Transcendence, page 47
part #6 of The Beginning After The End Series
The pleasant chime of a bell signaled for everyone to gather around the table. Butlers and maids escorted all the attendees to their predetermined seats. Since I was one of the main reasons for having this dinner, I had been put at the far end of the table, directly across from Virion, with Kathyln to my right and my sister to my left. The Council was spread across the table toward the other end, near Virion, while the Lances and Elders sat toward the center.
After everyone had taken a seat, Virion tapped his spoon on the glass flute to get everyone’s attention before speaking.
“I’ll make this short since I know I’m not the only one who’s hungry. I believe it’s important for even our strongest soldiers to have the opportunity to rest and be merry. Yes, we’re at war, but war or not, there will always be a battle tomorrow, so make some time to enjoy today. Drink, eat, laugh, so that you can tackle tomorrow with fire anew!”
We all clapped, while Buhnd’s gruff voice shouting, “Hell yeah!” sounded in the midst of it. Our applause brought forth an organized stampede of servants carrying dishes. It was a traditional ten course elven meal, starting with a creamy soup garnished with edible flowers and leaves.
My stomach—which had been uncomfortable, most likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol I’d drunk—welcomed the warm, rich flavors. The subtle kick of an unfamiliar spice complemented the thickness of the soup, while the leaves and flower garnishes added a surprising hint of freshness.
“This is so good!” Ellie exclaimed in between spoonfuls of the soup.
The ceramic bowl of soup had been taken away, replaced by a silver platter with two strips of what looked like raw fish. The morsels of translucent flesh, with dashings of two different sauces, practically melted in my mouth. Both the green and the brown sauces were unfamiliar, but it was a mixture of a nutty and a slightly acidic taste that served to mask the unwanted brininess of the ocean dweller and bring out its desired flavors.
As I swallowed the second piece of the fish, a pang in my abdomen caused me to buckle.
Did I drink too much? I wondered, casting a side glance at the large cask of priceless liquor that had been conveniently placed just behind Buhnd’s seat.
“Are you okay?” Kathyln asked, her plate completely clean.
“I’m fine,” I smiled, putting down my fork.
Ultimately, my stubbornness wouldn’t allow me to pass up the opportunity to drink such expensive alcohol. I held up my glass, taking another sip and rolling the deep brown liquid in my mouth to savor the taste.
I let the aromatic flavors coat my mouth before finally swallowing, feeling the pleasant burn pass down my throat.
“Can I try?” my sister begged once again after seeing me relishing the drink.
I was about to turn her down again, but paused. “Fine. Just a sip.”
“Uh, Ellie?” Emily chimed in, her eyes widening as my sister grabbed the rounded glass. “You sure about this?”
Ignoring her, my sister immediately brought the glass to her lips. As I had expected, she most certainly did not take ‘just a sip’ and instead gulped a big portion of the liquor.
Already prepared for what was about to come, I cast a small circular vacuum of wind that sucked in the spray of liquid that shot out of my sister’s mouth as she coughed.
The servants nearby took immediate action, handing my sister a new napkin while they opened up a container for me to ‘dump’ Ellie’s sprayed mouthful into.
“You jerk,” Ellie hissed, trying not to draw any more attention to herself than she already had. “You knew that would happen!”
Barely suppressing a laugh, I looked at her, deadpan. “Of course. That’s why I said no so many times.”
“You could’ve warned me!” she protested, drinking the cup of water the servant behind her had so sensibly placed next to her plate.
“I could’ve,” I agreed, leaving my sister aghast.
Emily distracted her, telling her about some of the modifications she’d made to Ellie’s new bow, to steer her away from her bitterness.
After the plates were cleared, other—smaller—dishes took their place. Even before I looked down to see what it was, the smell had already caused me to reach for it. A handful of shellfish, their black shells laid open, their meat basking in a savory broth that I could practically taste through my nose. Supplementing the shellfish was a side of sautéed mushrooms that looked like they had actually been lit on fire.
The servant covered the mushrooms with a crystal cup to extinguish the soft flame. As soon as he lifted the cover, the rich scent of whatever liquor the chef had used to ignite the mushrooms permeated the vicinity.
“Raw fish, and now flaming fungus? Interesting and tasty!” I overheard Emily whisper to my sister, who nodded furiously in agreement.
Conversations drifted in the air while soft music, played by a trio of musicians, provided a comfortable tune to accompany the dinner.
I leaned forward, taking in another whiff of the complementary aromas of shellfish and mushrooms when another sharp pain stabbed at my sternum.
Am I allergic to something? I thought, bringing a mushroom close to my nose in suspicion.
With the pain gone as quickly as it had come, I decided to lay off the purple alcohol while shoveling in a mouthful of the mushrooms.
The supple firmness of the mushroom as I bit down into it dispelled any remaining suspicions I had about the food.
If I’m allergic to this mushroom, so be it. I’ll suffer knowing that it was for a good cause.
Throughout the next few dishes, I ate in silence. Kathyln wasn’t much of a conversationalist; the few times she did speak were to respond to whatever my sister and Emily were talking about.
My thoughts began veering toward the war, and the upcoming battles, my only solace being the exquisite dishes that never seemed to stop and my glass of liquor that never emptied. There were tender meats that I was able to cut with my fork, and even a whole boar—carved so precisely that I doubted I could replicate the task even with my mastery of the sword.
There were other, more bizarre dishes that showcased the more… ‘unwanted’ parts of various mana beasts as supposed delicacies. As the dinner was becoming more lively—most likely due to the alcohol in everyone’s system—I experienced another episode of pain in my stomach.
This time, it was a more gripping pain, as if someone were slowly squeezing, twisting, and wrenching my insides. That was when I realized it wasn’t my stomach or even my liver, as I had thought.
It was my mana core.
“Is something wrong, Arthur? You seem pale,” Virion said, noticing my state from the other side of the table.
I rose from my seat, feeling more than a tinge of regret as I stared at the untouched, steaming crab on my plate. “My apologies to everyone, but I think I’ll have to call it a night.”
Virion stood up as well, his expression laced with concern.
Holding up a hand to stop him, I made my way to the door, careful not to stumble. “Please, enjoy yourselves. I’ve been a little tired today and I think I just had too much alcohol.”
Without looking back, I headed to my room, one hand using the wall as support while the other pressed down on my solar plexus.
Is something wrong with my mana core?
Cold sweat beaded down my face as the gripping pain became more intense.
When I reached my room, I curled into a ball on the floor, unable to make it to my bed. My fear and worry grew alongside the pain, until a thought crossed my mind.
Sending a pulse of mana into my ring, I withdrew Uto’s horn and instinctively began absorbing its contents, like an infant reaching for its mother’s milk.
I slipped in and out of consciousness, time elapsing as if it were caught in a jar of sap. Everything seemed slow and the cold, gripping pain escalated until it became unbearable.
Then two things happened in what seemed like the span of a second.
First, I felt a surge of unmatched energy and power throughout my body. I could feel it in my pores and the tips of my hair.
Then, I passed out.
Chapter 55
Broken Seal
GREY
I looked up at the row of judges peering down from their platform, which overlooked the main stadium my opponent and I were currently in. Sitting in the middle of the row was a tall, shapely woman, her blazing red hair curling down her back. Two sharp eyes that would make even a wild lion flinch regarded me with interest as the rest of the judges murmured amongst themselves over the results of the match.
I thought to myself, What exactly is there to go over? My opponent, a Division Two candidate testing for a first division spot, was passed out behind me while the medics approached with a stretcher.
With a sinking feeling, as the judges continued their discussion, I realized that they might very well be determining whether to send me up or keep me at Division Three.
I could see Nico and Cecilia from the corner of my eye. They were waiting for the verdict just as intently as I had during my first competition while attending this academy—back when I still believed hard work would offer fair results.
After what seemed like ages, a thin, elderly man, his white moustache groomed a bit too meticulously—probably to compensate for his bald head—cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Cadet Grey, no surname. While your match was impressive, especially your demonstration of martial arts, the poor level of utilization of your ki throughout the tournament made it clear that you are lacking in some fundamentals, and these need to be thoroughly reviewed. Therefore, Cadet Grey, you will move up to Class One of the third division.”
I could feel my blood boil underneath my skin as I did all I could to suppress my rage. I clenched my fists, ground my teeth, curled my toes—anything to stop myself from lashing out at the judge and this entire academy system.
Just then, a roar of laughter echoed throughout the entire arena. My burning rage was instantly quelled as I looked up, dumbfounded, at the red-haired judge, who continued laughing heartily. It wasn’t only me who was shocked by her actions, though. The rest of the judges whipped their heads toward their colleague with expressions ranging from shock to anger to embarrassment.
The audience, which had been quietly waiting for the results from this final round, muttered amongst each other, hoping to get some answers about this turn of events.
Finally the red-haired judge calmed down, wiping away a tear. “My apologies. I thought Judge Drem was pulling that kid’s leg by telling him he needed to ‘review his fundamentals.’”
At her words, the mustachioed judge—who I assumed was Judge Drem—flushed red all the way the top of his shiny head. “Lady Vera.” The judge spoke to her with an eerie respect, despite the gap between them in age. “In the sanctity of these annual assessment duels, your behavior is unaccept—”
“No,” the red-haired woman cut in flatly. “What’s unacceptable behavior, and embarrassingly pathetic, is this blatant attempt at holding that kid back because he’s not from a distinguished house.”
Clearly unprepared to be verbally assaulted by the woman, Judge Drem stammered what he had probably hoped would be words. “Wha—How dare… I did no such—”
“Then how can you possibly justify placing Cadet Grey in anything less than Division One?” Lady Vera interrupted again. At this point, I really hoped this lady had either the physical strength or the political backing to justify her blatant lack of respect for the older judge.
Judge Drem tried his best to gather his wits, giving another cough. “As I stated earlier, Cadet Grey’s ki utilization is lack—”
“Wrong.” She instantly cut him off again, making the older judge practically fume in frustration and embarrassment. “The boy’s ki utilization is at least a step above even the Class Two students in Division One. What you call ‘lacking’ in ki utilization is actually him making up for his lower ki level to an impressive degree.”
The other judges sitting behind the panel were obviously lower in rank than Judge Drem, because the only thing they’d been doing up to this point was wordlessly shifting glances between Lady Vera, Judge Drem, and me.
“Lady Vera,” the old judge said through gritted teeth. “While I am grateful for your insight into the matter, I have been a judge for nearly twenty years now. Please reciprocate the respect I’ve shown you by showing me the respect that I’ve earned in this field.”
Lady Vera thrummed her fingers on the panel she was sitting behind, contemplating for a moment before she nodded. “Fine. I’ll respect your verdict, Judge Drem.”
Before I even had the opportunity to be disappointed by this, though, Vera’s form flickered out of sight.
What in the—
She appeared above me and landed with a soft thud. Despite the fact that I had witnessed everything, I was still incredulous that she’d just cleared the span of two stories as casually as I would step off a sidewalk.
“Kid. Like Judge Handlebars said, you’ll still be in Division Three, but what do you say about me becoming your personal mentor?”
I thought for a moment—I even turned to Nico and Cecilia to make sure what I was witnessing was real. I didn’t know who this woman was, but the way she held herself—and the impressive movement skill she had used to clear the distance, something most elite soldiers wouldn’t even dare try to replicate—made me take the risk.
Ignoring the aghast row of judges as well as the stunned crowd, I took her hand. “I accept your offer.”
ARTHUR LEYWIN
I woke up on the floor with my hand stretched out in front of me, much the way my dream had ended. However, rather than Lady Vera’s seemingly fragile hand in my own, I was gripping tightly onto Uto’s horn.
The horn, which had previously glimmered like a sinister, obsidian jewel, now had cracks and splinters strewn across its dull gray exterior.
It took a moment of idly wondering how I had come to be in this position before I suddenly remembered. As if struck by a bolt of lightning, I shot up to my feet. I took in my surroundings for the first time since waking up, relieved that I was still in my room and that my room was relatively intact. Looking at the window, it was still nighttime, which meant I had been unconscious only for a few hours.
Pulling my senses inward, I focused my attention on my mana core—which no longer had a glimmering silver sheen, but instead radiated brightly like a white sun.
“I did it,” I muttered incredulously. I maintained concentration on my core for a few minutes, mostly just taking in the new, alien feelings that came with my breakthrough. The paranoid part of me just wanted to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.
I wasn’t. I was now a white core mage.
Ecstatic, I sent a pulse of mana throughout my body. The flow of mana was seamless and near-instant. I hadn’t gotten the chance to read through the notebook Alanis had written for me, but I had a feeling she might have to update some of the readings.
Without stopping, I held out my hand, palm up, and began shaping the mana. I started out with something relatively easy, making a small orb of pure mana. This was the equivalent of stretching before a run.
After that, I proceeded to more complicated exercises. I enlarged the orb of mana and shrank it as quickly as possible. Then I split the mana orb into two smaller ones. After I had about a dozen small mana orbs floating above my hand, I ignited some of them by coalescing fire affinity mana particles in the atmosphere while I froze another set of orbs and so on. A few minutes into the exercise, I had dozens of different elemental spheres, all orbiting around my palm.
Throughout it all, I wore a wide smile on my face that I only noticed after my cheeks began cramping.
There were hundreds of variations of these manipulation exercises, all meant to help mages get better at organic magic—a term that had many names which all meant one thing: magic that did not require gestures or chants to cast.
Much of the magic that the beginning classes in Xyrus Academy had taught was centered around stagnant magic, which were essentially spells limited in variations and uses in order to be reproduced consistently and easily. The gestures and chants that so many mages used—and still use today—help in guiding their subconscious as they mold their mana into the spell they want. The downside was that most of these gestures and chants basically told opponents, ‘Hey, I’m going to throw a fireball at you.’ It was fairly easy for any decent mage to counter such stagnant magic.
The organic magic, which I had so naturally grasped from an early age thanks to my understanding of mana from having lived a previous life, was much harder to cast and control. Every time I launched a blade of wind at my opponent with a simple swing of my arm, my brain was basically giving detailed instructions about the mana I imbued into the spell in order to get the shape, size, speed, trajectory, angle, and all the rest correct.
Breaking into white core stage wasn’t as awe-inspiring as I had hoped it would be, but it was definitely a huge step forward—more so than any of the previous breakthroughs into the next core stages.
My control and ‘finesse’ over mana had definitely been taken up a notch, almost as if the advancement into white core had also affected my cognition.
I thought back to several instances in the past when the Lances had demonstrated some of their prowess in magic. Olfred’s ability to cast eerily lifelike golems of magma, and Mica’s superb control over an abstract element like gravity, were two examples that supported my suspicion. Putting Alea aside, I’d never had the chance to see Aya fight. Bairon was able to mold lightning into a giant spear that looked about as detailed as a masterfully crafted weapon, and just recently, I’d come face to face with Varay’s dragon, which was made completely of ice.
Is this why all the Lances are so skilled in manipulating mana?
Another thought occurred to me as well: flying. Usually, skilled flying meant constant attention to your body and mana output, all while having your attention on something else, like fighting.
