Chapter 106 - The Mad Wizard (Patreon)

Vizimir walked deeper into the classroom without looking back. Arien remained where he was for a moment, trying to work out what he'd done wrong. Most of the students had already left, and only Sebastian lingered long enough to give him a sympathetic look.

“I'll pray for you,” he whispered before hurrying out.

Arien got to his feet. Vizimir had never asked anyone to stay after class before.

Maybe someone had told him about the “madman” comments? But everyone calls him that!

Arien hurried after Vizimir before the Master decided he was taking too long. As he followed him through the darkened classroom, he once again wondered what made the room seem so much larger whenever the lights were lowered. Perhaps part of the wall actually moved, connecting the classroom to another chamber, or some elaborate illusion was manipulating several senses at once.

Fortunately, they went only about forty feet before Vizimir stopped. Arien halted several paces behind him, at what he considered a safe distance from the strange man.

Vizimir reached into his pocket and pulled out something thin and silver. For one unpleasant moment, Arien thought it was a knife before realizing what he was actually looking at.

A key. Right.

Vizimir inserted it into what appeared to be a solid wall and turned it. A glowing outline spread across the stone, forming a doorway. He pressed the handle and stepped through the white light beyond it.

Arien couldn't see what was on the other side. He hesitated at the threshold, briefly considering whether going to Mistress Sonnia and explaining that Vizimir might be trying to kidnap him was a serious option.

It probably wasn't.

He stepped through.

On the other side was a surprisingly large office with no windows and no visible source of light. Bookshelves covered every wall from floor to ceiling, while more books lay in piles across the floor among loose scrolls, glowing artifacts, and objects Arien couldn't begin to identify. A cracked vase covered in strange writing sat beside a piece of painted wood whose colors seemed to change whenever he looked away.

Vizimir was already seated behind an enormous wooden desk buried beneath papers, notes, and plates of leftover food.

Ugh.

It looked exactly like the office Arien would have imagined for a mad wizard.

“Sit down, boy.”

The only chair opposite Vizimir's desk was occupied by a stack of books. The Master followed Arien's eyes, grunted, and moved the entire pile several feet across the room without lifting a hand, setting it down neatly on the floor.

Arien decided not to comment.

Vizimir had simply looked at the books and moved them. What could be simpler than that?

“So, I take it you couldn't restrain yourself and assigned Aspectless Magic without consulting your supervising Master?”

Arien stared at him.

How does he know that?

“Please don't bother with foolish lies. Did you think I wouldn't notice such a sudden change in your spells?”

"Uhhh..." Arien stammered. "Honestly, Master, I never even considered it. I didn't know something like that was noticeable."

"That only proves that I was right and that every generation grows weaker and more foolish. Your family should have explained such things to you when you were five years old."

"Forgive me, Master, but I come from a peasant family where nobody practiced magic."

Vizimir’s eyebrows lifted, and he went still for a brief moment before answering.

"Hmm. Perhaps your ignorance has some justification, though four years at the Academy is more than enough time to learn the basics. Never mind. Why did you assign it?"

"Because I like magic, and it seemed like a useful skill, Master."

"Because you like magic, and it seemed useful." The mage repeated the words flatly, drawing out each syllable. "Forgive me. I was mistaken. Apparently you're even more stupid than I thought."

“I don't really know how to respond to that, Master. Perhaps it would be best if I removed myself from your sight, assuming you permit it.”

Arien slowly rose, bowed, and began backing away while Vizimir watched him in silence.

He made it all the way to the wall before realizing there was a problem.

The door was gone.

Arien distinctly remembered a black wooden door with a brass handle. Now there was only bare stone.

He searched for any concentration of mana that might indicate an illusion or hidden mechanism, but found nothing. Even when he pressed his hand against the wall, all he felt was cold stone.

“You can lick it too if you'd like. It won't change anything.” Vizimir sounded amused. “Sit down. I'm not finished.”

Defeated, Arien returned to the desk.

“You're stupid, and your magic is at a pathetic level,” Vizimir said with the same tone someone might use to comment on the weather.

“But...?” Arien prompted.

“There is no ‘but.’ That is simply a statement of fact.” The mage leaned back slightly. "Every student is a lazy wastrel who squanders the ticket to wonder what the world has given them. Yet sometimes the same world decides that someone should be exceptionally lucky and shoves additional tickets straight down their throat."

He pointed at Arien.

"You are one of those people, and I expect several others from your year will receive similar blessings from the System. Only twice in history has an entire year group been completely worthless.”

His eyes narrowed.

“My job is to make certain that you do not waste that blessing again." He folded his hands. “Therefore, in addition to your normal classes, you will come here three times a week and prove through effort that you deserve it. Understood?”

“Yes, Master. May I ask exactly when? My schedule is rather full and—”

“What Aspects do you have?”

“Life, Earth–”

“Don't tell me. Show me.”

Arien sighed and complied, releasing the mana of Life, Fire, and Earth one after another, suddenly reminded of the day of his admission to the Academy when he had been forced to do the same thing.

“Mm-hmm. I see Lamaral managed to teach you something, at least. Second Specialization in Fire as well. Earth is pathetic.”

“Master can determine someone's level of specialization just from seeing their mana?”

“Of course. Every real mage can.” The man looked at him as if the answer was obvious. “And you chose the third tier of your Profession as soon as the option appeared, or are you still waiting?”

Arien stared at him and instinctively checked his mental barrier.

Nothing felt disturbed.

Then how much does he actually know? What is he going to do with that knowledge? Is he scouting talented students and forcing them into contracts?

“Is this conversation protected by the confidentiality of the Master–Student relationship?”

“Of course not.” The mage laughed. “I'm asking because if I'm going to train you, I'd prefer to know what to expect and what your limits are.” Vizimir paused. “Occasionally... well, magic demands devotion if one wishes to achieve greatness. Watching all of you butcher it causes me physical pain. Sometimes I may demand more than your mind can handle, and once certain things break, they're difficult to fix.”

Wonderful. He's genuinely insane.

“As for the struggles of the so-called Factions and the childish squabbles between noble houses, I couldn't care less. You could say I belong to the Neutral Faction, although no such faction officially exists. There are simply a dozen or so people in this kingdom intelligent enough to have climbed out of the sandbox.”

After a moment, Arien said, “I assigned it.”

Revealing even that much made him uncomfortable. He was too accustomed to hiding anything unusual about his System.

Yet something about the man's demeanor told the most primitive part of Arien's mind, that if Vizimir wished, he could crush him like a bedbug. No amount of clever planning or brilliant maneuvering would matter.

“Mana Master?”

Arien looked at him carefully.

So Vizimir didn't know everything. Unless this was another test.

“Magic Explorer,” Arien corrected.

Vizimir's eyebrows rose.

Damn it. Apparently he really hadn't known.

Vizimir pointed at him. “You see? Fate is practically shoving tickets down your throat with its boot.” A smile appeared on his face. For some reason, that was more unsettling than his usual scowl. “Good. Very good.” Then he returned to his usual tone. “You'll come here four times a week.”

Arien blinked. “Four?” It was three before.

“After the fifth bell. You shouldn't have classes then. Let's say on the days we already meet for lessons. We'll begin next week.” Vizimir tapped the desk. “We'll also sign a contract then.”

Arien must have made a face, because Vizimir snorted.

“Don't look at me like that. It's simply to ensure you don't tell anyone about our meetings. I have no desire to be chased by the families of three-quarters of the students, begging me to teach their idiots.” He leaned back. “Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

Monday → Chapter 107 Fourth-tier Curse
Tuesday → Chapter 108 Banshee
Wednesday → Chapter 109 No Land
Thursday → Chapter 110 Limits
Friday → Chapter 111 Third