Zenith of Sorcery

Chapter 2: Orphan of War

Marcus woke up early in the morning, as was his custom, and found his two companions already awake. They were eager to continue their journey and leave the area where the chaos storm appeared so suddenly. It was agreed that the group would simply continue without stopping until evening, in order to cover as much distance as possible.

However, this resolution didn’t last long. There was a multitude of small villages along the road they were following, and one of them was in an uproar when they reached it. They could hear shouting and wailing as they approached the settlement, and once they reached the village itself they found the majority of the populace gathered around one of the nicer houses in the village center. They were not deliberately barring their way, but the house was next to the road, and so the wagon had to stop for a moment. Marcus quickly disembarked, both to stretch his legs a little but also because it was human nature to be curious and Marcus wanted to know what had happened.

Pellast followed after him, signaling Elid to stay with the wagon and watch over it. The young boy didn’t seem particularly happy with that instruction, but stayed put regardless.

“What’s going on here?” Marcus asked one of the men once he approached the edge of the throng. He had to raise his voice a little so he could be heard over the sounds of a multitude of people trying to talk at the same time. Somewhere in the center of the gathering, two angry voices were shouting something at each other. Marcus couldn’t tell what the argument was about, other than someone being called a fraud.

His question attracted the attention of not just the man in question, but also the two other men around him. They threw a lazy, vaguely unfriendly look towards Marcus before their eyes widened in fear as they took in his appearance and realized they were looking at a mage.

“Ah… m-my Lord!” the man stammered. He was a rather sorry sight, already quite old and not aging gracefully at all. His skin was wrinkled and covered in ugly brown splotches, and many of his teeth were missing. “I apologize, I didn’t know-“

“What are you apologizing for? I’m just passing by and being curious,” Marcus cut him off.

“Oh. Of course,” the man said. To his credit, he seemed to calm down and gathered his bearing quickly after realizing Marcus wasn’t looking for trouble. “Well, it’s not really a secret what’s happening. You saw the storm yesterday, right?”

“Of course,” Marcus confirmed.

“Well, three boys from the village got caught in that storm and couldn’t find a shelter fast enough. They ended up breathing in some of the miasma and are mighty sick! They are not long for this world,” the old man explained.

“Don’t say that!” the man beside him spoke. “The boys are young and hearty, and they’re fighting the demons even as we speak! They can still make it!”

Marcus was silent for a moment, his mind stuck on the word ‘demons’. Demons were no laughing matter. Given enough time, even the least of them could make a beachhead and open an invasion portal. However, he soon realized the man simply considered chaos corruption to be a type of ‘demon’. As far as most of the peasantry was concerned, all illnesses were caused by evil spirits.

“I guess this kind of tragedy is to be expected,” Pellast mused from beside him. “That chaos storm appeared out of nowhere. I wager we will see more sights such as this as we travel west.”

Marcus made a vague, non-committal sound. Unexpected or not, most villagers know what to do in case of a chaos storm, and they were on familiar ground. It was mostly travelers like him and Elid that ended up in desperate situations.

At this point, Marcus realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere by questioning the old man in front of him, so he simply advanced further into the crowd, in the direction the shouting was coming from. He tried to be polite, but it was hard to be nice when pushing yourself through the crowd, and he got some nasty looks and swears as he moved. However, once they took a good look at his appearance, they immediately moved aside and let him pass forward unmolested.

He soon found himself standing in front of a fairly nice family house. The walls were pure white and seemed regularly painted, the roof was nice and red, and the door looked sturdy. A decorative flower bed was placed around the entrance, and seemed well-maintained.

A house like this was nothing special in the grand scheme of things, but it was clearly cut above the rest in this particular village. Most of the other houses they passed were in far worse condition, and smaller in size. Whoever lived here was doing well for themselves.

Right in front of the entrance, two middle-aged men and one woman in typical peasant attire were having a heated argument with a man dressed in a blue robe, who was trying to look regal and dignified and failing badly. All three were highly agitated, talking over each other in a way that made them hard to understand, but now that Marcus was closer, he could decipher their shouting a bit better.

“…have no shame!?” the woman shouted. “We welcomed you into our homes and gave you so many gifts, and now you’re just going to leave without helping?”

“What you’re asking is simply unreasonable,” the man said, his voice quivering and his hand grasping his staff so hard his knuckles turned white. He was clearly threatened by the mass of people all around him, preventing his escape. “Chaos poisoning cannot be treated. Even the elders in the Great Academies are helpless before this! Your son’s life is in the hands of the gods now.”

“Charlatan!” one of the men accused. “You’re just making excuses because your tricks have been exposed! You have no real magic, that’s what’s happening!”

“This is a grave accusation,” the blue-robed man said, trying to look threatening. “You’re lucky I’m a virtuous man. I will spare your life for this slight.”

“Do it! Do it if you can!” the man challenged.

“Your virtue didn’t stop you for asking the village for free produce and favors,” the other man remarked. He was slightly calmer than the other two, but didn’t move to restrain their anger. “Why don’t you cast some spells to help our children? Even if it does nothing, at least it will prove you haven’t been deceiving us all this time!”

Marcus stared at the blue-robed man, trying to get a read on him. The man’s robe was truly luxurious, clearly made out of finest silk and dyes. The staff he was holding had a large gem on it and a trail of golden symbols spiraling down the shaft. He had a large, finely-sculpted beard and belt full of potion vials and various strange objects.

The man looked like a mage… but was he a mage? Most of the things he was wearing were just expensive rather than powerful. The big crystal on his staff, for instance, was a genuine magic catalyst… of the lowest grade. It was big, but that was all. The robe was just a really nice piece of clothing, and the materials hanging from his belt were just bog-standard things one could find in any mage-centric shop.

It was hard to judge someone’s power at a glance, even for someone like Marcus. The only thing Marcus could say with absolute certainty was that he wasn’t a spirit manifestation mage. Still, he had lots of experience with things like this, and his guts was telling him the man really did know magic. He was just trying to give the impression of being much more powerful and experienced than he really was.

Truthfully, that was really common among mages.

He raised his hand in the air and created a small ball of crackling electricity above his head before immediately dismissing it. The lightning orb disappeared with a large bang that immediately silenced everyone in the area. The mage and the three people he was arguing with immediately turned towards him in shock.

“You there, in the blue robe. What is your name?” Marcus demanded.

“I’m Giben,” the man answered, trying to compose himself.

“Are you an apprentice mage, Giben?” Marcus asked bluntly.

The mage flinched back as if struck, giving him a shocked look.

“As I thought,” Marcus sighed. He turned towards the three villagers that had been arguing with Giben until recently. “There is no need to press him on this. Now that the chaos storm has passed through the area, mages like him are powerless and cannot cast anything.”

“S-Senior…” Giben protested feebly.

Marcus ignored him.

“Anyway, can someone explain to me what exactly happened here?” Marcus asked the villagers.

Before he knew it, he was swarmed by two dozen people, all trying to talk to him.

Maybe he should have thought this through a little better…

* * * *

It took several hours for Marcus to extricate himself from the situation and get back to Pellast and Elid, who were waiting for him back at the wagon. He could have left the scene immediately if he was willing to use force or be particularly rude, but the truth was that he felt just a little bit sorry for the parents of those three kids.

Of course, he couldn’t do much for them. Giben was right in saying that even powerful mages like Marcus were helpless before chaos exposure. It was one of the primordial forces of creation, too potent to be grasped or countered by most mortal magics. Perhaps high-level cleansing magic from a priest of Februs could cure these kids, but those were quite rare. Marcus had never met a single one in his entire life.

Of course, Giben was also a huge braggart who had claimed just a few days earlier that he could perform all sorts of miracles… such as being able to cure the sickness caused by chaos storms. That was why the villagers were so sure he could do something, and so angry when he quickly walked back his claims of being a miracle worker.

No doubt the man thought such claims were harmless. It wasn’t chaos storm season, most chaos storms didn’t result in casualties, and victims were usually dead by the time the storm subsided. He never thought he would be called to prove his claims. Alas, fate was fond of playing tricks on people.

He convinced the villagers to let the man go. He was clearly a bit of a trickster, but the villagers wanted to cut out his tongue and that was a little too much in Marcus’s opinion. Plus, if his suspicions were correct, the villagers weren’t entirely innocent in this entire thing, either.

Soon, the ox-driven wagon was once again following the dirt road westward, and the village gradually disappeared from sight.

“So,” Pellast said once they had left the village behind them. “Did you manage to cure the village boys in the end?”

“That’s obviously impossible. No one can cure chaos corruption,” Marcus said. “I’m sure you know this.”

“I know,” Pellast said, nodding. “But the parents seemed happy when we left. They even offered you a pair of chickens as a gift. Shame you didn’t take them on the offer – we could have been eating well tonight.”

“They need those chickens more than we do,” Marcus told him. “Anyway, even though I couldn’t cure them, there is at least one thing that might help those kids: leeches.”

“What?” Elid asked, shocked.

“Lots and lots of leeches,” Marcus repeated.

Elid made a disgusted face. “What the hell would that do? Are you sure you aren’t the fraud?”

“Chaos is a force of life, which is why most healing magic is useless at treating its corruption. It only makes things worse. Giving a healing potion to a person affected by chaos corruption is no different than pouring poison down their throat,” Marcus began.

“Isn’t chaos a force of darkness and destruction?” Elid frowned.

“Darkness, no. Destruction… well, indirectly. Its essence is life, movement, rampancy, unpredictability, and mutation. Surely you’ve noticed by now that chaos storms are very colorful, almost rainbow-like?”

Elid’s frown deepened.

“In any case, precisely because it’s such a force of primal vitality, it can be partially dealt with by inflicting damage on the patient,” Marcus explained. “This gives the chaos energies a productive outlet. A large portion of it is then spent on healing the damage, hopefully giving a patient a better chance to survive the ordeal.”

“But then why leeches?” Elid protested.

“Because the alternative is making shallow cuts all across the patient’s body and hoping you don’t hit an artery or anything critical,” Marcus said, completely unfazed by Elid’s words. “Leeches are much safer, and they absorb some of the chaos corruption as they feed.”

“Will they live?” Pellast asked curiously. He didn’t seem bothered at the thought of covering someone in leeches.

“They might still die,” Marcus said. “I’m not a healer and this isn’t a miracle cure. It’s just something to tip the scales in their favor. Maybe next time they’ll think twice before deliberately exposing themselves to chaos corruption.”

Pellast and Elid gave him a shocked look.

“What?” Elid asked. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Marcus said. “I don’t think this was an unfortunate accident. They received just enough exposure to the chaos storm to get sick, but not enough to die outright. The most common way this happens is if a person walks out into the storm, breathes in the rainbow mist a few times, and then immediately bolts inside a shelter again. The fact their parents found them immediately after the storm ended makes me think they might be in on it.”

“They were hoping to develop magical abilities,” Pellast realized out loud.

“Probably,” Marcus agreed.

Usually chaos corruption just killed people, but those who survived the sickness sometimes developed strange mutations and magical abilities. Most of them were weak or useless, but some people developed truly terrifying gifts. Not to mention that even a weak ability could attract the attention of nearby adept organizations, especially if the owner was still a child. It was enough for some people to risk their lives by deliberately exposing themselves to the chaos storms.

It was hard to say how often things like this occurred, since no one would admit to doing this intentionally. It was always an ‘accident’.

Elid looked like he wanted to say something, but ultimately controlled himself and remained quiet. The wagon was silent for a few moments.

“There is something else bothering me,” Pellast eventually said. “Why would a mage like Giben allow the villagers to surround and threaten him like that? Even if he’s a bit of a fraud, he can still defend himself, surely? I heard you say he’s powerless because of the chaos storm, but I don’t understand.”

“He’s just a measly rank one mage, which means he doesn’t have internal mana reserves,” Marcus explained. “He’s entirely dependent on drawing in ambient mana to cast his spells. The same ambient mana that has been contaminated with elemental chaos recently. If he cast anything – anything at all – he would immediately end up falling ill from chaos corruption, just like those kids from the village.”

This was the fundamental limitation of a rank one mage. They could attune themselves to the ambient mana in the area and use it to cast spells, but they could not store it internally. The power of their spells and the frequency with which they could cast them was initially limited by how fast they can draw upon ambient mana, but eventually their mana consumption starts to outstrip what their immediate surroundings could provide them with. Especially during battles. And if the ambient mana in the area was contaminated by something – say, a passing chaos storm – then they were just plain helpless until they left the affected area.

“He’s just an apprentice?” Elid asked incredulously.

“Yes, although thinking about it more, I’m not sure if calling him an apprentice is truly appropriate,” Marcus mused. “While rank one mages are usually called apprentices, that’s because any person can reach rank two in a handful of years if they’re serious about training their magecraft and have access to appropriate teachers, legacies, and financial support. In other words, if they have the backing of a powerful organization. In such a group, there is a natural expectation that being a rank one mage is a temporary condition and that only when people rise to rank two do they gain the right to call themselves an actual mage. However, there are many mages out there that have acquired their skills under… less than ideal conditions. Plus, some people fail their training for various reasons, even if they are backed by powerful forces. These people are permanently stuck as rank one mages, but they are not apprentices of anyone.”

Truthfully, Marcus did not consider rank one mages to be real mages. In fact, he was even more judgmental than most and considered anyone below rank three to be a bit of a slacker. However, this was not a popular opinion, to say the least. Most mages remained at rank two all their lives, and didn’t like hearing that they could have achieved more if they truly applied themselves.

“People can fail their training, even in places like the Great Academies?” Elid asked, a tone of fear creeping into his voice.

“Of course,” Marcus said. What kind of question was that?

“How often does that happen?” Elid asked.

“It’s rare,” Marcus said calmly. The answer seemed to calm down Elid considerably.

Marcus was about to assure him that the selection process for a place like Crystal Mountain Academy was quite thorough and very good at weeding out obvious failures. If Elid was actually accepted there, he was all but certain to pass his training. However, he quickly realized it would be better to keep that to himself. Elid probably wouldn’t be very comforted.

The wagon continued rolling across the country road as the conversation continued.

* * * *

Marcus spent an entire week travelling along with Pellast and Elid, conversing with them about inconsequential topics and observing the towns and villages as they passed them by. He had expected to find a peaceful and prosperous land upon his return home, but evidence of the Second Academy War mentioned by Pellast was everywhere. Towns often had damaged buildings and shiny new walls, and many fields were fallow and vacant. People grew less fearful and avoidant of Marcus as the wagon left the periphery of civilized lands and got deeper into the Great Golden Plain, but there was an undercurrent of tension everywhere they went.

He grew increasingly restless as days went by. He was originally in no hurry to leave Pellast and his son behind him, but the novelty of travelling around like a commoner ran out pretty quickly. The wagon was painfully slow and inconvenient. It often had to stop at a suitable place so the oxen could drink and have some rest, and it was less sturdy than it looked. At one point, one of the wheels fell into a pothole and ended up cracked. That is when Marcus discovered something unpleasant: although he was a mage of great strength and skill, none of his spells were capable of fixing a wagon wheel.

“Are you sure you can’t help with this?” Pellast asked him again. “I’m sure I can find someone who can fix this if I ask around in the surrounding villages, but that could take a while.”

Marcus wracked his head for a solution, mentally going through all the spells and magical abilities he possessed. After a while, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a large metal-bound book. The cover was decorated with gold and blue crystal thread, both of them faintly tracing various magical sigils and geometric patterns. The moment Pellast and Elid laid their eyes on it an expression of shock dawned on their faces. Marcus tried to be subdued in most aspects of his appearance, but he never held back when it came to his spellbook. He had turned it into a powerful magical item, and it looked the part too.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

In order to cast spells, it was not enough to memorize the chants and symbols associated with them. A spell represented a legacy – an unbroken line of spellcasters that passed down their art from one generation to the next, ultimately tracing back to the original creator of the spell. In order to use a spell, mages first had to attune themselves to it; immerse themselves in it firmly enough to imprint them on their souls. A process that could be easy or difficult, depending on how compatible they were to it.

A mage could only hold a limited number of spells imprinted in their soul at any one time, and this limitation never really went away, no matter how powerful one was. Marcus, for instance, had 53 spells imprinted on his soul at the moment. His capacity for holding spell imprints was great, but some of the spells he was attuned to were great as well, demanding more space than lower-tier ones.

53 spells was not enough for Marcus, and most mages had to do with far less. Few were happy about it. Thus, since time immemorial, mages and other spellcasters had been looking for ways to increase the number of spells they had access to. The oldest and most reliable way to do so was to make a spellbook. It didn’t have to be an actual book – stone tablets and collections of scrolls were also popular – but a book was generally the most convenient way to go about it if one intended to carry the spellbook around. In essence, a spellbook was external storage for spells. The mechanics of it were kind of involved and complicated, but the practical effect was that mages could sit down with their spellbook and switch their current selection of spells to any combination recorded inside their spellbook.

This was great, because it meant that Marcus had access to hundreds of spells instead of just 53, and if he ever lost attunement to one of his spells he could always use his spellbook to get it back. It wasn’t lost forever. The issue was that altering what spells he was currently attuned to would take a while. It was an hour-long process even at the best of times, and usually took a lot longer.

Furthermore, after going through his entire spellbook, Marcus realized that despite possessing hundreds of spells from all over the world, only four of them dealt with repairing objects. One only worked on objects large enough to fit into the caster’s palm, and would definitely not work on a wagon wheel. Another relied on the caster’s skill at creating the base object in question. Needless to say, Marcus had never made a wagon wheel in his entire life, so that wasn’t going to work either. The third one didn’t really repair the object so much as forced it to stay together through magical force. That would work, but it would require Marcus to keep recasting the spell every couple of hours and would leave Pellast with a broken cart the moment he left the group. Not ideal. Finally, the fourth one was a very high level repair spell that Marcus had really poor compatibility with. It would repair the wagon wheel, sure, but it would take up to two days for Marcus to accommodate the spell…

Marcus closed his spellbook and looked at Pellast and Elid, who were looking at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” he told them. “Fixing wagon wheels seems to be my weakness.”

Pellast nodded at him without a trace of disappointment, as if this kind of thing was to be expected. Elid, on the other hand, mumbled something uncharitable into his chin before turning around to check up on the oxen. Marcus pretended not to have heard anything.

Pellast managed to find a person that could fix the wagon in the end, but pretty much an entire day was lost on that. This, and similar small incidents, began to wear on Marcus. He liked his two traveling companions, but that was just too much. By the time the wagon approached the town of Whitecliff, he was glad they would soon each go their own separate ways.

He was in good enough mood that evening that he left the camp for a few hours and came back with a rabbit and a pheasant to roast over a fire. It was his parting gift to his two travelling companions. He was a little fuzzy on what kind of food was considered typical for small-time merchants, but he imagined his gesture should still be appreciated. Thus far, the three of them had been eating whatever they could buy in the towns and villages they encountered along the way… and that food was very lacking in meat.

Still, while Marcus fully expected his gift to be well received, he was a little shocked to see how enthusiastically his two companions devoured the roasted animals. They finished their meals at such speed that barely anything was left for Marcus, and even expressed a slight regret that there wasn’t more of it. Marcus would maybe expect such behavior of Elid, but even Pellast? Weird.

“You probably know this, but Whitecliff is basically the gateway to Crystal Mountain Academy,” Marcus told his two companions as they sat contentedly around the fire, scattered remains of the two roasted animals all around them. “Once we reach it, you will want to spend some time there arranging for a meeting with the academy representative and preparing for the journey into the mountains. As for me, I will continue on towards the coast. In other words, Whitecliff is where we part ways.”

“I figured it was something like this,” Pellast nodded. “I really must thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Thanks to your presence no bandit or guard bothered us, and we made good time overall.”

…this was considered ‘making good time’?

“Anyway, I’ve always wanted to ask you but it seemed improper,” Pellast continued. “Now we’re about to part from one another and I’m afraid I can’t restrain my curiosity any longer. Are you… truly an elder of the Great Sea Academy?”

Elid immediately became more alert, leaning forward slightly to better hear his answer.

Marcus raised his eyebrow at him.

Pellast cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“I admit that, just like Elid, I did not take your claims of being a rank five mage who is also one of the leaders of a major continental power very seriously back there. I thought you were a legitimate mage, to be sure, but I figured you were rank three at most, and probably just a regional branch chief or some such,” Pellast explained. “Please don’t take offense to this, sir. It’s just that I’ve interacted with people like you before – mages, warriors, artificers, hunters, other adepts – and I know how prideful and fond of exaggeration you can be.”

“And now?” Marcus asked calmly, giving no indication that he was outraged by this admission. He fiddled idly with his staff as he listened, as he often did when resting, fingers tracing the runes carved into the wood and minute imperfections in constructions that he had long since gotten used to.

“Well, seeing your behavior over the past week of traveling, and the ease with which you do certain feats… I’m no mage, but I do think you’re probably being honest about your level of power,” Pellast answered, softly sighing in relief at the lack of aggression and outrage. “Your modest way of dress and your surname had completely blinded me to the truth. In retrospect, the signs were there from the beginning.”

“His surname?” Elid asked, not understanding.

“The surname ‘King’ sounds regal, but it actually means the person is an orphan,” Marcus explained. “A lot of the orphanages in the Silver League are funded by the local king as an act of charity. As such, children with no clear parentage are said to be ‘children of the king’ and given the surname ‘King’.”

There was a brief second of silence as Elid processed that.

“So you’re…”

“An orphan,” Marcus finished for him. “I was delivered in a basket to the doorstep of an orphanage by a stranger in the dead of the night. I don’t even know who my parents are.”

“But, uh, how did a mere orphan…” Elid stopped for a moment, realizing that what he was about to say could end very badly for him.

“I am not ashamed of my situation,” Marcus assured him. “If I was, I would have changed my surname to something less obvious. You wanted to ask how a mere orphan could become a rank five mage and ascend to the position of one of the elders of the Great Sea Academy, right?” Elid nodded hesitantly. “The Great Academies that rule the Silver League have many flaws, but they all have great respect for power and skill. I won’t say that my lack of prestigious lineage hasn’t held me back at times, but it’s not an insurmountable barrier to success.”

In all honesty, success stories like Marcus were rare. Very rare. The inner circles of every great academy were dominated by a handful of established families that acted as a sort of nobility – and sometimes they even were formal nobility – and trying to break into that inner circle when one did not have the right lineage or connections was very difficult.

Marcus had accrued enough glory in battle and magical achievements to muscle his way into the position of an elder, but once he had tried to reach for more, his humble origins became one of the main weapons used against him.

“Let me tell you a bit of a secret,” Marcus told them after a few seconds. “I didn’t spend the past six years travelling to the Far East and back. I mean, I’ve been to the Far East, yes, but it was just one of many places I’ve visited over the past six years. The truth is I was on a self-imposed exile.”

“Exile!?” Elid exclaimed.

“After the Academy War – the first one, I mean - I made a bid for power,” Marcus explained. “I thought my war contributions were great enough, my power sufficient. I tried to become the leader of the Great Sea Academy.”

Pellast visibly winced at the admission.

“As you can clearly tell, I failed,” Marcus said. “My rival was a weaker mage than me, but in everything else he was my greater. Gaius came from an old, wealthy family and was hailed as a prodigy from a young age. His prestigious lineage, his grasp of politics, and his oratory skill proved impossible for me to overcome. Since I lost the struggle for leadership, I decided it would be wisest to distance myself from the academy for a while. It is only now, after six years, that I feel confident enough to return.”

Pellast shifted uncomfortably on the fallen log he was sitting on.

“Is it really a good idea to return, then?” Pellast asked. “I understand you weren’t really exiled as such… but kings are not known for their mercy when dealing with threats to their power. Your status as elder might have been revoked already…”

“I doubt Gaius would do that,” Marcus shook his head.

“Why?” Elid demanded. “That’s what I would have done in his place.”

Marcus smiled at him. “Then you would have been a fool. The moment I found out I was demoted, I would go to one of the other great academies and ask to join them in exchange for a position of elder. They would have welcomed me with open arms. Rank five mages are extremely rare – no one can train one reliably, even with all the money and support in the world. They are something you hope for, not work for. The last thing any great power wants is to have someone like me defect. It massively weakens them while strengthening their rivals. Gaius will surely try to suppress me, and might even try to assassinate me, but he will not risk pushing me away from the Great Sea Academy. He will want me gone, but not at the cost of someone else having me.”

“Actually, you mentioning rank five mages reminded me of something I wanted to ask you about,” Pellast said. Marcus guessed he was also uncomfortable with the topic being discussed and wanted to change the subject. “How come you dress so humbly? You also have no retinue, carry no badge of office… surely an adept of your level of strength would want others to know of your power and status? Are you intentionally making yourself look weaker?”

“Yes,” Marcus bluntly confirmed. “Earlier you said you initially thought I was a rank three mage. This is basically the look I’m aiming for.”

“Why did you tell me you’re a rank five mage when I asked, then?” Elid protested.

Marcus remained quiet for a second to collect his thoughts.

“Mage ranks aren’t just power levels,” he eventually told Elid. “Each rank represents a fundamental transformation in the nature of mage’s power. The fifth rank transformation is particularly dramatic, and cannot be hidden from any mage that is third rank or higher. Their logos will resonate with my spirit, whether I wanted that or not. If I told you I was a rank three mage and then later on we encountered another rank three mage, they would instantly be able to tell I’m lying. Once I’m shown to have lied about something like that, everything else about me would be automatically suspicious and come under scrutiny. Rank three mages are not that rare; even minor powers have at least one. Thus, it’s inadvisable for me to pretend to be anything less than a spirit manifestation mage.”

“Spirit manifestation?” Elid asked.

“Every rank has a name,” Marcus said, “but since you’re not mages, I imagine you would not understand me if I start talking about ‘logos mages’ and ‘foundation mages’ and whatnot.”

“And this spirit manifestation… is it really so obvious?”

Marcus didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply stared deeply into Elid’s eyes and let his soul flare out into the world around him.

The tireless singing of crickets and other wildlife around them immediately fell silent. For a brief moment, a great illusory tree outlined itself behind Marcus – a towering oak with a magnificent leafy crown. Its roots stabilized the earth. Its branches reached out towards the heavens. It shrouded the entire area in ethereal fog, ghostly multicolored sigils dancing on its bark. Elid and Pellast immediately fell into a trance, their eyes growing unfocused as their whole body shook.

Then the moment passed, and everything returned to normal. Elid immediately started gasping for air, clutching his hand to his heart. Perhaps Marcus was a little too harsh on him. Pellast fared better, since Marcus hadn’t been focusing on him like he was on Elid, but he was still shaken by the experience.

“I can let even normal people witness it, if I want to,” Marcus calmly explained. “However, a mage in possession of his own logos will be able to sense its presence in me even if I try to suppress it. If a person made you feel like I just did right now, do you think you could overlook it, even if you didn’t pay any attention to them?”

“M-My fool son…” Pellast stammered. “You will surely drive me into an early grave one of these days, I can just tell.”

Elid didn’t say anything, opting to continue taking deep breaths instead. He looked Marcus straight in the eyes after a while. The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds before Elid looked away without saying anything.

After a minute, the crickets started singing again, and a sense of normality was restored to the scene.

“The two of you should get some rest,” Marcus suddenly said. “We’ll reach Whitecliff tomorrow. You need to be at your best when meeting academy officials.”

Without waiting for their response, he left the camp and retreated to his own bed next to the wagon. It was probably best that they stopped the conversation there.

* * * *

Despite his words, Marcus couldn’t sleep that night. His thoughts were restless, dwelling on past glories and disappointments. He got up from the bed and left the camp, wandering about in the darkness until he reached the edge of a nearby forest. The lack of light did not bother him, partially because of his wealth of experience in navigating in the dark and partially because his senses were supernaturally enhanced and capable of piercing the gloom to some extent.

He stopped at the forest’s edge. His goal was just to put some distance between him and the camp so he wouldn’t disturb Pellast and Elid while they slept – he had no real destination in mind.

This, honestly, could be said of his goals in general. He wasn’t really sure why he had decided to come back home. Back when he had left this place six years ago, he hadn’t intended to ever return. He was too bitter and upset by the council of elders and their decision to pick Gaius over him. Some of the elders had privately told him they supported him before he made his bid, then voted against him anyway when the final choice was made. It felt like a betrayal, and perhaps even mockery.

Yet, years of wandering had extinguished most of his anger. He had even come to believe that what happened was a good thing. He would not have enjoyed being a leader of the Great Sea Academy, nor would he have reached the same level of power he currently had. But that wasn’t a reason to return. That just meant he no longer had a good reason to stay away.

Was that enough? Perhaps deep in his heart, he had always wanted to come home, it was just that it took six years for his resistance to be ground away by time and sights of distant lands?

In the end, he couldn’t shake off the notion that something here was calling him, beckoning him to come back home…

“Why did you follow me?” Marcus asked calmly, not bothering to turn around and face his stalker. His voice was slightly subdued, but not really a whisper. They were far enough from the camp that Pellast was unlikely to wake unless people started shouting.

Seconds started to tick away. Marcus didn’t say anything more, and the person who followed him remained equally quiet at first. Finally, after about half a minute, Elid summoned his courage and hesitantly walked forward to stand beside Marcus.

“Something on your mind, Elid of Sycaruse?” Marcus asked, still not looking at him. He got the notion for several days now that Elid wanted to talk to him about something. However, he had no intention to raise the issue himself.

“Can… can you test me to see how compatible I am with earth foundation techniques?” Elid asked. “I noticed you use a lot of earth-based spells, and the main legacy of the Crystal Mountain Academy is said to be earth-based. Maybe I’m being presumptuous, but I thought, uh…”

“I can indeed tell you if you have any affinity with the logos of elemental earth,” Marcus told him. “The question is, can you bear to hear my answer?”

Marcus was almost certain that Elid had no affinity to any element. First, because people who had any sort of elemental affinity were very rare, and usually displayed some kind of sign of that affinity as they grew up. Secondly, Elid had already been tested by the representatives of Heartfire Academy. Although Heartfire’s legacy was strongly centered around fire-aspected foundation techniques, they were a great power. No great power was limited to just their core element; fire was what Heartfire was great at, but they would definitely test a candidate's affinity to all six common elements just to make sure they weren’t turning away a potential prodigy.

“I… yes,” Elid took a deep breath. “I want to know. I need to know. Please.”

“Very well,” Marcus extended a hand to him. “Hold my hand.”

Marcus had never had a single student in his whole life, but he knew how to perform this kind of affinity test. It wasn’t anything difficult for someone like him. The moment Elid’s hand touched his, a thin thread of spirituality extended out of the great oak tree that lay dormant within Marcus and established a connection between them.

Elid’s eyes immediately turned glassy and unfocused as the ethereal oak tree filled his mind, crowding out all other thoughts. Marcus flicked him in the forehead with his other hand, causing him to snap awake.

“I need you to stay conscious for this,” he told the boy.

Elid grimaced, his hand muscles twitching, wanting to instinctively break contact with Marcus.

“Focus on the sigils flowing along the bark of the tree,” Marcus instructed. "Try to immerse yourself in them without losing your presence of mind. See if any of them call out to you.”

Although Marcus had merely agreed to test Elid’s earth affinity, he actually planned to do more than that. He was curious and besides… if you are going to do something, you should do it well. That was what Marcus always thought. Since he was doing this favor for Elid, he might as well be thorough.

Average. Average. Average. That was the result of pretty much every test Marcus performed. Elid attuned himself to specific runes at average speeds, he could handle an average amount of mana sent along the connection they shared, he was able to hold an average number of patterns in his mind at any one time…

Oh, and his earth affinity was average too.

Marcus resisted an urge to sigh. This was pretty much what he had suspected. There was no way the Heartfire Academy inspectors-

Hm?

Really? Out of all things… and this was such a ridiculously specific thing, too. How did someone like him even…

Marcus retracted his hand, breaking off skin contact between them. He stared at Elid speculatively for a few seconds.

“So, umm… how did I do?” the boy asked after a while.

“Wait for me here,” Marcus ordered.

He then walked off into the night, leaving the confused teenager behind. He eventually came back with a sealed letter in his hand, which he thrust into Elid’s hands with a warning: “Only use this if all else fails.”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand?” Elid protested.

“If you can pass the examination without using this letter, you should keep it to yourself. Burn it, hide it, whatever… but if you are about to be rejected, well. This letter will make sure that Crystal Mountain Academy will want you in.”

“It will make sure?” Elid asked, intently staring at the letter in his hand.

“Last resort, remember?” Marcus warned again. “It only guarantees you will get in. I make no promises as to what happens afterwards.”

Elid kept glancing between the letter and Marcus for a few seconds before gently placing the letter into a leather pouch on his belt, treating it like a delicate treasure.

“Do you think I could ever become like you?” Elid asked him. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get back to bed.

“Perhaps,” Marcus said after some thought.

He had become as powerful as he did partially due to his great talent, but also due to the chaos and devastation of the Academy war. In a peaceful age, he doubted anyone could advance as fast as he did, even if they were an incredible genius or had some kind of special advantage. Then again, from what he had gathered about the current situation in the Silver League, the era wasn’t necessarily peaceful and orderly. There was also that strange vision he had seen a few days earlier…

Perhaps there would be plenty of opportunities for young Elid to fish in troubled waters in the coming years.

* * * *

Whitecliff was situated at the foot of Bloodstone Mountains, near an important pass that connected the Great Golden Plains to the Western Coast. It was a moderately-sized town, situated on a strategic position but lacking access to a proper water source. It was lively and prosperous, just as it was when Marcus had last visited it. It didn’t seem like the Second Academy War had affected the town too negatively.

The imposing Whitecliff Fortress, which served as the military and administrative heart of the town, probably had a lot to do with that. Built out of shining white marble and strengthened with powerful magic, it looked almost too big and out of place in such a relatively minor town. It was clearly extremely well maintained, and the guards patrolling the city and inspecting the visitors were well equipped and decorated.

The wagon had no issues passing through the city gates. The guards didn’t try to question them, only collecting a modest entrance fee from each of them before letting them in. However, they did give them a warning once they were inside.

“You came at something of a bad time,” the older guard said. “Duke of Whitecliff and the local mercenary guilds are having a bit of a spat right now. The mercenaries have blocked the canyon in order to pressure the duke to yield to their demands. It may take a few days before the situation is resolved. Until then, the western road is closed for traffic.”

“Lovely,” Marcus clacked his tongue in annoyance. He wasn’t sure whether to wait for a few days like the guard suggested or to simply venture into the mountains and go around the canyon. “Does this sort of thing happen often?”

Based on the way the old guard was talking about this, Marcus had a suspicion this was a recurring problem.

“This is the third time now that the mercenary guilds have been acting up,” the guard said. “They’ve grown powerful in the wake of the Second Academy War, so they’re constantly agitating for more privileges.”

More privileges for mercenary guilds – or any minor power, really - would mean Crystal Mountain had given up some of their own privileges in order to pacify a bunch of upstarts. And Whitecliff was one of their loyalist strongholds, too. Apparently the situation at Crystal Mountain was even worse than Marcus suspected. Perhaps Elid really would be able to bribe his way in, and wouldn’t need to use the sealed letter Marcus had given him…

Before they could continue their conversation, there was a commotion up ahead. A group of well-armed, luxuriously-decorated warriors were escorting a large carriage as it travelled through the streets of the city. The carriage was strange, clearly of foreign make. The spectacle attracted eyes from all over, and even some onlookers who followed it around at a safe distance.

After a few seconds, the carriage stopped next to a shop and a beautiful young couple stepped out of it to curiously browse the wares, followed by a handful of robed attendants. A pair of armored warriors that had been escorting the carriage separated from the main group and immediately assumed guard on the flanks of the couple, preventing anyone from getting close to them or even getting a good look at what they’re doing.

They were all elves, Marcus realized – the armored warriors, the robed attendants, the carriage driver, the young couple. That was… unusual. It wasn’t often that elves moved in such large groups unless they were part of a military response, and it was especially rare to see them this far inland. Usually one could only see elves in coastal cities.

“Elves have been really active in the last couple of years,” Pellast told him. He clearly remembered that Marcus had been away from the Silver League recently, and that he wouldn’t know about recent developments. “They’ve been sending their adventurers and diplomats everywhere, not just along the coast but also far inland. It is no longer such a rare sight to see a group of them in the League. Alas, their home islands are just as difficult to visit as they always were, and they still don’t let humans wander outside the port cities. A bit unfair if you ask me.”

“Dwarves have been really active in the last few years as well,” the old guards added, having overheard their conversation. “They only seem interested in the Bloodstone Mountains and its surrounding areas, but within that region they’re out in force, fighting for ancient ruins against orcs, dragons, and Crystal Mountain mages.”

How interesting… Marcus had been worried that Giant Thunder Hall might come after him in revenge for killing their leader during the Academy War, but if the dwarves were able to reach this far south, then maybe they had more serious problems to worry about than him returning.

Then again, Giant Thunder Hall was never known for being particularly sensible…

“I assume the orcs are also more insistent about pushing south, then?” Marcus asked.

“Are they ever!” the guard lamented. “I thought they would stay quiet for a decade or two after that beating we gave them in the First Academy War, but no. Where are they even getting their manpower? They live in the Dakara. The whole area is just snow and pine trees, it shouldn’t be able to support these kind of armies. I swear, sometimes I wonder if the orcs just pop up fully formed out of the frozen ground itself…”

The guard was closer to the truth than he might think, but Marcus had no intention of telling him what was actually happening in regards to the orcs and their relentless campaigns of conquest. There was an unspoken understanding among great powers that regular people would be too demoralized if they knew the truth about the Lament Spire and other abyssal incursions into material reality.

That said, Marcus had found that many people ended up touching upon the truth in various ways anyway. It was just too big of a secret to cover up.

Despite the road being blocked, Marcus still bid Pellast and his son farewell, assuring them that he had a way to get through the blockade. He didn’t, but he also didn’t think it would be too big of an issue.

He would figure something out when he got there.

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