The Magic School and the Secret Room (1)

Levian, a first-year at Alkanium Magic Academy, could not use magic.

Once he received a zero on his practical evaluation, the story spread to every corner of the school, and the truth came out with it. It was the first failing mark in the history of Alkanium.

"I'll end the tedious explanation here. We are mages, not scholars, are we not?"

The professor's joke set off a burst of laughter. He looked over the students' reactions with satisfaction, and his gaze caught on one of them and stopped.

Unlike the others, who forced smiles and played along with the mood, a single boy sat expressionless, as if he belonged to some other world. Drab ash-gray hair that soured the mood at a glance, and somber blue eyes. That was the boy.

Levian. The sole blemish on this class: a half-wit who could not cast a single spell properly.

"So from here, let us practice what you have learned. Defensive magic is the foundation of combat, and I trust all of you will succeed without much difficulty."

No long explanation was required. At the professor's demand, the students began, one after another, to manifest magic where they stood. A loud hum shook the air of the lecture hall, and at the same moment thin inverted-triangle barriers rose before them and poured out brilliant light.

"Oh, good. Take care they do not grow too thin. With this defensive spell, casting speed matters above all, so there is no need to make them overly strong."

Yet amid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that dazzling spectacle, one student remained sunk in a uniquely drab dark. As everyone had expected, it was the half-wit, Levian.

"Student Levian? You have been staring into space this whole time. Do you even intend to learn magic? You will not so much as try to cast. Are you ignoring me?"

There it was. The end of every lecture was the same. At the professor's blatant tone, countless eyes converged on a single point—contempt, mockery, indifference, and the rest. A feast of ill feeling.

It was not that Levian's talent was meager, nor that he was too stupid to understand magic. On the contrary, through the entire lecture he had seen straight through the basic defensive spell the professor demonstrated.

An inverted triangle of a wall, set to block the caster's weak points.

A Mystery that defied common sense, built of points, lines, and planes—and he had grasped it more clearly than anyone. Nor was that all.

Flimsy. That... is an incomplete spell.

It was a flawless spell taught by a professor of a magic academy, and still Levian had pierced its fatal weakness in an instant. The magic circle was so simple that anyone could raise a barrier ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with ease; that was its advantage. The reverse of that frail structure was a shield of glass. Aim for a single point, and it would shatter in a heartbeat.

"Student Levian. Can you not hear me?"

At the professor's continued urging, Levian did not swallow his curiosity.

"Professor, why are you teaching an incomplete spell? The magic looks frail."

"Ha! Incomplete magic. I would very much like to know what made you think so."

A mere student challenging a professor's knowledge—naturally, he could not contain his displeasure. He tipped his chin as if to say go on and tell him, even as he scowled with every ounce of force he had.

"What... He actually thinks ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he's somebody."

As if in agreement, the other students muttered just loud enough to be heard, spilling their gossip. Even faced with open hostility, Levian did not so much as twitch an eyebrow. He went on with what he had to say.

"Before modern magic was established, ancient magic was made by relying on Mystery, intuition, and sense. Is that not so?"

"...And?"

"Please cast the defensive spell."

At the abrupt demand, the professor's expression wavered. But he could hardly refuse and flee in front of the students under his charge. He had no choice. He had no intention of letting his authority shake, and unlike the spells he had demonstrated before, he brought forth a defensive spell made with all his strength.

"Whoa..."

It was a perfect spell, worthy of the first-years' awe.

"You said the basic defensive spell exists to protect the caster in combat, by the urgent projection of an inverted triangle, but..."

Step. Step. Fearless, Levian came forward to the lectern and raised a pen for all to see.

"A spell cobbled together like this can be broken easily, even by someone like me, who cannot use magic."

He jabbed. The moment the pen struck the center of the inverted triangle's three vertices, the defensive spell collapsed without resistance, and shards of mana scattered in a crash.

"Hah..."

The students watching let out involuntary gasps and covered their mouths.

...H-how did he do that?

The professor was no different. An established magic circle belonged to the individual mage. To rewrite a cast spell at will, or to grasp a spell's structure, was by common sense impossible. Analyzing another person's magic circle was no different from reading, with the naked eye, the movement of vessels, organs, and muscle inside a body.

"Levian!! Using a magic tool to lie in the middle of class! Have you no shame!"

There was only one thing the professor could do: deny reality, and drag Levian down.

"If you're stupid, you ought to think about trying harder, not pulling tricks! Someone like you has no right to sit in my lecture! Get out, now!"

Levian, as if he had expected it, gave a blunt nod to the outburst and picked up his bag.

"Yes. I'll do that."

In the soured atmosphere, not one student remembered that Levian ranked first on the written exams.

Why is he that angry?

In any case, it was none of his concern. Reactions like that were exactly what he had expected. He had entered Alkanium to find the opportunity the woman in his dreams had spoken of, and even amid the childish discrimination of students and professors, he was getting by well enough.

He walked on in silence and headed straight down toward the school's seldom-visited basement.

"Hey, look. The half-wit bastard's walking by."

"Pfft... don't be like that. He's a pitiful junior—hah!"

As always, eyes, disregard, and sneers followed in his footsteps. Some went so far as to stick out a foot on purpose, or to spray oil magic across the floor to block his path. But he passed the second basement level and the third, then the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth. Only after he reached a destination that even the faculty would not enter lightly—rumor had it evil spirits walked there—did the corridor fall quiet, thick with nothing but cold.

Levian stopped dead and stared blankly at the gleaming, pitch-black wall. No. He was not looking at the wall. He was looking at a magic circle that filled the gray surface so completely it hurt the eyes: a circle of tremendous, unknowable caliber, whose ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠existence no one had noticed. It covered one entire wall so thoroughly that no separate light was needed.

Today is the last.

Day after day he had untangled the snarled lines and fitted them together like a puzzle, until the work had become a hobby. All that remained was to straighten a few lines that ran crooked along the diagonal. Two months of effort, and he felt nothing in particular. His only small worry was what he would do to pass the time afterward, once he finished this puzzle—the one thing that had held any interest—if the circle turned out not to be the opportunity he was looking for.

He reached out without hesitation and turned the crooked line. It slid smoothly back into place. The moment the magic circle activated, a violent vibration erupted across the wall, and fine cracks spread like a spider's web. The hairline fractures multiplied without end, and before long they formed the shape of a vast arched door. On a blank wall where nothing should have been, an ornate door sat squarely in the center, magnificent as the gate of an ancient castle.

"...Interesting."

It was the space he had seen in the dream. Interest stirred in him again. This puzzle, it seemed, did not end here. He had wondered what eccentric with too much time on his hands had built such a useless thing—and it had been the ancestors. In that moment it was confirmed that all the effort he had spent until now had not been wasted. As the woman in the dream had promised, something beyond this unidentified door would become a new opportunity for him.

A throb. For the first time in a long while, his heart beat hard. An ordinary student would have screamed Mana Rampage and fled in terror. Levian did not. Rather, as if he would not mind dying, he fixed his gaze—eyes shining blue with reflected magical light—walked forward without flinching, threw open the firmly shut door, and faced what lay beyond.

With a soft rustle, motes of light like fireflies gathered above the hollow beyond the door and drew an unidentified magic circle. The magic was so vast that even Levian's ability could do no more than glimpse a fragment of it.

Soon the motes filling the air became a single current and flowed in through Levian's eyes. Unable to use magic in any case, he stood blankly and accepted the unidentifiable power.

What kind of magic is this, I wonder.

Magic that appeared in no book, that no professor would even dare to imitate. There was no pain, and no particular sensation. Rather, his head—always dull, as if drunk on sleep—seemed to clear, and he felt as refreshed as if he had woken from a deep rest.

A new opportunity had come to Levian.