The magical journey of a countryside boy

Mark paused his lecture, giving the students a quiet moment to digest the heavy meaning behind his words.

​After letting the silence settle, he turned back to the map on the board and tapped his chalk against the eastern expanse.

​“Now, let us talk about a nation with a history much shorter than our Empire’s. It was established two thousand, two hundred, and forty-six years,” Mark continued. “To the east, after a two-week voyage across the open ocean, lies the Federation of Meer Islands—a coalition formed by an alliance of five major and nine minor islands.”

​He drew a sweeping line across the water to represent the ocean barrier.

​“The Federation is separated from us by the Raging Sea. According to island legend, an ancient sea serpent behemoth slumbers beneath the depths, its massive movements responsible for those violent waters. However, traveling to the Meer Islands is significantly easier compared to reaching the Dwarven or Elven kingdoms. The Empire utilizes a specific maritime corridor known as the Calm Belt, which provides a safe, peaceful passage directly to the archipelago.”

​Mark paused, taking a sip from his water canteen before elaborating on their ties to humanity.

​“They have been an active trading partner of the Empire for nearly fourteen hundred years,” Mark explained. “As for their populace, they call themselves the Meers. In terms of physical build and awakening potential, they are virtually identical to humans—save for a small patch of scales tucked neatly behind their ears. According to their own ancient lore, those scales exist because their ancestors were directly tied to the sea serpent itself.”

“Now that you understand the geographic layout of these nations and the physical traits of their people, let us talk about their social systems,” Mark said, turning to face the class once more. “We will start with the Ironfell Kingdom of the Dwarves and Gremlins.”

​He tapped his chalk against the southern border drawn on the board.

​“The nobility in Ironfell mirrors our own imperial structure fairly closely, albeit with different titles,” Mark explained. “At the absolute apex sits the Dwarven King, and beneath him, the traditional noble titles are almost exclusively held by dwarves. The gremlins, on the other hand, do not typically hold landed feudal titles. Instead, they dominate the Kingdom’s civil administration and political bureaucracy, operating under the leadership of the Chief Royal Advisor.”

Mark paused, letting the class understand the distinction.

​“In short: the dwarves hold the military might and feudal lands, while the gremlins run the actual day-to-day governance, treasury, and infrastructure of the state. It is a system built on mutual codependency.”

“Next are the elves,” Mark continued, shifting his chalk to the western boundary drawn on the board. “They are governed by the Council of Elves—a ruling body composed of the seven oldest and most powerful elves on the continent.”

​He drew seven simple tallies inside the western borders to represent the seats.

​“The council is led by the High Chair, an elf Unanimously recognized and chosen as the wisest among the seven. The remaining six members are simply referred to as the Chairs.”

​Mark turned back to face the students, leaning slightly against his podium.

​“Unlike our Empire or Ironfell, they completely lack intermediate noble ranks like dukes, counts, or barons. In fact, they possess no formal social titles at all among their common population. To an elf, every single member of their race is inherently considered a noble—an egalitarian belief likely born from their staggering magical potential, or perhaps simply the biological reality of their extremely low birth rate.”

​“Each of the six Chairs is dedicated to a single, specific pillar of governance—a domain to which they have devoted centuries of their long lives,” Mark explained, listing them out on the board. “Namely: Defense, Trade, Alchemy, Diplomacy, Training, and Administration.”

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​He tapped the top mark where the High Chair was indicated.

​“The High Chair does not interfere in these domains unless absolutely necessary. Instead, their duty is to act as the ultimate arbiter—stepping in to issue a final, binding ruling whenever a conflict of interest arises between the other Chairs.”

“But that sounds very impractical,” Edward inquired, crossing his arms and leaning back. “I mean, governing an entire realm requires a myriad of nuanced tasks. A rigid system like that must run into problems constantly.”

​Mark looked at Edward and nodded approvingly. “You are entirely right. Strictly speaking, this system is highly inefficient. There are countless administrative tasks that fall under the jurisdiction of more than one Chair, and just as many that fall completely outside any Chair’s defined domain. If we attempted to run the Krassius Empire with a system like this, it would spell immediate doom.”

​Mark paused, letting the contrast sink in before continuing.

​“However, you must remember two key factors: the elves have a tiny overall population and remarkably little internal discord. Because they face almost no civil strife or resource scarcity, this inefficient system manages to survive—simply because they have never been forced to innovate a better one.”

William raised his hand, seeking clarification. “You mentioned earlier that they have a very small population, but exactly how small are we talking? And how many people live in the Krassius Empire that necessitate such a complex social system?”

​Mark nodded at the question, tapping his piece of chalk against the center of the board.

​“An excellent point,” Mark replied. “The population of the Krassius Empire is currently estimated to be well over one million people. By comparison, the Dwarven Kingdom of Ironfell holds a population of roughly three hundred thousand. On the far end of the spectrum, the Elven High Court maintains a total population of just twenty-five thousand.”

​A brief murmur passed through the desk rows as the sheer scale of humanity’s numbers sank in.

​“When you govern over a million souls spread across vast territories, streamlined administrative hierarchies, noble titles, and strict legal codes are not a luxury—they are a necessity for survival,” Mark added, turning back toward the classroom. “The elves can afford their simple governance because of their few numbers. We do not have that luxury.”

​“Lastly, we come to the Federation of Meer Islands,” Mark said, tapping the eastern archipelago drawn on the board. “Like the elves, they are also governed by a council system—however, theirs is divided into multiple tiers.”

​He drew a pyramid structure beside the island chain.

​“First, we have the Island Councils. Each of the five major islands is divided into administrative territories, each managed by an official known as a Governor. Together, the Governors of a specific island form that island’s localized Council, responsible for the day-to-day management of their territory. The nine minor islands are collectively overseen by four Governors, who form the Council of Minor Islands. Each Governor manages their own domain independently, but the full Council votes on any decisions that span across multiple jurisdictions.”

​Mark paused, letting the class scribble down the administrative layers before continuing.

​“Above these localized bodies sits the Council of Meers—the central governing authority of the entire nation. The council consists of selected Governors representing each major island, alongside a representative from the Council of Minor Islands. They convene to decide matters that affect multiple islands or the Federation as a whole.”

​“Legally speaking, every member sitting on the Council of Meers holds equal rank. However, in practice, political weight is far less clean. The strongest among them naturally holds the most sway—acting as the de facto leader of the Federation.”

Mark paused, wiping the remaining chalk from his fingers before looking out at the silent classroom.

​“That is enough for today,” Mark said, clapping his hands together to mark the end of the lecture. “Tomorrow, we will not be holding our regular class, as something else has been scheduled.”

​Caleb immediately spoke up, a curious glint flashing in his eyes. “What do we have to do tomorrow, sir?”

​Mark feigned sudden surprise, though an amusing grin spread across his face, betraying his amused thoughts completely.

​“Oh, you don’t know?” Mark asked, starting his walk toward the classroom door. He paused at the threshold, turning back toward the eager desks with a sharp, lingering smile.

​“Well, it’s not that important anyway,” Mark teased, his tone dripping with quiet irony. “It’s just that tomorrow, you all are going to find out exactly what type of magic you can use.”