious, then uneasy, then resigned. They looked at Hassan strangely, like seeing something they couldn’t yet explain. Then, with a silent nod, the caregiver reached out and took him back into their arms.
The elder gave a brief parting phrase, something that sounded final. Then he turned and vanished into the night.
The caregiver carried Hassan inside and gently laid him onto the bedding mat.
He didn’t resist.
He was too tired.
Too overloaded.
Too full of questions.
Hassan stared at the ceiling of the tent, thoughts beginning to swirl.
That… was not how I expected to learn the language.
But maybe this was what it would take. If learning the language meant enduring frustrating elves, smug magical torture, and constant vigilance—so be it. If it meant unlocking the world’s secrets… or magic… or even finding a path back to Earth…
Then he’d bear it.
Even if it meant playing dumb a little longer. Even if it meant humoring that smug elf and pretending every word was a triumph. For now.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep took him quickly.
Time Skip?
