I Hate Cultivators: Becoming a Mage in the Cultivation World

Constantine, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed with concentration, raised his hand and aimed his open palm forward. His pupils dilated with anticipation, and his heart pounded with excitement. If his theory held, this would be the first time he successfully cast a spell with his own hand.

“Runic spell test, number one,” he muttered, his voice unsteady and distraught. Directing a sliver of mana into the core, he felt it soften, the substance within liquefying and seeping into his body. This was a trick he had perfected after daily absorption of cores; there was no need to consume it all at once. His hand trembled, his body urging him to release more mana and melt it entirely. He bit his lip, suppressing the urges.

'I only need a bit.'

His eyes sparkled as he channeled the liquid mana into his outstretched arm. The nearly invisible runes on his arm began to glow with an intense light, a pale blue hue that shimmered like moonlight on water. A tingling sensation spread from his fingertips to his elbow, evolving into a burning heat that pulsed, blazed, and jolted his senses.

Mana surged out, but then... nothing. Frustrated yet undeterred, he funneled more mana into the core, feeling a larger portion of it melt away. The runes glowed even brighter, their heat now almost unbearable. He waved his hand frantically, yet still, nothing happened. He cut off the mana current, and the heat quickly dissipated. The runes paled once more.

He furrowed his eyebrows in focus, trying to think what went wrong. ‘There must be some aspect that I am missing. Or maybe runes made of mana are impossible.’ He didn’t want it to be true, knowing it was his best hope on creating something new, and great.

Not giving up, he ordered the implant, ‘Replay the scene of this attempt.’

The world shifted, and time seemed to be flowing backward. His hand burned, and the runes were ablaze. His mind raced, observing the lighting of the runes, the current of mana.

“The individual runes activated,” He eventually concluded, ‘If the individual runes seem to activate, then the problem must be in the interaction between them.’

Refusing to give up, he sat down, diving into the problem with a zealous gleam in his eyes. ‘Implant, replay the horn activation experiment. Slower this time.’ His vision shifted again. He was looking once again at the horn. The warmth of liquid mana bubbled within him, as if reliving the moment all over again. He watched closely, seeing how the mana reached the horn. It lit up, the two runes glowing like tiny stars. Lightning crackled, electric sparks flying out with a sharp, metallic scent.

‘Rewind it three seconds back,’ he commanded, watching the initial activation of the runes again. His breath was frozen, and his mind was in a state of absolute focus. The first rune lit up, then the second one in slow motion. His eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but shout his command aloud, “Rewind again!” The runes lit up again, one after another. His heart drummed as he smacked his palm against his forehead. ‘Replay the two scenes side by side. Slow down both of them and sync them up.’

His vision split into two. In one the runes on the horn were lit up one by one, mana flowing from the first rune to the second. In the other half, the runes etched in his palm brightly lit up at once, like when someone flips a lighting switch. His eyes widened even further. ‘How could I miss this?’ He wondered, feeling like an absolute moron for ignoring such an obvious aspect.

‘Implant, cancel the replay.’ His vision flashed. He stood back in present, his body in the same position he left it in. It was now obvious to him. The mistake he made was silly and highly unnecessary. If he hadn’t been so eager and impatient, it likely wouldn’t have happened. ‘At least nothing bad happened this time. I can’t be so careless in the future.’ He chastised himself. Experimenting with unknown powers could be dangerous. It might even explode if something went wrong.

He raised his arm again, mumbling in a barely audible voice, “Order and timing of their activation are also important.” Initially, he had just flooded both runes with mana. Clearing his mind, flexing his fingers, and clenching the core tighter, he prepared for another attempt.

‘Here we go.’ Warmth tingled in his fingers, which clenched around the core. The liquid, magma-like warmth surged once more. His eyes shone with anticipation. Mana flooded his outstretched hand, and he could feel the raw energy pulsing through his veins. Furrowing his eyebrows, wrestling the energy under his control, he directed it to the first rune. It lit up brightly, pulsing and glowing with a brilliant, almost blinding light. Then, grasping the same thread of mana as if he were threading a needle, he directed it to the second rune.

A roar of energy erupted from his hand. Blue light exploded, electricity crackled, and the smell of ozone filled the air like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. Bluish tendrils of electricity danced around his arms like coiling snakes, their touch warm. Arcs jumped out between his arm and the floor, flashing brightly and casting eerie shadows on the walls.

Constantine, his eyes admiringly glued to his arm, brought it closer. After a while, he cut off current of mana. The light extinguished. The lightning vanished, and the room became dark again, the only sounds being his heavy breathing and the faint hum of residual energy.

‘I... it... magic!’ Constantine’s thoughts turned incoherent as he plopped onto the floor, wild emotions wreaking havoc within him. Breathing deeply, he calmed himself down. ‘It worked. I just summoned lightning out of my bare hand!’ For someone who had spent most of his life in the world of science, it felt too unbelievable. He felt like a true wizard now. He had cast his first spell.

‘How many volts is it even?’ Remembering the massive arcs of electricity, he knew it had to be high voltage. Likely high enough to fry a man alive. ‘Implant, go through the recordings and give me the longest measured length of the arcs,’ he ordered, wanting to know the true power of the lightning.

<1.27 M>

‘So, going by the arc voltage formula, I can safely say it’s around four million volts.’ Constantine paled, realizing how close to death he had been when he approached the small, innocent-looking bunny during his first hunt. ‘That’s enough to pass straight through skin, fat, and muscle, and burn my inner organs.

‘At least, if the formula is accurate in this case.’ He considered that even basic formulas for arc voltage might not be reliable when it came to electricity generated by magic. For all he knew, it might only be enough to give a mild shock, or it could be powerful enough to turn someone into a smoldering sack of burned meat.

‘This requires further testing. I should establish if the ohm law is also applicable here—’ His thought broke, a sudden realisation distracting him.

His gaze wandered around, his complexion growing even paler. He was in his house, surrounded by his property and his wolf. Although his earlier experiments with liquid mana and monster parts had shown that the lightning and fire created from his mana couldn’t harm him, the same couldn’t be said for his belongings or his wolf.

‘I should stop messing with runes at home. A single mistake, and I might end up homeless.’

A sudden knock interrupted his thoughts. Affixing his clothes, he looked worriedly at his wolf, which was sitting and wagging its tail. “Vanish,” he commanded, and the wolf seemingly melted into darkness. He moved fast and swiftly stashed away the parchment, horn, and hide. Glancing around one last time, he nodded, confident that nothing looked out of the ordinary.

‘I live in a barbaric world. One mistake, and I might end up chased out of the village.’ He knew very well from the history of his world how people tended to react to things they didn’t understand.

The knocking reverberated again, even more urgent. Quickly walking toward the door, Constantine opened them. Confusion furrowed his eyebrows. There was no one in sight. His purified ears caught a sound. Turning his head, he reacted in a split second, taking a step back. A boy jumped from the left periphery, a grin plastered on his face.

“Uncle Constantine!” The boy’s high-pitched voice rang out. It was Thymus, Shalvia’s twin brother. The boy stood, bouncing on his toes with excitement. Constantine, relieved it wasn’t an ambush, relaxed his muscles.

Sighing, never in the mood to deal with children, Constantine asked, “What? What is it?” Grinding his teeth, he shot an angry gaze at the boy, making him shrink down. Constantine hated how energetic and unable to stay in one place children were, along with their dumb questions.

“What is it?” he asked again, irritation palpable in his tone.

“A merchant from the city arrived!” The boy yelled and immediately turned to sprint away, skipping down the hill. Constantine couldn’t even respond. Instead, he shook his head, pondering. ‘I should probably go and check it out.’ He wasn’t in urgent need of anything a common merchant might be selling, but he also wouldn’t mind browsing the merchandise. ‘I might also catch some rumors.’

That was the problem of village life. The city was a week away on foot, and if the villagers needed something that wasn’t locally produced, they had to wait for a merchant to arrive. He also had no idea if the gang was still looking for him.

“Stay,” Constantine said in the wolf’s direction. Then he exited his house and closed the door behind him. Walking down the hill along the road leading across the fields, the village quickly grew closer. Farmers worked in the fields. He nodded toward them and continued his stride. A small crowd was gathered around the carriages in the center. Speeding up his steps, he quickly reached the first houses.

The villagers had formed a circle, their voices rising in a cacophony. They yelled and shouted at a rotund man standing on one of the carriages. His green robe and blue overcoat, woven of quality fabric, distinguished him from the simply dressed villagers surrounding him.

Constantine stepped into the crowd. ‘Something is happening.’ He wanted to know more.

The merchant kept shouting, “Hey, it isn’t my fault the prices went up!”

Shouts, boos, and insults resonated from the crowd. Some villagers even waved their fists threateningly in the air.

“Do ya think we are morons? The prices are ridiculous!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah, Cupiditas, we will not pay that much!”

His interest piqued, Constantine pushed a bit more forward, blending into the mass of bodies. Meanwhile, the fat merchant yelled back, raising his arms defensively, “I am telling you! There is unrest. The gangs are at war. The slums are full of corpses, and the gangs are more aggressive in collecting their payments, forcing everyone to hike the prices to pay them off!”

The crowd murmured, their skepticism evident. Constantine froze, feeling a deep pit grow in his stomach. He had a bad feeling he was the cause of this. Gangs wouldn't go to war over nothing, and for the unrest to grow so much it affected prices to such a degree, it had to be something big. His mouth curled into a grin, the grimace making him look like a madman. ‘Maybe the news of the manual got to other gangs, and they are now fighting for it.’

His grin vanished. That was the best scenario, but there was another one he didn’t want to consider. The one where those who stole from him, those who made his life harder, and those who threatened him profited and won. He had modified the manual, but he didn’t know what impact, if any at all, those changes would have.

Constantine leaned in, raising his voice. “What sparked this supposed war? Do you know?” Although he disliked drawing attention to himself, especially when there might be a bounty on his head, the power of being part of the crowd allowed him to question without sounding suspicious or out of place.

The merchant glanced around nervously. “Rumor has it, some powerful artifact or knowledge got into the wrong hands. Gangs are tearing each other apart to get it.”

Constantine’s stomach churned. His suspicions were confirmed. He didn’t dare to ask any further, worried that it would make him stand out too much. Strangely, he felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that the manual had potentially brought conflict to the gangs. ‘Let the trash kill each other.’ They extorted it from him through violence; now, hopefully, they were experiencing the same fate.