NOVEL WEB Chapter 17: Madmen & Magic
Edwyn's room in Dormitory Tower 012 was a fortress of solitude, its black stone walls bathed in the soft glow of luminweed filtering through the window. The air hummed faintly with mana, the Synthetic Beast Core on his desk pulsing like a heartbeat, Saban's greatsword glinting on the wall like a silent trophy.
Edwyn sat cross-legged on the rune-warmed bed, his Apprentice Mage Robe shimmering with Force Barrier runes, his red hair a messy blaze in the dim light. The Infinite Forge had just extracted the Elementary Meditation Grimoire, a surge of knowledge that nearly floored him, his vision swimming as Spiritforce drained like water through a sieve.
"Holy crap," he gasped, clutching his head. "That was a wild ride. Almost took a dirt nap there."
Clinging to sheer willpower, he forced himself to begin meditating, the grimoire's technique a labyrinth of complexity. Unlike the basic method, it introduced seven new mental runes, intricate sigils that danced in his mind, each a key to diving deeper into the Sea of Souls. The process was brutal, twice as taxing, his soul straining like a ship in a storm. He failed dozens of times, runes collapsing into mental static, but his grin never faltered.
"C'mon, brain, don't punk out on me," he muttered. "You're tougher than a demon goat, right?"
Luck struck on the hundredth try, the ten runes locking into place with a psychic click. The Sea of Souls opened, a vast, shimmering void where stars pulsed like thoughts, his soul buoyant for four hours, double the basic method's limit. The extra time was a goldmine, each minute forging his Spiritforce sharper, his progress outpacing six hours of the old technique.
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" Edwyn whooped, snapping back to his room, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
But meditation had limits, overuse risked trapping his soul in the void, a one-way ticket to oblivion.
"No need to go ghost just yet," he said, stretching with a theatrical yawn. "Time to hit the library. Knowledge ain't gonna chase me down." He donned his robe, its Purification spell whisking away sweat, and headed out, the luminweed paths glowing like a dream under the Academy's starry sky.
The Central Black Tower's library was a 24/7 beacon, its 50th-floor doors open even at midnight, the spiral staircase a cruel test for non-levitating newbies like Edwyn. His legs groaned from the climb, but the library's grandeur, towering shelves, floating chandeliers, mana-charged air, erased the pain.
Apprentices huddled over tomes, their whispers a soft hum, some levitating to reach high shelves, their robes trailing like comet tails. Edwyn grinned, his orb synced with free books, and dove into texts like Customs of the Magus World and Planar Geography, building a mental map of this alien realm. His Spiritforce ticked up from 15 to 15.1, the grimoire's edge already paying off.
The entrance exam ended, its toll grim: over half of the ten thousand Apprentices dead in ten days, their bones fertilizing the Ten Arenas. Survivors, like Edwyn and Elia, were now official students, granted four free lectures monthly, one Mana Stone per month for three years, and a "newcomer phase" free of mandatory tasks. But the future loomed: after three years, a review demanded a Spell Inscription and 20 Spiritforce to become an Elementary Apprentice, or face expulsion, or worse, debt slavery to the Academy's tuition.
Dong, dong, dong!
The Central Black Tower's bell tolled at 8 a.m., its echo a curse on Edwyn's ears. "Early classes in another world? Universe hates me," he grumbled, his grin wry as he trudged to the third floor's lecture hall, his Apprentice Mage Robe shimmering, Foundations of Spellcasting tucked under his arm.
The hall was a stepped amphitheater, its black stone benches packed with newbies, their robes a sea of black and silver. Elia sat beside him, her golden hair tied back, her eyes drifting to his profile, a faint blush on her cheeks.
"Edwyn, where's the teacher? They're late," she said, her voice soft, her thoughts wandering. Six days at the Academy, and Edwyn was a ghost, always in the library or meditating, only joining her in the dining hall when she dragged him.
Am I… not interesting enough? she wondered, fidgeting with her orb.
Edwyn flipped through his book, his expression distracted.
"Probably stuck turning lead into gold or some wizard nonsense," he said, barely glancing up. "Chill, Goldilocks, they'll show."
His mind was on spell systems, core spells like Lesser Fireball, backed by Magic Missile and Ice Spike for versatility. A Mage's combat system was a puzzle, and he was itching to build one for planar wars.
Thud, thud, thud.
Footsteps echoed outside, silencing the chatter.
Bang!
The door slammed open, and a tall woman strode in, her black mage's robe clinging to her frame, her leather boots clicking like a metronome. Her long, raven hair framed a cold, alluring face, her narrow eyes glinting with mystery.
A black cat in human form, Edwyn thought, his grin twitching. She reached the podium, her presence a weight, and scrawled on the blackboard in bold chalk: What Is a Mage?
"Good morning," she said, her voice calm but laced with steel. "I'm Agnes Darkwood, apprentice to Arch-Mage Joron of the Alchemy School. My mentor's neck-deep in an experiment, so you're stuck with me for Introduction to Alchemy. Let's start simple: who can tell me, what is a Mage?"
She scanned the room, her pointer a wand of judgment, her gaze making Apprentices shrink. "You," she said, pointing at a nervous boy.
"Uh… a Mage uses magic?" he stammered.
"A trait, not a definition," Agnes said, waving him down. "Next."
Another stood. "A Mage uses mana to change the world."
"Better, but shallow." She pointed to others, their answers circling the same tired ideas, magic, mana, power, none hitting the mark.
Then her pointer landed on Edwyn. "You, redhead. What's a Mage?"
Edwyn met her gaze, his blue eyes unflinching. The room's eyes burned into him, but he leaned back, casual as a king.
"A Mage," he said, his voice clear, "is a madman chasing knowledge. Magic and mana? Just stuff they pick up along the way."
Silence gripped the hall. Apprentices gaped, Elia's jaw dropping. Calling magic a byproduct? It was heresy, or genius.
Agnes's lips twitched, a rare spark in her eyes.
"Very good," she said, gesturing for him to sit. She wrote his words on the board: A Mage is a madman in pursuit of knowledge.
"This is the key to becoming a Mage. My mentor, Arch-Mage Joron, taught me this. Now I pass it to you."
The class buzzed, stunned. Becoming a Mage was their dream, but madman? Edwyn's answer, quoted from a book passage by a Primordial Sage, had seemed like a flex when he read it, a Sage shrugging off magic like pocket change. But hearing Agnes echo it, he felt its weight.
Why madman, not scholar? he wondered, scribbling in his notes: Maybe it's not that madmen chase knowledge, but chasing knowledge makes you mad.
"Lady, what's with the 'madman' bit?" Edwyn called. "Mages just nerds with fireballs, or is there a deeper deal here?"
Agnes's eyes narrowed, but a smirk played on her lips. "Bold, redhead. The 'madman' is the one who dares ask why the world works, then breaks it to find out. Scholars read; madmen do. Keep that in mind, or you'll wash out." She turned to the board, sketching an alchemical array. "Now, let's talk potions…"