"Magical Materials Utilization" Orientation (2)
Professor Atwill didn't enter until right before the lecture started. He was with an elf so stunningly beautiful it made you doubt your eyes. It was rare for an elf to serve as a teaching assistant, but she'd been spotted occasionally last year too. Because of that, the female students concluded it was easier and more enjoyable to watch the professor's face straight ahead than to crane their necks gawking at the elf's.
Professor Atwill flicked his hand once, and the magical lighting devices on the lecture hall ceiling went out. He raised his hand slightly again, and several pale blue magic circles floated up in front of him. Four pillars of light descended from the ceiling, striking four students. The beams widened slightly as they came down, precisely illuminating the quartet—who were all male. Everyone knew instantly why they'd been spotlighted. The embarrassed boys straightened up at staggered moments, and each time, their individual lights winked out. Once the last one vanished, the room's magical lights flickered back on.
The whole sequence flowed as naturally and smoothly as water. To the less knowledgeable, it seemed like nothing special—just routine spellcasting. But to students versed in spellcraft, the professor's display was borderline miraculous.
Light-element magic typically radiates outward from a central source. Pinpoint directional beams like these are usually fired from the caster themselves. Yet Professor Atwill had unleashed them without any aids, from spots at least ten meters away in empty air. The pillars were low-intensity but sharply defined at the edges. Each one's size even varied to match the student's build. Achieving that required exquisitely precise light refraction to contain the shapes. And that wasn't all. He'd cast all four spells silently, then extinguished them one by one without delay the instant the students reacted. No one could mimic that level of focus.
Mage professors often pulled stunts like this to make a strong first impression. But they usually went for flashy, impressive-looking spells. Not something this tricky and subtle. And to bust it out so confidently on day one? He didn't even seem to consider the chance of failure. Custom spotlights tailored to each student—no way he'd prepared that in advance. The young genius who'd inspired more awe than envy among his peers had long surpassed prodigy status, ascending to the realm of master.
The unspotlighted students could now smirk at their idiot classmates who'd come to ogle faces instead of learning from a guy like this.
*After his self-introduction and presenting the elf teaching assistant, Professor Atwill announced there'd be no lecture today.
"Since it's the first day, rather than diving into the material, I'd like to talk about something else. Why you all need to study magical materials and tools in such depth. Why take this course?"
Some students snickered, hoping for an early dismissal.
"Of course, some of you are just here to pad your credits. If you're majoring in elements or incantations, you might think this is for the alchemy department. But I'm a spellcraft major too—and this class is offered in the magic department's magic division, not alchemy. Give that some thought."
A few looked sheepish. The students seemed intrigued now, waiting for him to continue.
"We are mages."
They hung on for what came next, but after a long pause, he said something entirely different.
"I don't know your career plans. A mage has hundreds of paths—workshop jobs, military service, adventuring with friends. Or maybe research, like me. But no matter where you go, what's expected of you won't differ much."
Indeed, plenty of these energetic students dreamed of adventuring—a rebound from four years buried in books after academy graduation. Some saw mage adventurers as the polar opposite of dull, stodgy researchers.
"What do you think that expectation is? You're not just any mages. You're Traperon University mages. Keep that firmly in mind."
Professor Atwill paused, as if urging them to reflect. The students waited eagerly. Sure, university-trained elites were different, but what was his point?
"What do workshops, adventurers, nobles, and nations expect from you? To simplify, imagine you're that romantic adventurer you dream of."
He knew his audience, using adventurers as the example.
"While you spent four years huddled over books, other mages were out in the sticks gaining real combat experience. To hire you over them, they want something those four years of fighting can't provide. What is it? Anyone?"
A girl in the front row ventured timidly, "Magic?"
"What kind of magic?"
"Knowledge, then?"
"What knowledge?"
"Well, magical knowledge... or, uh, wisdom?"
"Not wrong. The answer's always simple. Yes—ultimately, they want magic, knowledge, and wisdom from a mage. But think deeper. Isn't that too vague?"
He didn't press the poor girl further and moved on.
"They don't want a mage who burns foes faster, freezes them colder, or blasts them with stronger winds. They want someone reliable anywhere, against any enemy, in any crisis—someone who finds solutions, offers fixes, saves the day."
Many students tilted their heads. Weren't elite mages supposed to pack stronger spells from longer training?
"So you need to know what situations might arise."
"Isn't that the thief's or hunter's job?" The same girl again.
"Yes. Exactly."
"But spotting traps is for thieves or hunters, right?"
"Guess I need to explain in more detail."
Professor Atwill crossed his arms thoughtfully, then spoke.
"Deciding where to go? That's usually the leader in armor and sword. Mapping the path? The nimble, handy friends handle that. Explaining why? The weirdo crossing themselves and praying at every meal, ruining dinner. With destination, route, and reason set, how do you traverse it? Yes—that's the mage's role."
Knowing something in theory differed from true understanding. He'd just crystallized what they'd vaguely sensed. Suddenly, they could picture what society expected from magic graduates. And why church folks loathed Atwill so much.
"Others with four more years in the field can handle the execution. You're not 'incantation specialists'—you're mages. What knowledge and wisdom? No need to guess. Everything. Everyone hopes the mage by their side knows the world inside out. That from nothing, they conjure a solution."
The students felt a twinge of discomfort and injustice. Mages couldn't know or fix everything.
"I used an adventurer party earlier, but it's the same everywhere. People call mages 'those who turn impossible to possible' or 'seekers of worldly truths.' The intent's obvious."
That was the non-mage view—and most mages took pride in it. But not Professor Atwill.
"Heroes and knights think they decide the world's direction. Priests and holy warriors claim to know why everything exists. Naturally, guiding how it goes that way, figuring how the world works—that falls to mages. Sometimes they trust mages more than gods. Failures with gods? Blame yourself. With mages? Blame the mage."
He cleared his throat and raised his tone slightly. Now for the main point.
"That's why you need this course. It teaches the 'how.' You'll learn magical materials and tools—'magical items,' simply put. Their properties vary wildly by type, and even same-types aren't identical. Post-graduation, you'll navigate cities, plains, forests, swamps, underground, snowfields, deserts. You'll improvise from your gear, allies' supplies, surroundings, trash, loot, enemy corpses. The academy taught the best methods. 'Best' implies worse ones exist."
The students were hooked on his speech. No one had framed mage-hood this way.
"You must know every method for every scenario—optimal, suboptimal, lesser evils, rock bottom. Safe and sure? Often unusable in the field. Worst case, know what to sacrifice, weigh costs against rewards, run the numbers."
By his logic, the world wanted not mages, but universal fixers.
"Learning magical items and uses isn't rote trivia. It deepens and broadens your grasp of magic itself. Essential for becoming a true mage, not just an incantation drone. Don't undervalue it, even if your interests skip alchemy or enchanting."
Now everyone got why he'd started this talk. The pride of magic students—their 'mage' identity. He'd struck right at it.
"That concludes today's lecture. I hope it helps you appreciate future classes."