**********
Double chapter
**********
Seven days had passed since Lance began his intense focus on the lesser meditation rune within the secluded confines of the Moonlight Tower's fourth floor. His eyes fluttered open, signaling the retreat of his consciousness from the deep recesses of his mind where he had been laboriously maintaining the integrity of the rune.
Throughout the week, the rune had tested Lance's resolve and skill, morphing and shifting unexpectedly. Yet, each deviation was met with Lance's swift and adept corrections, ensuring no lasting misalignments marred the rune's structure.
On this eighth day, a significant milestone was reached. Rising at dawn, Lance conducted his routine inspection and found, for the first time, that the rune remained unaltered, with every fragment of mental power meticulously aligned. The stability and order of the rune signified that, barring unforeseen complications, it had been successfully solidified within his psyche.
Lance couldn't help but reflect, "The teacher probably never anticipated that I would master the meditation runes with such alacrity." His thoughts turned to the next phase of his journey. With the rune firmly established, the path was now open for him to engage in meditation and begin absorbing magical energy.
With a sudden impulse, Lance called out, "Bonnie!" Promptly, she entered from the doorway, her demeanor reserved.
"Did Ms. Nancy question you this morning?" Lance inquired, his tone direct yet not devoid of concern.
Bonnie, maintaining her characteristic timidity, gave a small nod in affirmation.
"And what did she ask?" Lance pressed further, a trace of curiosity weaving through his words.
"The first lady inquired about your recent activities, young master, particularly your daily routines," Bonnie responded, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lance, undeterred, continued, "How did you respond to her queries?"
Bonnie hesitated for a moment before replying, "I answered as you instructed, young master. I informed her that you planned to spend some time in the Moonlight Tower. It appeared to displease the first lady."
Upon hearing this, Lance offered a nonchalant shrug, his demeanor lightening as he let out a small chuckle. "In that case, let's head back!" he declared, a decision seemingly spurred by the revelation of Ms. Nancy's dissatisfaction.
Bonnie, taken aback by the sudden shift in plans, cast Lance a look of surprise. She bit her lip, a gesture of apprehension or uncertainty, but chose to remain silent, waiting for further instructions from Lance.
…
Lance and Bonnie departed from the Moonlight Tower, leaving behind Amman's tutelage, to return to the bustling life of the castle. As they journeyed, they encountered Ola, the stalwart captain of the castle guard, whose presence offered a momentary pause in their trek.
Seizing the opportunity, Lance inquired about the expeditions that had ventured forth from the castle. Ola, with a warm and reassuring smile, responded with the kind of robust confidence one would expect from a man of his position. "Master, rest assured, the Viscount's prowess is unmatched, and with Master Griffin by his side, the orcs pose no significant threat. They won't stand a chance against our leaders," he affirmed with a hearty laugh.
He continued, detailing the logistics: "Considering the distance to the Red River Plain, it's a week's journey there and back at the minimum. Plus, they need to penetrate the northern mountains to trace the orcs' path. Expect them back within a month if all progresses swiftly. As for young Poirot, a merchant recently relayed a message – he's uncovered the lair of the Frost Land Monsters. It seems probable he'll resolve that menace shortly."
Lance absorbed Ola's updates with a nod, internalizing the information but choosing not to delve deeper into conversation.
The frost land monsters, a common yet intellectually limited species, prove a perennial challenge due to their predatory nature. These creatures, resembling the goblins of Lance's previous life's lore, thrive not through cultivation but through the plundering of others' harvests. Emerging en masse from the crypt's depths each winter, they besiege the rural expanses, often pillaging the homes of isolated farmers.
In contrast, orcs represent a more formidable menace. These brutal predators outmatch average human warriors, making them a significant threat when encountered. However, their appearances in the Viscount's western coastal domain are infrequent, with the territory usually enjoying relative peace from such formidable foes. The local threats predominantly include the coastal murlocs and, more commonly, the frost land monsters, while savage orcs are a rarity.
Ola's recounting of the last orc encounter within the vicinity – a skirmish three years past that required the Viscount's direct intervention – lingered in Lance's mind. With his father, Viscount Lane, away, Lance recognized the precarious nature of his own safety, especially with the looming threat posed by the lady of the castle.
"In any case, with Father, Viscount Lane, here, I would be under his protection, and the lady would hesitate before taking any rash actions," Lance reflected, acknowledging the protective umbrella his father's presence provided.
Now, with the Viscount absent, Lance sensed the window for the lady's potential machinations against him might soon open. "I hope that woman is not as foolish as I presume," he pondered, a mix of hope and strategy coursing through his thoughts. Lance was no stranger to confrontation, and he silently vowed that any assault on his person would not be met with passivity. The chessboard of castle politics was set, and Lance was ready to make his move, should the need arise.
…
Back in the safety of his room, Lance orchestrated a scene of solitary confinement by skillfully dismissing Bonnie under a pretense. He proceeded with meticulous care, securing the room against intrusions. Furniture like heavy desks and bookshelves were strategically maneuvered to barricade the doors and windows, ensuring a private and undisturbed environment. With the room's defenses firmly in place, he finally seated himself on the bed, the solitude enveloping him like a cloak.
Now was the moment for meditation, the fundamental spell every mage must master. The technique, though basic, required precision: the infusion of a specific measure of mental power into the stabilized lesser meditation rune.
Guided by Amman's teachings, Lance knew that initiating a lesser meditation required the delicate transfer of approximately eighteen points of mental power. With this knowledge, he closed his eyes, allowing tranquility to seep into his veins with each measured breath. Mentally reaching out, he directed his power towards the rune nestled within the confines of his consciousness.
As his mental energy began to merge with the rune, a transformation occurred. The lesser meditation rune, dormant until now, responded to the infusion of power.
As Lance delved deeper into meditation, a profound sense of transformation enveloped him. Despite his eyes being closed, a vibrant tableau unfolded in his inner vision — myriad light spots, alive with color, danced around him in playful harmony, swirling and floating on unseen currents.
He was particularly struck by the abundance of blue light spots swirling in his vicinity, their numbers surpassing the lighter shades of cyan that danced among them. Lance recognized these hues as symbols, manifestations of elemental magic at its most fundamental. The sparse distribution of other colors — the reds, yellows, blacks, browns, and whites — painted a vivid spectrum of magical potential around him.
"Is this the essence of magic?" Lance pondered, his heart alight with the thrill of discovery. In the world of wizardry, these luminescent specks — these magic factors — were the lifeblood of their craft. They were the raw materials from which spells were woven, the indispensable elements required for the conjuration and execution of magical phenomena.
The predominance of blue signified the presence of water-based magic factors, a realm of fluidity and depth, while the cyan represented the airy domain of wind magic, symbolic of freedom and movement.
The unique geographical positioning of the castle, perched on the edge of Wangfeng Mountain near the vast sea, naturally enriched the surrounding atmosphere with a heavy concentration of water vapor and a brisk sea breeze. This natural environment explained the dominance of water and wind magic factors in Lance's meditation space, reflecting the landscape's elemental bias.
As Lance pondered the mechanics of magical absorption, a sudden warmth spread through his chest, marking the inception of something profound. Before his inner eye, a nascent vortex began to form, its emergence acting like a magnet to the drifting magic factors in his vicinity. This was the magic vortex, a critical tool for a wizard, acting as a gateway between the raw elements of the world and the mage's own internal reservoir of power.
With deliberate focus, Lance directed the vortex's function, deciding which elements it should siphon from the surrounding ether. Given the predominance of water-related energies and his current environment, he opted to start with the water-based magic factor. The other elements, while tempting, were systematically repelled, sent swirling back into the ethereal expanse of the room.
As time ticked on, the vortex beneath the funnel swelled with a concentrated mass of water-based magic factors. However, there was a limit to this accumulation; a saturation point where no more could be drawn without conversion.
Realizing this, Lance shifted his focus. The lesser meditation's purpose was twofold: to forge the magic vortex and to transmute raw elements into usable magical power. With concerted effort, he initiated this transformative process, guiding the amassed water-based factors to metamorphose into a luminous, light blue energy that seeped into his being, infiltrating every fiber of his existence.
…
Three hours had elapsed when Lance finally emerged from his meditative state, exhaling a lengthy breath that seemed to carry the weight of new knowledge and realization. His eyes, now open, reflected a blend of contemplation and mild disappointment.
"313 water-based spell factors were assimilated, yet they yielded merely 26 points of magical power," he noted, the math stark in his mind. The conversion rate stood glaringly at almost twelve to one, a ratio that prompted a self-aware smile tinged with irony. "It appears my body's affinity for water-based elements isn't as strong as it could be. The sensitivity is somewhat lacking."
In the realm of magic, individual predisposition towards different elemental factors could greatly influence a mage's path and specialization. The typical conversion efficiency was ten magic factors to one unit of magical power. Lance, facing a twelve to one conversion rate for water-based factors, found himself slightly below this average, hinting at a less natural inclination towards water element magic.
The lure of mastering new spells spurred Lance beyond the physical drain of prolonged meditation. Disregarding the insistent knocks at his door, he submerged himself into a second round of meditation, this time focusing on harnessing the wind spell factor.
However, this session of meditation concluded prematurely, not due to external interruptions, but because Lance had reached the capacity of his magical reserves faster than anticipated. This abrupt end brought to light a stark realization.
Amman, his mentor, had explained that the initial session of meditation serves as a benchmark, revealing the innate capacity for magical storage in a novice wizard. Typically, a fresh apprentice would have a magical reserve ranging between forty-five to sixty points — a standard gauge of natural aptitude in the mystical arts.
Lance, emerging from his meditation, confronted a disheartening truth. His own magical reservoir capped at a mere thirty points, significantly lower than the norm for someone of his novice status.
Lance's realization of his own limitations in magical capacity was a sobering moment. Despite his diligent efforts, his magical reserves remained firmly capped at thirty points, starkly delineating the upper boundary of his current abilities. This was a significant departure from the typical baseline for wizard apprentices, indicating a substantial disadvantage right from the outset.
"The disparity is stark," Lance mused with a resigned smile, grappling with the reality that his peers might begin their magical journey with reserves double his own. This revelation underscored a challenging dichotomy: while his mental acuity and talent for understanding and manipulating spell factors seemed promising, his inherent capacity for storing magical power lagged disappointingly behind.
The conversion rate for wind-based spell factors only added to his introspection, standing at eleven to one, marginally better than his rate for water-based elements but still below the average efficiency expected of his peers. This inefficiency in converting and harnessing elemental energies hinted at a broader spectrum of elemental affinities and resistances that Lance would need to navigate.
"The persistent knocking echoed through Lance's chamber once more. With a tinge of irritation coloring his tone, Lance inquired, "What's the matter?" Through the door, Bonnie's timid voice replied, "Master Lance, it's dinner." Taking a moment to compose himself, Lance exhaled deeply and methodically cleared the path by shifting the heavy desk and bookcases aside to grant Bonnie entry.
The sight that greeted him was the young servant girl, burdened with trays of food that bore the telltale signs of multiple reheatings, evidenced by the slight curling at the edges of some dishes and the less vibrant colors of the vegetables. She placed each dish on Lance's table with careful precision, forming an unintentional mosaic of sustenance and warmth.
The rich aromas wafted towards Lance, tugging at the strings of his appetite that had been amplified by hours of deep meditation and mental exertion. His body reacted viscerally, a stark reminder of his neglected physical needs amidst his spiritual endeavors.
So he grabbed a piece of bread and put it in his mouth. Before he could swallow, a stern internal alert from Fox reverberated through his consciousness.
{Warning! Warning! After scanning, you are trying to eat food with toxins! Please stop this behavior immediately!}
Lance's suspicion lingered as he observed Bonnie, who remained focused on cleaning, seemingly oblivious to his internal turmoil. Her actions appeared innocent, yet the situation's gravity made him question everything and everyone. Lance remained motionless for a moment, mulling over the potential knowledge or innocence of the girl before him. With a cautious demeanor, he discreetly removed the tainted bread from his mouth, maintaining a composed exterior. "You go out first. I'll eat these foods in a while," he directed, concealing his rising alarm under a veil of calm authority.
Bonnie, momentarily taken aback by Lance's abrupt request, quickly composed herself. Understanding Lance's stern disposition from her time serving him, she recognized the importance of adhering strictly to his commands. With a quiet acquiescence, she obediently exited the room, leaving Lance to his thoughts and the unsettling discovery he had just made.
"Analyze the toxin composition and effect for me immediately!" Lance commanded internally, urgency threading through his thoughts.
{The analysis results have come out. Just now, although you expelled the food in time, a residual amount of toxin was still ingested. This particular toxin is slow-acting, causing minimal harm in small doses. However, prolonged exposure can severely diminish cognitive function, leading to significant reductions in IQ and, ultimately, mental impairment. Cross-referencing with previously scanned local texts, I have identified a probable source for this toxin.}
Fox, embodying the pinnacle of the latest main chip technology, operated with exceptional speed, delivering its findings almost instantaneously. Lance, fueled by a mix of concern and a drive for answers, inquired with a commanding tone, "What's the source?"
{The source is the Red Riding Hood Cobra, a serpent dwelling in coastal regions. It favors laying eggs on the warm sands of beaches and represents a unique hybrid between aquatic and reptilian life forms, defying traditional biological categorization. The venom of the Red Riding Hood Cobra is particularly virulent, capable of causing immediate blindness and neurological damage. When this venom is diluted by a factor of 10,000, its properties become remarkably similar to the toxin detected in your meal.}
"Red Riding Hood Cobra?" The name sparked a flicker of recognition in Lance's mind. He had encountered brief mentions of this creature during his initial forays into the arcane knowledge of the wizarding world, learning of its habits and the periods during which it reproduced. Its natural timidity and the short shelf-life of its venom had rendered it negligible in terms of military or economic value, relegating it to a mere footnote among the many peculiar species of the local fauna.
A wry, cold smile formed on Lance's lips as he processed the implications. "Unexpectedly, that woman is a bit more desperate than I anticipated," he mused silently, the gears turning in his mind. The subtle approach chosen by his adversary was cunning; outright assassination would indeed have drawn immediate suspicion. In contrast, a gradual decline into foolishness, given his recent unremarkable conduct, might pass entirely unnoticed, a silent theft of his intellect under the guise of natural ineptitude.
This realization added a new layer of urgency and caution to his predicament. It was clear now that the threats he faced were cloaked in subtlety and guile, requiring a measured and equally subtle response. Lance knew he needed to stay several steps ahead, employing all his wits and the invaluable assistance of Fox, to navigate this treacherous web of deceit.
…
Lance mused on the subtleties of political maneuvering and personal vendettas, his mind tracing the outlines of strategy and countermove. "I had no intention of targeting her initially, but it seems she's left me little choice. It's almost amusing, how desperate measures reveal true intentions," he reflected, his thoughts dark with the ironies of his situation.
Methodically, he gathered the compromised food into a cloth bag, leaving behind a convincing tableau of a half-eaten meal. This act of deception was necessary, a part of the larger game of cat and mouse he found himself ensnared within.
After stashing the bag out of sight, Lance turned his attention to the desk. His movements were deliberate, guided by memory as he sought out the well-concealed compartment. "I remember it was here…" he murmured, a sense of anticipation building. His fingers finally grazed the hidden latch, and with a familiar flick, he accessed the secret cache.
Inside, secured with a thin red string, lay a small cloth bag. Lance's actions were precise as he untied the string, revealing its contents—a collection of seeds, unassuming yet potent. These were Seeds of Bassonia.
The Seeds of Bassonia, a parting gift from Amman, held a place of esteem among Lance's possessions, a symbol of his apprenticeship and a tool for his burgeoning craft. The Basmati vine, from which these precious seeds were harvested, was a peculiar plant; despite its commonality, the rarity of its seeds added an air of mystique and value. Producing only a single seed from every thousand vines, it was a botanical rarity, its seeds a cornerstone for crafting the rudimentary yet effective Level 0 magic item known as Hunting Grass.
In the realm of wizardry, magic items served as extensions of a mage's will and skill, essential tools for defense and offense alike. Their creation, bounded by the maker's own level of mastery, presented a unique avenue for wizards to augment their capabilities beyond raw spellcasting. As a fledgling wizard, Lance's current skills limited him to the creation of Level 0 items, aligning perfectly with his possession of the Bassonia seeds.
Despite his status as an apprentice, Lance had yet to master a single spell—a reflection of the demanding and intricate nature of magical education. However, the creation of magic items offered an alternative path to power, a means to circumvent the slow, arduous journey of spell learning. While mastery of higher-tier spells demanded months, if not years, of dedicated study, a Level 0 item like Hunting Grass could be completed in a mere eight hours—a tangible manifestation of magic within reach, an immediate weapon in the shadow war he found himself embroiled in.
…
Lance methodically placed the aged, desiccated seeds of Bassonia on the table, their mundane appearance belying their latent potential. He then retrieved a small bottle filled with a distinctive purple liquid from the bookcase, another remnant of his time with Amman. Despite the old wizard's modest rank, his proficiency in crafting magical artifacts was undisputed, a skill he generously passed on to his pupil.
The purple liquid, known as Lehman Alienation Liquid, was a peculiar concoction comprising alcohol, distilled water, and a solution derived from Lehman grass. This mixture was crucial for the creation of certain magic items, including the novice-level Hunting Grass.
Lance reminisced about the lessons with Amman as he prepared to craft his own magical item. Despite the daunting world of spellcasting, the creation of basic magical artifacts like Hunting Grass was surprisingly accessible. "The initial steps in crafting Hunting Grass are straightforward, provided you have the necessary materials. In fact, even those without magical abilities can undertake this task," Lance mused, echoing Amman's teachings.
With practiced ease, he poured the Lehman Alienation Liquid into a small cup, a vessel for transformation. Into this purple bath, he introduced six or seven Bassonia seeds, each one a potential vector of magical energy waiting to be awakened. Sealing the cup with a lid, he set it aside; the seeds now required four hours to undergo their alchemical bath.
…
In the dead of night, Lance, stifling yawns, kept a firm grip on the cup's lid, warding off the potent energies threatening to burst forth. The once-still room was now filled with the sound of the cup's violent tremors, a testament to the forces contained within.
"Papa!" The cup emitted a strange, lively tremor, as if the seeds inside had taken on a life of their own, calling out amidst the quiet of Lance's room. Were it not for Lance's steadfast hold, it seemed likely the cup would have taken flight, propelled by the spell-energized seeds.
Amidst the peculiar silence punctuated by the seeds' restlessness, [Fox]signaled the end of the waiting period. {Four hours, time is up!} it announced, ushering in the moment of truth.
This was the crux of the entire process. The creation of Hunting Grass, a Tier 0 magic item, necessitated more than mere preparation; it required the touch of a mage's own magic. This next, vital step needed Lance to channel his magical essence into the volatile mixture, using his wizardly blood to quell the frenetic spell factors, binding them into a form he could command and use.
Although Lance was still in the early stages of his journey as a wizard apprentice, lacking mastery in spells and specifically the ability to perform a [magic guide] for crafting a Level 0 item, he resorted to the most primitive method known to wizards.
He concentrated, channeling the nascent magic swirling within him to the tips of his left hand's fingers. With a steady hand, he took a sharp dagger and made a shallow incision across his fingertips, a necessary sacrifice for the craft ahead. The blood, imbued with his magical essence, began to well up, vibrant and otherworldly.
Quickly, Lance uncapped the cup, allowing several drops of his enchanted blood to fall into the agitated mixture, then swiftly resealed it. The once-turbulent cup stilled almost instantly, a testament to the blood's potent calming effect on the chaotic magical energies within.
After bandaging his wound, Lance released a heavy sigh of relief. The most perilous step was now behind him, albeit not without cost. The magic had drained from him significantly during the process, depleting eight points of his magical power, a loss that he felt as a tangible weakness. This expenditure, wasteful yet necessary, left him feeling palpably lessened, a stark reminder of his novice status and the precious nature of his magical reserves.
"Now, just four more hours," he murmured to himself, the culmination of his efforts nearly at hand. Positioning the cup securely at the table's center, he stretched wearily and lay down, succumbing quickly to sleep, his energy spent.
Come morning, Lance would awaken to his first self-made magic item, the Hunting Grass, ready to serve its purpose for up to forty-eight days. Little did Mrs. Nancy know, she was soon to be the recipient of a most unexpected gift, courtesy of Lance's newfound craft and cunning.