Fallen Mage Regressor

Letting the mana of another enter your body was an incredibly painful experience.

Mal knew this firsthand. He’d once been injured by an attack that damaged his core. Nothing serious, but he’d required a magical doctor to fix him. In order to do that, the doctor had to jumpstart Mal’s core. It was horrible. It was like a foreign presence had slithered into his veins, invading him from the inside-out.

The doctor had claimed that it was because Mal was too tense, and the doctor's mana too foreign to Mal's makeup. But Mal had always suspected that the doctor was trying to cover his ass.

After the fact, he’d sworn to himself that he would never allow himself to be injured and put in such a position again.

So the fact that he was about to force Lusia to endure such a thing made him feel discomforted.

"Master? How long are we going to hold this position?"

The two of them sat opposite to each other in wooden chairs. Lusia sat with her back straight and hands folded on her lap. Mal leaned back in his own chair, foot tapping against the floor.

"To review," Mal said. "I’m going to give you mana. Your job is going to be manipulating it and circulating it through your body so that you understand how to do that when we apply the medicine for your core. This is the most foundational skill in magic, but it'll probably take a while to learn."

"I understand."

Now this would be the awkward part.

"This is most likely going to hurt," Mal said. "Or at the very least, it’ll feel incredibly uncomfortable. I wish that there was an alternative, and there probably is, but none that we can find on short notice. This is the most practical solution."

"Very well, Master."

Mal chewed his bottom lip. He let out a sigh, then extended his hand.

"Touch your fingertips to mine," he said.

Lusia tilted her head a fraction of an inch, then did as he instructed. Their fingertips touched and Mal gently extended out mana into her into the point where they were touching.

"Breathe out," he said. "And with it, imagine the sensation building up in your fingertips, flowing down your arms, up your neck, and out through your breath."

She breathed out and Mal could sense on the other side that the mana had come out—plus, he could literally see her breath expelling small amounts of mana particles.

"You caught onto that quick," he muttered. "Impressive."

"Thank you, Master."

Mal passed mana from the outside, through his body, then into Lusia's fingertips. This continued for 15 minutes in silence.

"Are you feeling any kind of pain?" Mal said.

Lusia shook her head. "No."

"Discomfort, then? An odd tingly feeling?"

"Not at all."

Mal furrowed his eyebrows together. Lusia was obviously made of much stronger stuff than him if this didn't bother her.

"If anything, it feels rather pleasant," she said.

Mal almost jolted back. He managed to stop himself and maintain the flow, but he couldn't help the incredulous look he cast toward Lusia.

"In what way?" he asked.

"I..." her voice trailed off. "It feels like the gardens outside of the manor."

Mal shook his head. "I don't know how you do it, Lusia."

She opened her mouth to respond when—

"What the hell are you two doing?"

Rolam had stopped in front of the doorway, eyes looking at the two and his eyes squinted together.

"We're working on something," Mal said.

"Okay... sure, honored leader."

Mal ignored Rolam. He focused on continuing to channel mana into Lusia's fingertips.

"And you made this yourself? You didn't follow a guide or anything?"

"None at all."

"Impressive. Shoddy work, but still impressive."

Mal scoffed and leaned back in his chair.

The next few days had been unexpectedly quiet. Mal had made further additions to his garden—a new plant, Waterroses. Mal resolved not to make the same mistake he did with Airgrass and had worked on ensuring that whatever requirements the plant needed, it would receive. In the case of Waterroses, he got fresh river water from the stream that went directly into the laundry room. He hoped that would be fresh enough to do the trick.

The trick, being that the plant didn't go into dirt—it went into a bucket of water.

The seeds had already started to sprout, thin roots running into the water and a small green bud floating on the top.

And who had he asked for advice in this regard?

None other than his teacher in witchcraft, who'd been drilling into him the aspects of proper care for magical plants.

"I can't believe you didn't show this to me earlier," Cassandra said.

"Is it really that hard to believe that I didn't consider it your business?"

"Yes, because I'm your mistress."

"Please never use that word to refer to yourself again, especially in relation to me."

She cackled like a gremlin. "What, worried that somebody's going to overhear?"

"No, I'm more worried about the fact that I'm more and more tempted to commit violence against you every time I hear a joke like that."

She chortled for a little bit longer before the sound died away.

"Professor Cassandra," he said. "I had some more questions to ask about infernal essence."

"This again? You've been asking me an awful lot about that material."

The inert orb of infernal essence had sat in his room, tucked away under a floorboard for the past couple of days. He probably needed to do something about it.

"Yes," he said. "It's an interesting topic of study."

She shrugged. "I pretty much taught you everything that I know about it."

"But what about the recipes?"

"I'm not going to share that with a student who's just begun learning the craft," she said. "Far too risky."

"I thought most of the risk went to the brewer, not the recipient of any infernal essence infusions."

"Yes, and I don't want your organs to get turned into woodchips. Is that so shocking?"

Mal internally sighed. It seemed that he'd just have to continue to rely on the various grimoires and books he'd managed to get his hands on. Cassandra would be of no help to him here.

"Tea?" she suddenly said.

Mal thought about it for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. "Sure."

She stood up from the table and walked over to her kitchen area. A magical kettle had been at work in the background. She picked it up and then set it back down. She reached up into her cabinet and pulled out two cups. Mal watched her movements, nothing else in the room catching his attention.

She poured out the two cups and walked over to Mal, then set one in front of him.

"Never been much good at this," she said. "Not compared to my mother."

"Trust me, no matter what you might think of your tea-making skills, I can guarantee you that there's one person who's worse at it than you."

She raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything. Instead, she raised her tea to her lips and took a small sip.

Mal followed in turn, savoring the rich drink.

It was perfect. Mal genuinely had no idea what Cassandra was talking about.

"This is great," he said. "I don't know what you're talking about. It might just be the best cup of tea I've ever had."

She chuckled, the noise low.

"Ah, well," she said. "When you have a lady like my mother running things, your perspective can get a little bit warped."

"What do you mean?" Mal asked.

She sighed and set her tea down onto the table.

"Mother was—is—something of a legend among witches. We don't have archmages like wizards do, but we do have a way of honoring the greatest among us."

"And how do witches do that?"

"Titles. In my mother's case, she's known as the Witch of Iron. So named for her unwavering and unshakable resolve during a demonic incursion. She manipulated and cooperated with the steel-type mana in the air and created a wall to box the demons in. It was incredible, from everyone I've talked to about it."

Mal took a sip of his drink. "Must have been tough, living in the shadow of someone like that."

"Not really. Mother is a traditionalist. She doesn't believe in covens, sees them as a corruption of the old ways. There were no other witches around to tell me how great she was."

"Oh." Mal reached up and scratched his head. "So what exactly was the issue?"

"The issue, my dear student," she said. "Is that she expected far better of me than what I actually was. I learned the basics of witchcraft. Became a competent enough cottage witch. But as for the mastery she had attained? I'm quite afraid that I had no real talent for the arts."

Mal hummed. "I see. Is that why you became a wizard?"

"How tactful of you. Immediately implying that because I couldn't cut it as a witch, I ran off to the city to become a wizard."

"I didn't mean it like that."

She chuckled. "I'm aware."

A long sigh came out of her.

"You're 50% right. Figured that if the path of a witch was beyond my power, then maybe the path of a wizard wasn't. Besides, I've never had much of an affinity for the country. When you're surrounded by poisonous plants for your entire life, it turns out that you develop a strong dislike of the untamed wilds. No, my plants are safe and controlled inside of a greenhouse. And that's just the way I like it."

"That doesn't seem very witch-like of you."

"True. And that's probably why I failed as a witch."

The room went silent. She swirled the tea inside of her cup.

"After I came to the city, I thought that my training as a witch would be enough to propel me to stardom. That I would be able to make a new start outside of magic. Of course, I was wrong. in the end, the training I'd received was the only reason I was able to survive here. I secured a spot in the academy, graduated average in everything but potions, then went around as an alchemist for some time, then worked for a large magical goods factory. On the side, I worked as an associate professor, and eventually managed to secure a full professorship."

"And are you happy with that?"

She shrugged. "The pay's nice. Most of these students are idiots, so that does bring down the mood. But it is what it is."

Mal thought through his own experiences thus far as a student of Cassandra's. Mal figured the appropriate thing to do was open up to her given that she'd done him the same courtesy.

"You know, you're the first person who's ever really believed in my potential," he said.

"Yes, you said something to that effect."

"I have a small talent for magic, like every other noble. But my F-grade core meant that it was all rather pointless."

He leaned back in his chair, the distant memories of his childhood coming back in brief flashes.

"Later on, of course, there were some people who were impressed once I began to add accomplishments to my name."

Visions of his power growing, of him embracing dark magic flashed by his mind.

"But that's a different thing than believing in someone's potential. If you believe in someone's potential, you're willing to overlook how useless they are at the moment. It's another thing if you've already proven yourself and then trust is placed in you."

"And I'm the first person to ever believe in your potential?" Cassandra said. "I suppose I should be honored."

"You should be whatever you want to be, Professor."

She snorted. "Don't get smart with me, apprentice."

After he'd finished his lessons with Cassandra, Mal returned home to his dorm and laid in bed for about two hours.

Once he'd deemed it late enough, he got out of bed and walked over to his window, stepping over the potted plants that had dotted the ground.

He poked his head out and looked up at the sky. A moonless night, perfect for a little bit of skulduggery.

He slipped his boots on, then went back to the window and hopped out. As expected, they absorbed the impact and made his movement completely silent.

He wandered to the library, keeping his head low to the ground and moving as slowly as possible. Before long, he eventually reached his destination.

The library.

Yes, his teacher believed in him, and he'd begun to respect her. But if she wouldn't provide the information he needed, then he would just have to seek it out elsewhere.

The library was one of the most beautiful marvels of Exodi Academy. Bookshelves reaching up three stories high. An automated search spell system to allow for easy access to any and all contents. Long, high windows rivaling the bookshelves in size.

At night, the atmosphere was completely different. The only source of light was a chandelier with candles along with a few smatterings of magical lamps scattered around seemingly at random. Mal was barely able to make out where to go, especially with the light of unaligned mana blinding him in every direction.

The main source of light that Mal was using was the unaligned mana, which cast a surprisingly strong glow that helped Mal make out where to go. It was still headache-inducing, but that was better than stumbling around blind.

He made his way to the back, his footsteps completely soundless thanks to his new boots. He reached a door barred by a lock.

Luckily, Mal had been here many times before, so he knew a dirty trick for bypassing the lock.

The lock had been installed hundreds of years ago, and the school somehow still hadn't upgraded its security. He jiggled the lock a little bit, then struck it with his fist.

It popped open.

He took the chains off as quietly as he could, then entered into the door.

The Forbidden Section. Why it was called forbidden was beyond Mal's comprehension. The security was so laughable that it might as well have been nonexistent.

He crept forward, careful to stay directly in the middle between the two bookshelves to his left and right. One of the books shuddered and moved on its own. A low moan came out from behind one of the shelves.

A book off to the right caught his attention.

An Eldritch Grimoire. The same one he'd used in his first life to gain the knowledge of nullamancy and time manipulation—among many other nuggets of knowledge.

Mal wanted to take the book. Not because he wanted to use it, but so that he could burn the damn thing and make sure not a single other soul was ever corrupted by its influence.

But he knew that might change if he picked it up. It was an unnaturally corrupting artifact, capable of warping the mind. He didn't want to test how high his resistance was. He ignored the book and continued on.

Eventually, he got to a section that looked promising with all sorts of journals and spells related to the modification of the core.

He flipped through several of the books. The vast majority of them were about offense. Spells to mute the core's connection with the body. Spells to damage the core. Spells to corrupt the core. All sorts of horrifying tools that Mal intended to avoid like the plague. Finally, after extensive searching, he found a journal with what he was looking for.

Exact instructions on the healing of a hollow core.

The ingredients list highlighted the infernal essence repeatedly, noting the difficulty of preserving and using such a dangerous substance.

As long as all the risk was on Mal and not on Lusia, that would be fine.

He put the book inside of his satchel and walked back over to the entrance. He passed by the Eldritch Grimoire without another look.

The whisper of a voice, raspy and faint and entirely in Mal's head.

Hello, old friend, the voice whispered. It's been some time, hasn't it?

Mal stiffened.

That voice.

But how did it recognize him...?

How would I not? it whispered. We'd been together for so long. The only vessel I've had that's survived more than a few months.

But Mal was back in the past, so that was impossible, damn it!

Shivers ran down Mal's spine.

"I know you didn't hitch a ride with me," he said. "I would have remembered that. How do you know who I am?"

"Because knowing is my whole thing, Endbringer. Don't you remember that?"

A dark cloud appeared in front of Mal. Purple smoke rolled off of the void and red eyes pierced through the fog.

"Golial, weaver of the blind stars."

A low chuckle.

"Correct," it said, its voice hearable in the real world. "I'm glad to see that your memory hasn't failed quite yet, Endbringer."

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