Lyn stared at the stone book, pondering briefly. After activating it a second time, he decisively pulled out a recording stone.

He began memorizing simultaneously.

But once the runes' glow faded, Lyn frowned to discover no memory remained in his mind—and the recording stone’s footage was blank, clearly disrupted by some interference.

Still, this was expected. He’d only tried the stone on a whim; if such an obvious loophole existed, Sage Tower’s upper floors would be overcrowded.

On the third attempt, Lyn stopped fooling around. He activated the runes and focused his spiritual energy toward them.

Within seconds, he felt his spiritual energy draining wildly, as if devoured by the runes.

Yet after the consumption, he sensed lines forming in his mind—outlines for drawing those runes.

The memory lasted over a minute. But as the stone book’s light dimmed, Lyn’s expression turned grim… the rune memories were vanishing rapidly.

No wonder previous students struggled to complete these runes despite repeated tries in the chamber.

Some law-like force erased them from their minds.

Lyn’s spiritual energy was strong; he’d memorized roughly three runes on his first try.

Though newly broken through to Fourth Rank, his spiritual power remained exceptionally potent—few peers could match him.

But feeling the runes fade from his mind, Lyn hesitated to carve them.

Remembering wasn’t even the hardest part!

He only recalled chaotic lines forming the runes—a tangled mess in his head, unordered and impossible to replicate.

He needed to reorganize these lines, consuming not just spiritual energy but something else: willpower, calculation, or other intangible resources.

Those with keener mana sensitivity could better trace the runes from the jumble.

While sorting the information, Lyn grasped the difficulty of inscribing a single rune—and faced another issue: data loss.

Before fully rearranging some lines, previously sorted or untouched ones might vanish from memory.

Like a stone dropped into a river, creating fleeting ripples that disappeared without trace.

To regain lost lines, he had to reread them with spiritual energy.

Then rearrange again.

This cycle repeated endlessly—doing tasks you couldn’t recall having done.

When Lyn realized the remaining lines were insufficient, he touched the stone book a second time.

The runes flared brightly. His spiritual energy drained rapidly again; this intense consumption was a form of tempering. After digesting all he could, his face paled noticeably—a sign of overexertion.

Even Lyn cursed inwardly upon touching the lines again. This was utterly absurd.

He’d completely forgotten prior arrangements for missing parts.

He couldn’t even tell if he was learning new material; the later lines felt unfamiliar, unlike last time.

With no memory of recent attempts, he couldn’t judge accurately. After piecing together an unknown number of lines, Lyn stopped. He feared forgetting his own work. This time, he channeled mana into the stone book, tracing the runes.

After sketching just over three runes, Lyn felt a pang of frustration… his mind was utterly empty of rune memories.

Yet as the third rune finished, he noticed the heavy stone door behind him glowing faintly. This partial inscription seemed accepted—he’d been teleported to a room within Sage Tower.

But Lyn didn’t rush to leave. Pride ran deep in the boy; having broken free of constraints, he couldn’t accept such a failing grade on his first trial.

How many runes could others carve—those who reached higher floors? Certainly more than his shameful count of under four.

Lyn pondered, fingers brushing the stone book’s surface. He touched the glowing, fading runes, straining to recall the subtle particles and line arrangements…

He felt he should try again. Though he lacked memory of the arrangements, the second attempt might be smoother. With more tries, he could push further. Some memories might be erased, but instincts could linger in the body—other students likely persisted in Sage Tower for similar reasons.

As Lyn thought this, his body trembled slightly. He lifted his palm in disbelief.

He stared at it hesitantly for a long moment, then intently at the impossibly smooth stone book—no trace should remain from mana-formed runes.

But…

When his hand touched it, Lyn distinctly sensed indescribable changes on the surface.

Not physical marks, but something stranger—unseeable, imperceptible, yet undeniably tangible beneath his fingers.

The boy suddenly recalled his system reward.

Hand of the Divine.