Lance's gaze was fixated on Master Amman's meticulous movements, each stroke a testament to years of arcane practice. However, despite his intense concentration, the runes remained elusive, their true forms obscured as if shrouded in mist. Lance's realization was bitter; understanding spell runes was a task far more daunting than he had anticipated.
With eyes wide in an effort to perceive the indiscernible, Lance faced the frustrating reality: he could only discern the faintest outline of the potent symbols being inscribed on the magical animal skin. This slow, deliberate process by Amman wasn't merely for precision—it was a rare concession, an opportunity for Lance born from the wizard's unexpected leniency.
The strain of intense focus manifested physically for Lance; a throbbing headache began to pulse at his temples, sweat beaded on his forehead, and his vision blurred with unshed tears from the effort. Despite the discomfort, he clung to his determination, drawing a silent comparison to the body's previous occupant. Unlike the original owner, who after numerous attempts could not grasp even the basic form of the runes, Lance could at least see their outlines—a small but significant victory indicating his mental capacity might just suffice for the rigorous demands of wizardry.
But time was not on his side. Unlike those destined for the path of magic, who might view the runes multiple times for comprehension and memorization, Lance knew this was his singular opportunity. His breathing grew labored, eyes stinging with tears from both concentration and the physical pain of his exertion.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the session ended. Master Amman ceased his inscription, sealing away the skins with a finality that resonated like a closing chapter. "Okay," he declared, his voice carrying an undertone of dismissal. Lance understood; this was the extent of Amman's patience, the last gesture of mentorship he would receive before facing the solitary challenges ahead.
Respectfully nodding to Amman, despite the lingering ache clouding his senses, Lance turned toward the lift. Each step was measured, a physical retreat but not a surrender of his newfound resolve. He left the room with a silent promise to himself: this struggle would not be in vain.
As Lance stepped out into the glaring noon sun from the dimness of the Moonlight Tower, Poirot, waiting outside, immediately noticed the young man's dire condition. "Master Lance, you are out," he observed with a hint of concern, spotting the evident signs of distress in Lance's posture and complexion.
Struggling to maintain his composure, Lance felt his body rebelling against the unnatural strain he had put it under. Inside his head, the voice of [Fox] resounded with clear warnings: {Warning, your brain is undergoing an abnormal energy overload. Immediate cessation of current activity is advised to prevent irreversible damage.}
Ignoring the internal alerts had pushed Lance to his limits, resulting in him coughing up blood and collapsing to his knees on the hard ground. The exertion from trying to forcibly interpret the arcane rune, well beyond his current capabilities, had led to this physical backlash.
"Master Lance, what's the matter with you?" Poirot immediately rushed to his side, his voice laced with urgency. While he was primarily concerned with Lance's safety, there was an underlying fear about the repercussions of failing in his duty. After all, the Viscount's wrath was well-known, and Poirot couldn't afford to be seen as neglectful.
Feeling the acute pain and the failure of his forced attempt, Lance muttered weakly, "No more, it's of no use." He then ceased his mental exertions, recognizing the futility and danger of his actions.
Understanding that he had reached his physical and mental limit, Lance requested, "Carry me back to the castle," his voice barely above a whisper, drained of all strength.
Poirot, sensing the severity but also relieved that Lance could still communicate, acted promptly. Without a word, he lifted Lance onto his back, prepared to return to the safety of the castle. Lance's condition was a silent but stark reminder of the fine line between ambition and recklessness, a lesson learned in the harshest way as they made their way back to seek aid.
…
Perched precariously on Poirot's back, Lance found a moment to collect himself, the humiliation of his collapse at the tower beginning to ebb away. The ordeal had been a stark mental drain rather than a physical one, leaving his body intact despite the toll on his mind.
Upon their return to the castle, Lance declined Poirot's concerned suggestion to visit the physician. He preferred the solitude of his own quarters, a space where he could regroup and reflect without intrusion.
Once in the sanctuary of his room, Lance settled onto his bed, the physical manifestation of his exhaustion battling with an acute sense of hunger — a hunger that remained unappealing given the turmoil churning within him. The image of the elusive rune persisted in his thoughts, its outlines taunting yet fascinating him in equal measure.
Despite the day's setbacks, Lance couldn't help but marvel at the allure of spellcraft. "Magic truly is the most wondrous element of this world," he mused, a mix of frustration and admiration coloring his contemplation. The complexities and challenges of the arcane only fueled his desire to delve deeper, to understand and harness the power that had so far eluded his grasp.
Lance, regaining a semblance of composure in the familiar confines of his room, turned inward to consult [Fox], seeking confirmation on the status of their recent endeavor. "[Fox], is the recording of the rune complete?"
The reply was prompt and affirmative, a testament to the chip's efficiency: {Completed, all data has been stored. Please assign a name.}
A flicker of excitement passed through Lance as he designated the captured magic, "[Lesser Meditation Rune]." But with the thrill of success came a crucial question, asked in the silent language of thought: "If I access this information now, could I replicate what I saw earlier?"
[Fox]'s response was equally swift {Reproduction of the observed process is possible, and fidelity will be maintained. However, based on current analyses, such an endeavor would exert significant strain on your cognitive faculties, which are presently compromised. Initiating the [Lesser Meditation Rune] under your current mental state is not recommended.}
The warning from [Fox] underscored the severity of his earlier overreach. While the data was securely captured, Lance's physical readiness to engage with it remained inadequate. The prospect of delving into the intricacies of the rune, so tantalizingly within reach, was tempered by the undeniable reality of his current vulnerability.
Lance mulled over his next question, weighing the potential risks and rewards before finally inquiring, "I've heard that advanced chips can directly transfer data into a human brain. Is that something you're capable of, [Fox]?"
[Fox], representing the pinnacle of current chip technology, responded promptly: {Indeed, as the most advanced iteration of the super master chips, I possess that capability.} However, the response carried a cautionary note: {But be advised, the process is permanent. Once data is integrated into your neural network, it cannot be removed. Additionally, the procedure can induce significant neurological stress, potentially leading to brain damage. Recovery is possible but requires substantial time. Moreover, such a data transfer is a once-in-a-lifetime event due to the delicate nature of human brain structures. The brain's complexity far exceeds current scientific understanding, making prolonged direct interaction inadvisable.}
"Is the transfer limited to a single instance?" Lance considered deeply after receiving [Fox]'s explanation. After a moment of contemplation, he reached a firm conclusion: "A single chance will suffice. Overcoming this immediate obstacle is crucial for my journey towards becoming a wizard. While the Lesser Meditation Rune may be relatively basic compared to other techniques, securing and mastering foundational spells and runes is essential. The scarcity of advanced meditation methods makes this opportunity invaluable. I'm willing to accept the risks for the chance to advance my magical abilities."
Lance, with resolute determination, confirmed his decision to proceed with the data transfer. "Initiate the data copy for the [Lesser Meditation Rune]," he instructed while adjusting himself on the bed to find the most comfortable position for what was to come.
[Fox], ever diligent, sought final confirmation: {Proceed with data transfer now?}
Without a hint of hesitation, Lance affirmed, "Yes, immediately. Let's begin the process."
Acknowledging his command, [Fox] responded, {Command accepted, preparing data for transfer…}
Moments later, [Fox] announced, {Data preparation complete.}
Then, moving to the next phase, [Fox] informed, {Initiating bioelectrical anesthesia of the relevant brain region…} Lance braced himself, ready to face the consequences of his bold choice.
As the procedure commenced, Lance felt his consciousness wane, slipping into a state that hovered between sleep and wakefulness. Yet, despite the creeping veil of unconsciousness, the voice of [Fox] remained a clear beacon in the dimming light of his awareness:
{Data integration initiated.}
Then, without warning, an intense, needle-like pain lanced through Lance's head, a stark, searing sensation that eclipsed all else. The discomfort escalated rapidly, pushing the boundaries of his endurance. But amidst this excruciating pain, something else took shape—a crisp, vivid image of the rune, now permanently etched into the fabric of his mind, clear and unyielding in its intricacy and power.
As the rune's design crystallized in his consciousness, Lance experienced a profound revelation. "So this is what the Lesser Meditation Rune looks like…" he marveled internally, his mental barriers shattered as if piercing through layers of obscuring mist, allowing the first beams of understanding to illuminate his mind.
This newfound clarity was more than a mere insight—it was as if a door had swung wide open, revealing the vast, unexplored landscape of the wizarding world that lay beyond. Lance stood on the threshold of this expansive reality, awash in the light of arcane knowledge.
But this epiphany was swiftly followed by a tidal wave of agony, overwhelming in its intensity. The pain, stark and all-consuming, allowed no room for words or cries; Lance's world turned black as he succumbed to unconsciousness, the weight of his decision and its immediate consequences crashing down upon him.
…
As the evening descended, the castle's interior was softly illuminated by flickering candlelight. The first-floor dining room hosted a serene scene, with the family gathered and servants discreetly moving about, placing meticulously prepared meals upon the expansive table.
At this table, presided over by Viscount Lane at its head, the family's hierarchy was quietly underscored by the seating arrangement. Alongside him were the other members of his household: Viscountess Nancy and their three daughters, each engaging in subdued exchanges that filled the room with a gentle cadence of familial discourse.
Notably absent from this familial ensemble was Griffin, the eldest son, who was committed year-round to his military post at Honghe, his seat at the table perennially empty. Additionally, the second wife was missing, having returned to her own family due to the recent demise of a wealthy relative, from whom she anticipated a substantial inheritance.
The dinner proceeded with the customary elegance befitting the viscount's household, each person present fulfilling their role in the evening's ritual, all but one...
"Where is Lance?" The inquiry from Viscount Lane cut through the dining room's ambient noise, bringing a momentary stillness.
The query sent a ripple of uncertainty among the servants, their exchanged glances revealing a collective ignorance. Since the dismissal of Lance's previous maid, no one had taken up the role of attending to the second young master directly, leaving a gap in their oversight.
"Master, this morning, Master Lance visited the Moonlight Tower. At noon, he was observed returning to the castle," a confident female voice interjected amidst the silence. The source was Xili, a stalwart presence in the castle for over a decade, held in high esteem by both the Viscount and Viscountess. Though initially a distant relative, Xili's years of service had rendered her an indispensable part of the household's fabric, entrusted with the care of the Viscount's children.
"Lance is typically punctual. It's possible something unusual has delayed him today," she added, providing a measured speculation to fill the void of information.
This elicited a cold snort from the Viscount, his dissatisfaction evident, reflecting the gravity he placed on family appearances and punctuality.
The mood around the dining table shifted palpably, the previously calm atmosphere now laced with a chill of tension. It was clear to all present that the Viscount's mood had darkened significantly.
The reason behind his displeasure was no mystery to the family and staff. Before dinner, Viscount Lane had publicly declared his decision to afford Lance one more opportunity to prove himself. The plan was for Lance to inscribe a spell rune immediately following the evening meal, under the scrutinizing eye of Wizard Amman, no less.
However, as the meal commenced without any sign of Lance, frustration and disappointment emanated from the head of the table. Lance's absence was not merely a personal slight but a defiance of the Viscount's explicitly set expectations.
The significance of this test had been well understood — it was more than a mere academic exercise; it was an opportunity for redemption, a chance to validate his place within both the family and the broader realm of magic. Lance's failure to appear, therefore, struck a dissonant chord, further straining the already taut nerves of Viscount Lane.
Minutes trickled by, each one amplifying the tension that Lance's absence had woven into the fabric of the evening. Biqi's barely concealed satisfaction mirrored that of her mother, both seemingly finding some form of vindication or relief in Lance's shortfall. In stark contrast, Irene's expression was a landscape of worry, her concern for her brother casting a shadow over her youthful features.
With a single word, "Eat," the Viscount broke the thickening silence, his command slicing through the tension like a blade. The gathered family and guests, well aware of the unspoken rules governing their patriarch's table, began to partake in the meal before them, albeit with a palpable undercurrent of unease.
Time continued its inexorable march, the dining room playing host to a symphony of clinking cutlery and muted conversation. Yet, as the hour waned and the dessert course made its silent rounds, Lance's chair remained glaringly empty.
The Viscount maintained his stoic facade, his features betraying none of the storm brewing beneath the surface. However, the seasoned servant standing just a breath away from the head of the table could feel the tempest's impending break. Years of service had attuned him to the subtlest shifts in the Viscount's demeanor; the current calm was not peace, but the ominous stillness that precedes a tempest. The household braced, in its own silent way, for the fallout of Lance's conspicuous absence.
The tense atmosphere of the dining hall was momentarily pierced by the arrival announcement from the elderly butler. "Master, Wizard Amman is here," he informed, his voice steady despite the undercurrents of tension filling the room.
"Invite him in," Lane instructed, his voice betraying no hint of the turmoil that had settled over the evening meal.
With a respectful nod, the butler turned and made his departure to fetch the awaited guest. In the lull that followed, a tentative voice emerged at the table, slicing through the heavy silence.
"Father, may I visit Brother Lance…?" Irene, her voice barely above a whisper, broke the pattern of silence. Her lips quivered slightly as she mustered the courage to speak, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and resolve.