Magic Tower (3): Devoured Flames and Living Staffs

Magic, by its very nature, demanded extensive preparation. It began with circulating mana, followed by chanting spells as a baseline. From there, one had to decide which spell to cast and which ritual to employ. And finally, the intent behind the magic had to be crystal clear. Magic was nothing less than a miracle that manifested the impossible. The hope for that miracle to occur was no different from prayer. And prayer always required purpose.

Thus, among a hundred mages, there were a hundred different spells. Even if they cast the same magic, differing intents and experiences ensured the processes varied wildly, even if the results might align.

This meant mages needed immense preparation even for a single spell. In unfamiliar environments, their output typically fell below average, as the shift in mindset disrupted their focus.

But what if it was their most familiar space? The place where they were born and raised, where they endlessly practiced magic and conducted research—what power could they unleash there?

"Impossible firepower!"

Pabababap!

Multicolored magic circles etched themselves into the air, unleashing a barrage of spells toward the crown prince. The severed legs had reattached as if nothing had happened. Archibald, the Magic Tower Lord—who had been crawling like a turtle—had shifted position, recovering near his mages.

"No matter how mighty, this is the mages' home turf, our workshop! To challenge us in our most prepared domain!"

Archibald was convinced he held the advantage—anyone could see it—and his calculations confirmed it.

"The barrier's breach surprised me, as did the dismantling of the protective rituals... A dragon! If a dragon at the pinnacle of magic is responsible, it all makes sense!"

Dragons were indeed a great race: the apex of magic, capable of completing spells with mere utterance thanks to Dragon Tongue ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and Dragon Heart. And for lesser races, the oppressive Dragon Fear. Everything fit.

"Finally, I can reach the dragon! The Dragon Heart! That legend will be mine!"

It had fallen into his lap at the perfect moment to fulfill his lifelong wish. He knew the empire—and the crown prince—were strong. But this seemed an arrogant overreach.

"No matter how powerful, one can't cover the sky alone. How could you come here... just you and a dragon!"

For now, the mages numbered only dozens. But if word spread and surrounding towers mobilized? At full strength, they'd number in the thousands. Could one handle a thousand mages? Not rabble—these were elites with at least five heart circles. Including novices, thousands more.

"Did you think the Magic Tower was just a few spires? Wrong! This is the nation of mages!"

Mages were still gathering, needing no explanation. An enemy stood before them—the crown prince or not. The tower was sacred; even royalty wouldn't be forgiven for insolence.

Pajijijik, boom!

A torrent of spells converged and hurtled toward the crown prince. To invade the tower so brazenly, then declare they'd enslave them all? Utter arrogance.

"You can't even withstand this bombardment! How do you plan to turn us into staffs?!"

Archibald laughed, then moved to demonstrate why he was called a grand mage. The nine rings in his heart spun furiously. Nine signified the incomplete—the final step before perfection. His inner world of imagery manifested outwardly.

"Magic Garden: Altus Orchard!"

The world shifted in an instant. Normally a long-cast spell, but here in the tower, perfect advantage applied: familiar environment, endless practice, ambient mana surging. Defeat was impossible.

And indeed, in mere minutes, firepower to erase dozens of territories slammed into the crown prince and dragon. They wouldn't die, of course—no intent to kill. The empire still had value to extract.

'Show them the tower's greatness, magic's might, my authority... and bring the empire to its knees.'

Ssssss.

Mana clashes obscured vision around the crown prince and dragon.

"Enough! Cease fire!"

Archibald ordered the still-gathering mages to halt. Any more, and they might actually die.

"Haha, even the mighty Sol Bellos... ultimately human! Bound by human limits, you can't overcome numbers!"

This applied even to dragons, the pinnacle of magic. The tower hadn't idled above the empire. They'd focused solely on research, crafting artifacts, developing a magic system entirely apart from dragons'.

"Humans no longer use draconic magic. That's ancient history! Humans will now reign supreme with human magic!"

Declaring this to a dragon felt exhilarating.

Ssssss.

As Archibald monologued, the mana cleared, revealing the crown prince and dragon. But not as he expected.

"So that's the principle?"

"Yes, Your Highness. As expected, you learn swiftly."

The first sight: a blazing orb in the crown prince's hand. Ball of fire? Miniature sun? Its name was ambiguous, raging fiercely in his grasp.

"Magic that devours magic—quite useful."

"Since Your Highness learned from this lady, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it diverges from common magic. You tread an independent path of sorcery."

"I like it."

Setting the sun aside, their casual conversation was absurd. Amid hundreds of mages unleashing hell, they leisurely held class—and invented magic-devouring magic? An independent path, no less?

Understanding exactly what that meant, Archibald's eyes bulged. This mocked his life's devotion to escaping draconic bounds.

A youth not yet shed of boyhood claiming it? Unforgivable.

"You insolent brat!"

Rage consumed him—his life's work denied, talent mocking his efforts. He had to crush it. Ordering another barrage—

"I've heard enough of the lesson, Arbeda. Now, let me teach you."

"What will you teach, sire?"

"How to craft a living staff."

The crown prince bounced the miniature sun into the air like a ball. As hundreds of spells rained down again—

Ssssss.

His gaze fixed on it.

"Detonate."

Hwaaaaaak!

Overwhelming power incinerated everything.

***

"Ha."

I let out a hollow laugh, surveying the instant devastation. I'd uncovered another chilling trait of the crown prince.

'His strength wasn't even fully realized?'

He possessed talent to grow vastly stronger. This body's terror wasn't innate power, but the learning speed that scoffed at it. If he willed it, he learned. The impossible made ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠real.

The result? Now.

Wishing to devour magic with Sol Bellos's might, aided by Arbeda, he created devouring flames. No effort needed—just instant comprehension and application. Practice skipped by mad talent.

That alone razed the Magic Tower.

"The subtlety of dispel is exquisite."

"Thank you, sire."

Unlike the ruined towers, no mage died. Precariously alive—medium well-done. Perfectly seared. Agonizing burns, nerves frying, eyes boiling, flesh charring slowly. No deaths, as desired.

"Still, Archibald, you kept things from getting dull. Magic demands real use, and you've clarified mine."

"Hngh... huerghhh..."

Even collapsing, Archibald stared fixedly somewhere. Voice ruined—vocal cords melted—yet not at me. Baffling.

"I spared the outer walls and inner research... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but what you're eyeing is something else entirely."

I read his eyes: parental worry for something precious.

'No way?'

Just before staff crafting.

Sreuk.

I followed his gaze past turtle-roast Archibald.

'Staring at the wall for that reason?'

A quick slash collapsed the wall like sliced silk, revealing a small boy.

"Hngh... hnggg...!"

Desperately stifling sobs, hiding. Small stature, but not childish age. Keywords?

'Ha, conveniently spelled out.'

Reading the system message, I confirmed the boy as the novel's male lead, a guaranteed jackpot. Killable, sure—but so timid? Maybe...

"Do you know a woman named Mirne?"

"Th-that sister... I like her. She's kind..."

Tried talking.

"How much? Enough to die for?"

"Y-yes? N-no... Even so, dying's a bit... I pledged loyalty to Your Highness the Crown Prince. If I die, it should be serving you faithfully!"

Quick exchange revealed it.

'This guy's instincts are sharp.'

Not deeply entangled with Mirne yet. Lies? Kill him. Male leads respawn anyway. One death changes nothing.

"Arbeda, can you apply restraints? Something that explodes his head on disloyal thoughts."

"This lady stands ready, sire. Apply all?"

"Yes, all... What's your name?"

Thus.

"Y-Your Highness! I'm Th-Theo!"

"Right, Theo. You'll be my custom living staff."

Worthless dead? I'd use him.

No need to fret over doom probabilities.

Roasting the Tower Lord dropped it 20%.

One task left.

"Theo."

"Y-yes! Your Highness!"

To these arrogant sky-dwellers who'd overlooked the empire.

"Commence living staff production."

He'd etch their purpose into their souls.