Chapter 110 - Limits (Patreon)

They had just finished another Mana Aspects lesson, and Arien was about to leave the classroom when Master Serloy's voice stopped him.

“Arien, could you stay for a moment?”

Arien nodded to Matt to go on without him and turned back toward Serloy's desk.

“Yes, Master?”

The mage had been looking a little worse than usual lately, often arriving for class with bloodshot eyes and dark circles beneath them.

“Is it just my imagination, or have you had a few major breakthroughs in your Specializations recently?” Serloy asked, looking at him expectantly.

“That's true,” Arien admitted. There was little point denying it, especially to someone who had been watching him cast spells for years. “A new Profession and my Second Specialization in Fire.”

The Master clapped loudly and let out an excited sound that seemed far more appropriate for a little girl than a man of his considerable size.

“Wonderful! I watched one of your fights, and I could tell you'd taken Pyromaniac. Good choice. And the Profession! Mana Master, I assume?”

“Yes,” Arien confirmed, inwardly grimacing. Serloy wasn't his Mentor and wasn't bound by any oath of secrecy.

“Excellent! Ah, to experience the feeling of reaching another Specialization again...” The Master sighed deeply. “Would you mind telling me what triggered the breakthrough?”

Arien had expected the question. Serloy seemed to collect every story he could find about people reaching new Specializations.

“I thought my life was in danger, and I got thoroughly beaten by another mage whose control over Fire Magic was incredible,” he answered truthfully.

Even Arien wasn't sure whether the actual breakthrough had come from his desperate fight with Ramsy or from experiencing firsthand what true Fire Magic looked like.

Perhaps both.

“Oh! So either an extreme situation or inspiration!” Serloy exclaimed, already bending over his desk to scribble something onto a sheet of parchment. “Wonderful!”

“It didn't feel particularly wonderful at the time,” Arien muttered.

Serloy waved a hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge. I've joined several expeditions myself in hopes that brushing against death might help, but unfortunately, for some reason, that method doesn't seem to work for me.”

Arien had known the man was a little obsessed with progression. He hadn't realized just how committed Serloy was to the cause.

“How are your lessons with Master Bonette going?”

“We've started learning fourth-tier spells. We're working on Wave of Fire now, but even with the Specialization and Profession, it's difficult.”

Serloy nodded enthusiastically. “Ah, learning new spells. Wonderful experience. Although Wave of Fire is rather boring.” He considered Arien for a moment. “Perhaps, as thanks for all your help, I could show you Conflagration? A version adjusted more specifically for a Pyromaniac, even. You probably won't master it for many months, but at least you'll have something else to inspire you!”

A new fourth-tier spell?

He could only smile.

Arien had already stopped flinching whenever he thought about his evening lessons with Vizimir, which he considered a small personal victory.

For the entire previous week, the mage had done little besides make him cast the Basic Five over and over, occasionally correcting a mistake before returning to his reading. Sometimes Vizimir seemed to forget Arien was even there, spending fifteen minutes turning pages before looking up as though surprised to find a student still sitting across from him.

For all his inattentiveness, however, the mad mage understood magic better than anyone Arien had ever met. He could spot imperfections in a spell matrix that other instructors would never even notice. The mages Arien had hired with Arena points weren't fit to lick his boots.

By the end of every lesson, Arien usually had a splitting headache and barely enough energy to walk back to his room. His Skills, however, were improving faster than ever.

So today, sitting in his usual chair across from Vizimir's desk, he felt relatively calm.

Relatively.

“Good, boy,” said Vizimir, who apparently still hadn't learned his name. Depending on his mood, Arien was also: an idiot, ingrate, bungler, or occasionally stupid little noble who doesn't deserve the gift of magic. Arien had already stopped reminding him that he was a commoner. Most of the time, though, he was simply a boy.

“Today we'll move on to something more demanding. Watch.”

Arien focused on the Levitation matrix Vizimir conjured.

Several unfamiliar nodes had been added along its outer edges. A moment later, the floating pen began rotating around its axis, gradually picking up speed.

More interesting than the pen was the matrix itself. Vizimir was adjusting dozens of mana threads at once, constantly reshaping the structure while keeping the spell stable.

By the gods...

Arien could barely maintain a matrix while controlling the mana moving through it. Vizimir was rebuilding parts of his in real time without allowing the spell to collapse.

“Now you.”

Arien stared at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that, boy? We don't have all day. Or rather, all night. Start at a slower speed."

“Master, forgive me, but that seems impossible at my level.”

“Boy. Do what I tell you.”

Fine. Worst case, he calls me an idiot again.

Arien constructed a Levitation matrix he was rather proud of and fed a thin stream of mana into it. After weeks of corrections, the spell required far less mana than it once had. Almost none of it seemed to leak away through inefficient nodes or channels.

The pen rose to eye level.

Alright. Let's give the madman his show. He'd at least make an honest attempt.

To Arien's surprise, Vizimir was still maintaining his own matrix and now slowly demonstrated the process from the beginning.

Arien tried to imitate him.

His spell collapsed immediately.

“Again.”

The second attempt lasted no longer.

“Again.”

For the next ten minutes, Arien repeated the exercise dozens of times and failed every one. Strangely, Vizimir never insulted him. He simply stood beside him and watched.

“It worked!” Arien shouted as the pen finally began to rotate. Slowly and unevenly, but it was moving.

His excitement immediately broke his concentration, and the pen dropped to the floor. Arien didn't care. Grinning, he turned toward Vizimir.

The Master's expression hadn't changed in the slightest.

“Again.”

Half an hour later, Arien's head was pounding.

“Faster.” Vizimir had started repeating the command once Arien managed ten complete rotations without losing control.

Arien pushed the matrix harder, adding threads and adjusting their positions while the pen spun faster. After a while, he stopped noticing anything except the spell in front of him.

“Faster”

He began to lose all sense of time. Inside his mind, there was only the spinning pen and the need to make it spin faster and faster. He didn't think he had ever been so focused in his entire life. He couldn't even hear the Master anymore.

Faster and faster.

He was afraid that if he slowed down for even a moment, everything would fall apart.

There was only him and the spell.

He manipulated the matrix, adding more threads.

Faster.

At last, he made a mistake.

A microscopic one.

But it was enough.

He added another thread to the structure, but misjudged the speed of the moving network, and the new strand tangled with the rest.

Pain exploded through his head.

The room flashed white.

Arien had no idea how long he'd been unconscious.

His head throbbed, his eyes and ears hurt, and even his teeth ached. A metallic taste coated his tongue.

When he opened his eyes, the dim light of the office still made him wince.

“Boy, I see you're awake. You may leave. We're finished for today.”

That voice. He hated that voice.

“What happened?” he asked, then remembered himself. “Master.”

“You fainted during the exercise and bled on my carpet. But don't worry. We learned something useful.”

Arien pushed himself onto his knees and noticed the blood staining the soft brown carpet. He didn't particularly care.

“What exactly did we learn, Master?”

Vizimir looked almost pleased. "I mentioned at the beginning that I needed to learn my students' limits before certain injuries became irreversible." His expression brightened. "So today we discovered yours. Now we can begin training seriously!"

For several seconds Arien genuinely considered throwing himself across the desk and strangling him.

He didn't even think about magic. No fireballs. No lightning. He just wanted to grab the mage by the throat and strangle him.

The temptation was overwhelming.

Vizimir met his gaze. Cold. Calculating. And in that moment, Arien realized something. The man wasn't insane at all. Quite the opposite. He was remarkably level-headed, approaching everything with a degree of rationality Arien found almost unsettling.

Who is he, really? And why is he playing the role of a Master at the Academy?

“Just wash your face with a wet towel in the bathroom,” Vizimir said pleasantly. “There may have been a little blood coming from your eyes.”

“I'll do that, Master.”

Arien bowed and left the office.

For now, he needed Vizimir's knowledge too badly to do anything stupid.

But one day, when he no longer did...

I'm shoving that pen down his throat.

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