After the lecture had ended, Claude swiftly left the lecture hall, and the student's chatter faded into a muffled hum behind him.
Charles hustled to keep up from behind, a stream of questions tumbling out of his mouth.
"Whoa! I didn't realize Entropy was so fascinating! And did you hear what she said? About Her Eminence? So it's true—she's linked to a Mage Lord!" His eyes sparkled with excitement. "Why aren't you freaking out? This is a Mage Lord we're talking about! The pinnacle of magic!"
"No matter how impressive a Mage Lord is, it has little to do with us," Claude plainly answered.
Charles deflated slightly, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah... I guess you're right." He paused, then brightened again. "Hey, wait. I just realized—I never got your name."
Claude glanced at the crimson tufts of hair bobbing in his peripheral vision and sighed. From his time with the village kids, he'd learned that disinterest was the quickest way to douse their enthusiasm.
Yet, as Charles continued to prattle on, Claude felt he may have been mistaken. 'Why am I even likening him to a child?' He shook his head. "Claude. That's my name."
"Claude, huh? Nice name. You're from Francia, too? Same as me! How come I've never seen you around before?" Charles rattled on, seemingly oblivious to the lack of engagement.
Claude offered little more than the occasional nod, hoping his silence would eventually signal that the conversation was over. But to his growing dismay, Charles seemed immune to subtle hints.
By the time they reached the centre of Qasr-e-Vehem, Claude had resigned himself to the one-sided dialogue.
The field before them stretched wide, a verdant expanse of emerald grass swaying gently in the breeze, dappled with warm afternoon sunlight. Charles stopped abruptly, looking around. "Hey, what are we doing here?"
Claude raised a brow. We? He sighed inwardly, his patience thinning. "It's field practice. They say we'll be learning spells here."
"Field practice...?" Charles's laughter turned uneasy. "Maybe we should—Hey! Wait up!" He stumbled forward, scrambling to catch up as Claude walked ahead without waiting.
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A large group of students gathered in the middle of a field. And, in front of the group stood a middle-aged man with greying hair, tanned skin, and piercing eyes that appeared almost black.
His semi-formal attire—a fitted tunic of deep navy with silver embroidery at the cuffs and collar, paired with dark trousers and well-worn boots—only heightened his air of authority.
Claude stood silently amidst the crowd, whilst beside him, Charles fidgeted restlessly.
"No way! It's Mr. Cyrus!" Charles whispered, his mouth agape. "He's a retired Inquisitor!"
Claude barely acknowledged the stream of trivia Charles provided, though one word snagged his attention. Inquisitor...?
The title stirred memories of Zal. From what Claude had gathered, the Inquisition was a specialized task force operating directly under the Mage Council and was the elusive fourth department of Elysium.
Its primary role was to locate and neutralise major subspace invasions or corruptions in the material world. Every Inquisitor had to be at least an Official Mage, leading a squad of trained knights in their missions. Yet, Claude's thoughts were interrupted by Cyrus' voice.
"Listen up!" Cyrus barked, his voice sharp. "You all know why you're here, so I won't waste time on introductions." His gaze swept over the apprentices. "Today, you'll be learning a newly developed spell from Elysium."
And, with a swift raise of his arm, a sudden, sharp crackle split the air as a bright, white spark leapt into existence above his palm. The spark hissed and sizzled, the sound somewhere between a high-pitched crackling and the low rumble of distant thunder.
"This," Cyrus announced, "is the Tier 0 Spell: Spark." He let the spell dissipate with a flick of his wrist. "Of course, as apprentices, you won't be able to perform it to this level just yet."
He paced slowly, his boots pressing into the earth. "The principle behind this spell is static electricity—something you should be familiar with if you've paid attention to lessons at the Academy. It's a simplified variant of the Tier 1 Spell: Lightning Manipulation."
Claude's brows knitted together. Static electricity? The term was foreign to him, as was the mention of electrons. Most of his knowledge was rooted in the pressure and steam-based technologies he had studied in the ruins' library.
"Psst! You're not from the Academy, right?" Charles leaned in. "Static electricity is when certain materials build up an electrical charge on their surface. It happens when you rub two objects together—like wool and glass, or even your shoes on a carpet—and it knocks around these tiny particles called electrons."
He gestured animatedly. "Electrons carry a negative charge, and when they move from one object to another, you end up with one thing that's got too many negatives—making it negatively charged—and another that's missing some, making it positively charged. That imbalance is what we call static electricity."
Charles grinned. "It's the same thing that makes your hair stick up when you take off a sweater, or when you touch a doorknob and get that little shock. Now, for this spell, you're using your mental energy to strip electrons from the air molecules, creating a similar imbalance."
"One area gets a positive charge, another gets a negative one and boom—electrons jump from the negative end to the positive end. It happens when they try to balance out again."
Claude nodded. He extended his arm, focusing his mental energy. Then, he reached out, grasping for the concept Charles had clumsily explained earlier.
Negative charges, positive charges. A pull and a push. Imbalance creating motion.
He inhaled deeply and visualised the particles aligning. A faint violet glow flickered in the air before him, accompanied by a soft crackle. But just as quickly as it appeared, the spark fizzled out.
"Focus, Claude," he muttered to himself.
Charles, standing nearby, winced as he observed. "Hey, no shame in it! First tries are always the hardest—" Claude ignored him, his mind narrowing in on the sensation.
Trying again, he rubbed his fingers together, recalling the sensation of friction and how Charles had described it. Electrons. Particles stripped from one surface and pushed to another.
Another glow flickered into existence, faint but more stable this time. The crackle was sharper, louder, and it lingered for a heartbeat longer. "Better," Claude murmured.
Charles leaned closer, peering at the dissipating spark. "Man, that's progress! You've got—uh, what's the phrase? Potential?"
Claude's only response was a sharp glance that silenced Charles instantly. He extended his hand once more. Casting the spell again.
He repeated the process. The sparks growing brighter, sharper, and more defined, in each following attempt. And, finally, after several attempts, the electricity didn't just fizzle and vanish.
A bright purple spark burst into life before him, crackling and snapping as it hovered steadily in the air. Glowing like a tiny star.
Charles, watching intently, blinked in astonishment. "What on earth...?" He started counting on his fingers, muttering under his breath. "1, 2, 3... 9?! 9 spells! You're not a beginner Mage Apprentice, are you?"
Claude turned, raising a brow. "Why are you even here?" Charles whispered in disbelief. "Advanced Mage Apprentices usually lock themselves away in research for decades to advance."
Yet, before Claude could respond, Cyrus approached, his dark eyes gleaming with interest. "Well, I'll be damned!" he said with a smirk. "You're rather quick-witted to pick up this Tier 0 Spell so fast." He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "But if you keep that up, you're setting yourself up for trouble."
Claude tilted his head. "Trouble?"
"Yes, trouble," Cyrus confirmed. "I'm talking about how you cast spells—specifically, your reliance on gestures."
He crossed his arms, his tone turning grave. "Using gestures can help focus your energy and increase spell potency. But in combat, it's a liability. Anyone familiar with magic will watch your movements and predict your next move. By the time you finish casting, you could already be dead."
Cyrus's gaze hardened. "And, even with our enhanced physical strength and manipulation of mental energy, we are far from invincible. Never, and I mean never, engage in close combat unless you have no other choice. Our bodies are too fragile in the grand scheme of things."
Claude absorbed every word, yet, a small doubt lingered in his mind.
Anyone familiar with magic will watch your movements and predict your next move.
Cyrus hadn't said familiar with mages. He said familiar with magic.
Claude's eyes narrowed. He's not talking about cultists or Voidspawns. Does he mean... other mages?