Sen scanned his surroundings casually while fishing for information. The dean hadn’t been alone here. If things were going to turn into a fight, he needed to be wary. But he also needed to know how deep this ran. “So the professors, are they in on this? Crosp? Sikar? Ladia? Is that why you chose them to fight the others?”
The dean smiled. “The rest of the faculty is…indisposed at the moment.”
Sen tilted his head. “Then who is overseeing the exams?”
With the flick of the dean’s hands, three portals popped into existence. Sen shifted to the right as one formed directly next to him, to his left. The other two formed on his right, near the bookshelves on the opposite side of the room. The solitary portal showcased Ilm. She was fighting alongside knights on a battlefield. Waves of dreadbeasts charged them. She aided the knights with her apparition spells. Ghostly elemental attacks that penetrated an opponent before manifesting and wrecking their insides. He realized she was trapped in a historia spell. But she hadn’t been there for that fight. Sen knew it anywhere. It was the same battlefield where he’d fought against the Dreadgiant King Garlon. His memories were embedded in the core of Ilm’s existence, and somehow historia magic had tapped into those to create a deadly fight for her.
To his right, Samara fought what appeared to be a copy of Professor Sikar. He slammed his staff down, and she only barely got her blade up in time. The overwhelming power forced her down to a knee. She gritted her teeth and held on.
In the last portal, Milim was caught in a daze. A replica of Professor Ladia stood before her with closed eyes. Their battle was a mental one, and it looked like Ladia’s copy had the upper hand. Getting caught in an illusion spell was…not great. Milim would need to free herself to exert her will against Ladia’s copy.
Though he couldn’t see Crosp, he could see the purple copy of Sikar and the pink copy of Ladia. Inside each of them was a book, just like the books all around him. Somehow the dean had used the stolen techniques to create false copies of the people they belonged to.
So the other professors weren’t involved. But their techniques were.
Sen frowned. “Where’s Mori?” he asked.
A fourth portal appeared to the right of the Dean. “This one wasn’t as interesting. I didn’t want to take a chance with him. He’s trapped inside a barrier for now. Mori stood idly waiting within. He looked around casually before sighing. “Professor Crosp is really late. I wonder when he’ll get here. I was excited to see some old memories. Maybe that time Ilm and I visited the Seiren plains! That’d be nice. Those mammoths were fun to fight.”
Sen shook his head. “He’s as carefree as ever. Didn’t have anyone strong enough to take him?” he asked.
The dean smiled. “Just a precaution.”
Sen knew what he meant. Mori was a hostage. In a way, all of his friends were.
“It occurs to me that my final exam should start any moment. This isn’t our meeting room, but we’re both here. So why not put an end to this?” Sen asked.
The dean smirked. “Oh? Wouldn’t you like to—”
That smug look on the dean’s face pissed him off. Sen dashed forward under the effects of Encapsulation and drove a fist towards the man’s face. Smugness turned to alarm.
Sen’s fist clapped into something several inches from his target. It wasn’t a barrier. It felt like a hand.
He pulled back and pressed forward with his other fist in the general direction of the invisible hand’s owner. He wrapped his fist in Aggression, and the glove of mana tore through the air. The grip on his first hand let go, and Sen jumped back.
The dean’s nostrils flared. “How dare you!” But he stopped and looked over his shoulder. He looked frustrated, but nodded. Then, a ghostly specter appeared a few feet behind him. The specter was bright blue and floated several feet in the air. Its body and clothes were both the same color, and Sen couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. A tightly drawn hood obscured its face, revealing only shadow where features should have been. The details on its robe were fine and intricate, but the further away from its face and core you looked, the more of a blur it became. Its fingers looked distorted; its feet were nothing more than wisps of smoke. Despite its lack of eyes, Sen felt its stare.
“Two on one then?” Sen asked without missing a beat.
The dean gestured to the library around them. “Two? There are many of us, Sen. Far too many even for you. You’ve seen what those books can do. Your friends are seeing firsthand. We could surround you with an army in seconds.”
Sen was familiar with how authority worked. As Dean of Brightsail Academy, Withershade technically had authority over the building itself. His magic would be far stronger within these walls than anywhere else, and to become dean he had to be quite strong already. But even authority like that didn’t yield power like this. The specter wasn’t a simple summon or contracted spirit. “Who’s power are you borrowing?” Sen asked.
The dean’s nose wrinkled at that. Sen’s insult was obvious. The dean might be strong, but Sen doubted he could control whatever spell fed this library. A collection of spell-books full of techniques the dean couldn’t even dream of using. Despite his poor initial reaction, Withershade collected himself. “Ah, yes. I suppose I should introduce you to the Academy’s founder. Remias Brightsail. The man who built both the town and academy.”
Sen blinked. This specter was Remias Brightsail? He’d heard of the man in passing, but academy history had never interested him much.
What do we know about the academy’s founder, Tutor?
[He appeared out of nowhere and with a great library of knowledge. He collected students from all over the Isle of Magic and built a school to teach them. Over time, others gathered, hoping to learn and live in the safety a town of mages can provide. Before long, Bright Sail became a bustling town, and tales of Brightsail Academy and its students spread like natural fire magic.]
The story was artificial as ever, which meant there was more to it. “So, some powerful magician comes out of nowhere and starts sharing his knowledge with anyone who would listen. Who are you, really?”Sen asked.
To his surprise. The specter spoke, and he recognized the decrepit voice from earlier. “You wish to see?”
The dean looked as if he wanted to protest but remained silent.
The specter pulled a book from within itself and sent it hovering toward Sen.
Sen reached out and grabbed it. As soon as he did, he felt his consciousness pulled through time. At least, the illusion of it.
Sarizon Bertrand was a scholar. He spent his days studying magic, but despite having sufficient mana, his ability to grasp techniques was…lacking, to say the least. He struggled with basic spells. Sarizon had lost count of how many teachers had agreed to teach him after seeing his stores of mana, only to abandon him when he couldn’t even manage a simple Water Droplet or Butterfly spell. But he eventually realized that though casting magic might be beyond him, observing it wasn’t.
He’d find trees, hills, and rooftops from which he could study students practicing with their masters. He observed and took notes. After a while, he noticed he had a knack for it. He developed an understanding of what those he watched were doing, how their magic worked, even if he couldn’t cast it himself. But magicians often frown upon others spying on their practice, even when they are doing so in public. A man caught him. A knight-class magician. When he saw Sarizon’s detailed notes, explicit instructions on how to perform spells that only his most trusted students should have had, he saw Sarizon as a threat. This information in the hands of his enemies could ruin him. So, instead, he ruined Sarizon. He found the boy’s collection of notes and destroyed them. The knight beat Sarizon within an inch of his life and left him for dead in a cold ditch of mud on the side of the road.
Sarizon had found a purpose, and he’d lost it. He watched with blurred eyes as the knight walked away. But magic roiled inside him, and for the first time, he felt the call of a spell ready to form. He held a hand up at the knight’s back and cast a spell he’d watched that very man perform a thousand times.
“Candle Lance Study,” he said, the maximizer coming from within the depths of his soul.
A lance with a string on fire shot forward and through the knight. When it struck him, the string erupted and set him ablaze. That was when Sarizon became something unusual: a commoner-class mage with a title. The System acknowledged him as ‘The Commoner Scholar.’
He fled the town and started over with his new power. He continued to observe, but he was careful now. A technique here and a technique there. As long as he didn’t spend too much time studying any one magician in particular, he could build an arsenal of his own. Over time, he became strong enough that others wanted to train with him willingly. Sarizon made friends. He fell in love. He trusted someone he thought he could with his secret. By then he’d become known by a new title: The Scholar Lord.
But the person he trusted betrayed him. His secret spread, and his comrades and colleagues fled from him in fear that he might discover their own techniques and trade them away. Many of them came to the natural conclusion that killing him was the only way to guard their secrets. Sarizon Bertrand fled the country and ended up on the Isle of Magic. Once again, forced to start over. This time he was careful. He found children with potential and began training them. Sharing stolen knowledge, raising them from a young age to ensure they were loyal to him. He became a new man entirely.
Remias Brightsail.
Where Sarizon had been a pariah, Remias was beloved. People came in droves to study under him. A town was built. He was a hero to these people, and he protected them jealously. But his past came back to haunt him. The student of that knight he’d killed tracked him down in his old age. They fought, and both were felled. But death was not the end for Sarizon. His knowledge persisted. His library persisted. A portion of his soul existed in both. So long as he continued gaining knowledge, he would remain. In the end, it was that cursed desire for knowledge that had killed him, and that same desire that had spared him. Thus was the power of the Scholar Lord.
Sen blinked, coming back to his senses. The montage of the academy founder’s life had passed by in seconds. The Dean and Remias waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts. “These books you created…they keep you alive.”
Remias nodded. “They do. I believe it’s a technique I can pass on to the right candidate. Many deans have served under me. Withershade is loyal, but he is incompatible with some of my knowledge. I cannot read you, white-haired one. You are not the first, but your presence is the most…mysterious to me. When I discovered Orttha, an old man with power I could not discern, I demanded Withershade recruit him so I could study him closer. Then a girl came along with a similar power. Her.” The shade pointed to Milim, still locked in mental combat. “The two seemed close, and I reasoned it was something about them that kept me from seeing. But I had time to study them. Years before the girl would graduate or the librarian would leave. I was satisfied with patience. Until you and your siblings arrived. Such power. I could sense such power, and yet I couldn’t study it for myself. A ward? An artifact? Some kind of power hidden within your bloodline that masked you from me? I wasn’t sure. But I saw your drive for knowledge. Your late nights in the spell-crafting room, time spent forging, time spent teaching others. Even though I once could study the techniques of Samara, now she is hidden from me. Your influence stripped me of my ability to read her.
“That was when I knew. That was when I decided I’d like you to be the next Dean of Brightsail Academy. Together, the two of us could learn more about magic than any other researchers in the world. You are the pupil I have waited on all these years, Sen. Join me. My knowledge will be as yours, and yours as mine.”
Sen frowned. “If you’re this powerful, if you had this much at your disposal. Why didn’t you stop the invaders? Students died because you didn’t take action within a space where your powers should have been greater than theirs.”
The Scholar’s jagged, corrupted mouth appeared again. “I could not risk knowledge being lost. More fighting could have risked this place. I would not see my knowledge destroyed again as I did in my childhood. This is the work of generations.”
Sen nodded. “You let students get taken to protect books. You couldn’t steal our knowledge, so you threw my friends into fights with dangerous replicas of faculty members, and I’m assuming you’re also the ones who took Orttha. You really shouldn’t be surprised to hear this, but…no. I’d never work with you. By the time I’m done, you’ll wish that knight had killed you. If you thought watching your old collection burn was painful, you’re going to hate watching this one go down in ashes.”
Of course, Sen was mostly bluffing. If he could kill the specter while maintaining the library of knowledge stored down here, he would in a heartbeat.
The specter shook its head. With a sigh, it looked toward the dean and gestured. “Kill him.”
Sen smiled. That was fine with him. He wanted to try a new technique he had learned recently. Really recently. He shot forward to start the fight.
“Mana Punch Echo!”
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