The Fruit of Wisdom (8)
Teaching Noa proved remarkably smooth—smooth enough that he even yawned midway through.
“You seem tired.”
“…I was practicing magic until late.”
“Didn’t you return with your mana completely depleted?”
“You used magic even in that state, Master. So I thought I’d keep trying too.”
His refusal to set arbitrary limits was admirable. Mana was a resource where more was always better. If he succeeded, nothing could be more beneficial. He might be wasting time on something impossible, yet Noa carried a dark past. With enough effort, he might just succeed.
I taught him pure elemental magic. Magic fell into two broad categories: pure elemental magic and applied elemental magic.
Pure elemental magic, as the name suggested, harnessed the raw properties of an element. Spells that drew crimson lines to bombard with flames, fire that bit into enemies, or flames that compressed before erupting violently—all belonged to this category. The Roaring Wheel, the signature magic of the Croft school and Adelian’s specialty, was also pure elemental magic. If one found the distinction troublesome, simply thinking of it as “destructive” worked well enough. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
Applied elemental magic, by contrast, used elements to produce phenomena difficult to achieve with the element alone. The soundproofing and temperature-control spells I often used, along with Haze’s specialty Silent Shadow, fell into this group. Likewise, if the distinction felt bothersome, anything that wasn’t an attack spell could be lumped here. That, too, wasn’t entirely wrong.
“What properties of lightning do you perceive, Noa?”
“Fast.”
“And?”
“It tingles, spreads, and burns hot.”
“Weave those sensations into a spell. The key is imagery. Create a single image that encompasses everything you’ve felt while observing lightning.”
At my words, Noa quietly gazed at his palm. Crackle. The lightning dancing across his hand grew still. He began to braid the strands together—one, two. Once he had formed a bundle from two twisted bolts, I gave the order.
“Try it.”
The moment the words left my mouth, Noa hurled the bundle at the scarecrow. The method of directly throwing the spell was rather distinctive. It allowed ranged attacks from the first circle onward. The bundle struck the scarecrow. Immediately, the twisted strands unraveled, sending two fierce bolts of lightning lashing outward in all directions. It was a remarkably powerful spell. To achieve such force already at the first circle—lightning truly was different.
“Bundle of Judgment…” Noa murmured beside me.
The workshop rang with the crackle of lightning, so an ordinary person would never have heard it. But I was no ordinary person. I was a genius master who paid close attention to every movement of my disciple. I smiled.
“You’ve already created a signature spell. And given it a name, no less.”
“No, that’s not—”
“There’s no need to feel embarrassed. Naming a spell is genuinely helpful.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
Many mages favored the practice of naming their spells. Since imagery was paramount in magic, simply attaching a name greatly aided the formation of that image. Names were curious things; merely bestowing one seemed to breathe life into the spell. I personally avoided naming anything short of a true signature spell, believing it only got in the way, but that didn’t mean Noa had to follow the same rule. Magic was about walking one’s own path.
“There’s a naming convention mages often use. Would you like me to recommend a book?”
“……”
“Or I could name it for you. Since it’s a Bundle of Judgment, how about Jeongroe—Righteous Thunder?”
“…I’ll name it myself.”
“Understood.”
I had said as much, yet because magic was about walking one’s own path, it was best for the caster to name their own spells. I watched Noa begin his practice, then sank into thought.
Signature spells. A signature spell was the magic that defined a mage. Others could imitate it, but there was always a reason it remained uniquely theirs. The original caster found it easier to use than anyone else, which was precisely why it became their signature.
The Bundle of Judgment made excellent use of the lightning of “Trial.” It weakened the lightning to make twisting easier, then released that weakening upon impact to unleash its full power. Therefore, any other mage attempting to replicate it without the weakening process would need at least the third circle. Signature spells often drew upon the unique characteristics of an element that only their creator had discovered.
Well, I was no different. I too invoked magic by exploiting elemental traits—most notably the property of “Equity.” Spells cast through Equity distributed mana with terrifying uniformity. That made them efficient, but the true advantage of Equity lay elsewhere: stability. Mana spread with such precision that the structure became nearly impossible to collapse. I preferred to stack spell frameworks atop that stable foundation. The spell I had used to slay the grape monster was a prime example—flames compressed to the extreme and released in an instant. The Ultra-Compressed Flame had been powerful enough to stagger even an infinitely regenerating monster.
I had considered naming it Yeonroe—Blazing Thunder—but ultimately held back. It simply didn’t feel right. Of course, few could replicate Ultra-Compressed Flame, yet something about it still felt off. Was it truly special enough to be called a signature spell? Did it offer an advantage only I possessed? The answer to both was no.
“Ruina, aren’t your standards a bit too strict? You said other mages would need the fourth circle to reproduce Ultra-Compressed Flame. That’s signature-spell territory, isn’t it?”
“Even so, I want something truly special!”
“Noa, did you see that? Mages are all just big children, so there’s no shame in acting like one.”
“Got it.”
Chris poked me and vanished in an instant. Lately she had developed a habit of jabbing and disappearing. Was she even running her business anymore? A rural village offered little to sell, perhaps? The old Chris would have been lighting fires in her eyes to fleece the innocent villagers. She had changed quite a bit. I missed the old days.
“Master, I’ve used up all my mana.”
“Well done. Take this book and read it on your way back.”
“Okay.”
Noa accepted the book I handed him and left the workshop. I watched him go, then settled into a seat. At last, I was alone.
I sat in the center of the workshop and ignited flames all around me. Whoosh. The fire roared up—yet it was no spell. I had simply sprinkled oil and set it alight. Under my control, the flames consumed nothing, merely burning empty air. I slowly closed my eyes. Scorching heat struck my face.
This had become my preferred training method since making that promise with Kelton. It allowed me to feel the flames without injuring my body, which was immensely satisfying. How effective it truly was, I couldn’t say. My circle remained unchanged, so perhaps it did nothing at all—or perhaps it did everything. I simply repeated the exercise, hoping it would help.
Inhaling the heated air, I thought of fire. Fire consumed everything. It reduced all to ash. It swallowed. It devoured. It devoured magic…
Magic? Magic repository?
Following the thread of thought, a sudden question arose. Why had Elera entrusted Noa to me? Why did it have to be me? How many mages existed in the world? No matter how rare magic was, when counted across all humanity the number of mages became as numerous as grains of sand. Among them, why did I—a chance encounter, still only third circle—have to become Noa’s master? No matter how much I pondered, I couldn’t find the answer.
This was why spending time with prophecy mages was exhausting. Flora’s weary affection whenever she spoke of her own master was no coincidence. Prophecy mages spoke while gazing at the future, so those around them were forced into endless speculation.
Or perhaps it was simply that I was destined to become the youngest archmage?
“I nearly misunderstood Elera’s intentions. She should have said something sooner.”
“Misunderstanding what? At this rate you’ll be spouting nonsense even in your own head.”
I had already grown accustomed to Elera suddenly addressing me. Still feeling the heat, I spoke.
“What brings you here?”
“Do I need a reason to visit my own workshop?”
“You do, in fact.”
“How is Noa?”
“The same as always.”
Noa remained as diligent as ever. He worked just as hard, and he grew just as steadily.
“Today he mastered one pure elemental spell. It should prove effective in actual combat.”
“Already combat-ready at the first circle?”
“It seems the lightning element makes a difference.”
“I see.”
Elera lifted her head. I lifted mine as well.
“……”
“……”
“Is there something you wish to say?”
Her sudden visit, her repeated attempts to draw me into conversation—everything about her suggested someone with something she clearly wanted to say. At my question, Elera adjusted her witch’s hat and spoke quietly.
“Why not stop your magic practice for today? You should conserve your mana.”
“Understood.”
“Thank you.”
“I have a question. Is running away together not an option?”
“……”
“I’ve just learned the second thing one must never say to a prophecy mage.”
Extinguishing the surrounding flames, I rose to my feet. Since Elera had asked, I would return early and rest tonight.
*
The reason Elera had entrusted Noa to me. The reason it had to be me. I never discovered the answers to either, yet one thing was certain.
“Witch, hand over the location of the Holy Grail.”
That greedy tone alone told me everything. The next afternoon, the priests of the Evil God launched an assault on Elera’s once-quiet home.