The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer
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Chapter 254: Charitable Ventures
The forest parted ways to reveal a tower of smooth marble rising over the horizon.
Nestled in a basin appropriately distanced from the fragile windows of any nearby town, the Royal Institute of Mages was built as a monument to magic.
Now it was an overpriced plaque to mark their folly.
Enveloped by rings of lashing magic, it was a conduit of arcing lightning, spitting flames and falling hailstones–and that was without the blot spreading like spilled ink in the sky above. Yet even so, it wasn't the magic running wild like a playground of the fae which drew my widened mouth.
It was something far worse.
A wooden sign plonked to the side of the road.
I threw up my arms in exasperation.
"W-What is this … ?!"
Before me, the road to the tower was lost to a field of colourful tents, hastily strewn ribbons and lanterns swaying in the breeze. A fair amidst the darkness. Yet I didn't see a single circus acrobat freezing in terror as I purposefully yawned at the height of their routine.
No … all I saw were clowns.
"Free muffins! Witness the wonders of the arcane in Master Morlic's no hands and all magic bakery cauldron! Simply toss your crowns inside and your favourite flavours will come flying out!"
"Enjoy the magic eclipse with these specially conjured spectacles! All for a minimum donation!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, look to my hat! First it's a chick, then it's a hen, and now it's a dragon's tail! Offer your crowns and entice the beast from its lair!"
"Fireworks for all cowardice levels! From dangerous projectiles to dangerous sparklers! Don't let temperamental magic stop you from having fun!"
"HATS. I'M SELLING HATS."
Mages.
Everywhere I looked, I saw the smiles of children as they sat upon the shoulders of their parents, their joy returned by the professional beams of the layabouts who entertained them.
Layabouts with the power to twist physics like a black hole twisted my sky.
And it seemed that their defence was to double down on frivolity, hoping the sheer level of their disregard was enough to overload the thing until it exploded like a nobleman's cheeks after dinner.
They should have catapulted themselves into it instead.
I was aghast.
Why … it was one thing for these mages to do away with my sun! But that was a small crime compared to them sucking up taxes through tax free charitable initiatives! That was an abyss deeper than anywhere a black hole could threaten!
Like a brigade of vagabonds peddling trinkets and toys, they stood behind stalls or atop wooden crates, weaving illusions which would see them hurled out of the royal court by the strength of our disdain. Instead, they enticed their audience into tossing copper crowns and poorly earned applause like tuneless bards fishing for pity.
Well, not here!
"Oooooh~"
Beside me, Coppelia applauded … all the while wearing spectacles as bizarre as they were unfashionable as she gazed up at the sky.
"C-Coppelia! We're here to chastise these mages for their dallying, not reward it with our patronage!"
"This is amazing! Hey, hey, give it a try! I bet you'll like this!"
"Wha–excuse me, but I most certainly will not! And when did you even–"
"It's fun! Here, put these on~"
"Coppelia, this is not the time to … ooooh."
I let out a small gasp as Coppelia promptly directed my head upwards. But it wasn't due to the obscenely tacky spectacles besmirching my face.
Instead, I blinked as the sky was suddenly as illuminating as my passing reflections.
No longer blotted out, it was a horizon to best that of the Fae Realm. Violet clouds streaked across like dancing auroras, twisting and dipping as they passed by the black hole. Except now it was ringed by a silver light so radiant it filled the sky like a burning moon.
It was … It was marvellous!
An exotic landscape I'd never seen before. And … wait, no!
"W-What are these mages doing!" I said as I angrily tossed the spectacles away into my bottomless pouch. "This is no time for them to be hosting a charity endeavour!"
Coppelia looked smug. Already, she wore a replacement pair of spectacles over her eyes.
"I did tell you, right? This thing in your sky is a goldmine! Look at the footfall!"
"Yes, well, I admit there's always a ready audience for trained jesters. And I see these have taken to their roles like rookie performers in their first stage play. I need rotten fruit. Do you see any?"
"Nope. But I see a cauldron that's spitting out breakfast muffins."
I looked anywhere else but Coppelia's highly expectant smile.
"... Why, I expected to find them grasping for life as they buried their faces in shame! And yet somehow, even the least offensive thing they could do is another checkbox to proudly mark with a failing cross!"
The least of tasks. And even that was beyond them.
This … This right here. This was precisely why we never invited mages to the royal court!
Not only did they insist on flambéing everything they touched, but it was clear that appropriateness was never a school of magic they were taught. A pity. There was much fire could do. But it was not through unbridled powers over death and creation which the wise and great were made.
It was knowing when to work and when to slack.
Thus, I clicked my fingers at a nearby mage counting his ill-gotten gains, clearly thinking his day was over. It wasn't. It hadn't even started. The night was still the same as when I left Hartzwiese. And this meant everyone was working overtime.
"You. Mage. Explain in five words or fewer. What am I seeing around me?"
The man paused and looked up from his earnings. His eyes found my bottomless pouch with the acumen of a seasoned beggar, before breaking into a genial smile.
"Hahah, sorry, young lady, we mages can't reveal our secrets. Certainly not in five words or fewer. Magic is like poetry, it can't be constrained. But if you're interested in learning, we do have a magical workshop here where you can throw crowns into a cauldron to create muffins and … oh, okay, I see from your expression you're not interested. Did you, uh, want a refund or … ?"
I gestured at all I could see. Lacking enough fingers, Coppelia helped me by randomly pointing.
"Why are mages plying their magic like jugglers competing for alms? This is not the time to be distracting children. As grateful as I usually am for the sacrifice, there's a more pressing issue. A very large hole in the sky. Why is this not being fixed?"
The mage blinked at me … all the while slowly depositing his earnings into his pouch.
"Uh, probably because we don't know how to."
"How could you not know? It's presumably somebody's magic here."
"Sure. But not anyone you see. We've no idea who cast it or what it is. We're just first-years. We got caught outside after fetching plague toads in the night. The door was locked when we tried to get back in. Good thing too. If I know anything about what goes on in the upper floors, it's that whatever's happening inside is worse than whatever's happening outside."
"You cannot be serious. There is a black hole sucking up the sun."
"Yeah." The mage nodded earnestly. "So imagine something even worse."
"The only thing that's worse is my disappointment. And it's in front of you. This is appalling. Just because you've neither the experience nor the aptitude to repair a hole in the sky doesn't offer the right to loiter instead. Do you not even attempt to discern what the issue is?"
A crease of indignation appeared on the mage's face.
For a moment, it almost seemed as if a defence was on offer … and then a batch of alchemical cookies was launched from a nearby cauldron to a rain of applause and copper crowns tossed in return.
"... Problem solving is different for mages," he said with an apologetic wheeze in his tone. "We can only do what we know how to do. When it comes to magic, there's no room to experiment."
I pointed up at the sky.
"Then what is that?"
The mage shrugged.
"Someone who didn't follow the rules. That's not us. We're doing what we're told. In times like this, we're to pass the time until the senior mages inside fixes everything. And also prepare charity drives in case we need to build a new tower."
I pursed my lips.
If it was a new tower they wanted, that could be arranged.
Soap Island had considerable amounts of unused space, after all.
"Very well. Your senior mages. How long does it normally take to repair a calamity this size?"
A shrug met me.
"How long is a piece of magical weave? I wouldn't worry though. These things happen every few centuries. Someone will come along to fix it. Someone always does."
Yes.
A princess who'd be charging an extortionate rate. Because when it came to my services, only the mocking came as complementary.
I fixed my eyes on the tower rising up ahead. Coppelia did the same, her 'oohs' filling the air as she peered up with her oddly shaped spectacles.
"You know, I think it's getting bigger," she said with her usual smile. "Do you think it's getting bigger?"
I formed a ring with my finger and thumb, peering through at the blot in the sky.
And then I nodded.
I had no idea.
"No … maybe? Why? What makes you think it is?"
"It's the squiggliness. The ominous tendril things sucking up the sunlight around it have definitely become more active. It's kind of hard to make out, but I'm also pretty sure they're drawn towards the tower. Like something's attracting it."
I held back my grief.
A tower covered in magic, filled with horrors beyond what I was seeing on the surface.
Here was a place even less appropriate for me than the barns of my countryside.
… But that's fine!
Because any problem caused by magic was a problem fixable by magic! And I had my charms, my wits and my smile, each a legendary spell no archmage could possess!
"... Uh, by the way, I don't suppose you'd like to make a donation?" asked the man extremely optimistically. "It's for a good cause."
Hmm. Interesting.
To be lied to so casually. It seemed the Royal Institute had a surprisingly varied curriculum.
"Is that so? … And what is this good cause, exactly?"
The man's eyes sparkled, seeing already the glint of coins in my pouch.
"All proceeds go towards ensuring the next generation of mages are properly nurtured. That regardless of what happens to this tower, they shall always have a safe haven to conduct their studies and responsibly grow their talents."
I said nothing. I didn't need to. Not when somebody's talent had clearly outgrown even the tower.
The mage's smile wavered.
"The pursuit of magic is a noble goal," he said, parroting the official line. "But no endeavour is without its perils. And in magic, we of this proud institution have given to the kingdom many times over the cost to be at the forefront of magical research on the continent."
I nodded.
"Very well. A virtuous and heartfelt purpose. I'd like to make a donation."
"Excellent!"
The man unstrung his bag. Not enough to reveal how much was inside, but enough to allow a deposit.
I leaned in, plucked the bag from the man's palms, then proceeded to empty its contents into my bottomless pouch. The music of tinkling coins filled the air.
The man's mouth opened wide.
"Um … excuse me, but what are you doing?"
"Hm? I'm making a charitable donation."
"Ma'am, you just tipped everything into your pouch."
"Ohoho … indeed, I did." I offered a hint of my smile. "I didn't say which charity I was donating to, did I? Fear not, I shall ensure they receive it in full. Their purpose and need is as righteous as yours."
The man merely gawped, spellbound as he was.
"Which charity?" he asked blankly.
I gave him back his empty bag, then tugged on Apple's reins once more as I turned towards the tower.
"The Juliette Fixes Everything Foundation."
Nestled in a basin appropriately distanced from the fragile windows of any nearby town, the Royal Institute of Mages was built as a monument to magic.
Now it was an overpriced plaque to mark their folly.
Enveloped by rings of lashing magic, it was a conduit of arcing lightning, spitting flames and falling hailstones–and that was without the blot spreading like spilled ink in the sky above. Yet even so, it wasn't the magic running wild like a playground of the fae which drew my widened mouth.
It was something far worse.
A wooden sign plonked to the side of the road.
NOW OPEN!
Pop-Up Charity Magic Fair!
Free entry for children and adults. All donations to help mages in need!
(Select attractions may require minimum donations)
Hosted by the Royal Institute Of Mages.
Pop-Up Charity Magic Fair!
Free entry for children and adults. All donations to help mages in need!
(Select attractions may require minimum donations)
Hosted by the Royal Institute Of Mages.
I threw up my arms in exasperation.
"W-What is this … ?!"
Before me, the road to the tower was lost to a field of colourful tents, hastily strewn ribbons and lanterns swaying in the breeze. A fair amidst the darkness. Yet I didn't see a single circus acrobat freezing in terror as I purposefully yawned at the height of their routine.
No … all I saw were clowns.
"Free muffins! Witness the wonders of the arcane in Master Morlic's no hands and all magic bakery cauldron! Simply toss your crowns inside and your favourite flavours will come flying out!"
"Enjoy the magic eclipse with these specially conjured spectacles! All for a minimum donation!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, look to my hat! First it's a chick, then it's a hen, and now it's a dragon's tail! Offer your crowns and entice the beast from its lair!"
"Fireworks for all cowardice levels! From dangerous projectiles to dangerous sparklers! Don't let temperamental magic stop you from having fun!"
"HATS. I'M SELLING HATS."
Mages.
Everywhere I looked, I saw the smiles of children as they sat upon the shoulders of their parents, their joy returned by the professional beams of the layabouts who entertained them.
Layabouts with the power to twist physics like a black hole twisted my sky.
And it seemed that their defence was to double down on frivolity, hoping the sheer level of their disregard was enough to overload the thing until it exploded like a nobleman's cheeks after dinner.
They should have catapulted themselves into it instead.
I was aghast.
Why … it was one thing for these mages to do away with my sun! But that was a small crime compared to them sucking up taxes through tax free charitable initiatives! That was an abyss deeper than anywhere a black hole could threaten!
Like a brigade of vagabonds peddling trinkets and toys, they stood behind stalls or atop wooden crates, weaving illusions which would see them hurled out of the royal court by the strength of our disdain. Instead, they enticed their audience into tossing copper crowns and poorly earned applause like tuneless bards fishing for pity.
Well, not here!
"Oooooh~"
Beside me, Coppelia applauded … all the while wearing spectacles as bizarre as they were unfashionable as she gazed up at the sky.
"C-Coppelia! We're here to chastise these mages for their dallying, not reward it with our patronage!"
"This is amazing! Hey, hey, give it a try! I bet you'll like this!"
"Wha–excuse me, but I most certainly will not! And when did you even–"
"It's fun! Here, put these on~"
"Coppelia, this is not the time to … ooooh."
I let out a small gasp as Coppelia promptly directed my head upwards. But it wasn't due to the obscenely tacky spectacles besmirching my face.
Instead, I blinked as the sky was suddenly as illuminating as my passing reflections.
No longer blotted out, it was a horizon to best that of the Fae Realm. Violet clouds streaked across like dancing auroras, twisting and dipping as they passed by the black hole. Except now it was ringed by a silver light so radiant it filled the sky like a burning moon.
It was … It was marvellous!
An exotic landscape I'd never seen before. And … wait, no!
"W-What are these mages doing!" I said as I angrily tossed the spectacles away into my bottomless pouch. "This is no time for them to be hosting a charity endeavour!"
Coppelia looked smug. Already, she wore a replacement pair of spectacles over her eyes.
"I did tell you, right? This thing in your sky is a goldmine! Look at the footfall!"
"Yes, well, I admit there's always a ready audience for trained jesters. And I see these have taken to their roles like rookie performers in their first stage play. I need rotten fruit. Do you see any?"
"Nope. But I see a cauldron that's spitting out breakfast muffins."
I looked anywhere else but Coppelia's highly expectant smile.
"... Why, I expected to find them grasping for life as they buried their faces in shame! And yet somehow, even the least offensive thing they could do is another checkbox to proudly mark with a failing cross!"
The least of tasks. And even that was beyond them.
This … This right here. This was precisely why we never invited mages to the royal court!
Not only did they insist on flambéing everything they touched, but it was clear that appropriateness was never a school of magic they were taught. A pity. There was much fire could do. But it was not through unbridled powers over death and creation which the wise and great were made.
It was knowing when to work and when to slack.
Thus, I clicked my fingers at a nearby mage counting his ill-gotten gains, clearly thinking his day was over. It wasn't. It hadn't even started. The night was still the same as when I left Hartzwiese. And this meant everyone was working overtime.
"You. Mage. Explain in five words or fewer. What am I seeing around me?"
The man paused and looked up from his earnings. His eyes found my bottomless pouch with the acumen of a seasoned beggar, before breaking into a genial smile.
"Hahah, sorry, young lady, we mages can't reveal our secrets. Certainly not in five words or fewer. Magic is like poetry, it can't be constrained. But if you're interested in learning, we do have a magical workshop here where you can throw crowns into a cauldron to create muffins and … oh, okay, I see from your expression you're not interested. Did you, uh, want a refund or … ?"
I gestured at all I could see. Lacking enough fingers, Coppelia helped me by randomly pointing.
"Why are mages plying their magic like jugglers competing for alms? This is not the time to be distracting children. As grateful as I usually am for the sacrifice, there's a more pressing issue. A very large hole in the sky. Why is this not being fixed?"
The mage blinked at me … all the while slowly depositing his earnings into his pouch.
"Uh, probably because we don't know how to."
"How could you not know? It's presumably somebody's magic here."
"Sure. But not anyone you see. We've no idea who cast it or what it is. We're just first-years. We got caught outside after fetching plague toads in the night. The door was locked when we tried to get back in. Good thing too. If I know anything about what goes on in the upper floors, it's that whatever's happening inside is worse than whatever's happening outside."
"You cannot be serious. There is a black hole sucking up the sun."
"Yeah." The mage nodded earnestly. "So imagine something even worse."
"The only thing that's worse is my disappointment. And it's in front of you. This is appalling. Just because you've neither the experience nor the aptitude to repair a hole in the sky doesn't offer the right to loiter instead. Do you not even attempt to discern what the issue is?"
A crease of indignation appeared on the mage's face.
For a moment, it almost seemed as if a defence was on offer … and then a batch of alchemical cookies was launched from a nearby cauldron to a rain of applause and copper crowns tossed in return.
"... Problem solving is different for mages," he said with an apologetic wheeze in his tone. "We can only do what we know how to do. When it comes to magic, there's no room to experiment."
I pointed up at the sky.
"Then what is that?"
The mage shrugged.
"Someone who didn't follow the rules. That's not us. We're doing what we're told. In times like this, we're to pass the time until the senior mages inside fixes everything. And also prepare charity drives in case we need to build a new tower."
I pursed my lips.
If it was a new tower they wanted, that could be arranged.
Soap Island had considerable amounts of unused space, after all.
"Very well. Your senior mages. How long does it normally take to repair a calamity this size?"
A shrug met me.
"How long is a piece of magical weave? I wouldn't worry though. These things happen every few centuries. Someone will come along to fix it. Someone always does."
Yes.
A princess who'd be charging an extortionate rate. Because when it came to my services, only the mocking came as complementary.
I fixed my eyes on the tower rising up ahead. Coppelia did the same, her 'oohs' filling the air as she peered up with her oddly shaped spectacles.
"You know, I think it's getting bigger," she said with her usual smile. "Do you think it's getting bigger?"
I formed a ring with my finger and thumb, peering through at the blot in the sky.
And then I nodded.
I had no idea.
"No … maybe? Why? What makes you think it is?"
"It's the squiggliness. The ominous tendril things sucking up the sunlight around it have definitely become more active. It's kind of hard to make out, but I'm also pretty sure they're drawn towards the tower. Like something's attracting it."
I held back my grief.
A tower covered in magic, filled with horrors beyond what I was seeing on the surface.
Here was a place even less appropriate for me than the barns of my countryside.
… But that's fine!
Because any problem caused by magic was a problem fixable by magic! And I had my charms, my wits and my smile, each a legendary spell no archmage could possess!
"... Uh, by the way, I don't suppose you'd like to make a donation?" asked the man extremely optimistically. "It's for a good cause."
Hmm. Interesting.
To be lied to so casually. It seemed the Royal Institute had a surprisingly varied curriculum.
"Is that so? … And what is this good cause, exactly?"
The man's eyes sparkled, seeing already the glint of coins in my pouch.
"All proceeds go towards ensuring the next generation of mages are properly nurtured. That regardless of what happens to this tower, they shall always have a safe haven to conduct their studies and responsibly grow their talents."
I said nothing. I didn't need to. Not when somebody's talent had clearly outgrown even the tower.
The mage's smile wavered.
"The pursuit of magic is a noble goal," he said, parroting the official line. "But no endeavour is without its perils. And in magic, we of this proud institution have given to the kingdom many times over the cost to be at the forefront of magical research on the continent."
I nodded.
"Very well. A virtuous and heartfelt purpose. I'd like to make a donation."
"Excellent!"
The man unstrung his bag. Not enough to reveal how much was inside, but enough to allow a deposit.
I leaned in, plucked the bag from the man's palms, then proceeded to empty its contents into my bottomless pouch. The music of tinkling coins filled the air.
The man's mouth opened wide.
"Um … excuse me, but what are you doing?"
"Hm? I'm making a charitable donation."
"Ma'am, you just tipped everything into your pouch."
"Ohoho … indeed, I did." I offered a hint of my smile. "I didn't say which charity I was donating to, did I? Fear not, I shall ensure they receive it in full. Their purpose and need is as righteous as yours."
The man merely gawped, spellbound as he was.
"Which charity?" he asked blankly.
I gave him back his empty bag, then tugged on Apple's reins once more as I turned towards the tower.
"The Juliette Fixes Everything Foundation."
- Location
- Argentina
"We do accept Apples and other foodstuff as payment." Coppelia said.
Chapter 255: Fast Travel
Marina Lainsfont's mini-arc. 1/4.
***
"[Arcane Teleport]!"
A resounding crack filled the air.
Marina stumbled as she snapped into existence, arms windmilling before catching herself. A motion often seen in apprentices learning to hurl themselves through existence for the very first time. But even if her nose had directly assessed the sturdiness of the wall directly in front of her, no failing marks would have been given.
After all, most mages only teleported to the nearest bar.
And that's if they were exceptionally lazy.
There was a reason mages needed to budget for travel expenses instead of navigating the world as easily as ducks fluttered across a pond. And that's because unlike small bodies of water, the world enjoyed nothing more than to push back.
And teleporting into the Royal Institute of Mages?
That wasn't merely a push back. It was a troll lifting her up by the ankles and swinging her around and around until all the world became the same dizzying shade of vomit.
Marina felt like she'd just experienced that several times in a row.
She sucked in a deep breath, as much to steady her queasiness as it was to make certain her lungs were still present. Because when it came to stealing into any mage's tower, the consequences were usually beyond the crushing fatigue. There were countless dangers when it came to intruding into magical abodes. And almost all of them unintended as actual defences.
For example–
"–Aaehhhh?!"
Building staircases not up to modern construction practices.
Slippery, narrow and just short enough to guarantee a broken shin, Marina yelped as she took a step backwards and found nothing there to meet her heel. As she began to topple, she found that the wall in front of her wasn't actually part of a nicely level corridor.
It was the wall of a stairwell.
And that meant solid ground was only a few inches wide.
The windmilling returned with a vengeance, this time propelling her forwards. She crashed face first into the steps, hands clinging onto the rough edges as though grappling the precipice of a cliff.
Only after a moment to suck in her regret did she peek behind her.
Immediately, her fingers clung on slightly tighter.
An almost vertical spiralling staircase. Down and down it went, with no end in sight. A glance beyond where a railing should really exist revealed an abyss disturbed by no hint of light. Fractions were all that separated Marina from an appalling death by rolling. A humiliating demise spelled by a thousand bumps against her head as she crashed to the feet of some yawning apprentice.
It could have been worse.
Because when it came to magic, it could always have been worse.
Marina slowly rose to her feet, delicately touching her nose. A sore tip was all the humble pains that met her intrusion. A small price to pay for what was a feat few could achieve, including those who also resided in this tower.
The Royal Institute Of Mages.
To outsiders, it appeared as little more than a fetching candle in the dark. Under the correct conditions, those who viewed it from the obscenely priced observatory nearby could glean the dispersion of magic occurring from within, never knowing they were marvelling at the fumigation of cursed experiments that would have them fleeing for the nearest chapel.
But to Marina, it was even more than that.
It was a barrier. The distracting residue of innumerable miscast spells as talentless apprentices turned daisies into shrieking mandrakes and celebrated it as a success, proudly clinging to the blood frothing at their ears.
And then there was the actual barrier.
Powered by runes sewn into the ground, the walls and the very air, the shield as vivid as the iridescence of a dewdrop accounted for everything a modern mage's tower required.
And that meant disproportionate lethality.
Those who attempted to breach it were rebuffed, their face turned to cinders as feedback spells returned the unwanted curiosity with interest. Those scrying for secrets were addled, their every spell forgotten as they were reduced to the horror that was a wide eyed apprentice. And those teleporting were invited elsewhere–such as directly into a disintegration chamber fuelled by dragon fire.
Marina swallowed another deep breath.
A moment later, she appraised herself.
Nothing broken. Nothing lost. And no dragon fire torching her hair. She had her alchemist's satchel. She had her robes. She had what she wore underneath her robes.
And now she also had a spiral staircase.
One she belatedly recognised. And that was bad.
As wildly impressive as it was for her to breach the tower's defences, her destination had been somewhere even bolder than merely somewhere within.
The Headmaster's Sanctum.
Even after all this time, she could picture it well. The gaudiness of the chairs. The endless shelves filled with books forgotten to time. The plethora of artifacts hung like the skins of great beasts. The overbearing smugness of the man unworthy to occupy it.
This place wasn't that.
But it was several huffing footsteps away. And that would have to do.
Marina raised her hands. Her [Magelight] was already half-formed when she extinguished it, wincing from the sudden feedback. Her instinct was to fill the stairwell where the dim torches failed. But the convenience of light wouldn't do here. There were still other runes. Other defences. And eyes that weren't lidded with sleep.
She'd need to proceed quietly like what she was.
A thief scaling a tower.
And that was fine. She wasn't an adventurer bumbling her way through a castle or the Snow Dancer murdering her way through the Winter Court. Marina was stealthy. Marina was subtle.
"[Incendiary Ray]!"
Which was why she used her least explosive spell as she was forced to raise her palms towards the first of the creatures to welcome her.
Fwoooooooooooosh!
The flames met the arcane wyrmlings even before they'd fully materialised.
They came through the walls. Pests which fed upon magic. And those which cast them. Translucent serpents the size of a troll's arm. And just like serpents, they sprung with little regard to Marina's teetering sense of balance.
They gave no rattle or shriek, but a cry like a bird's call. And theirs was a hunting cry. As more of them flew towards her, they were met by a spray of flames so volatile it warped the air around it. The arcane wyrmlings in the scorching ray's path were stopped. But they didn't burn.
Instead, they began to expand.
Marina groaned. She always hated the next bit.
Pwooomph!
The creatures exploded, imploding from their gluttony.
Marina raised her hand, her [Barrier] mercifully rising in time to absorb the gooey innards. At once, they began to crystallise into tiny shards of pure magic. Crystals worth enough crowns for an apprentice to fund their room and boarding for a year or more.
And all of it ignored by Marina as she began to climb the spiralling staircase.
She frowned. The mages here were even more lax than she remembered. Arcane wyrmlings were as wild as the elemental plane they traversed. And as dangerous to mages as their own hands. They were creatures the tower explicitly warded against.
For them to be present could only mean one of two things. Either the runes were weakening–or something powerful enough to invite them was being cast.
Poor maintenance or forbidden magic.
Marina had a hard time deciding which was more likely.
Ignoring the urge to [Levitate] her way up the steps, she climbed, palm against the wall as she studied the magic embedded within it. The runes pulsed against her touch, no less powerful despite her mocking presence. And how glad she was of that.
The Dealer has failed to accompany her.
A bliss her ears were long overdue. Yet more than the gift of her absence was the knowledge that her ability to traverse in the blink of an eye was not without limits.
Powerful limits, but limits nonetheless.
The Dealer could not break through the laws preventing passage into the Fae Realm. Nor could she breach the magical barrier Marina had opted to sidestep rather than destroy.
Useful. Possibly.
When the time came that Lotus House's few dividends ceased to pay, she'd need to neuter that ridiculous girl's powers of immediate translocation. Marina still couldn't explain it. She wasn't even certain which branch of magic she was employing. And that in itself was deeply vexing.
But in the end, how that girl moved mattered less than knowing how to stop it. And if her promise held true, Marina would find within these walls what she needed to do that and more.
The last catalyst needed to reach her goal. To finish an experiment long in the making.
It came with strings attached, of course. Just as these things always did. And one growing far longer than the crumbs she was offered in return. But her partnership with Lotus House was never one about equality. It was payment for a service. And for even a compass direction to where she needed to be, she would roll her eyes and accept any amount of errand work they required.
Yes.
Even if errand work involved common burglary.
Marina didn't slow as she climbed, yet she grew more cautious with each passing moment. It should've been more than arcane wyrmlings here to disturb her passage.
Those within may be asleep, but the walls were not.
Her eyes remained alert as the staircase itself changed, shifting from a pale grey into shimmering steps of stabilised magic. Only the most senior of mages could continue. To do otherwise was to invite the wrath of the tower's guardians. And yet the strength of her concealment spell didn't need to be tested just yet. Not when only silence and missing statues welcomed her.
She examined the empty podiums as she ascended the steps.
Conjured creatures could be found like empty sophistries in the Royal Institute. But it was the creations binded with stone that evoked the most pride. None could now be seen. Where the gargoyles had previously sat, their presence was marked by the gaps amidst the dust.
Marina didn't consider herself lucky.
And she didn't consider the absence of the tower's guardians to be a good omen.
Far from it, she outstretched her palms like a knight with a raised shield as she climbed the length of the shimmering staircase without challenge, save for the tails of the arcane wyrmlings as they fled. And not all of them from her.
She furrowed her brows as she reached the top.
The restricted corridor which greeted her was bizarrely furnished, in keeping with the eccentricities of the archmages who'd resided here over the centuries. They could reconstitute physics, but they couldn't put a chair the right way up. One glance and she saw half a table sticking out of a wall, a carpet used as a curtain, and a chandelier stood upright in place of a doorway.
Even the corridor itself was odd, warped and misshapen.
But not nearly as much as the guardians which defended it.
Marina found where the gargoyles were.
Their wreckages were scattered amidst the length of the corridor, wings clipped and torsos cleaved. A curious sight. They hadn't been destroyed defending the staircase they were charged with watching.
They'd flown here instead … almost like hornets recalled to defend the hive.
And soon, Marina saw they hadn't been alone.
Stone corpses littered the next corridor. Golems which could match her own constructions, laboriously made over the many years within some darkened chamber. These ones, like her own, had been torn asunder. But it was not the blast of arcana crystals which had seen these ones broken.
It was a great weapon, hewing them in two.
Their great figures were separated as cleanly as wheat with a sickle. Nor were they the only creations to be offered such a decisive end. Enchanted suits of towering knights littered the floor, their scattered armour fallen in heaps where their magic had been severed.
On and on it went, a trail of wreckage with no hint of magical onslaught. No blasts of flame shrivelling up the portraits. A powerful warrior had swept through like a knife carving through butter.
Marina, it seemed, wasn't the only unexpected visitor tonight.
She didn't need to wait long to observe who it was.
Before the wide doors which led to the headmaster's sanctum, a towering figure clad entirely in obsidian and death stood waiting, hands gripped around the pommel of a greatsword, its blade pointed downwards … waiting and silent.
The death knight remained poised and ready. A cold gleam emanated from behind the visor.
Marina chose not to approach, mindful of the veritable sea of oathbound defenders which lay fallen as crumbling husks around it. Yet despite the carnage, the death knight stood not like a monster run rampant, but like a watcher at the gates.
This horror was guarding the door … against the tower's own defenders.
A bizarre mystery with few answers.
After all, despite the eccentricities of mages, she at least knew they did not dabble in necromancy.
At least not openly.
Marina raised a brow.
To become a death knight was to lose oneself to the darkest of powers. Possessing all the strength and martial skill of who they were in life, but now enhanced by death. They were the champions of evil. The torch bearers for calamity. The generals of armies and the gladiators of destruction.
And that rarely resulted in them being made into doorstops.
Few could command a death knight. And even fewer could hold the loyalty of one with the strength to tear through the tower's defenders … even if he himself now appeared to take their place.
Suddenly, he shifted, raising his pommel up slightly.
Marina bit her lips as she considered the death knight. An obstacle she was far from certain she could match. From afar, she could probably fell him … it. But were it to cover the distance–
"I bid you welcome, my lady," said the death knight, his tone hollow but courteous as it easily carried through the corridor. "The headmaster is expecting you."
He turned, revealing the door.
"You may proceed," he finished simply.
Marina was stunned.
But not only because a death knight was now gesturing the way forwards like a servant in a hall.
Instead, she noticed the dents upon the door.
They were not caused by any knightly blade, but by fists as great as boulders. The golems, the tower's staunchest defenders, hadn't sought to destroy the death knight. That was not their goal.
They'd attempted to forcibly enter the headmaster's own sanctum.
As though seeing her unmoving state, the death knight leaned to the side and knocked on the door. It began to slowly part, creaking and grinding like a castle portcullis. Yet even before the chamber revealed itself, Marina understood why a death knight was lowering itself to guarding a door.
That much was simple.
There was something far worse inside.
***
"[Arcane Teleport]!"
A resounding crack filled the air.
Marina stumbled as she snapped into existence, arms windmilling before catching herself. A motion often seen in apprentices learning to hurl themselves through existence for the very first time. But even if her nose had directly assessed the sturdiness of the wall directly in front of her, no failing marks would have been given.
After all, most mages only teleported to the nearest bar.
And that's if they were exceptionally lazy.
There was a reason mages needed to budget for travel expenses instead of navigating the world as easily as ducks fluttered across a pond. And that's because unlike small bodies of water, the world enjoyed nothing more than to push back.
And teleporting into the Royal Institute of Mages?
That wasn't merely a push back. It was a troll lifting her up by the ankles and swinging her around and around until all the world became the same dizzying shade of vomit.
Marina felt like she'd just experienced that several times in a row.
She sucked in a deep breath, as much to steady her queasiness as it was to make certain her lungs were still present. Because when it came to stealing into any mage's tower, the consequences were usually beyond the crushing fatigue. There were countless dangers when it came to intruding into magical abodes. And almost all of them unintended as actual defences.
For example–
"–Aaehhhh?!"
Building staircases not up to modern construction practices.
Slippery, narrow and just short enough to guarantee a broken shin, Marina yelped as she took a step backwards and found nothing there to meet her heel. As she began to topple, she found that the wall in front of her wasn't actually part of a nicely level corridor.
It was the wall of a stairwell.
And that meant solid ground was only a few inches wide.
The windmilling returned with a vengeance, this time propelling her forwards. She crashed face first into the steps, hands clinging onto the rough edges as though grappling the precipice of a cliff.
Only after a moment to suck in her regret did she peek behind her.
Immediately, her fingers clung on slightly tighter.
An almost vertical spiralling staircase. Down and down it went, with no end in sight. A glance beyond where a railing should really exist revealed an abyss disturbed by no hint of light. Fractions were all that separated Marina from an appalling death by rolling. A humiliating demise spelled by a thousand bumps against her head as she crashed to the feet of some yawning apprentice.
It could have been worse.
Because when it came to magic, it could always have been worse.
Marina slowly rose to her feet, delicately touching her nose. A sore tip was all the humble pains that met her intrusion. A small price to pay for what was a feat few could achieve, including those who also resided in this tower.
The Royal Institute Of Mages.
To outsiders, it appeared as little more than a fetching candle in the dark. Under the correct conditions, those who viewed it from the obscenely priced observatory nearby could glean the dispersion of magic occurring from within, never knowing they were marvelling at the fumigation of cursed experiments that would have them fleeing for the nearest chapel.
But to Marina, it was even more than that.
It was a barrier. The distracting residue of innumerable miscast spells as talentless apprentices turned daisies into shrieking mandrakes and celebrated it as a success, proudly clinging to the blood frothing at their ears.
And then there was the actual barrier.
Powered by runes sewn into the ground, the walls and the very air, the shield as vivid as the iridescence of a dewdrop accounted for everything a modern mage's tower required.
And that meant disproportionate lethality.
Those who attempted to breach it were rebuffed, their face turned to cinders as feedback spells returned the unwanted curiosity with interest. Those scrying for secrets were addled, their every spell forgotten as they were reduced to the horror that was a wide eyed apprentice. And those teleporting were invited elsewhere–such as directly into a disintegration chamber fuelled by dragon fire.
Marina swallowed another deep breath.
A moment later, she appraised herself.
Nothing broken. Nothing lost. And no dragon fire torching her hair. She had her alchemist's satchel. She had her robes. She had what she wore underneath her robes.
And now she also had a spiral staircase.
One she belatedly recognised. And that was bad.
As wildly impressive as it was for her to breach the tower's defences, her destination had been somewhere even bolder than merely somewhere within.
The Headmaster's Sanctum.
Even after all this time, she could picture it well. The gaudiness of the chairs. The endless shelves filled with books forgotten to time. The plethora of artifacts hung like the skins of great beasts. The overbearing smugness of the man unworthy to occupy it.
This place wasn't that.
But it was several huffing footsteps away. And that would have to do.
Marina raised her hands. Her [Magelight] was already half-formed when she extinguished it, wincing from the sudden feedback. Her instinct was to fill the stairwell where the dim torches failed. But the convenience of light wouldn't do here. There were still other runes. Other defences. And eyes that weren't lidded with sleep.
She'd need to proceed quietly like what she was.
A thief scaling a tower.
And that was fine. She wasn't an adventurer bumbling her way through a castle or the Snow Dancer murdering her way through the Winter Court. Marina was stealthy. Marina was subtle.
"[Incendiary Ray]!"
Which was why she used her least explosive spell as she was forced to raise her palms towards the first of the creatures to welcome her.
Fwoooooooooooosh!
The flames met the arcane wyrmlings even before they'd fully materialised.
They came through the walls. Pests which fed upon magic. And those which cast them. Translucent serpents the size of a troll's arm. And just like serpents, they sprung with little regard to Marina's teetering sense of balance.
They gave no rattle or shriek, but a cry like a bird's call. And theirs was a hunting cry. As more of them flew towards her, they were met by a spray of flames so volatile it warped the air around it. The arcane wyrmlings in the scorching ray's path were stopped. But they didn't burn.
Instead, they began to expand.
Marina groaned. She always hated the next bit.
Pwooomph!
The creatures exploded, imploding from their gluttony.
Marina raised her hand, her [Barrier] mercifully rising in time to absorb the gooey innards. At once, they began to crystallise into tiny shards of pure magic. Crystals worth enough crowns for an apprentice to fund their room and boarding for a year or more.
And all of it ignored by Marina as she began to climb the spiralling staircase.
She frowned. The mages here were even more lax than she remembered. Arcane wyrmlings were as wild as the elemental plane they traversed. And as dangerous to mages as their own hands. They were creatures the tower explicitly warded against.
For them to be present could only mean one of two things. Either the runes were weakening–or something powerful enough to invite them was being cast.
Poor maintenance or forbidden magic.
Marina had a hard time deciding which was more likely.
Ignoring the urge to [Levitate] her way up the steps, she climbed, palm against the wall as she studied the magic embedded within it. The runes pulsed against her touch, no less powerful despite her mocking presence. And how glad she was of that.
The Dealer has failed to accompany her.
A bliss her ears were long overdue. Yet more than the gift of her absence was the knowledge that her ability to traverse in the blink of an eye was not without limits.
Powerful limits, but limits nonetheless.
The Dealer could not break through the laws preventing passage into the Fae Realm. Nor could she breach the magical barrier Marina had opted to sidestep rather than destroy.
Useful. Possibly.
When the time came that Lotus House's few dividends ceased to pay, she'd need to neuter that ridiculous girl's powers of immediate translocation. Marina still couldn't explain it. She wasn't even certain which branch of magic she was employing. And that in itself was deeply vexing.
But in the end, how that girl moved mattered less than knowing how to stop it. And if her promise held true, Marina would find within these walls what she needed to do that and more.
The last catalyst needed to reach her goal. To finish an experiment long in the making.
It came with strings attached, of course. Just as these things always did. And one growing far longer than the crumbs she was offered in return. But her partnership with Lotus House was never one about equality. It was payment for a service. And for even a compass direction to where she needed to be, she would roll her eyes and accept any amount of errand work they required.
Yes.
Even if errand work involved common burglary.
Marina didn't slow as she climbed, yet she grew more cautious with each passing moment. It should've been more than arcane wyrmlings here to disturb her passage.
Those within may be asleep, but the walls were not.
Her eyes remained alert as the staircase itself changed, shifting from a pale grey into shimmering steps of stabilised magic. Only the most senior of mages could continue. To do otherwise was to invite the wrath of the tower's guardians. And yet the strength of her concealment spell didn't need to be tested just yet. Not when only silence and missing statues welcomed her.
She examined the empty podiums as she ascended the steps.
Conjured creatures could be found like empty sophistries in the Royal Institute. But it was the creations binded with stone that evoked the most pride. None could now be seen. Where the gargoyles had previously sat, their presence was marked by the gaps amidst the dust.
Marina didn't consider herself lucky.
And she didn't consider the absence of the tower's guardians to be a good omen.
Far from it, she outstretched her palms like a knight with a raised shield as she climbed the length of the shimmering staircase without challenge, save for the tails of the arcane wyrmlings as they fled. And not all of them from her.
She furrowed her brows as she reached the top.
The restricted corridor which greeted her was bizarrely furnished, in keeping with the eccentricities of the archmages who'd resided here over the centuries. They could reconstitute physics, but they couldn't put a chair the right way up. One glance and she saw half a table sticking out of a wall, a carpet used as a curtain, and a chandelier stood upright in place of a doorway.
Even the corridor itself was odd, warped and misshapen.
But not nearly as much as the guardians which defended it.
Marina found where the gargoyles were.
Their wreckages were scattered amidst the length of the corridor, wings clipped and torsos cleaved. A curious sight. They hadn't been destroyed defending the staircase they were charged with watching.
They'd flown here instead … almost like hornets recalled to defend the hive.
And soon, Marina saw they hadn't been alone.
Stone corpses littered the next corridor. Golems which could match her own constructions, laboriously made over the many years within some darkened chamber. These ones, like her own, had been torn asunder. But it was not the blast of arcana crystals which had seen these ones broken.
It was a great weapon, hewing them in two.
Their great figures were separated as cleanly as wheat with a sickle. Nor were they the only creations to be offered such a decisive end. Enchanted suits of towering knights littered the floor, their scattered armour fallen in heaps where their magic had been severed.
On and on it went, a trail of wreckage with no hint of magical onslaught. No blasts of flame shrivelling up the portraits. A powerful warrior had swept through like a knife carving through butter.
Marina, it seemed, wasn't the only unexpected visitor tonight.
She didn't need to wait long to observe who it was.
Before the wide doors which led to the headmaster's sanctum, a towering figure clad entirely in obsidian and death stood waiting, hands gripped around the pommel of a greatsword, its blade pointed downwards … waiting and silent.
The death knight remained poised and ready. A cold gleam emanated from behind the visor.
Marina chose not to approach, mindful of the veritable sea of oathbound defenders which lay fallen as crumbling husks around it. Yet despite the carnage, the death knight stood not like a monster run rampant, but like a watcher at the gates.
This horror was guarding the door … against the tower's own defenders.
A bizarre mystery with few answers.
After all, despite the eccentricities of mages, she at least knew they did not dabble in necromancy.
At least not openly.
Marina raised a brow.
To become a death knight was to lose oneself to the darkest of powers. Possessing all the strength and martial skill of who they were in life, but now enhanced by death. They were the champions of evil. The torch bearers for calamity. The generals of armies and the gladiators of destruction.
And that rarely resulted in them being made into doorstops.
Few could command a death knight. And even fewer could hold the loyalty of one with the strength to tear through the tower's defenders … even if he himself now appeared to take their place.
Suddenly, he shifted, raising his pommel up slightly.
Marina bit her lips as she considered the death knight. An obstacle she was far from certain she could match. From afar, she could probably fell him … it. But were it to cover the distance–
"I bid you welcome, my lady," said the death knight, his tone hollow but courteous as it easily carried through the corridor. "The headmaster is expecting you."
He turned, revealing the door.
"You may proceed," he finished simply.
Marina was stunned.
But not only because a death knight was now gesturing the way forwards like a servant in a hall.
Instead, she noticed the dents upon the door.
They were not caused by any knightly blade, but by fists as great as boulders. The golems, the tower's staunchest defenders, hadn't sought to destroy the death knight. That was not their goal.
They'd attempted to forcibly enter the headmaster's own sanctum.
As though seeing her unmoving state, the death knight leaned to the side and knocked on the door. It began to slowly part, creaking and grinding like a castle portcullis. Yet even before the chamber revealed itself, Marina understood why a death knight was lowering itself to guarding a door.
That much was simple.
There was something far worse inside.
- Location
- Argentina
Children are the recurring villain in every media. They must be stopped!
Kingdom Of Tirea Map
- Location
- Argentina
Ah so there is a kingdom under the sea? Kinda had forgot that to be honest.
There is, but it's not on this map. It is farther out. Mermaids aren't supposed to be so close to land!
- Location
- Argentina
"Save for that Mermaid bar, it is royal approved."
"Why? Doesn't that break that treaty?"
"Taxes and tourism of course! So it has an exemption."
- Location
- Somewhere else
"Aren't they just mind controlling the customers into giving them all their money?"
"Yes, but they still pay their taxes, so it's fine."
Chapter 256: Educational Assessment
Marina Lainsfont's mini-arc. 2/4.
***
Marina held little respect for most modern practitioners of magic.
Fashion pervaded all lifestyles, and the world of mages was no different.
Substance over effect. This was the current trend. A need to override mediocrity with a veneer of flamboyancy. Why settle for a simple [Light] spell when a thousand conjured fireflies did the same job but worse?
Seeing the chamber around her, she couldn't help but weep.
The trend had begun to spread. And she wasn't certain if there was a cure. The headmaster's abode was less an office and more a house of curios–most likely because that's where every item had been pilfered from. If there was room for one podium with a cursed limb to grace it, there was room for another.
The tower had its own dedicated vault for these things, of course. Two, in fact. One for the mages and one for the robbers, with the only difference being the aggressiveness of the magical items stored.
The robbers had the gentler ones, to offer them a fighting chance at survival.
But there was a reason Marina had sought this chamber over the vault. Because as powerful as the artifacts those here hoarded to the detriment of magical research worldwide were, the greatest rarely came as ancient staves, enchanted skulls and talking teapots.
They came as books.
And the one she needed sat waiting for her upon a plain wooden desk.
Alberic Terschel's Observations Of The Grave, definitive 13th edition.
Far from leaping in joy, Marina merely wrinkled her nose.
She'd endured all the definitive editions prior to this one. The updates to the winding prose must have been extraordinary. She doubted if there were any changes to the content. The man's theories on contemporary thaumaturgy left as much room to manoeuvre as a boulder lodged in the sand.
Then again, perhaps he was saving the best for the 13th time.
Withholding pertinent knowledge for the sake of that number was very much the sort of moronic thing those in magical academia did. And their audience would gobble it up like fruit slimes to a rotten melon rind. Self-defeating inefficiency.
If there was a tagline for renowned mages, that would be it.
Case in point.
Instead of erasing her presence with a bolt of lightning, the author of the tome in question only regarded her with a charming smile to woo any talentless apprentice without a [True Sight] in their spellbook or a bucket of ice to pour down their back.
Marina had a much better spell at the ready.
"Headmaster Alberic," she said evenly, raising a fireball in her palms.
The man leaned comfortably against his high back chair.
Dressed in a fine robe plied from whichever merchant was unfortunate enough to be struck by a [Beguiling Charm], he was less the picture of a decrepit old mage and more a dashing adventurer at the start of his journey. He spent more time studying the tips of Marina's boots than her gathering flames.
She looked down, noticed the scuff marks, then purposefully wiped them against the carpet.
"Aha! And so my inkling was correct," he said, jovially enunciating every word as though they were debating Magister Clement's Lexicon Of Lava in a bar corner. "And not a moment too late, Miss Lainsfont. My quill has just about finished drying. Now, would you like to read my life's definitive work here, or once you've squirrelled it away for the lotuses to nibble on first? Please note, however, that this is still technically a draft and I'll not be accepting reviews. Unless they're good."
He pushed the book towards her.
Marina answered with a warm smile. But not quite as warm as the flames in her hands.
"I'm surprised to see you here," she said simply.
"Well, I hardly see why that should come as a surprise. My name is on the plaque. Perhaps not very, well, legible owing to the dents. But it's still there."
"The dents are a mystery, yes. But you being awake is a bigger one. Isn't it normal for the elderly to view their sleep with greater priority?"
Headmaster Alberic offered a small chuckle.
A welcoming demeanour. A dashing smile. Cleanly shaven. Dark eyes. And a mop of carefully crafted bed hair as luscious as an elven prince's. Here was a man with all his years of magical learning and calamity to conduct ahead of him.
Except he'd already done that.
Decades ago.
But what was a mage, if they couldn't at least cast a modest glamour upon themselves?
Age could not be slowed. But limbs could be hastened and smiles turned shining. Especially if the spellcaster was one who was exceptionally knowledgeable in matters of the human physique. Or so his own waffling foreword claimed.
"Sleep is a resource for the young," he said, waving his hand at nothing at all. "To nurture minds and heal tired souls. Those of us who have passed that point no longer require nurturing. No, Miss Lainsfont. We require focus."
Marina was unimpressed. Not least with herself.
She had a task to do. And unlike those she was forced to work with to the detriment of her migraines, she at least tried to view her endeavours with the minimal professionalism.
… But this man?
Well, she could spare a reminder of how uninspiring he was.
"Focus," she repeated after him, juggling her fireball slightly to better allow her rolling eyes to be seen. "I suppose that's famously the hallmark of someone who finishes a book at the 13th attempt."
Headmaster Alberic clicked his fingers. Marina tensed at once, more than aware of what a mage's fingers could do.
"Precisely. Others would have left their life's work in the gutters, to wither away and drown amidst the sheer avalanche of new titles competing with mine each month. But I opted to persevere."
The headmaster gestured once more towards his book, tapping at the embossed cover. Marina had no doubt he'd painstakingly etched the letters himself. That was likely all the changes in this edition.
"You opted to ram it into enough bookshelves that someone accidentally bought it," she corrected him.
"Yourself included, I hope?"
"I read it. I didn't buy it."
"And what did you think?"
"Superlative. I've yet to experience finer kindling."
Headmaster Alberic's smile continued unabated, even as he curled a beard that was no longer there.
"For a work six decades in the making, I'd expect no less. Few nights went by where I didn't toil. And with each new release, I was galvanised to do another. Some believed I craved consistency. But I craved perfection. And I dare say I've now achieved it."
The fireball in her palms wavered from the force of Marina's snort.
"And is that the opinion of your peers as well?"
For a brief moment, the headmaster's dark eyes flashed with a hint of colour and age.
"My peers? Miss Lainsfont, to burgle my chamber is one thing. But to insult me is quite another. My peers are those who have already passed before us, gone to rest after having charted the stars, mapped the field of theoretical invocation and crafted the spell for self-slicing bread. The … apprentices who remain, wearing their master's robes, barely qualify to peer review a cookbook."
"Is that because a cookbook is the most accurate thing you've written?"
Silence.
Headmaster Alberic's fingers drummed against the cover of his book. A moment later, he sat up and offered a smile so devoid of mirth that no amount of magic could hide it.
"Ah, but how delightful it is to see the years haven't changed you, Miss Lainsfont. Now where are my manners? I welcome you to the Royal Institute of Mages. How well you've grown since your last visit. Have you come to tour the grounds again? Review our classes? Our crafting workshops, perhaps?"
"No."
Marina looked pointedly at the book on his desk.
She was not being curt for the sake of it. Allow this man to waffle and before long, she'd need a glamour to hide the wrinkles, too.
"A shame," replied Headmaster Alberic, offering a hint of regret in his tone. "Our facilities would offer your talents a greater pathway to success than … well, whatever it is you're currently doing."
"Drudgery can be found anywhere. It's not exclusive to just under your tutelage."
"True. And how very dull your work must be if my little book is all Lotus House desires. But I suppose clandestine organisations can't be initiating coups all the time. There'd be no kingdoms left to topple. Frankly, it all sounds a bit of a chore. You'd do better working at your father's establishment. By all accounts, it isn't terrible."
Marina's nose wrinkled. And only a fraction of it was due to the musk from the centuries old carpet.
"Bar work was never for me," she said quietly. "But I see from this meeting it's never too late to regret. Your glamour can instil remorse where words from the wise have failed."
Headmaster Alberic gave a generous chuckle.
"Ah. And there is that famed Lainsfont impertinence which first drew you to my eye. Why, I'm almost inclined to offer you another scholarship. It's not too late, you know? Since your overconfidence in your own mediocre abilities hasn't left, neither has my offer."
Marina would have snorted again if she wasn't afraid the strength of it would extinguish her flames.
For one thing, she very much doubted if he was in any position to offer a scholarships. Not while a death knight guarded his door and the tower's guardians seemed to want to add his head to an appropriate mantle of matching fossils.
"I'll decline."
"Without a moment's hesitation?"
"My reasons haven't changed. They've only been added to. If I wish to endure mental torture, I'd flick to a random page in your newest edition."
Headmaster Alberic raised his brow. All of a sudden, his dark eyes took on an unusual hue as they not only peered at Marina, but almost past her as well.
"... Like mother, like daughter, I see. She was also highly confident. Too much so. I would have hoped that you of all people would understand the folly of pride."
Marina's mouth opened, yet no words came out. Of all the disparagements she was ready to swipe aside, that had not been one of them.
The man took the pause in his stride. He quietly considered her for a moment, then gave a curt nod.
"My condolences for the tragedy, by the way."
She pursed her lips.
"There was no tragedy."
"Of course," replied the headmaster evenly. He leaned back against his chair once again. "Now, I wish to add that we are exceptionally overbooked. Direct entry is a treasure rarer than–well, no, everything in this room is worth more. But pick a sum of crowns. That's how much wealthy families in Granholtz and the Dunes are tossing my way each day and night to send their bumbling firstborn into my arms. You'd do well to reconsider."
Marina sucked in a shallow breath, then hardened her expression.
There was time to be distracted later. Not now.
"I've much to reconsider. But not any proposal by a man whose door is being tested by golems. I see your influence holds less weight than before. Did you fumble while casting away a grey hair and strike a gargoyle instead?"
Headmaster Alberic gave an indifferent shrug.
"Maybe your masters would know. They seem well informed. If not, I'm willing to trade an answer for an answer. A mystery for a mystery. Is there a reason they wish for Observation Of The Grave's latest edition before it's finalised? True, the copy that'll be made available will be somewhat redacted, but for the common mind, it is already a deeply valuable learning tool filled with all my latest observations."
Marina had no answer for that. Nobody did.
Why Lotus House wanted this man's musings in written form, not even the most generous of mages could comprehend. And she was not one of them.
But in the end, she was here for her own reasons. And none of them included wasting time with this man well on his way to joining his peers in the ground.
Thus, she raised her flaming palms instead. The headmaster barely looked at them.
"It is better to pretend to ask for the book before outright robbing it. If you want, perhaps a borrow agreement can be discussed. I'm certain Lotus House will be able to afford it. My price happens to be exceptionally low. A book of corresponding value, of course. Plus obliviousness for a few days. Rest assured, I do not sit here waiting merely for your benefit. I am exceptionally busy and have no need for distractions. And that would include you."
Marina scoffed.
"Nothing will be lost from the absence of your 14th definitive edition."
"Then you needn't concern yourself. The 13th is my very last. And a fine number for it to end on. So please return with a suitable offer to table. As generous as I am, I will not part with my book for free. I suggest you listen to your elders once in your life on this occasion."
He leisurely sat with his hands clasped atop his lap as he offered an unhurried smile, patiently waiting for Marina to leave.
She didn't.
After all–
There was a time to listen to her elders. But there was also a time to set their faces on fire.
She only needed to ensure it was their actual face … and not the mirror image she was speaking with.
Marina swept around, only now sensing the magic at her back.
"A failing grade," said Headmaster Alberic, the spell releasing from his fingertip. "[Focus Detonation]."
***
Marina held little respect for most modern practitioners of magic.
Fashion pervaded all lifestyles, and the world of mages was no different.
Substance over effect. This was the current trend. A need to override mediocrity with a veneer of flamboyancy. Why settle for a simple [Light] spell when a thousand conjured fireflies did the same job but worse?
Seeing the chamber around her, she couldn't help but weep.
The trend had begun to spread. And she wasn't certain if there was a cure. The headmaster's abode was less an office and more a house of curios–most likely because that's where every item had been pilfered from. If there was room for one podium with a cursed limb to grace it, there was room for another.
The tower had its own dedicated vault for these things, of course. Two, in fact. One for the mages and one for the robbers, with the only difference being the aggressiveness of the magical items stored.
The robbers had the gentler ones, to offer them a fighting chance at survival.
But there was a reason Marina had sought this chamber over the vault. Because as powerful as the artifacts those here hoarded to the detriment of magical research worldwide were, the greatest rarely came as ancient staves, enchanted skulls and talking teapots.
They came as books.
And the one she needed sat waiting for her upon a plain wooden desk.
Alberic Terschel's Observations Of The Grave, definitive 13th edition.
Far from leaping in joy, Marina merely wrinkled her nose.
She'd endured all the definitive editions prior to this one. The updates to the winding prose must have been extraordinary. She doubted if there were any changes to the content. The man's theories on contemporary thaumaturgy left as much room to manoeuvre as a boulder lodged in the sand.
Then again, perhaps he was saving the best for the 13th time.
Withholding pertinent knowledge for the sake of that number was very much the sort of moronic thing those in magical academia did. And their audience would gobble it up like fruit slimes to a rotten melon rind. Self-defeating inefficiency.
If there was a tagline for renowned mages, that would be it.
Case in point.
Instead of erasing her presence with a bolt of lightning, the author of the tome in question only regarded her with a charming smile to woo any talentless apprentice without a [True Sight] in their spellbook or a bucket of ice to pour down their back.
Marina had a much better spell at the ready.
"Headmaster Alberic," she said evenly, raising a fireball in her palms.
The man leaned comfortably against his high back chair.
Dressed in a fine robe plied from whichever merchant was unfortunate enough to be struck by a [Beguiling Charm], he was less the picture of a decrepit old mage and more a dashing adventurer at the start of his journey. He spent more time studying the tips of Marina's boots than her gathering flames.
She looked down, noticed the scuff marks, then purposefully wiped them against the carpet.
"Aha! And so my inkling was correct," he said, jovially enunciating every word as though they were debating Magister Clement's Lexicon Of Lava in a bar corner. "And not a moment too late, Miss Lainsfont. My quill has just about finished drying. Now, would you like to read my life's definitive work here, or once you've squirrelled it away for the lotuses to nibble on first? Please note, however, that this is still technically a draft and I'll not be accepting reviews. Unless they're good."
He pushed the book towards her.
Marina answered with a warm smile. But not quite as warm as the flames in her hands.
"I'm surprised to see you here," she said simply.
"Well, I hardly see why that should come as a surprise. My name is on the plaque. Perhaps not very, well, legible owing to the dents. But it's still there."
"The dents are a mystery, yes. But you being awake is a bigger one. Isn't it normal for the elderly to view their sleep with greater priority?"
Headmaster Alberic offered a small chuckle.
A welcoming demeanour. A dashing smile. Cleanly shaven. Dark eyes. And a mop of carefully crafted bed hair as luscious as an elven prince's. Here was a man with all his years of magical learning and calamity to conduct ahead of him.
Except he'd already done that.
Decades ago.
But what was a mage, if they couldn't at least cast a modest glamour upon themselves?
Age could not be slowed. But limbs could be hastened and smiles turned shining. Especially if the spellcaster was one who was exceptionally knowledgeable in matters of the human physique. Or so his own waffling foreword claimed.
"Sleep is a resource for the young," he said, waving his hand at nothing at all. "To nurture minds and heal tired souls. Those of us who have passed that point no longer require nurturing. No, Miss Lainsfont. We require focus."
Marina was unimpressed. Not least with herself.
She had a task to do. And unlike those she was forced to work with to the detriment of her migraines, she at least tried to view her endeavours with the minimal professionalism.
… But this man?
Well, she could spare a reminder of how uninspiring he was.
"Focus," she repeated after him, juggling her fireball slightly to better allow her rolling eyes to be seen. "I suppose that's famously the hallmark of someone who finishes a book at the 13th attempt."
Headmaster Alberic clicked his fingers. Marina tensed at once, more than aware of what a mage's fingers could do.
"Precisely. Others would have left their life's work in the gutters, to wither away and drown amidst the sheer avalanche of new titles competing with mine each month. But I opted to persevere."
The headmaster gestured once more towards his book, tapping at the embossed cover. Marina had no doubt he'd painstakingly etched the letters himself. That was likely all the changes in this edition.
"You opted to ram it into enough bookshelves that someone accidentally bought it," she corrected him.
"Yourself included, I hope?"
"I read it. I didn't buy it."
"And what did you think?"
"Superlative. I've yet to experience finer kindling."
Headmaster Alberic's smile continued unabated, even as he curled a beard that was no longer there.
"For a work six decades in the making, I'd expect no less. Few nights went by where I didn't toil. And with each new release, I was galvanised to do another. Some believed I craved consistency. But I craved perfection. And I dare say I've now achieved it."
The fireball in her palms wavered from the force of Marina's snort.
"And is that the opinion of your peers as well?"
For a brief moment, the headmaster's dark eyes flashed with a hint of colour and age.
"My peers? Miss Lainsfont, to burgle my chamber is one thing. But to insult me is quite another. My peers are those who have already passed before us, gone to rest after having charted the stars, mapped the field of theoretical invocation and crafted the spell for self-slicing bread. The … apprentices who remain, wearing their master's robes, barely qualify to peer review a cookbook."
"Is that because a cookbook is the most accurate thing you've written?"
Silence.
Headmaster Alberic's fingers drummed against the cover of his book. A moment later, he sat up and offered a smile so devoid of mirth that no amount of magic could hide it.
"Ah, but how delightful it is to see the years haven't changed you, Miss Lainsfont. Now where are my manners? I welcome you to the Royal Institute of Mages. How well you've grown since your last visit. Have you come to tour the grounds again? Review our classes? Our crafting workshops, perhaps?"
"No."
Marina looked pointedly at the book on his desk.
She was not being curt for the sake of it. Allow this man to waffle and before long, she'd need a glamour to hide the wrinkles, too.
"A shame," replied Headmaster Alberic, offering a hint of regret in his tone. "Our facilities would offer your talents a greater pathway to success than … well, whatever it is you're currently doing."
"Drudgery can be found anywhere. It's not exclusive to just under your tutelage."
"True. And how very dull your work must be if my little book is all Lotus House desires. But I suppose clandestine organisations can't be initiating coups all the time. There'd be no kingdoms left to topple. Frankly, it all sounds a bit of a chore. You'd do better working at your father's establishment. By all accounts, it isn't terrible."
Marina's nose wrinkled. And only a fraction of it was due to the musk from the centuries old carpet.
"Bar work was never for me," she said quietly. "But I see from this meeting it's never too late to regret. Your glamour can instil remorse where words from the wise have failed."
Headmaster Alberic gave a generous chuckle.
"Ah. And there is that famed Lainsfont impertinence which first drew you to my eye. Why, I'm almost inclined to offer you another scholarship. It's not too late, you know? Since your overconfidence in your own mediocre abilities hasn't left, neither has my offer."
Marina would have snorted again if she wasn't afraid the strength of it would extinguish her flames.
For one thing, she very much doubted if he was in any position to offer a scholarships. Not while a death knight guarded his door and the tower's guardians seemed to want to add his head to an appropriate mantle of matching fossils.
"I'll decline."
"Without a moment's hesitation?"
"My reasons haven't changed. They've only been added to. If I wish to endure mental torture, I'd flick to a random page in your newest edition."
Headmaster Alberic raised his brow. All of a sudden, his dark eyes took on an unusual hue as they not only peered at Marina, but almost past her as well.
"... Like mother, like daughter, I see. She was also highly confident. Too much so. I would have hoped that you of all people would understand the folly of pride."
Marina's mouth opened, yet no words came out. Of all the disparagements she was ready to swipe aside, that had not been one of them.
The man took the pause in his stride. He quietly considered her for a moment, then gave a curt nod.
"My condolences for the tragedy, by the way."
She pursed her lips.
"There was no tragedy."
"Of course," replied the headmaster evenly. He leaned back against his chair once again. "Now, I wish to add that we are exceptionally overbooked. Direct entry is a treasure rarer than–well, no, everything in this room is worth more. But pick a sum of crowns. That's how much wealthy families in Granholtz and the Dunes are tossing my way each day and night to send their bumbling firstborn into my arms. You'd do well to reconsider."
Marina sucked in a shallow breath, then hardened her expression.
There was time to be distracted later. Not now.
"I've much to reconsider. But not any proposal by a man whose door is being tested by golems. I see your influence holds less weight than before. Did you fumble while casting away a grey hair and strike a gargoyle instead?"
Headmaster Alberic gave an indifferent shrug.
"Maybe your masters would know. They seem well informed. If not, I'm willing to trade an answer for an answer. A mystery for a mystery. Is there a reason they wish for Observation Of The Grave's latest edition before it's finalised? True, the copy that'll be made available will be somewhat redacted, but for the common mind, it is already a deeply valuable learning tool filled with all my latest observations."
Marina had no answer for that. Nobody did.
Why Lotus House wanted this man's musings in written form, not even the most generous of mages could comprehend. And she was not one of them.
But in the end, she was here for her own reasons. And none of them included wasting time with this man well on his way to joining his peers in the ground.
Thus, she raised her flaming palms instead. The headmaster barely looked at them.
"It is better to pretend to ask for the book before outright robbing it. If you want, perhaps a borrow agreement can be discussed. I'm certain Lotus House will be able to afford it. My price happens to be exceptionally low. A book of corresponding value, of course. Plus obliviousness for a few days. Rest assured, I do not sit here waiting merely for your benefit. I am exceptionally busy and have no need for distractions. And that would include you."
Marina scoffed.
"Nothing will be lost from the absence of your 14th definitive edition."
"Then you needn't concern yourself. The 13th is my very last. And a fine number for it to end on. So please return with a suitable offer to table. As generous as I am, I will not part with my book for free. I suggest you listen to your elders once in your life on this occasion."
He leisurely sat with his hands clasped atop his lap as he offered an unhurried smile, patiently waiting for Marina to leave.
She didn't.
After all–
There was a time to listen to her elders. But there was also a time to set their faces on fire.
She only needed to ensure it was their actual face … and not the mirror image she was speaking with.
Marina swept around, only now sensing the magic at her back.
"A failing grade," said Headmaster Alberic, the spell releasing from his fingertip. "[Focus Detonation]."
- Location
- Argentina
"A headmaster whose own mage tower wants to kill him does indeed deserve a failing grade."
Chapter 257: Fundamentals Of Magic, 101
Marina Lainsfont's mini-arc. 3/4.
***
For the briefest of moments, Marina saw magic concentrated into the size of a pea.
Arcane energy wrought and bent like iron upon an anvil, the telltale hiss of death and the acrid smell of burning iron meeting her, before expanding outwards with all the force of a dragon's breath.
Marina still had enough time to click her tongue. Just before replacing the sight with a fire of her own.
"[Ignite]!"
Fwumph.
Thrusting her arms out, she discharged the flames in her hands. The air between them raged as her spell struck the headmaster's. Magic met magic. And the result was lashes of molten liquid writhing like burning rivers fighting over a canal.
"Ghhhhhhhrrrrr …"
Marina clenched her teeth before the dance of flames. But not due to the strength of the headmaster's opening spell. No–his [Focus Detonation] boasted all the subtlety of a stoneworker cleaving a boulder in two. She would not be matched in raw power.
Rather … she was simply furious with herself.
The mindless flamboyancy had worked.
She'd actually been distracted enough to fail to account for a mirror image. A mistake her ears would doubtless pay for all the way until she set this man's vocal chords alight.
"Offence over defence," came Headmaster Alberic's musing voice behind the wall of melting air. "Bold … arrogant, even. But arrogance is not one of the fundamentals of magic, is it?"
He revealed himself with a casual wave of his hand, extinguishing the wall of flames no differently than were he blowing out a candle.
"I'm not familiar with the standard curriculum," said Marina, snatching at the fleeing flames. In a single movement, she strung them together as a burning chain before whipping them towards the exposed mage before her. "You made sure of that."
"Indeed, I did." Headmaster Alberic flicked the chain away. It fell as a string of multicoloured flags of the continent. "Not my most mature decision, but I was young … er and prideful. Much like you are now. I'm sure you'd do the same if slighted by a child."
"My days of being insulted by children are over. A pity. It looks like insults become worse with age."
Headmaster Alberic gave a modest chuckle, trying and failing to have his youthful appearance make any impact on Marina's conjured image of him. Instead, he circled his hand, drawing forth a crystal platter filled with tableware more intricate than anything an artisan could craft in a year.
"Then allow me to offer my apologies with a long overdue lesson, for your sake as well as mine. Safety, after all, is the most important rule we hold here in the Royal Institute of Mages."
"I'd rather eat a blighted toad."
"Yes, well, that can be the follow-up lesson. Now pay attention. Technique. Stability. Efficiency. These are the fundamentals of magic."
Marina waited, despite herself.
After a few moments of silence, she raised her palms in disgust.
"... Is that it?"
"Yes."
She hadn't paid a single crown for that lesson. And still the part of her that remained a shopkeeper felt robbed.
"That was worse than every lesson I'd yet to receive."
"There is a part two."
"Another three words, perhaps?"
"Just the one, actually–to demonstrate what failure to follow these fundamentals results in. [Shatter]."
"[Molten Barrier]!"
Before the words had even left her lips, an umbrella of flickering lava enveloped her. The magical barrier hissed as it absorbed the crystalline shards erupting towards her, melting them as easily as leaves in a hearth.
"Technique. Stability. Efficiency," repeated the headmaster, his darkened silhouette leaning forwards to study Marina's shield. "By order of importance, but all three must be observed. Failure to adhere to the fundamentals will result in a very shortened lifespan. Before you can wield fire, you must first learn to respect it, lest it burns more than your hand. Which is why I must offer you an important chastisement. Your magic is far too wild, Miss Lainsfont."
"My magic is my own," she replied, waiting for the moment he leaned closer like the curious buffoon he was. "And the spells I cast are considerably improved to those wielded by anyone unfortunate enough to have ears in your presence."
"Ah, yes. I can see it already. The tinkering. Like a new student on their way out via a hole in the wall. A basic [Ignite] should not be able to match the destructive force of a [Force Detonation]. Dangerous, Miss Lainsfont. There is a cost to all things. And mages pay it with more than crowns or beads of sweat. Arrogance is no recognised currency. It is a pitfall. For example–[Gale Blast]."
Pwooomph.
All of a sudden, a strike like a hammer blow slammed into Marina's barrier.
Her entire body shifted, soles sliding against the wilting carpets as the spell almost threatened to send her backwards as a human cannonball. She held instead, her surrounding flames raging angrily towards the man whose smile she could sense, even if her eyes were spared the sight.
"Had you correctly layered your barrier, you would have remained anchored to the spot. But that's not where your spellwork's true weakness lies. Not everyone uses magic as you do–brutishly like a knight swinging a mace. For those that do see all too late the dagger slipping between the armour."
Without waiting for a response, the man's finger once again pointed towards her.
"–And mine is exceptionally sharp. [Arcane Dispersion]."
Clink.
A heartbeat later, a thin shaft of light immediately broke through Marina's [Molten Barrier]. Gone was the hammer and in came the chisel, her magic shedding as cracks streaked across the surface.
Cracks which gave way to molten shards more deadly than any dagger the headmaster wished to use.
"[Fiery Absolution]!"
Marina was ready.
As her barrier broke, she drove the collapsing shards before her with a fling of her arms, a vulnerability turning to a volley of molten death. They were all met by a door, the shards impaling the enchanted woodwork like darts against a board.
Other mages would stand and gawp. But she didn't wait to see where he had shifted.
She didn't need to.
"[Conflagration Nova]!"
Denying the inevitable attack driven towards her back, she sent a wave of shimmering heat in all directions. The carpet became a receding wave of flames as the blast swept through the chamber, artifacts and trophies hurling from their podiums as the fiery tide smashed into the ring of surrounding shelves. Books collapsed and piled upon the floor, their covers aflame like smouldering embers, even if their contents remained warded and safe.
"Aha. A true classic. The good old exploding barrier into making a mess of my office trick. A handy thing, to make use of every scrap of magic there is. But also far too predictable."
"Tch."
Marina prayed for patience as she turned around.
There, now truly sat behind his desk, was a wholly unconcerned headmaster.
Flicking the pages of his undamaged draft without reading, he glanced up as though she'd only just entered his chamber.
Mages.
Even as one, she couldn't help but think the world would be better without them all.
"Remember, Miss Lainsfont–masking magic is good practice. But against fellow mages, it is critical. Blowing everything up is entertaining, yes, but not necessarily efficient or pragmatic. The surge is far too observable. If you'd like to learn about practical magical obfuscation, it actually comes included with my tutelage."
Marina furrowed her brows as she studied what defences he had on his person. Or attempted to.
"It must be a short lesson, seeing the effectiveness of your glamour. The inconsistencies are so wildly amateurish that I can only assume it's distracting on purpose."
Headmaster Alberic raised an eyebrow, even as his smile remained undiminished.
"... I'd lament that your personality has changed. Sadly, I see that it hasn't."
"Good. It means I don't need to restate my reasons for rejecting your subpar tutelage."
"A mercy for us both, then. The petulance still nibbles at my memories."
Marina just about held back a snort. She didn't know what was more laughable. That this man considered indentured servitude to be a worthy price for his rambling musings, or that none of his spells helped him to see beyond his own nose.
"Petulence is barring any accredited mage from tutoring me," she said plainly. "A level of spite I only wish I could use as a reagent. The efficacy of whatever I crafted would be insurmountable."
"As I said–I have my regrets … although I should note they are relatively minor. This academy is no orphanage for the dispossessed. It is an institute of learning, with a corresponding price. Those who refuse to pay should not be led astray by those hacks I call my colleagues. That is, I believe, a far crueller fate than allowing such talents to naturally go their way."
The embers simmering in Marina's palms flashed to life once again.
"You failed. My flames burn more keenly than ever."
Headmaster Alberic sat back in his chair and smiled.
"I shall be the judge of that. [Glacial Orb]."
He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. One which came with a snowball leaving his palm, before immediately turning into a ball of shimmering ice.
Marina was faster.
"[Incendiary Ray]."
Woooooooooooosh.
She met the oncoming sphere with a prolonged burst of flames. And unlike with the arcane wyrmlings, she had no need for discretion. Quite the opposite.
She wished to make a point as loud as her flames could sear.
The orb of frost slowed, its form hanging in the air before it stilled entirely. Such was its scalding cold that even as it was struck by Marina's spell, it did not seamlessly melt. Instead, a hole appeared in its centre while its frame remained. And like a lance piercing through a shield, her spell plunged through the frozen orb and struck the sitting mage cleanly.
Or rather, the lightly shimmering barrier around him.
"An impressive feat." Headmaster Alberic was unperturbed as he fiddled with his hair. "Were you an apprentice freshly dropped on my porch, that is. Ice is not to be melted like a snowman in the sun. It should be shattered, for it is as brittle as it is sharp. Rather than fire, I would suggest a blunt force instead–such as an [Arcane Fist]."
Marina didn't know where it was coming from. But she knew it was coming.
Knowing her [Molten Barrier] hadn't yet recovered, she opted for the next best thing–and ducked as a fist of pure light passed where her head had just been, smashing instead the marble bust next to her.
For the first time, the headmaster wore a look of mild surprise.
"Hm. I wasn't aware you had the agility of an adventurer. That duck seemed very much instinctive."
Marina clenched her fists. The accusation disgusted her–precisely because it was something adventurers would do. But life was a learning lesson, and if she'd learned anything from her encounters with … those two, it was that ducking solved more problems than she cared to admit.
Her next action would be far more refined.
"I take it the book on your desk is warded against all forms of magic?" she asked, rising to her feet.
The headmaster looked palpably insulted.
"Naturally, it is! Rest assured, there is nothing you can–"
"Good." Marina's eyes flashed as power surged within her, unmasked and unbridled. There were no guardians here to stop her. They'd all been destroyed. And perhaps she'd ask his corpse why. "... [Sacred Hexflare Incineration Blast]!"
For a moment, black smoke billowed from her hands.
The magic defending Headmaster Alberic's form shimmered slightly as he reinforced it, a note of curiosity in his eyes as he viewed a rare spell he had never seen before.
Bwooooomph!
Then, the sound of a magical barrier promptly breaking filled the air. A noise atop the cacophony of a concentrated inferno as the heat sought to devour life and bones whole.
It failed.
Headmaster Alberic gazed from sleeve to sleeve as the flames dispersed, seeing his colourful robes untainted by a single scorch mark.
He gave a neutral nod, foretelling the judgement he was about to offer.
"Hmm. A [Minor Inferno] as its base, but reconstituted into something smaller in radius, yet no less potent. That spell would be worth an upper grade. Sadly, I'm afraid it would take something truly beyond your ability to break through my elemental armour. As I said, layers."
Marina wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.
She blew the trails of smoke from her hand before allowing her arms to fall by her sides.
"I wasn't aiming for you," she said, her lips twisting into a small smile.
The headmaster paused for a moment. He looked once again at his robes. And then he spied the scorched floorboards beneath his chair, bent and twisted. And the fireball merrily burning away like a campfire directly beneath him.
He looked up and scoffed.
"Miss Lainsfont, this will never–"
"[Ignite]."
Bwoomph.
An explosion of fire engulfed the annoyed form of the headmaster … just before the floor crumbled in a circle around him. Down went his figure, disappearing alongside his chair into whichever dimensional storeroom was kept beneath every floorboard.
Marina calmly approached the desk and picked up the book.
Then, she waited.
"As I was saying," said a mildly irate headmaster as he levitated up through the hole. "This will never–"
Crack.
Once again, the headmaster was unable to finish his sentence.
Yet this time, it wasn't due to any scorching flames Marina had readied for his reappearance.
Rather … it was because his magnum opus, Observations Of The Grave, definitive 13th edition, had crudely met the side of his head like a broomstick whacking away a rat.
An ugly noise immediately ringed the chamber as a tome, enchanted to be impervious to all magic, broke through the headmaster's elemental armour. The magical defences nullified, it was just an overly cumbersome, hardback book. And the head it struck was just an elderly man's skull.
The result was suitably grim.
Where his face had only moments ago been looking at Marina, it was now looking almost behind him, his neck having twisted at an impossible angle. His life's work had been his death.
Except that far from tumbling through the hole, the headmaster continued to levitate.
Awkwardly and silently … but the levitation magic was still in effect.
Marina clicked her tongue.
She was somewhat impressed. That annoyed her.
"Here's a question for you, Miss Lainsfont," said the headmaster towards his own back. "How is it possible for one to have their cervical spine shattered and still remain whole and hearty?"
The young woman bit her lips.
She rather wished she didn't know the answer. But it didn't take a mage or an alchemist to know there was only one possibility.
"No response?" said Headmaster Alberic, chuckling again as he merely brushed down his robes as opposed to fixing his head. "In that case, I suggest you turn to the latest chapter of my book. The part I'll likely be redacting upon the final release."
Marina, for once, opted to do as requested.
Flicking through pages of universal drudgery, she eventually arrived at a chapter so recently scribbled that the ink had scarcely set.
The heading, she felt, would have made for a marginally better book title.
Even if it was a single word.
Lichdom.
***
For the briefest of moments, Marina saw magic concentrated into the size of a pea.
Arcane energy wrought and bent like iron upon an anvil, the telltale hiss of death and the acrid smell of burning iron meeting her, before expanding outwards with all the force of a dragon's breath.
Marina still had enough time to click her tongue. Just before replacing the sight with a fire of her own.
"[Ignite]!"
Fwumph.
Thrusting her arms out, she discharged the flames in her hands. The air between them raged as her spell struck the headmaster's. Magic met magic. And the result was lashes of molten liquid writhing like burning rivers fighting over a canal.
"Ghhhhhhhrrrrr …"
Marina clenched her teeth before the dance of flames. But not due to the strength of the headmaster's opening spell. No–his [Focus Detonation] boasted all the subtlety of a stoneworker cleaving a boulder in two. She would not be matched in raw power.
Rather … she was simply furious with herself.
The mindless flamboyancy had worked.
She'd actually been distracted enough to fail to account for a mirror image. A mistake her ears would doubtless pay for all the way until she set this man's vocal chords alight.
"Offence over defence," came Headmaster Alberic's musing voice behind the wall of melting air. "Bold … arrogant, even. But arrogance is not one of the fundamentals of magic, is it?"
He revealed himself with a casual wave of his hand, extinguishing the wall of flames no differently than were he blowing out a candle.
"I'm not familiar with the standard curriculum," said Marina, snatching at the fleeing flames. In a single movement, she strung them together as a burning chain before whipping them towards the exposed mage before her. "You made sure of that."
"Indeed, I did." Headmaster Alberic flicked the chain away. It fell as a string of multicoloured flags of the continent. "Not my most mature decision, but I was young … er and prideful. Much like you are now. I'm sure you'd do the same if slighted by a child."
"My days of being insulted by children are over. A pity. It looks like insults become worse with age."
Headmaster Alberic gave a modest chuckle, trying and failing to have his youthful appearance make any impact on Marina's conjured image of him. Instead, he circled his hand, drawing forth a crystal platter filled with tableware more intricate than anything an artisan could craft in a year.
"Then allow me to offer my apologies with a long overdue lesson, for your sake as well as mine. Safety, after all, is the most important rule we hold here in the Royal Institute of Mages."
"I'd rather eat a blighted toad."
"Yes, well, that can be the follow-up lesson. Now pay attention. Technique. Stability. Efficiency. These are the fundamentals of magic."
Marina waited, despite herself.
After a few moments of silence, she raised her palms in disgust.
"... Is that it?"
"Yes."
She hadn't paid a single crown for that lesson. And still the part of her that remained a shopkeeper felt robbed.
"That was worse than every lesson I'd yet to receive."
"There is a part two."
"Another three words, perhaps?"
"Just the one, actually–to demonstrate what failure to follow these fundamentals results in. [Shatter]."
"[Molten Barrier]!"
Before the words had even left her lips, an umbrella of flickering lava enveloped her. The magical barrier hissed as it absorbed the crystalline shards erupting towards her, melting them as easily as leaves in a hearth.
"Technique. Stability. Efficiency," repeated the headmaster, his darkened silhouette leaning forwards to study Marina's shield. "By order of importance, but all three must be observed. Failure to adhere to the fundamentals will result in a very shortened lifespan. Before you can wield fire, you must first learn to respect it, lest it burns more than your hand. Which is why I must offer you an important chastisement. Your magic is far too wild, Miss Lainsfont."
"My magic is my own," she replied, waiting for the moment he leaned closer like the curious buffoon he was. "And the spells I cast are considerably improved to those wielded by anyone unfortunate enough to have ears in your presence."
"Ah, yes. I can see it already. The tinkering. Like a new student on their way out via a hole in the wall. A basic [Ignite] should not be able to match the destructive force of a [Force Detonation]. Dangerous, Miss Lainsfont. There is a cost to all things. And mages pay it with more than crowns or beads of sweat. Arrogance is no recognised currency. It is a pitfall. For example–[Gale Blast]."
Pwooomph.
All of a sudden, a strike like a hammer blow slammed into Marina's barrier.
Her entire body shifted, soles sliding against the wilting carpets as the spell almost threatened to send her backwards as a human cannonball. She held instead, her surrounding flames raging angrily towards the man whose smile she could sense, even if her eyes were spared the sight.
"Had you correctly layered your barrier, you would have remained anchored to the spot. But that's not where your spellwork's true weakness lies. Not everyone uses magic as you do–brutishly like a knight swinging a mace. For those that do see all too late the dagger slipping between the armour."
Without waiting for a response, the man's finger once again pointed towards her.
"–And mine is exceptionally sharp. [Arcane Dispersion]."
Clink.
A heartbeat later, a thin shaft of light immediately broke through Marina's [Molten Barrier]. Gone was the hammer and in came the chisel, her magic shedding as cracks streaked across the surface.
Cracks which gave way to molten shards more deadly than any dagger the headmaster wished to use.
"[Fiery Absolution]!"
Marina was ready.
As her barrier broke, she drove the collapsing shards before her with a fling of her arms, a vulnerability turning to a volley of molten death. They were all met by a door, the shards impaling the enchanted woodwork like darts against a board.
Other mages would stand and gawp. But she didn't wait to see where he had shifted.
She didn't need to.
"[Conflagration Nova]!"
Denying the inevitable attack driven towards her back, she sent a wave of shimmering heat in all directions. The carpet became a receding wave of flames as the blast swept through the chamber, artifacts and trophies hurling from their podiums as the fiery tide smashed into the ring of surrounding shelves. Books collapsed and piled upon the floor, their covers aflame like smouldering embers, even if their contents remained warded and safe.
"Aha. A true classic. The good old exploding barrier into making a mess of my office trick. A handy thing, to make use of every scrap of magic there is. But also far too predictable."
"Tch."
Marina prayed for patience as she turned around.
There, now truly sat behind his desk, was a wholly unconcerned headmaster.
Flicking the pages of his undamaged draft without reading, he glanced up as though she'd only just entered his chamber.
Mages.
Even as one, she couldn't help but think the world would be better without them all.
"Remember, Miss Lainsfont–masking magic is good practice. But against fellow mages, it is critical. Blowing everything up is entertaining, yes, but not necessarily efficient or pragmatic. The surge is far too observable. If you'd like to learn about practical magical obfuscation, it actually comes included with my tutelage."
Marina furrowed her brows as she studied what defences he had on his person. Or attempted to.
"It must be a short lesson, seeing the effectiveness of your glamour. The inconsistencies are so wildly amateurish that I can only assume it's distracting on purpose."
Headmaster Alberic raised an eyebrow, even as his smile remained undiminished.
"... I'd lament that your personality has changed. Sadly, I see that it hasn't."
"Good. It means I don't need to restate my reasons for rejecting your subpar tutelage."
"A mercy for us both, then. The petulance still nibbles at my memories."
Marina just about held back a snort. She didn't know what was more laughable. That this man considered indentured servitude to be a worthy price for his rambling musings, or that none of his spells helped him to see beyond his own nose.
"Petulence is barring any accredited mage from tutoring me," she said plainly. "A level of spite I only wish I could use as a reagent. The efficacy of whatever I crafted would be insurmountable."
"As I said–I have my regrets … although I should note they are relatively minor. This academy is no orphanage for the dispossessed. It is an institute of learning, with a corresponding price. Those who refuse to pay should not be led astray by those hacks I call my colleagues. That is, I believe, a far crueller fate than allowing such talents to naturally go their way."
The embers simmering in Marina's palms flashed to life once again.
"You failed. My flames burn more keenly than ever."
Headmaster Alberic sat back in his chair and smiled.
"I shall be the judge of that. [Glacial Orb]."
He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. One which came with a snowball leaving his palm, before immediately turning into a ball of shimmering ice.
Marina was faster.
"[Incendiary Ray]."
Woooooooooooosh.
She met the oncoming sphere with a prolonged burst of flames. And unlike with the arcane wyrmlings, she had no need for discretion. Quite the opposite.
She wished to make a point as loud as her flames could sear.
The orb of frost slowed, its form hanging in the air before it stilled entirely. Such was its scalding cold that even as it was struck by Marina's spell, it did not seamlessly melt. Instead, a hole appeared in its centre while its frame remained. And like a lance piercing through a shield, her spell plunged through the frozen orb and struck the sitting mage cleanly.
Or rather, the lightly shimmering barrier around him.
"An impressive feat." Headmaster Alberic was unperturbed as he fiddled with his hair. "Were you an apprentice freshly dropped on my porch, that is. Ice is not to be melted like a snowman in the sun. It should be shattered, for it is as brittle as it is sharp. Rather than fire, I would suggest a blunt force instead–such as an [Arcane Fist]."
Marina didn't know where it was coming from. But she knew it was coming.
Knowing her [Molten Barrier] hadn't yet recovered, she opted for the next best thing–and ducked as a fist of pure light passed where her head had just been, smashing instead the marble bust next to her.
For the first time, the headmaster wore a look of mild surprise.
"Hm. I wasn't aware you had the agility of an adventurer. That duck seemed very much instinctive."
Marina clenched her fists. The accusation disgusted her–precisely because it was something adventurers would do. But life was a learning lesson, and if she'd learned anything from her encounters with … those two, it was that ducking solved more problems than she cared to admit.
Her next action would be far more refined.
"I take it the book on your desk is warded against all forms of magic?" she asked, rising to her feet.
The headmaster looked palpably insulted.
"Naturally, it is! Rest assured, there is nothing you can–"
"Good." Marina's eyes flashed as power surged within her, unmasked and unbridled. There were no guardians here to stop her. They'd all been destroyed. And perhaps she'd ask his corpse why. "... [Sacred Hexflare Incineration Blast]!"
For a moment, black smoke billowed from her hands.
The magic defending Headmaster Alberic's form shimmered slightly as he reinforced it, a note of curiosity in his eyes as he viewed a rare spell he had never seen before.
Bwooooomph!
Then, the sound of a magical barrier promptly breaking filled the air. A noise atop the cacophony of a concentrated inferno as the heat sought to devour life and bones whole.
It failed.
Headmaster Alberic gazed from sleeve to sleeve as the flames dispersed, seeing his colourful robes untainted by a single scorch mark.
He gave a neutral nod, foretelling the judgement he was about to offer.
"Hmm. A [Minor Inferno] as its base, but reconstituted into something smaller in radius, yet no less potent. That spell would be worth an upper grade. Sadly, I'm afraid it would take something truly beyond your ability to break through my elemental armour. As I said, layers."
Marina wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.
She blew the trails of smoke from her hand before allowing her arms to fall by her sides.
"I wasn't aiming for you," she said, her lips twisting into a small smile.
The headmaster paused for a moment. He looked once again at his robes. And then he spied the scorched floorboards beneath his chair, bent and twisted. And the fireball merrily burning away like a campfire directly beneath him.
He looked up and scoffed.
"Miss Lainsfont, this will never–"
"[Ignite]."
Bwoomph.
An explosion of fire engulfed the annoyed form of the headmaster … just before the floor crumbled in a circle around him. Down went his figure, disappearing alongside his chair into whichever dimensional storeroom was kept beneath every floorboard.
Marina calmly approached the desk and picked up the book.
Then, she waited.
"As I was saying," said a mildly irate headmaster as he levitated up through the hole. "This will never–"
Crack.
Once again, the headmaster was unable to finish his sentence.
Yet this time, it wasn't due to any scorching flames Marina had readied for his reappearance.
Rather … it was because his magnum opus, Observations Of The Grave, definitive 13th edition, had crudely met the side of his head like a broomstick whacking away a rat.
An ugly noise immediately ringed the chamber as a tome, enchanted to be impervious to all magic, broke through the headmaster's elemental armour. The magical defences nullified, it was just an overly cumbersome, hardback book. And the head it struck was just an elderly man's skull.
The result was suitably grim.
Where his face had only moments ago been looking at Marina, it was now looking almost behind him, his neck having twisted at an impossible angle. His life's work had been his death.
Except that far from tumbling through the hole, the headmaster continued to levitate.
Awkwardly and silently … but the levitation magic was still in effect.
Marina clicked her tongue.
She was somewhat impressed. That annoyed her.
"Here's a question for you, Miss Lainsfont," said the headmaster towards his own back. "How is it possible for one to have their cervical spine shattered and still remain whole and hearty?"
The young woman bit her lips.
She rather wished she didn't know the answer. But it didn't take a mage or an alchemist to know there was only one possibility.
"No response?" said Headmaster Alberic, chuckling again as he merely brushed down his robes as opposed to fixing his head. "In that case, I suggest you turn to the latest chapter of my book. The part I'll likely be redacting upon the final release."
Marina, for once, opted to do as requested.
Flicking through pages of universal drudgery, she eventually arrived at a chapter so recently scribbled that the ink had scarcely set.
The heading, she felt, would have made for a marginally better book title.
Even if it was a single word.
Lichdom.
I'm sorry, Headmaster. The Royal Archives don't seem to have records of an approved lichdom permit.
More importantly, there are also no records of your paying the lichdom fees and taxes in advance, nor the penalties for not-quite-timely filing.
Rejoice! A justly deserved eternity on Soap Island awaits you!
--
I'm amused at how disgusted at herself she is to use an adventurer's trick, ducking; though Juliette will be even more disgusted to know someone learned an adventurer's skill from her.
More importantly, there are also no records of your paying the lichdom fees and taxes in advance, nor the penalties for not-quite-timely filing.
Rejoice! A justly deserved eternity on Soap Island awaits you!
--
I'm amused at how disgusted at herself she is to use an adventurer's trick, ducking; though Juliette will be even more disgusted to know someone learned an adventurer's skill from her.
- Location
- Argentina
"No matter how kind and meek a person is, no one endures abuse to themselves for long if they have the means to fight back, unless blinded by either Love, Adoration or an ill mind. The fastest way to make a villain is giving an abused person the means to get revenge. While that very rarely results in a Hero and usually the rookie villain won't last long, ir is indeed a good method while in a hurry to try to get rid of some people you find inconvenient without implicating yourself and with minimal risks (for yourself).
Beware however to make sure the new villain doesn't think you have cheated or abused them yourself or doing that kind of dealings will eventually backfire. It is best to be blunt and honest about both the price and risks, at least about the deal your are offering them. Everything else? Not your problem.
Now to give an example-" * From the book How to make a villain 101 Chapter 3 Abuse, abuse, abuse!, page 70.
Chapter 258: An Ode To Darkness
Marina Lainsfont's mini-arc. 4/4.
***
Despite her many talents, Marina wasn't infallible.
She recognised this early. The first time she'd attempted to feed fruit slimes with watermelons laced with anabolic enhancing strength potions was a disaster.
Not because the potions didn't work. No, they were exemplary. But rather because she'd overestimated her own ability to memorise weights and quantity.
No matter how many times she replicated the procedure, the results were the same. A fruit slime slowly absorbing a watermelon with no effect in sight. And her only proof was somewhere in the world. A fruit slime bouncing away with the grace and leaping strength of a mountain goat.
Since then, she ensured that she recorded all her endeavours. Proper note taking. That was an important lesson. And by no means her first.
They say life was a lesson. And for Marina, she was her own teacher.
She rued the state of magical education in the kingdom. Between the Mage's Guild and the Royal Institute of Magic, they managed the feat of overlooking the talents of just about everybody who showed a crumb of talent. Most of those fortunate enough to receive magical tuition did so by the charity of other mages.
Marina was not fortunate. She never had been.
She'd made do instead, learning from the things her father would return with after another season away to be a legend or a ghost. Her toys were not sticks and stones. But basilisk scales and auroch horns. And the books she read rarely held a happy ending … especially for the playground where she first learned to ward away winter.
The bonfire that day had sent the town into a frenzy.
She remembered the condemnation the most. A moment to celebrate her blooming talents, souring instead at the start of a veritable witch hunt. The punishments being demanded would have sent hardened criminals fainting that day.
Yet few words carried across the winds faster than the shouts of distressed parents and the snotty tears of their offspring. And those listening from atop the Royal Institute of Mages heard it well.
Barely two nights passed before one appeared, snapping into existence to offer a hand in the dark.
Marina never once considered taking it.
As a rule of thumb, she didn't do regrets. She was too busy for that. But if she did, her decision to spurn the mage who'd personally come to fetch her was one she'd repeat over and over … if only to see the expression of indignation he wore.
An expression she briefly saw as the man cracked his head slowly back into place.
Snap.
She decided once was enough.
"[Cloud Step]."
Cradling Observations Of The Grave, definitive 13th edition in her arms, she sped away from a death knight politely allowing her to pass, before swiftly heading down the corridors. Her feet skipped over the shattered corpses of golems and gorgoyles as easily as a gazelle over stones, lifted by the magic in her soles. But it wasn't fast enough.
The fallen guardians were proof of that.
She clicked her tongue as she hurried across, cursing the runes laden into the walls preventing speedy teleportation. She'd need a few moments at least. She didn't need to be precise. But she needed to at least ensure that when she gated, it would be relatively near the ground and not buried beneath it.
Even so, that'd be a preferable end to anything that buffoon could wish upon her.
Because as galling as it was, she needed to escape.
A lich.
Alberic Terchel had already died.
At some points, his observations on necromancy had become practical activities. The thin veil of magical research used to justify his studies was unravelled. And what remained was only typical.
One who had given himself over to the darkest arts.
A result so expected she wondered why holy water hadn't been prepared to drop from the ceiling.
Marina would have snorted if she didn't need to use her every breath to shift her legs.
Lichdom.
A prize many considered worth the sacrifice. Moreem, Calix, Rensworth. A list of names gradually receding in importance, now finished by the unworthiest of them all.
To them, becoming a lich was to become unbeholden to death. A master of it. In exchange for flesh and soul, the most powerful of living mages could become the most powerful of unliving mages.
An undead horror. The undead horror.
Where dragons commanded the sky, liches commanded the grave. The undisputed paragons of the undead, their magic amplified by what they were in life, now forever boosted in death.
Yet no grand power came for naught. There was a balance somewhere, even if the scales had long been broken. Just as their vampiric rivals possessed a crippling weakness to the sun–liches possessed a crippling weakness in their phylacteries.
Wherever their soul was stored, so was the means to their destruction.
A boon for every party of goody two shoes adventurers to come. But a severe negative for one who approached without any prior preparation. And Marina did not like doing anything unprepared.
Fleeing included.
Snap.
Headmaster Alberich reappeared before her, unbeholden to the runes which prevented immediate teleportation. His head now securely facing the right way, his cheeks twitched in irateness, the muscle spamming at odds with the twinge of a smile playing at his lips.
"You tried to murder me," he said only half-musingly. "With my own book."
Marina pursed her lips, eyeing the top of the staircase past him. The runes were weaker there. Damaged. As were the guardians which littered this floor.
"I note I wasn't the only one," she replied, the book in her arms acting as her shield as much as the barrier around her. "At what point did the golems realise their own headmaster had betrayed all those who slept in the floors below?"
"Stunningly late. They were most professional. Until the moment the last gallon of blood was offered and my phylactery made whole, they were inclined to believe that I might see reason and stop my drive for immortality. I was glad. Given their magic resistance, I would have been eventually overwhelmed. Or at least if I hadn't brought insurance."
Marina pursed her lips as the insurance's footsteps sounded behind her.
She turned, only to feel a sense of disgust as she saw the death knight approaching as though called. Where liches were the royalty of the undead, death knights were their greatest champions. For the headmaster to feel the need for both to entrap her was evidence of how unworthy he was for lichdom.
Uncertainty. A human trait. This man had only recently performed the rites.
And that meant he was still prone to human errors.
"They should have stopped you at once," she said as the flames returned to her palms, engulfing even the book she carried. "That you now have more time to add to your waffling prose is a horror no library deserves."
"Your words hurt me more than your spells, Miss Lainsfont. I like to think I best my peers in many things, but writing ability is assuredly one of them."
"It isn't."
The headmaster paused for just a moment. He took the opportunity to complete his smile.
"Well, I'd be happy to consider your complaints–providing, of course, that you've a mind to reconsider my offer. Call it a whim, but I believe we'd make for an excellent student and master. We could write tales, you and I. And yes, I'd be happy to include your name somewhere in the foreword."
"The thought is more horrifying than your glamour. And that's quite the achievement … no, unlike you, I've no need to offer my soul for power. My blood is all I need."
"Yes. Your blood. You do not know this, but I see within you flames which burn brighter than any paltry candlelight you could wield. It would be a cold world were it to be extinguished."
In response, the flames in her palms grew ever greater, warping the very air around it.
"Then I'll make sure the world sees it. And as you already have, you can be excused."
Suddenly, the headmaster's demeanour waned, along with that nascent smile.
"You should hope I do not respect that choice, Miss Lainsfont. Because when it comes to battling other mages, the most prudent choice is to immediately–"
"[Infernal Wall]!"
A wall of fire rushed up to greet Headmaster Alberic's face. He stood exactly where he was, allowing the flames to tickle his nose. There was no barrier present. He didn't need it.
A bored hum reached her from across the fiery curtain.
"Hmm. A wide area spell reconstituted to strike a single foe. Mildly impressive, but still below par for one of your talents. Imagination and rapid spellwork is little good without focus. Magic is wistful, but you must not be. Potency and speed. It is not one or the other. It is both or neither. This would not harm me even if I were not broadly immune to all magic."
Marina didn't respond.
After all, she was already nearing the end of her next spell. Time was all she required. And nothing took longer than an old man's ramblings.
"[Arcane Tele–"
"No."
Marina suddenly stilled.
Her spell suddenly ground to a halt, the magic dissipating from her hands. But not through any counterspell meeting her. She'd undone it herself, ending her spell as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Ah, so my passive [Suggestion] does work," said Headmaster Alberic, stepping cleanly through the disappearing wall of flames. He smiled like an academic in the midst of an experiment. "But to what extent, I wonder? Can you, say, do a headstand while reciting the national anthem?"
A ridiculous proposal. And one which Marina felt very much inclined to do.
But not her body.
She grimaced and clenched her teeth, her frame shaking much to the headmaster's apparent surprise.
Fwooooooooooooosh.
A moment later … the flames were born anew. And not only in her hands.
It gathered wildly around her like a cloak, dispelling … burning his [Suggestion].
"Well, now," said the headmaster quietly. "Isn't this something?"
The magic surged, her blood feeling as though it were boiling. The indignation. The wrongness she felt at being commanded. It was disgusting. Because in that moment, she was an empress. She was flames as bright as summer. And the gnat before her was worth less than the wayward ember it would take to destroy him. She was stronger. Better. She felt it. She knew it. And she would not allow some ridiculous old man hoping to tread the least of roads to tell her–
"[Paralysing Touch]."
Tap.
As swift as lightning, a hand reached out through the flames. And without any inkling of magic playing at the fingertip, it touched Marina on the shoulder.
Marina's eyes widened.
It was the only part of her that moved. No matter how hard she willed her muscles, they could neither tense nor relax. Marina had become a statue, no different to the busts left behind in the headmaster's chamber.
As swiftly as they came, the flames died, doused by the cold magic of a lich's touch.
"Apologies, Miss Lainsfont, but as much as I enjoy indulging in my curiosity, I could sense something about to occur which needs to be overseen in a more secure environment."
Marina moved to speak. She couldn't. Her lips were sealed. Only her brows could move.
And the scowl she forced together spoke something worse than any words she could utter.
"I know exactly how you feel," said Headmaster Alberic. "The reality of the gap between us is quite disconcerting. No matter how imaginative you seek to be, nothing can beat raw power. And I have both that and superior technique. Still, I see clearly that perhaps in time, you may surpass one or the other."
The headmaster raised a hand. It burned violet with death. And yet his eyes only narrowed as he appraised Marina more like a subject than any living thing.
Like a reagent.
"Yes," he said quietly. "You may yet mature."
Suddenly, the colour of his spell changed.
"[Greater Arcane Teleport]."
Marina found herself pulled through corridors which fought to keep her away.
Ancient stone and runes raging with fury sought to bar the way of her and the one dragging her. They fell or gave way like pebbles on a beach, shoved away by the sudden riptide.
A moment later–
Snap.
She blinked as dawn met her eyes.
Gone were the walls of the Royal Institute. But not the tower itself.
She could tell even without moving her head that she now stood at a great height. The wind blew at her hair and her robes, threatening to topple her still form.
It was the very top of the Royal Institute of Mages.
The focal point of all the magic to gather around it. And for now, a peak taller than the sun itself.
It rose in the distance, bringing with it the sound of songbirds and a shimmering horizon alight with colour. A sight mesmerising enough to cause even a mage with all the world at their fingertips to falter. But not a lich. The sun was no ally. And it was already clear how he treated his foes.
"The days ahead will be somewhat uncomfortable for you, Miss Lainsfont," he said, as he took in the golden horizon. "But there's no reason why it shouldn't still be a learning experience. Allow me, therefore, to offer another lesson in the fundamentals of magic."
He turned to Marina, then plucked the book from her hand.
Turning to the very last pages, he held it in one hand while raising his other … almost as though to lift the sun.
Instead, his palm began to grow black.
Dark magic drawn from depths lower than where shadows reside weaved like a cocoon around his hand. As they did so, the pages of his book began to flick wildly to a force greater than any breeze.
"Remember, always, that one is the least powerful number," said Headmaster Alberic. "For as inspiring as the greatest archmage can be, two is always stronger. There is more to be gained through the spirit of partnership and cooperation than through any solo endeavour. A rule which has earned this institute many accolades and successes. It is one I personally ascribe to. A like minded collaboration, you see, is a beautiful thing. And this applies even if one is a lich."
He smiled.
"Thus … [Eulogy Of The End]."
He spoke.
Words laced with so much forbidden power that the tower quaked, threatening even to fall.
Perhaps that would have been a mercy.
As a tear sundered the sky … the very world began to darken. And Marina could see it was not his magic that was causing it.
It was what awaited on the other side.
***
Despite her many talents, Marina wasn't infallible.
She recognised this early. The first time she'd attempted to feed fruit slimes with watermelons laced with anabolic enhancing strength potions was a disaster.
Not because the potions didn't work. No, they were exemplary. But rather because she'd overestimated her own ability to memorise weights and quantity.
No matter how many times she replicated the procedure, the results were the same. A fruit slime slowly absorbing a watermelon with no effect in sight. And her only proof was somewhere in the world. A fruit slime bouncing away with the grace and leaping strength of a mountain goat.
Since then, she ensured that she recorded all her endeavours. Proper note taking. That was an important lesson. And by no means her first.
They say life was a lesson. And for Marina, she was her own teacher.
She rued the state of magical education in the kingdom. Between the Mage's Guild and the Royal Institute of Magic, they managed the feat of overlooking the talents of just about everybody who showed a crumb of talent. Most of those fortunate enough to receive magical tuition did so by the charity of other mages.
Marina was not fortunate. She never had been.
She'd made do instead, learning from the things her father would return with after another season away to be a legend or a ghost. Her toys were not sticks and stones. But basilisk scales and auroch horns. And the books she read rarely held a happy ending … especially for the playground where she first learned to ward away winter.
The bonfire that day had sent the town into a frenzy.
She remembered the condemnation the most. A moment to celebrate her blooming talents, souring instead at the start of a veritable witch hunt. The punishments being demanded would have sent hardened criminals fainting that day.
Yet few words carried across the winds faster than the shouts of distressed parents and the snotty tears of their offspring. And those listening from atop the Royal Institute of Mages heard it well.
Barely two nights passed before one appeared, snapping into existence to offer a hand in the dark.
Marina never once considered taking it.
As a rule of thumb, she didn't do regrets. She was too busy for that. But if she did, her decision to spurn the mage who'd personally come to fetch her was one she'd repeat over and over … if only to see the expression of indignation he wore.
An expression she briefly saw as the man cracked his head slowly back into place.
Snap.
She decided once was enough.
"[Cloud Step]."
Cradling Observations Of The Grave, definitive 13th edition in her arms, she sped away from a death knight politely allowing her to pass, before swiftly heading down the corridors. Her feet skipped over the shattered corpses of golems and gorgoyles as easily as a gazelle over stones, lifted by the magic in her soles. But it wasn't fast enough.
The fallen guardians were proof of that.
She clicked her tongue as she hurried across, cursing the runes laden into the walls preventing speedy teleportation. She'd need a few moments at least. She didn't need to be precise. But she needed to at least ensure that when she gated, it would be relatively near the ground and not buried beneath it.
Even so, that'd be a preferable end to anything that buffoon could wish upon her.
Because as galling as it was, she needed to escape.
A lich.
Alberic Terchel had already died.
At some points, his observations on necromancy had become practical activities. The thin veil of magical research used to justify his studies was unravelled. And what remained was only typical.
One who had given himself over to the darkest arts.
A result so expected she wondered why holy water hadn't been prepared to drop from the ceiling.
Marina would have snorted if she didn't need to use her every breath to shift her legs.
Lichdom.
A prize many considered worth the sacrifice. Moreem, Calix, Rensworth. A list of names gradually receding in importance, now finished by the unworthiest of them all.
To them, becoming a lich was to become unbeholden to death. A master of it. In exchange for flesh and soul, the most powerful of living mages could become the most powerful of unliving mages.
An undead horror. The undead horror.
Where dragons commanded the sky, liches commanded the grave. The undisputed paragons of the undead, their magic amplified by what they were in life, now forever boosted in death.
Yet no grand power came for naught. There was a balance somewhere, even if the scales had long been broken. Just as their vampiric rivals possessed a crippling weakness to the sun–liches possessed a crippling weakness in their phylacteries.
Wherever their soul was stored, so was the means to their destruction.
A boon for every party of goody two shoes adventurers to come. But a severe negative for one who approached without any prior preparation. And Marina did not like doing anything unprepared.
Fleeing included.
Snap.
Headmaster Alberich reappeared before her, unbeholden to the runes which prevented immediate teleportation. His head now securely facing the right way, his cheeks twitched in irateness, the muscle spamming at odds with the twinge of a smile playing at his lips.
"You tried to murder me," he said only half-musingly. "With my own book."
Marina pursed her lips, eyeing the top of the staircase past him. The runes were weaker there. Damaged. As were the guardians which littered this floor.
"I note I wasn't the only one," she replied, the book in her arms acting as her shield as much as the barrier around her. "At what point did the golems realise their own headmaster had betrayed all those who slept in the floors below?"
"Stunningly late. They were most professional. Until the moment the last gallon of blood was offered and my phylactery made whole, they were inclined to believe that I might see reason and stop my drive for immortality. I was glad. Given their magic resistance, I would have been eventually overwhelmed. Or at least if I hadn't brought insurance."
Marina pursed her lips as the insurance's footsteps sounded behind her.
She turned, only to feel a sense of disgust as she saw the death knight approaching as though called. Where liches were the royalty of the undead, death knights were their greatest champions. For the headmaster to feel the need for both to entrap her was evidence of how unworthy he was for lichdom.
Uncertainty. A human trait. This man had only recently performed the rites.
And that meant he was still prone to human errors.
"They should have stopped you at once," she said as the flames returned to her palms, engulfing even the book she carried. "That you now have more time to add to your waffling prose is a horror no library deserves."
"Your words hurt me more than your spells, Miss Lainsfont. I like to think I best my peers in many things, but writing ability is assuredly one of them."
"It isn't."
The headmaster paused for just a moment. He took the opportunity to complete his smile.
"Well, I'd be happy to consider your complaints–providing, of course, that you've a mind to reconsider my offer. Call it a whim, but I believe we'd make for an excellent student and master. We could write tales, you and I. And yes, I'd be happy to include your name somewhere in the foreword."
"The thought is more horrifying than your glamour. And that's quite the achievement … no, unlike you, I've no need to offer my soul for power. My blood is all I need."
"Yes. Your blood. You do not know this, but I see within you flames which burn brighter than any paltry candlelight you could wield. It would be a cold world were it to be extinguished."
In response, the flames in her palms grew ever greater, warping the very air around it.
"Then I'll make sure the world sees it. And as you already have, you can be excused."
Suddenly, the headmaster's demeanour waned, along with that nascent smile.
"You should hope I do not respect that choice, Miss Lainsfont. Because when it comes to battling other mages, the most prudent choice is to immediately–"
"[Infernal Wall]!"
A wall of fire rushed up to greet Headmaster Alberic's face. He stood exactly where he was, allowing the flames to tickle his nose. There was no barrier present. He didn't need it.
A bored hum reached her from across the fiery curtain.
"Hmm. A wide area spell reconstituted to strike a single foe. Mildly impressive, but still below par for one of your talents. Imagination and rapid spellwork is little good without focus. Magic is wistful, but you must not be. Potency and speed. It is not one or the other. It is both or neither. This would not harm me even if I were not broadly immune to all magic."
Marina didn't respond.
After all, she was already nearing the end of her next spell. Time was all she required. And nothing took longer than an old man's ramblings.
"[Arcane Tele–"
"No."
Marina suddenly stilled.
Her spell suddenly ground to a halt, the magic dissipating from her hands. But not through any counterspell meeting her. She'd undone it herself, ending her spell as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Ah, so my passive [Suggestion] does work," said Headmaster Alberic, stepping cleanly through the disappearing wall of flames. He smiled like an academic in the midst of an experiment. "But to what extent, I wonder? Can you, say, do a headstand while reciting the national anthem?"
A ridiculous proposal. And one which Marina felt very much inclined to do.
But not her body.
She grimaced and clenched her teeth, her frame shaking much to the headmaster's apparent surprise.
Fwooooooooooooosh.
A moment later … the flames were born anew. And not only in her hands.
It gathered wildly around her like a cloak, dispelling … burning his [Suggestion].
"Well, now," said the headmaster quietly. "Isn't this something?"
The magic surged, her blood feeling as though it were boiling. The indignation. The wrongness she felt at being commanded. It was disgusting. Because in that moment, she was an empress. She was flames as bright as summer. And the gnat before her was worth less than the wayward ember it would take to destroy him. She was stronger. Better. She felt it. She knew it. And she would not allow some ridiculous old man hoping to tread the least of roads to tell her–
"[Paralysing Touch]."
Tap.
As swift as lightning, a hand reached out through the flames. And without any inkling of magic playing at the fingertip, it touched Marina on the shoulder.
Marina's eyes widened.
It was the only part of her that moved. No matter how hard she willed her muscles, they could neither tense nor relax. Marina had become a statue, no different to the busts left behind in the headmaster's chamber.
As swiftly as they came, the flames died, doused by the cold magic of a lich's touch.
"Apologies, Miss Lainsfont, but as much as I enjoy indulging in my curiosity, I could sense something about to occur which needs to be overseen in a more secure environment."
Marina moved to speak. She couldn't. Her lips were sealed. Only her brows could move.
And the scowl she forced together spoke something worse than any words she could utter.
"I know exactly how you feel," said Headmaster Alberic. "The reality of the gap between us is quite disconcerting. No matter how imaginative you seek to be, nothing can beat raw power. And I have both that and superior technique. Still, I see clearly that perhaps in time, you may surpass one or the other."
The headmaster raised a hand. It burned violet with death. And yet his eyes only narrowed as he appraised Marina more like a subject than any living thing.
Like a reagent.
"Yes," he said quietly. "You may yet mature."
Suddenly, the colour of his spell changed.
"[Greater Arcane Teleport]."
Marina found herself pulled through corridors which fought to keep her away.
Ancient stone and runes raging with fury sought to bar the way of her and the one dragging her. They fell or gave way like pebbles on a beach, shoved away by the sudden riptide.
A moment later–
Snap.
She blinked as dawn met her eyes.
Gone were the walls of the Royal Institute. But not the tower itself.
She could tell even without moving her head that she now stood at a great height. The wind blew at her hair and her robes, threatening to topple her still form.
It was the very top of the Royal Institute of Mages.
The focal point of all the magic to gather around it. And for now, a peak taller than the sun itself.
It rose in the distance, bringing with it the sound of songbirds and a shimmering horizon alight with colour. A sight mesmerising enough to cause even a mage with all the world at their fingertips to falter. But not a lich. The sun was no ally. And it was already clear how he treated his foes.
"The days ahead will be somewhat uncomfortable for you, Miss Lainsfont," he said, as he took in the golden horizon. "But there's no reason why it shouldn't still be a learning experience. Allow me, therefore, to offer another lesson in the fundamentals of magic."
He turned to Marina, then plucked the book from her hand.
Turning to the very last pages, he held it in one hand while raising his other … almost as though to lift the sun.
Instead, his palm began to grow black.
Dark magic drawn from depths lower than where shadows reside weaved like a cocoon around his hand. As they did so, the pages of his book began to flick wildly to a force greater than any breeze.
"Remember, always, that one is the least powerful number," said Headmaster Alberic. "For as inspiring as the greatest archmage can be, two is always stronger. There is more to be gained through the spirit of partnership and cooperation than through any solo endeavour. A rule which has earned this institute many accolades and successes. It is one I personally ascribe to. A like minded collaboration, you see, is a beautiful thing. And this applies even if one is a lich."
He smiled.
"Thus … [Eulogy Of The End]."
He spoke.
Words laced with so much forbidden power that the tower quaked, threatening even to fall.
Perhaps that would have been a mercy.
As a tear sundered the sky … the very world began to darken. And Marina could see it was not his magic that was causing it.
It was what awaited on the other side.
- Location
- Argentina
Ah, he literally sold the entire world to a being from another dimension.
Yep.
0.5/10, boring, unimaginative, pointless, and above all... tedious. Moreso than a blood fountain... and harder on the local tax collection.
- Location
- Argentina
Eh he gets a 2/10 just because he went Lich first and the thing has not killed him yet. And 1.5 is for the whole Lich deal. He gets a whole point by not being dumb enough to reveal what his soul jar is.
Although most likely his soul jar is the book.
No bet.
Also no bet that Granholtz wants it to threaten him into being their latest patsy.
- Location
- Argentina
Most likely for what information he has; having been the headmaster for decades, that any value he may have as a Lich.
Chapter 259: The More The Merrier
There were few corners of my kingdom I'd never slept through.
After all, there were few corners of my kingdom where the roads were not fit enough to host my carriages padded with enough pillows that even were it to topple over, I'd merely find myself resting on a cooler part of the fabric. But here?
Here was one of them.
Beneath the Royal Institute of Mages, the road was pockmarked with so many fireball sized holes that pirates digging for treasure would salute in respect. And why not? When it came to scavenging artifacts and leaving behind no official trace or paperwork, the pirates were mere students.
Indeed, if there was one thing I could rely upon mages for, it was their ability to hide their misdeeds while simultaneously boasting of them. The holes desecrating my kingdom being one example.
I narrowed my eyes as I rode past the latest wooden sign to be plonked beside a crater.
I clenched my fists around Apple's reins.
Oh yes. It was time for some badly needed spring cleaning. And that would begin by offering the mages a reminder of the joys of magic–by having them learn to use a shovel.
But first things first.
Ensuring I didn't disturb the busy work of the knights tasked with defending the road.
A heartwarming sight met me as I approached the tower. A barricade of hastily erected wooden palisades. Here was a reminder that even if nobility, mages and maids who repaired the clock in my bedroom after I purposefully sabotaged it often forgot their duties, the knights of my realm did not.
Although few in number, their banners were plenty.
Fluttering amidst torches and braziers, they were as bright as the smiles of my knights as they stood to attention before their portable wardrobes and mirrors, choosing which cloak to don this day.
They patrolled ceaselessly, pacing to and fro as they practised their dancing steps to woo a serving girl at a soirée they were never invited to.
They butted heads in deep conversation, their words of tactics loud in the air regarding how to comb their hair in a way which looked natural and not at all like they used a comb.
Skipping beside me, Coppelia blinked in curiosity as she studied my gallant defenders.
"You know … there's something I've always been meaning to ask."
"Y-Yes? What is it?"
"It's about your knights."
I pursed my lips slightly as Apple approached a makeshift gate. I tugged on his reins to hurry him and this conversation along faster. I failed on both accounts.
"That's … well, that's only natural … you're a maiden, after all," I said, counting each moment. "But I must inform you that the answer is no … I expressly forbid you from approaching them. As affable as my knights appear, you must not allow their charms to win over you."
"Ahahaha~"
Coppelia merely laughed.
That was fair. I made less subtle attempts at time wasting when I excused myself to use the bathroom in the middle of a lesson, in the middle of an answer, in the middle of a word.
"V-Very well … and what is your query, Coppelia?"
"Weeell … it's just, you know, what do your knights actually … do?"
"They are the stalwart defenders of the kingdom," I said, instantly parroting the official line. "They are both the first and the last line of defence. Martial warriors raised to knighthood, typically from wealthy households who can afford their arms and armour, and proven with acts of valour and chivalry. Where danger is thickest, they can be found with lance and shield in hand, ready to fell whichever monsters or foes dare await them."
A nearby knight gave a wince of pain as he plucked at his eyebrows.
Coppelia nodded.
"They must be very brave."
"Yes. Yes they are."
I said no more as a small break in the wooden palisade provided the only visible access to the tower proper. Here, both the knights and the calm was replaced by a clear skittishness in the air.
A sizable group of soldiers from the nearest garrison were banded around the gap. But although they didn't busy themselves with their personal grooming techniques, neither did they offer their challenges, nor more importantly, their gratitude to Coppelia and I as we approached.
The answer was soon clear why.
The guards were not concerned with who was arriving.
Only with who was leaving.
Bwoomph!
Beyond the wooden palisade and the watching eyes, a pair of heavy oaken doors smashed open.
It was the entrance to the Royal Institute of Magic. Overlooking a set of white marble steps lit with flaming braziers, it was the base of a grand tower gleaming with history and streaks of magic. But all that I saw instead were the things now revealed beneath its doorway.
Ghhwaaururrhhghh.
Emerging from the tower, creatures which haunted the nightmares of demons came lumbering forth.
Abominations with forms so grotesque they would turn even knights to terror … which was probably why none of them were present. They were a horrid mishmash of flesh and limbs, a sickly mosaic of many things once living crudely sewn together, wielding hooks and cleavers as they waddled with forms barely resembling any monster known to reside beneath the sunlight.
They shambled forth, girthy bellies before them and bubbling acid trailing behind.
I gasped, my legs quivering even as I sat upon Apple's steady back. Horror filled every morsel of my soul … for before these poor, innocent creatures … was a row of monsters.
"[Fireball]."
"[Severing Light]."
"[Crackling Lightning]."
"[Sabre Shards]."
One by one, the creatures were pummeled with enough spellwork to douse the air with colour once again.
They stood as little chance against the barrage as a leaf against a storm.
As their corpses littered the steps before the oaken doors, a further barrage of spells engulfed them, until nothing remained but ash … ash that was then swept aside with a flick of a wrist, before the doors were closed with a fist of arcane energy.
Destroyed, erased, and then neatly swept aside.
Few would take such care when erasing monsters from this world.
Certainly not adventurers. Not even guards.
No … this was the work of killers trained to a different standard. Professionals who did not only perform their work, but did it to such a surgical, unfeeling degree that one had to wonder what terrifying things they would be employed to do if they weren't contracted to their current occupations.
Adventurer's Guild receptionists.
I covered my mouth at the sight of them … yes, them, in the plural.
Not one. Not two. Not three.
But four smiling young women, each impeccably dressed in uniforms without a single crinkle, matching their postures as they stood as straight and unbending as the tower before them.
I was aghast.
So … So many receptionists!
But why?!
I'd never seen them in such … such concentration! Not even in Reitzlake's capital were so many congregated in one spot! Why, it simply wasn't required–for the same reason a large gathering of assassins wasn't!
One was enough. Two at a stretch. But this many? They could conjure enough documents to bring down a troll!
Suddenly, one of them clapped their hands together as she turned to her colleagues.
"–So I was thinking, why not line up our holidays this year?"
"Oh? Should we all go somewhere together?"
"I think it'd be fun! Summer isn't far away now."
"That's a good idea! What about Lissoine? My brother always talks about how nice the Jardin Botanique de Lissoine is in the summer. And we could visit the beach as well."
"Lissoine? Hmm, it's nice, but if all of us go together, shouldn't it be somewhere further away?"
"What about Ouzelia?" suggested Coppelia, naturally sliding into the group conversation. "It's not only exotic, but also surprisingly homely! Whether you want to explore forests filled with carnivorous trees or hike mountains filled with carnivorous rocks, we have it all!"
The group of receptionists blinked towards the new addition, then towards each other.
"Ouzelia! My, that sounds lovely!"
"I have a friend who works for the Bewitching Postal Service. We might be able to lodge!"
Their smiles bloomed like that of newly trained maids in the darkness. The scene of smouldering death was as lost from their thoughts as they were before their eyes.
These receptionists.
They … They were not quite right.
None of them were.
I wasn't sure how. I wasn't sure why. But I knew that if a receptionist murdered someone in a forest, then no one would be left alive to hear it. They suffered no witnesses, allowed no corpses and offered no evidence. The spotless steps before the tower door was proof enough of that.
Indeed, if I could be grateful for the Adventurer's Guild for one thing, it was somehow convincing them that a life of customer service was better than a life as hired assassins.
"... Greetings! You currently seem as though you're lost. May I provide assistance?"
Especially as they had the footsteps of them.
I swished Apple around, then duly recoiled from the smile coming from … yes, receptionist #5!
I was horrified.
There were officially enough receptionists to form a musical quintet! By any metric, that was too much!
"T-Thank you, but I'm not lost," I said, peeling away slightly. "There is, however, a circus populated by magical clowns nearby who are. If possible, I'd appreciate it if you could direct them to their destination where they can do some work–here."
"If you're referring to the nearby group of mages affiliated with the Royal Institute, I believe they're apprentices. As a result, they're beholden to the rules which require they undertake their current fund raising activities."
"What they're beholden to is fixing what they've collectively broken. Or at the very least, unnecessarily getting in the way of your capable defence against the horrors clearly hoping to escape this tower. Excuse me, but why are there so many of … you here?"
Yes.
This was now my most pressing question.
Black hole in the sky? Monsters rolling out of the tower? Coppelia selling tickets to tourist attractions she almost certainly had no right to represent?
… None of these now mattered!
Instead, I offered my finest look of bewilderment at a receptionist who didn't bat an eyelash as she smiled. A smile which surely had as much place outside this tower as the untaxed crowns now entering Coppelia's pouch.
"Ah, if you're referring to the presence of my colleagues and I, it's because the Adventurer's Guild has a permanent stall located here. You likely may have missed it. It's currently being used by a group of knights requiring shelter for their hair products."
I nodded.
"I don't understand."
The receptionist hummed.
"Well, I believe the wax-based products they primarily use contain oils, which makes them flammable and therefore vulnerable to most things mages can cast."
"No, not that," I said, flicking the image of my knights away. "For what reason could the Adventurer's Guild require a stall here? Are mages not capable of finding their own cats? Or do they use this tax funded tower only to specialise in the study of how to cause calamities?"
"Oh no, they're quite capable of finding their own cats," said the receptionist … providing exactly half an answer. "This isn't a stall for commissions. It's a recruiting station."
My mouth widened as it all became clear.
"A recruiting station? ... Do you mean to say that the guild squats outside this tower, plucking whatever mages smile at the correct eerily straight angle?"
"Indeed, that would be accurate!"
Why, the shamelessness of the Adventurer's Guild … and also the only good thing they do!
This was precisely how they picked out the very receptionists I saw around me! By selecting the most horrifying of the bunch like roses at the peak of their thorns, they ensured that they monopolised the most dangerous to themselves!
"I see … very well, I cannot fault the guild for their opportunism. But why exactly are receptionists now being required to hold back literal monsters sewn from the abyss? I'm only aware of this black hole in the sky. Nobody told me about any creatures it was somehow spawning as well."
"My colleagues and I are defending against the hordes of terror as a courtesy," said the receptionist, as though this was just another document she needed to be signed. "However, whether or not the monsters seeking to escape the tower are related to the above phenomenon is unclear at present. Their appearance is a recent event."
"Excellent. All that says is that whatever's happening, it's somehow becoming worse. I almost dare not ask this, but are there no safeguards in place? Magical defences? What of those mages inside?"
"It's possible that both the resident mages and the tower defences have either been overwhelmed or disabled. As a result, direct entry through the main entrance is unadvised owing to the lack of actionable information. I say this as I note the ring you wear. It is a joy to see an adventurer in these uncertain times! Did you wish to enter the tower?"
No, I wished to forget its existence.
But until I had access to a falling plant pot, I had to make do with manually bashing my head against whatever inane reason I was certain to be given for this calamity.
"My only desire is to close my eyes and wake to see the sunlight bearing down upon me. And that can be done the moment you inform me that someone not me is already seeing to this debacle."
"Yes. The Mage's Guild immediately dispatched a team of senior mages to assess the situation."
I clapped my hands in delight. At last, expendable goons fulfilling their function. A sliver of good news.
"Wonderful! And what news of their progress?"
"They assessed the situation was dire and returned in order to convene a convocation. Beyond that, I'm afraid I've no knowledge regarding their current progress."
There wasn't even room for disappointment.
No, on the contrary, this was the grief of hearing that a new servant had stepped on one of Clarise's clearly invisible and unmarked trapped tiles and spilled fire and pudding everywhere again. Incompetence and ineptitude. This was just normal.
"0% is their progress," I said, wrinkling my nose. "If the Mage's Guild are still in the drafting stages of a plan, then I can be sure to rely upon them as much as a foie gras to start quacking again. I don't suppose they left a note explaining what this black hole in the sky actually is before they fled to gather their belongings and travel documents?"
"They did not. However, my colleagues and I have been deliberating on the matter in preparation for an official commission being formalised."
"Fine. I certainly trust your information gathering over anything the local clowns can decipher. What is this unwelcome thing endangering my petunias, exactly?"
"We have a working theory. But we're hoping to confirm it with an expert opinion. We've a colleague on the way whose dissertation regarding advanced concepts in metaphysics earned the highest recorded marks. She'll gladly help. In truth, it'll likely be hard for us to book a holiday for so long as this is occurring."
I let out the tiniest sigh.
Very well, then. Anything to delay needing to traipse up a thousand staircases like some moronic adventurer in search of stronger calves.
"I see … and when will this expert arrive?"
The receptionist twirled her finger. A pocket watch appeared. I glanced over it with mild interest. Gold framed with luminous jade hands. My, a receptionist's salary was no paltry thing, it seemed.
"12 seconds," she said simply.
I duly waited, tapping against Apple's reins.
And then–
Snap.
Appearing to the sound of a whip, yet another receptionist blinked into existence, wisps of magic dissipating from her form like fireflies fleeing into the night.
But this was not receptionist #6.
Oh no … not at all.
Because this one didn't just join the choir.
She led them.
Although there was nothing to separate her professional smile, straight posture and unwrinkled uniform from those around her, no amount of darkness could hide the face I now recognised as much as the carrots which haunted my dreams.
It was her.
The harbinger of doom. The crier of the night. The omen of despair.
"Welcome back, Mirabelle! Thank you for coming at short notice!"
The receptionist of the Reitzlake branch.
"Greetings!" said the familiar young woman, not even blinking as she took in the sight of my wide mouth and horrified expression. Apple leaned forward in search of another fire, acid and water-proof scroll to nibble on. "Goodness, what a delight it is to see–"
"Come, Coppelia! We shall proceed through the front door at once!"
"Yay~!"
After all, there were few corners of my kingdom where the roads were not fit enough to host my carriages padded with enough pillows that even were it to topple over, I'd merely find myself resting on a cooler part of the fabric. But here?
Here was one of them.
Beneath the Royal Institute of Mages, the road was pockmarked with so many fireball sized holes that pirates digging for treasure would salute in respect. And why not? When it came to scavenging artifacts and leaving behind no official trace or paperwork, the pirates were mere students.
Indeed, if there was one thing I could rely upon mages for, it was their ability to hide their misdeeds while simultaneously boasting of them. The holes desecrating my kingdom being one example.
I narrowed my eyes as I rode past the latest wooden sign to be plonked beside a crater.
Beware of rabbit burrows.
I clenched my fists around Apple's reins.
Oh yes. It was time for some badly needed spring cleaning. And that would begin by offering the mages a reminder of the joys of magic–by having them learn to use a shovel.
But first things first.
Ensuring I didn't disturb the busy work of the knights tasked with defending the road.
A heartwarming sight met me as I approached the tower. A barricade of hastily erected wooden palisades. Here was a reminder that even if nobility, mages and maids who repaired the clock in my bedroom after I purposefully sabotaged it often forgot their duties, the knights of my realm did not.
Although few in number, their banners were plenty.
Fluttering amidst torches and braziers, they were as bright as the smiles of my knights as they stood to attention before their portable wardrobes and mirrors, choosing which cloak to don this day.
They patrolled ceaselessly, pacing to and fro as they practised their dancing steps to woo a serving girl at a soirée they were never invited to.
They butted heads in deep conversation, their words of tactics loud in the air regarding how to comb their hair in a way which looked natural and not at all like they used a comb.
Skipping beside me, Coppelia blinked in curiosity as she studied my gallant defenders.
"You know … there's something I've always been meaning to ask."
"Y-Yes? What is it?"
"It's about your knights."
I pursed my lips slightly as Apple approached a makeshift gate. I tugged on his reins to hurry him and this conversation along faster. I failed on both accounts.
"That's … well, that's only natural … you're a maiden, after all," I said, counting each moment. "But I must inform you that the answer is no … I expressly forbid you from approaching them. As affable as my knights appear, you must not allow their charms to win over you."
"Ahahaha~"
Coppelia merely laughed.
That was fair. I made less subtle attempts at time wasting when I excused myself to use the bathroom in the middle of a lesson, in the middle of an answer, in the middle of a word.
"V-Very well … and what is your query, Coppelia?"
"Weeell … it's just, you know, what do your knights actually … do?"
"They are the stalwart defenders of the kingdom," I said, instantly parroting the official line. "They are both the first and the last line of defence. Martial warriors raised to knighthood, typically from wealthy households who can afford their arms and armour, and proven with acts of valour and chivalry. Where danger is thickest, they can be found with lance and shield in hand, ready to fell whichever monsters or foes dare await them."
A nearby knight gave a wince of pain as he plucked at his eyebrows.
Coppelia nodded.
"They must be very brave."
"Yes. Yes they are."
I said no more as a small break in the wooden palisade provided the only visible access to the tower proper. Here, both the knights and the calm was replaced by a clear skittishness in the air.
A sizable group of soldiers from the nearest garrison were banded around the gap. But although they didn't busy themselves with their personal grooming techniques, neither did they offer their challenges, nor more importantly, their gratitude to Coppelia and I as we approached.
The answer was soon clear why.
The guards were not concerned with who was arriving.
Only with who was leaving.
Bwoomph!
Beyond the wooden palisade and the watching eyes, a pair of heavy oaken doors smashed open.
It was the entrance to the Royal Institute of Magic. Overlooking a set of white marble steps lit with flaming braziers, it was the base of a grand tower gleaming with history and streaks of magic. But all that I saw instead were the things now revealed beneath its doorway.
Ghhwaaururrhhghh.
Emerging from the tower, creatures which haunted the nightmares of demons came lumbering forth.
Abominations with forms so grotesque they would turn even knights to terror … which was probably why none of them were present. They were a horrid mishmash of flesh and limbs, a sickly mosaic of many things once living crudely sewn together, wielding hooks and cleavers as they waddled with forms barely resembling any monster known to reside beneath the sunlight.
They shambled forth, girthy bellies before them and bubbling acid trailing behind.
I gasped, my legs quivering even as I sat upon Apple's steady back. Horror filled every morsel of my soul … for before these poor, innocent creatures … was a row of monsters.
"[Fireball]."
"[Severing Light]."
"[Crackling Lightning]."
"[Sabre Shards]."
One by one, the creatures were pummeled with enough spellwork to douse the air with colour once again.
They stood as little chance against the barrage as a leaf against a storm.
As their corpses littered the steps before the oaken doors, a further barrage of spells engulfed them, until nothing remained but ash … ash that was then swept aside with a flick of a wrist, before the doors were closed with a fist of arcane energy.
Destroyed, erased, and then neatly swept aside.
Few would take such care when erasing monsters from this world.
Certainly not adventurers. Not even guards.
No … this was the work of killers trained to a different standard. Professionals who did not only perform their work, but did it to such a surgical, unfeeling degree that one had to wonder what terrifying things they would be employed to do if they weren't contracted to their current occupations.
Adventurer's Guild receptionists.
I covered my mouth at the sight of them … yes, them, in the plural.
Not one. Not two. Not three.
But four smiling young women, each impeccably dressed in uniforms without a single crinkle, matching their postures as they stood as straight and unbending as the tower before them.
I was aghast.
So … So many receptionists!
But why?!
I'd never seen them in such … such concentration! Not even in Reitzlake's capital were so many congregated in one spot! Why, it simply wasn't required–for the same reason a large gathering of assassins wasn't!
One was enough. Two at a stretch. But this many? They could conjure enough documents to bring down a troll!
Suddenly, one of them clapped their hands together as she turned to her colleagues.
"–So I was thinking, why not line up our holidays this year?"
"Oh? Should we all go somewhere together?"
"I think it'd be fun! Summer isn't far away now."
"That's a good idea! What about Lissoine? My brother always talks about how nice the Jardin Botanique de Lissoine is in the summer. And we could visit the beach as well."
"Lissoine? Hmm, it's nice, but if all of us go together, shouldn't it be somewhere further away?"
"What about Ouzelia?" suggested Coppelia, naturally sliding into the group conversation. "It's not only exotic, but also surprisingly homely! Whether you want to explore forests filled with carnivorous trees or hike mountains filled with carnivorous rocks, we have it all!"
The group of receptionists blinked towards the new addition, then towards each other.
"Ouzelia! My, that sounds lovely!"
"I have a friend who works for the Bewitching Postal Service. We might be able to lodge!"
Their smiles bloomed like that of newly trained maids in the darkness. The scene of smouldering death was as lost from their thoughts as they were before their eyes.
These receptionists.
They … They were not quite right.
None of them were.
I wasn't sure how. I wasn't sure why. But I knew that if a receptionist murdered someone in a forest, then no one would be left alive to hear it. They suffered no witnesses, allowed no corpses and offered no evidence. The spotless steps before the tower door was proof enough of that.
Indeed, if I could be grateful for the Adventurer's Guild for one thing, it was somehow convincing them that a life of customer service was better than a life as hired assassins.
"... Greetings! You currently seem as though you're lost. May I provide assistance?"
Especially as they had the footsteps of them.
I swished Apple around, then duly recoiled from the smile coming from … yes, receptionist #5!
I was horrified.
There were officially enough receptionists to form a musical quintet! By any metric, that was too much!
"T-Thank you, but I'm not lost," I said, peeling away slightly. "There is, however, a circus populated by magical clowns nearby who are. If possible, I'd appreciate it if you could direct them to their destination where they can do some work–here."
"If you're referring to the nearby group of mages affiliated with the Royal Institute, I believe they're apprentices. As a result, they're beholden to the rules which require they undertake their current fund raising activities."
"What they're beholden to is fixing what they've collectively broken. Or at the very least, unnecessarily getting in the way of your capable defence against the horrors clearly hoping to escape this tower. Excuse me, but why are there so many of … you here?"
Yes.
This was now my most pressing question.
Black hole in the sky? Monsters rolling out of the tower? Coppelia selling tickets to tourist attractions she almost certainly had no right to represent?
… None of these now mattered!
Instead, I offered my finest look of bewilderment at a receptionist who didn't bat an eyelash as she smiled. A smile which surely had as much place outside this tower as the untaxed crowns now entering Coppelia's pouch.
"Ah, if you're referring to the presence of my colleagues and I, it's because the Adventurer's Guild has a permanent stall located here. You likely may have missed it. It's currently being used by a group of knights requiring shelter for their hair products."
I nodded.
"I don't understand."
The receptionist hummed.
"Well, I believe the wax-based products they primarily use contain oils, which makes them flammable and therefore vulnerable to most things mages can cast."
"No, not that," I said, flicking the image of my knights away. "For what reason could the Adventurer's Guild require a stall here? Are mages not capable of finding their own cats? Or do they use this tax funded tower only to specialise in the study of how to cause calamities?"
"Oh no, they're quite capable of finding their own cats," said the receptionist … providing exactly half an answer. "This isn't a stall for commissions. It's a recruiting station."
My mouth widened as it all became clear.
"A recruiting station? ... Do you mean to say that the guild squats outside this tower, plucking whatever mages smile at the correct eerily straight angle?"
"Indeed, that would be accurate!"
Why, the shamelessness of the Adventurer's Guild … and also the only good thing they do!
This was precisely how they picked out the very receptionists I saw around me! By selecting the most horrifying of the bunch like roses at the peak of their thorns, they ensured that they monopolised the most dangerous to themselves!
"I see … very well, I cannot fault the guild for their opportunism. But why exactly are receptionists now being required to hold back literal monsters sewn from the abyss? I'm only aware of this black hole in the sky. Nobody told me about any creatures it was somehow spawning as well."
"My colleagues and I are defending against the hordes of terror as a courtesy," said the receptionist, as though this was just another document she needed to be signed. "However, whether or not the monsters seeking to escape the tower are related to the above phenomenon is unclear at present. Their appearance is a recent event."
"Excellent. All that says is that whatever's happening, it's somehow becoming worse. I almost dare not ask this, but are there no safeguards in place? Magical defences? What of those mages inside?"
"It's possible that both the resident mages and the tower defences have either been overwhelmed or disabled. As a result, direct entry through the main entrance is unadvised owing to the lack of actionable information. I say this as I note the ring you wear. It is a joy to see an adventurer in these uncertain times! Did you wish to enter the tower?"
No, I wished to forget its existence.
But until I had access to a falling plant pot, I had to make do with manually bashing my head against whatever inane reason I was certain to be given for this calamity.
"My only desire is to close my eyes and wake to see the sunlight bearing down upon me. And that can be done the moment you inform me that someone not me is already seeing to this debacle."
"Yes. The Mage's Guild immediately dispatched a team of senior mages to assess the situation."
I clapped my hands in delight. At last, expendable goons fulfilling their function. A sliver of good news.
"Wonderful! And what news of their progress?"
"They assessed the situation was dire and returned in order to convene a convocation. Beyond that, I'm afraid I've no knowledge regarding their current progress."
There wasn't even room for disappointment.
No, on the contrary, this was the grief of hearing that a new servant had stepped on one of Clarise's clearly invisible and unmarked trapped tiles and spilled fire and pudding everywhere again. Incompetence and ineptitude. This was just normal.
"0% is their progress," I said, wrinkling my nose. "If the Mage's Guild are still in the drafting stages of a plan, then I can be sure to rely upon them as much as a foie gras to start quacking again. I don't suppose they left a note explaining what this black hole in the sky actually is before they fled to gather their belongings and travel documents?"
"They did not. However, my colleagues and I have been deliberating on the matter in preparation for an official commission being formalised."
"Fine. I certainly trust your information gathering over anything the local clowns can decipher. What is this unwelcome thing endangering my petunias, exactly?"
"We have a working theory. But we're hoping to confirm it with an expert opinion. We've a colleague on the way whose dissertation regarding advanced concepts in metaphysics earned the highest recorded marks. She'll gladly help. In truth, it'll likely be hard for us to book a holiday for so long as this is occurring."
I let out the tiniest sigh.
Very well, then. Anything to delay needing to traipse up a thousand staircases like some moronic adventurer in search of stronger calves.
"I see … and when will this expert arrive?"
The receptionist twirled her finger. A pocket watch appeared. I glanced over it with mild interest. Gold framed with luminous jade hands. My, a receptionist's salary was no paltry thing, it seemed.
"12 seconds," she said simply.
I duly waited, tapping against Apple's reins.
And then–
Snap.
Appearing to the sound of a whip, yet another receptionist blinked into existence, wisps of magic dissipating from her form like fireflies fleeing into the night.
But this was not receptionist #6.
Oh no … not at all.
Because this one didn't just join the choir.
She led them.
Although there was nothing to separate her professional smile, straight posture and unwrinkled uniform from those around her, no amount of darkness could hide the face I now recognised as much as the carrots which haunted my dreams.
It was her.
The harbinger of doom. The crier of the night. The omen of despair.
"Welcome back, Mirabelle! Thank you for coming at short notice!"
The receptionist of the Reitzlake branch.
"Greetings!" said the familiar young woman, not even blinking as she took in the sight of my wide mouth and horrified expression. Apple leaned forward in search of another fire, acid and water-proof scroll to nibble on. "Goodness, what a delight it is to see–"
"Come, Coppelia! We shall proceed through the front door at once!"
"Yay~!"
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- Location
- Texas
A six-receptionist problem is a serious problem indeed.
However, this is entirely incorrect! Possessing an abundance of waxes and oils would result in low solubility!
Indeed, the insolubility of oil is so well known that "oil and water" are go-to examples of things that will not mix!
However praiseworthy the magical education of these receptionists is, their grounding in the conventional chemical sciences is clearly inadequate!
However, this is entirely incorrect! Possessing an abundance of waxes and oils would result in low solubility!
Indeed, the insolubility of oil is so well known that "oil and water" are go-to examples of things that will not mix!
However praiseworthy the magical education of these receptionists is, their grounding in the conventional chemical sciences is clearly inadequate!
- Pronouns
- It
FOOL THAT YOU ARE!
You forget that if your products are oil based it means that your fragrances ARENT SHELF STABLE IN WATER!
If water gets into an oil based product it will UNBIND THE SENTS and reduce your meticulously collected and incredibly expensive hair care products to so much BEESWAX!
Think before you insult your intellectual superiors next time.