It was natural in the previous life to search and listen to an audiobook of what I decided was necessary, alas I have decided to abandoned that one.
Because it is completely different in the feeling part to read textbook and a novel, thus I decided to listen to it instead.
About 2 and a half weeks have passed since I asked Zenith to read that book to me.
Of course Zenith was suprised, but she obliged rather smugly.
However, that following night, after their nightly, and I might add, passionate loving ceremony, I overheard the couples discussing about myself, what I did that day.
After that, said, discussion, for a few days, I could feel both Zenith and our mentally retarded maid tailing me, in what they probably thought was secretive.
Sure they best their try, but it failed miserably.
In any case, I thought, letting Zenith to read it for me was a terrible blunder on my part.
Maybe the new brain of this body muddles my usual reasoning.
But it was later as I considered the state of affair more carefully, that I come to the conclusion that the situation could be beneficial for me in fact.
However I did not execute the plans immediately, I judged that if I was too hasty, I might blunder somewhere along the way.
In the life before this one, the family I born to was broken, not from the start, but at some point.
The Father turns into a useless drunkard and the mother fled from her responsibility.
In hindsight, maybe that man became that way because of his wife.
Maybe in the past, they'd even been a happy couple once you might think.
And it was like that, actually.
The only thing I confirmed during that life was that, that man love his wife terribly deeply.
I envy, and admired him for that.
Everytime that man was with her, it was as if watching a kitten enjoying his catnip.
The man was a Brutsh man, but I keenly knew what he fears.
Because when he was a boy, his mother and father, the both of them had betrayed him. Scarring him deeply.
He fears betrayal.
During his highschool days, according to what he says, the man was a drug addict.
"It was due to dad," He claimed.
"M'Dad cheated on mom, and the bitch ran away, left me behind, ain't saw her since then."
His voice were sad when he opens up, and he probably was, judging from his non eloquent vocabulary and his sniffling.
I remember thinking, 'Does he really believe a twelve year old would understand that?'
"I was depressed, though, never admitted." It was the word he had spoken to me in the younger, more happier days of that life.
"Thing was, I ..." He trailed off, and I could feel his struggle to get the words out, ashamed somehow, even in front of his own kid.
Maybe he thought it wasn't manly to say it, or maybe he didn't want me to see him that way.
I was just a twelve year old kid back then, and he was in his mid twenties.
In any case, he wished to tell me something important, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say it.
I remember clearly how long his self shaming lasted, because I counted exactly 40 seconds.
"I... I—was traumatised." He'd finally speak and he was terribly ashamed.
"M'Dad also was felting guilt," He went on, resting his chin on my head, "for me and mom."
"Never even consoled me, maybe he just ain't had the experience, or he wasn't feelin worthy."
He sniffed my head, I remembered. His voice was muffled and his tone somber.
"Was depressed in mid school, and started using..." He paused, looking away and not wanting to speak of it I suppose. "Start doin bad things."
But then he suddenly shook off the sadness, tickling me until I squealed and wriggled.
"In highschool, mommy was a student council security, or stuff?... I thinks. And she used to talks to me, she was cute..." He said with a grin, I could even feel the heat that was released from his face.
"And in our final year, daddy started not using bad things." His voice then turns joyous.
"Because of mommy, daddy and granpa also connect with one another again. So daddy love mommy very much."
The reason he told me all of thus no longer lingered within me, and the only thing I still remember were these dialogues.
And, not even one year later...
Everything started to change.
It was slow at first, almost unnoticeable, but he was slipping I could tell.
I watched him from a distance with interest, bit by bit, he fell apart.
Though, perhaps because of his pride or other things he have not told me, the man never returns onto drugs again for the two painful years I'd observed him.
He was just like a lost child, and just as broken. He drank himself instead, for the happiness he has perhaps lost forever, night after night.
On one of his drunken rambling nights, I decided to sat close to him and hear him out.
He was a drunkard now at that point for sure.
But he was never violent, the reason I never spoke to him during those times was that alcohol could never hold a conversation and I loathe unproductive dialogue.
"Buddy!!!" He bellowed, calling me with the pet name he had given me.
"I, I, I am so, so so, so sorry." He was a stuttering mess, hugging onto my shirt.
Leaving a greasy snot, tears and whatnot onto my white T-shirt.
His face was pathetic, raw and oily. Because I feared the process would repeat again, I immediately cease asking more questions.
He cried like that, helping himself to sleep, pitiful and helpless otherwise, and even in his sleep, the sobbing never gaps.
It was that night, unable to sleep, while observing him that I come to realise the reason.
The mother of that life has cheated. I never figured out why the reason for his metamorphosis previously.
But I suppose I didn't because I was never really interested.
And on the eve of my 14th birthday, I found his body, limp, lifeless, and hanging on the garage.
Well, I'd have already guessed things to turns out that way.
He was already dead, long before he took his life.
Two days later, after his father, or the grandfather of that life took in the news, followed him promptly.
He used the shotgun that was proudly shown to me before.
It was particularly poignant, because, like the previous case, I was the first one to reach the scene again, and to witness everything.
I was very interested of course, it was a blessing that I could study and thoroughly observed the appearance of his brain matters and other fluids that painted his little room.
What a delight it was.
But, he was probably not in his right mind I suppose, because I was send to his house for a sleepover because there was to be investigation for the father who took his life.
Without even thinking how much more he will exhaust the investigator, the old man took his life.
If I had not seen the inside of his head clearly, I'd have guessed it was originally empty.
Like father like son, the both of them were selfish, in their own different ways, the latter inconsiderate.
And the mother, she alone was the caused of it all.
After the funeral event. I finally decided to speak with her, she had her face probably red and blotchy due to the tears she shed—I could not recall.
"How does it feel?"
Obviously she could not answer, and it was not a question that seeks for an answer to begin with.
I was not mad, it was a simple curiosity, I was just probing her so that I may understand her more.
Because she was crying, back there, because it appears like she was mad at herself.
"Do you think you have the right to be sad?" I really could no longer recall the details of her face, she nor anyone.
"Do you think you have a right to be so angry, to now regret your choices? You cheated on your dying husband you know?" Now that I recall, there was someone who stood beside her, or was I mistaken?
"You know the man had a cancer, and he stops his medication because you betrayed him. It was clear he would have eventually die because of it, but you could not wait for him to die at least."
Oh, I remember, the person beside her was a man with a dark suit and a well groomed appearance.
If I remember correctly, this man often came at our place, he and the father would often talks to each other.
They were best friends perhaps. But I don't remember how he looks like either.
"That's enough!" The man, with a sorrow filled tone chided.
How should I call this man? Let's just call him uncle.
"Uncle, he was fighting to stay alive for her you know? Although he never once voiced it, he wished to be here with her for as long as he could. But you know why he decided to stop his medication?"
The woman, who it was too shameful to call a mother or a wife started sobbing uncontrollably.
But I still continued to recite what I have observed, Because, it was such a good speech to just kept it silent.
"Congratulation by the way... mother..." That was the last time I ever called her as that noun.
"The man who loved you with all his heart, you manage to take away his life without actually stealing his breath, you did the only thing that man feared—"
"Enough, I said!!!" That was a nice vocal cords right there, I'd envy him back then.
The man moved to hid that women during the middle of my speech, and interrupted me.
"—You betrayed him. Two lives bleed because of you, does that makes you horny woman?" I still continued regardless, who was he for me to care?
The man wanted to hit me, I could feel it, but the woman stopped him. Maybe she still had a sliver of conscience left.
"Maybe one day, as you look back, you might think how silly you have been and laugh it off... When that time comes, I sure hope I cease being a part of your life."
Perhaps she did regret what she did, truly.
Because her tears began trickling down on the dry floor, as the bare musty ground absorbed all of it greedily as the wetness fell upon it.
"It was an accident." she whispered through her sobs, barely able to get the words out.
I wonder why she did not cry out loud. She was certainly loud when she was with the casket.
If she felt like crying she should have just cry, if I could, I would have joined her also.
Because, from what I heard, crying makes people feel better. Then again, maybe she thought that it was unnecessary.
"Well, forgive me, I thought cheating was a chain of conscious decision with multiple steps involved, where in any of those steps you could have chosen to simply walk away."
I bowed my head slightly, because I never realised you could accidentally cheat.
"Although, I don't think he realised it to the end." I said it nonchalantly, looking back at the coffin where the said man lay.
Oh, shit.
I was lost in my thought again, wasn't I?
Anyway, following the incident of the said maid and Zenith tailing me for a few days, I sensed that they'd began to eased up.
It was then I could finally go ahead with my plan, but I waited patiently for a few month, hasty and instinctual decisions are never good.
That was the only things I've learned from the mother of the life before this one.
And, finally, I decided the time has come.
I sat quietly, facing away from the door, focusing my mind and syncing the flow of mana in my body.
Once I felt steady enough, I opened my eyes and instinctually raised my palms, and began.
Why hands, though? I wondered, looking at it.
I don't remember needing specific body parts to become a mage.
If, and only if magic required hands, what about those who have none?
This was an interesting question.
But I set the musing aside, for now, and spoke the incantation.
"Let the vast and blessed waters converge where thou wilt and issue forth a single pure stream thereof—Waterball!"
A warm sensation gathered at my fingertips, a tingle spreading from my palms outward.
Unlike previous times when I'd felt mana scatter aimlessly, this time, it condensed, becoming visible in a way that'd never happen before.
The energy moved through me almost like blood, flowing from my core and every parts of my limbs, yet without the pain an injury or a cut would otherwise cause.
Bit by bit, moisture appeared in the air before me.
What started as a few scattered droplets grew as I recite more of the incantation until, finally, a waterball the size of a football hovered there—clear, beautiful, and perfectly shaped.
I couldn't help but murmur, "Beautiful."
For a moment, I forgot myself, admiring what I'd created.
The ball of water hovered there briefly, then shot toward the open window I'd wisely prepared for just this possibility.
It moved quickly—not too fast, but if it had struck me, I would've felt it, maybe even passed out.
Tiny trickles followed in its path, splattering the floor with droplets.
When I looked back at my hands, I frowned.
The question gnawed at me once more.
"Couldn't magic be cast without the hands or the chant?"
Like a monk seeking clarity, I tried again, this time with my eyes closed, focusing on that same feeling.
After about twenty seconds, I could, not see, but feel a small ball of water, this time the size of a ping pong ball, began to form.
But, with it I could also feel most of the mana that goes to waste because it was not managed properly.
And, unlike the previous one, this was irregularly shaped, trembling slightly, as if unsure it should hold together at all.
I wanted for it to move, but it resisted, and when I tried a few more times, it refused each time.
Finally, in a last ditch attempt, as I felt the spell starting to fade otherwise.
I open my eyes and leaned forward, trying to swallow it—and, predictably, choked, sending myself into a fit of coughing.
Once I'd caught my breath, I lay back and thought over what I'd learned.
"Chanting isn't required," I murmured, my voice just loud enough that anyone listening by the door might hear if there were any.
"And using my hands isn't necessary either."
After a pause, I continued aloud, to myself alone.
"But maybe chanting makes it easier to learn. It's just… not ideal for combat, is it?" I closed my eyes, reflecting.
"It's like chanting became standard just to make magic easier to teach, but over time, it turned into the norm."
The magic of this world—it's not exactly what I'd expected.
It's a system that seems more adaptable than I first thought, and maybe it will distracts me for a little while.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Is the backstory of the MC not that interesting? I'm willing to stop adding more depth if you guys wish.
Gimme them powerstone also.