After-School Tutoring
The alchemy classroom of Professor Paracelsus, which Arina visited once again for her promised private lesson after school, had transformed into something completely different from that morning.
Amid a space where every object floated in midair like planets trapped within the cosmos, a small domain had been established. It was a single point temporarily marked at the farthest limits of the x, y, and z axes that time would allow, creating a stable anchor within laws that trembled unsteadily around it. The result was an intangible sphere condensed by centripetal force around that central point. Inside the sphere, which rotated as if spinning on its axis under the influence of mana flow, sat a desk, a chair, and a small whiteboard—one of each.
"Ah, you've arrived?"
Professor Paracelsus stood in front of the whiteboard and waved his hand in greeting. His entire body still split and reflected light in mysterious hues. The golden monocle over his eye caught Arina's approaching reflection.
"Here, please take a seat."
This was their first private meeting without Professor Magnus present. Noticing how Arina entered the sphere with slightly stiff, awkward movements that betrayed her discomfort, Paracelsus lightly tapped the back of the chair.
"Thank you."
At the professor's silent urging to sit, Arina carefully lowered herself onto the chair.
"……!"
Her eyes widened in surprise. She had definitely felt wood when she touched it earlier. Yet the cushioning was softer than any high-end bed, causing her to leap up without thinking.
There's no cushion, though.
When she turned around, only the same wooden chair sat there as before. Just to be sure, she gave it a few firm taps. It was unmistakably hard, solid wood. Had she imagined that sensation earlier?
As she tilted her head in confusion, Paracelsus approached from the side.
"How is the cushioning? I paid special attention to it."
"……."
"Or would you prefer something firmer?"
His tone sounded a little strange. Almost as if he had just created the chair moments ago….
"I made it for you, Miss Arina, but since it was done on the spot, I'm not sure if you'll like it."
It wasn't "as if." He really had created it just moments ago. More precisely, right after parting ways with her that morning.
How is that even possible?
Engraving magic onto a chair was one thing, but creating an entirely new one from scratch was an incredibly difficult task for ordinary people. Then what about that desk and the whiteboard?
Arina's gaze shifted sideways. Perhaps sensing the question in her eyes, Paracelsus smiled brightly and spoke.
"The desk was indeed handmade, and this whiteboard isn't actually a whiteboard. I simply altered the atomic arrangement of a large glass panel to change only its material properties to resemble one."
Calling it nothing more than a simple application of alchemy, Paracelsus gave a light shrug.
"One of alchemy's core mysteries is the transmutation of matter, after all."
As if deciding this was the perfect opportunity to begin a basic explanation of alchemy, Paracelsus gently guided Arina back into the chair and held up three fingers in front of her eyes.
"Alchemists pursue three major mysteries."
Transmutation of matter, creation of life, and the manifestation of omniscience. These three goals were the very reason the branch of magic known as alchemy had emerged, and they represented the ultimate destinations that alchemists sought to reach.
Transmutation of matter involved changing the characteristics or properties of substances, such as turning a roadside pebble into gold. Creation of life meant crafting "humans"—beings created by the world's system rather than natural spirits—with one's own hands. And the manifestation of omniscience referred to producing the Philosopher's Stone, a treasure containing infinite energy.
"After a great deal of time has passed, modern alchemists have come much closer to these mysteries than their ancient predecessors."
However, in the end, no mage in this era—including the absolute ruler of magic, the Majoan—had reached those goals. The creation of humans, considered the domain of the gods, went without saying. Even the "Philosopher's Stones" produced by modern alchemists after centuries of research were merely near-infinite energy condensed from countless life forces; they had never truly attained the number known as infinity.
"From what I've heard, one of the Four Kings' summoned beasts uses an incomplete Philosopher's Stone as its core. I've never seen it myself, though."
While the Philosopher's Stone possessed near-infinite energy, creating it required even more energy than that. The law of conservation of energy. Once human effort was involved in any way, some loss was inevitable in the final product.
The undead controlled by the Four Kings were powerful enough to fight the Empress, another absolute being. Just how much life force had been poured in to generate that much energy? The number would be astronomical—beyond even Professor Paracelsus's ability to calculate.
"It's a perfect example of why he stands as one of the absolute beings equal to the Majoan."
Black magic created by weaving together spells from a field entirely outside his specialty. If the opportunity arose, Paracelsus thought he would very much like to see one of those undead in person.
"It seems I've digressed. Let's return to the main topic. My question is this: Why do we judge that alchemists have not properly achieved the transmutation of matter?"
Looking at the chair, desk, and whiteboard Paracelsus had created, it seemed he had already succeeded at the task of material transmutation with room to spare. So why did mages still consider that goal unachieved?
Arina furrowed her brow in deep thought at the professor's question. He wouldn't have asked it without reason. Even if the chance of solving it was low, there must have been a possibility she could find the answer. Since he also knew she had zero prior knowledge of alchemy, there was surely a hint somewhere in what he had already said.
"Atomic arrangement…?"
It was a skill she had developed while living with her uncle, who had deliberately shattered his own communication abilities. The strange talent—almost like that of a master detective—allowed her to analyze the importance of words and discover the most necessary clues in any situation. Paracelsus's eyes widened in surprise when he heard her murmur.
"Oh, that's correct."
Alchemists and mages had already mastered the method of changing atomic arrangements to create different substances. It was even possible to turn coal into a diamond by rearranging its carbon structure. But even that ultimately could not create something from nothing. It was merely transforming what already existed. Changing something into an object with completely different or absurd properties was impossible.
Put bluntly, that was firmly in the realm of "creation."
"It is a domain that can only be completed by ascending to the divine realm alongside the birth of humanity. Even an absolute being cannot create something from absolute nothingness."
In other words, what alchemists ultimately craved were creation and infinity. That was why the image of a serpent devouring its own tail—the Ouroboros—had become the symbol of alchemists.
"The serpent bites and swallows its own tail. It suggests that beginning and end are the same, and has long been regarded as a symbol of eternity."
Of course, this was merely a meaning arbitrarily assigned by people of old. While cases of snakes actually eating their own tails were occasionally observed, modern research had revealed that in most instances, it was simply because extreme heat had addled their brains, causing them to mistake their tails for prey.
"Incidentally, Professor Frankhorn recently submitted a paper to the Magic Tower. The main topic, 'Magic that transforms the shape of magic circles,' is also an application of material transmutation, I hear."
It wasn't just about magic tools and artifacts. As the example showed, the potential for alchemy's development was still boundless. It simply tended to play a supporting role and thus lacked the flashiness of combat magic, which was why it wasn't as popular.
"I think that's enough of a basic explanation of alchemy for now. Shall we move on to the actual lesson?"
According to Professor Magnus, Arina's foundation in alchemy was severely lacking. Acknowledging this, Paracelsus began teaching her meticulously from the very beginning.
"Today, I'll start by explaining what a magic circle is."
In this world, there were two primary ways of expressing phenomena through diagrams: curves and straight lines. Mages called the former magic circles and the latter magic squares.
"Magic squares are primarily used by the martial artists of the Fan Empire rather than by us."
They were also known as formations in short. Using points and lines formed from common objects like pebbles or twigs found by the roadside, they bound a single law within a fixed space.
"The advantages of magic squares are that they're easy to express and easy to draw."
Just as drawing perfect squares or equilateral triangles is easier than perfect circles. Because they were simpler to express, even those who weren't mages capable of directly manipulating phenomena through formulas could easily access them.
"Now, here's another question. Why do mages, who pursue convenience, choose to use magic circles instead of magic squares?"
This time, it seemed he wasn't looking for an answer right away. Paracelsus immediately wrote the solution on the whiteboard.
"Magic squares are easy to approach, but difficult to control."
They could easily contain the phenomena of nature. In other words, they leaned more toward the laws of the world than toward the will of the caster. For that reason, it was generally impossible for the caster to fully control a formation.
But magic circles were different. While drawing each formula perfectly was somewhat difficult, a perfectly drawn magic circle would move entirely according to the mage's will.
"Magic that cannot be controlled by oneself is a failure. A famous saying from the Majoan."
This was the fundamental reason mages differed from spirit mages. They knew how to wield their abilities completely according to their own will, and they absolutely hated anything that went beyond their personal control, even if a more efficient method existed.
"There are no shortcuts to learning magic. Only the proper path exists. No matter how arduous that path may be, if it is the right one, we gladly walk it. In that sense, magic circles could be said to perfectly reflect the stubborn mindset of mages."
A more perfect circle. Compressing even more perfect formulas within it. Pursuing even greater perfection as a result. Even if it couldn't be completed as easily as a magic square, they pursued a discipline that could be handled with ease. Perhaps the stubbornness of such mages was embedded in the appearance of the Ellemental Kingdom, ruled by magic tools.
"……."
Professor Paracelsus's hand moved gracefully across the whiteboard. A perfect circle drawn without the aid of a compass. That alone revealed just how many magic circles he had drawn over the years.
"The circle of a magic circle serves a role similar to a fence around a house."
It acted as a wall preventing the formulas written inside from leaking out. This was also why mages strove to draw perfect circles. If the circle became distorted, it could no longer properly contain the formulas within.
"So make sure to practice drawing circles whenever you have time."
Then he began filling the interior of the circle with formulas at astonishing speed.
"Basically, when manifesting magic, the formulas used in spells and those used in magic circles show very slight differences."
For example, it's like how the decimal numbers we actually use are converted into binary in the digital world. When used in magic circles, they had to undergo a similar conversion process.
"Let's start by learning this conversion method first. Once you master this, drawing magic circles won't be particularly difficult."
Of course, that statement came with the prerequisite that one already had a decent grasp of formulas. It made the importance of these private lessons with Professor Magnus even clearer. As Paracelsus smiled gently, a cold sweat secretly trickled down the back of Arina's neck.