Advanced Spellcraft Orientation (2)
It was something I hadn't anticipated at all. It was only natural that Arienael was plunged into shock. Up until then, Professor Atwill hadn't said much about his own research.
Arienael wasn't a spellcraft major, so she had no idea about the latest trends in the field. She'd even put off reading the paper he'd published. All she knew was that someone young enough to become a professor must be a big deal in spellcraft.
But for his name to come up in class and be recorded in history...
Even the spellcraft majors were admiring the floating orb in fascination. Professor Kauli slowly rotated the magic circle so everyone could see it clearly.
The student who'd just asked about the next-stage magic circle raised another question.
"Does that thing really work?"
"Of course! We call it a magic circle because it works. There have been attempts before to break away from traditional circular forms. You've all heard of polygonal and radial magic circles, right? You've probably studied them."
Arienael hadn't. They were covered in required courses for spellcraft majors.
"There were plenty of other odd shapes too. But since they didn't work, they ended up as mere doodles with no academic value—which is why you haven't learned them. The reason Professor Atwill was recognized isn't just because he had a novel idea. He didn't stop at the concept; he researched it, formalized the theory, and proved it."
Arienael raised her hand and asked a question too.
"What are the advantages of that magic circle?"
"That's unclear. Professor Atwill's paper only suggests a few possibilities. In some cases, it extends duration; in others, it improves mana efficiency or maximizes firepower. It's not consistent enough to say definitively what it does in every situation."
Arienael was a bit disappointed not to get the answer she wanted. The students weren't satisfied with the vague response either.
"3D formulas allow arrangements impossible in planar ones, and even existing formula elements interact in complex ways. Just as overlapping magic circles in midair enabled combinations of countless spells, 3D magic circles challenge the limits of existing magic. In fact, we confirmed its potential in Professor Atwill's demonstration."
So Professor Kauli gave a straightforward example everyone could grasp.
"As you know, fire magic is very hard to sustain for long. You either have to pour in massive mana from the start or keep the caster tethered to it. But Professor Atwill cast a fire spell with a spherical magic circle smaller than a person's head, and it burned for three hours without additional mana input. With the same mana and a similar-sized planar formula, maintaining it for five minutes—let alone a twelfth of an hour—would be impossible."
One student whose eyes had lit up during the explanation asked eagerly,
"Then could you show us?"
This time, Professor Kauli dashed their hopes.
"No, I can't do that. No one besides Professor Atwill has succeeded in designing and manifesting a 3D formula yet."
"What about the one you're showing now?"
"I copied it exactly from the diagrams and blueprints in his paper. But it won't manifest in this state. As I mentioned earlier, 3D magic circles require considering far more factors than planar ones. Even though Professor Atwill systematized it, most of it remains unknown territory."
In truth, only PhD-level spellcrafters could even read the paper.
"It's been less than a year since the paper was published. Even renowned authorities in spellcraft spent months just to fully understand it. And those who thought they did failed to design and use it themselves. As far as I know, no one's successfully replicated it by copying. At least not yet. He probably intentionally omitted parts. That's how mage research works."
"Then doesn't that mean only Professor Atwill can do it?"
The student's point was valid. There are spells usable only by those with rare constitutions—magic made just for one person. Plenty of mages create such personal spells. But academia doesn't recognize them. No one else can verify if the inventor was right or wrong. Publishing a paper on it is pointless if no one else can use it.
That's why you can't hide the core of your research under the guise of a 'personal secret' if you want to publish. Most magic papers reveal the broad outline and key principles while skimping on minute details. Other mages who understand it can replicate it crudely, while the inventor retains their edge. Mages often conceal parts of their work and reveal only portions.
But what if others can't even implement it? Then it's just a peculiar phenomenon unique to that individual. Blaming others' ignorance won't help. It's the researcher's job to disclose enough data for replication and explain it thoroughly enough for comprehension.
"Not at all. Unusually for a formula paper, Professor Atwill's has no anti-copying enchantment. That's why skilled copy mages could reproduce his formula exactly."
"And it worked then?"
"Yes. Astonishingly. It functioned perfectly, consuming minimal mana and lasting a long time, just as he described. But any adjustments—like adding strokes or scaling it up—caused it to fail entirely. That's why we had to acknowledge it. He openly published a formula that was supposed to be a mage's secret."
In the end, by revealing what everyone else hid, Atwill concealed the true core of his research.
"Professor Atwill knows the most about 3D formula theory, but even he doesn't know everything. Lectures on it are a distant dream. The spellcraft world hopes he'll advance this research. Some even speculate that the publicized work is a smokescreen while he perfects his real theory."
Arienael misunderstood slightly at those words.
Professor Atwill said he was doing spellcraft research separate from mine... Could it be?
"But regrettably, that's probably not true. The imperial capital is the best place for spell formula research. For some reason, after publishing, Professor Atwill secluded himself for about half a year. Rumor has it he made no progress on 3D formulas during those six months. Maybe he lost interest. Dr. Atwill was never one to cling to a single research topic for long."
He said even spellcraft experts couldn't help with it.
"I wish someone would steal the research data and do it for him."
Professor Kauli burst out laughing as if he'd heard an absurd joke.
"Hahaha! Not a chance! Professor Atwill may be a leading authority on spell formulas now, but even before, he had quite the reputation. And it's not just because he's young. He's also a master of security magic."
Arienael was even more shocked than before. The arrogant, self-centered young professor fit the image of a once-in-a-century genius pretty well. She just hadn't realized it was this level. But it clashed completely with the meticulous, perfectionist security expert image.
To Arienael, Atwill was the type who didn't even lock the lab door properly. If she'd wanted—and if she'd ignored etiquette in anger at his refusal to show her—she could've stolen his research notes without breaking a sweat. His lax security and safety indifference were genuinely worrisome.
"He's moved labs now, but that skill hasn't gone anywhere. Anyone trying to steal Professor Atwill's research data would have to be prepared to risk their life."
Some students gulped nervously at his words. Not Arienael, of course.
Just open the door and walk in!
But voicing that doubt would expose it to the whole lecture hall. Arienael felt awe for Atwill—and pity at the same time.
* * *
Arienael returned from class with a strangely nuanced look in her eyes as she stared at me.
"What now?"
"Professor, you're truly remarkable."
"No, what's with you today?"
She'd been treating me like some weirdo since earlier, and it was getting out of hand. There was zero respect for her professor. Was she looking down on me because I'm young? A 200-year-old elf acting like a boomer! I'd puke if she were my boss, let alone my subordinate.
Her words said admiration, but her expression wasn't pure respect. She wore a slightly pitying look, smiling warmly—like she'd heard snide gossip about my flashy exploits somewhere. Who the hell told her what?
The suspects were endless. I keep nobles at arm's length, and my relations with academia are mostly sour. I've even gotten official rebukes from the Magic Tower. The church goes without saying.
"Did you hear something about me somewhere?"
"Yes. I learned what that research is—the one you said we can't do together. And why you didn't tell me."
Ah, the grimoire? So she'd finally heard. Taking leave to track cultists and raid their hideout, wiping them out—it's still hot gossip. Seeing a bookish advisor professor's hidden side would shock anyone.
I thought maybe the formula theory came up, but her prof must've fixated on the weird stuff.
"I've never been deeply interested in magic spells themselves. Elves are more attuned to spirit arts than magic. But now that I know what you're researching, Professor, I want to help."
Help with my research? Deciphering the grimoire? Not trying to stop me, but join in? And she got interested in spellcraft because of that? Because of rituals that drain blood, reap souls, and summon monsters?
"I think you've misunderstood. Spellcraft isn't that kind of discipline."
"Yes. But it will be soon."
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"Isn't that truly for the people's sake? With just your research, we could ease the suffering of countless tormented souls!"
"......."
"If we advance that research, even elves abandoned in the forests might find salvation! The path I've dreamed of all this time might lie in that research. I'm not ready yet, but please let me help someday."
"......."
Maybe I'd raised a monster I couldn't handle. Perhaps I needed to teach this crazy elf about human hearts to save the world. Lectures on morality, ethics, human dignity? That was the opposite of my style, even as empty words.
"Oh, and please be more careful about locking up."
Her follow-up made my blood run cold.
"Especially at night."
I couldn't fathom what this elf was thinking.
"Lab security overhaul, huh..."
My research security was airtight anyway. No need to tweak it.
What a hassle.
I shoved the headache aside and called Arienael over.
"Class is done for today, so let's start the experiment."
How to handle a grad student who might try to end the world someday—this cruel, vicious one? Simple. Work her to the bone. So hard she has no time for anything else. No other way.