The Magic School and the Secret Room (2)

Magic, in the same shape as the game systems of the East.

This, too, must have been one of the things prepared for the future the woman in the dream had spoken of—Levian's future. Because of it, he could confirm a great deal.

Others couldn't see mana circuits the way I could. So that was Clairvoyance.

He had pointed the circuits out as if testing the professors, and not one of them had given him a proper answer. More than that, the window went so far as to record that his mana circuit had been destroyed. Letters floated up as a joke, or a trick, would not have written that.

He could accept the rest. What he could not accept was that he possessed skills he had never heard of and never seen—Mastery, and Creation.

Surely it isn't that power from the dream.

For an instant the old men rose in his mind, the ones from the dream who had been raising a castle stone by stone—but only for an instant. He could not use magic. Clinging to hope would change nothing.

He was forcing down the curiosity that kept climbing—what if I tried it just once?—when he stepped into the cavern.

The voice that had welcomed Levian reached him more clearly than before, as if it were speaking directly into his ear. It was a woman's voice, and a familiar one. The words themselves, though, were the same mockery he had always heard.

"Hiding your face and only talking is no different from me. I can't cast. I only recite theory."

He met it head-on, the way he always did. But she was not like the professors, who flared into open anger at his flat, cutting remarks.

"That should be interesting."

The words had barely ended when an unknown magic circle rose before Levian with a low hum.

"This is..."

Even Levian, who had worked his way through countless texts, could not tell what it was. Unknown, and packed so densely with straight lines that they nearly read as curves.

A provocation? No. The voice was plainly expectant. He had taken in so many gazes and feelings that he had grown sensitive to them; he would not be wrong about this. Then why did that unidentified voice, out of nowhere, show expectation for what he would do?

...I don't know.

He could not tell. He also could not simply ignore it. Left to himself, he would have taken the unknown circle apart line by line and analyzed it through trial and error, but there was not enough time for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that. So Levian used instinct.

A magic circle that looks like a ring is usually meant to express circulation. A cycle. A bond.

The ouroboros with its tail in its mouth. The Möbius strip. Ancient mandalas, the taiji, the wheel of dharma, and the rest. Then what was the circle for? Looked at a certain way, it resembled the structure of a heart. Circulation, and a heart.

Levian stood still. For an instant both eyes flashed, and a blue light flickered in them.

"Ah."

So that was it. He had the shape of it. The unknown circle had given form to the circulation of mana, and to the linking of mana.

If I were the one who had to use that magic...

Levian stepped up to the circle, reached out at once, and began to catch the strands one by one and shift them. A few minutes passed. The revision was finished, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠simply done.

Two notifications rose at the same time.

"This is..."

It was astonishing enough to round the eyes of Levian, whose face was always blank.

Now he was certain. The power of Creation written in his status window was, without question, the same power the unknown woman had shown him in the dream. The ability not only to make new magic, but even to raise a structure on the scale of this academy—and, she said, to analyze magic already completed, or to copy it, step into it, and revise it. Since the forerunners had appeared and the world of magic had stagnated, it was a power without peer. Reveal that fact alone, and Levian's fortunes might turn over on the spot.

Except—

Alkanium's mana pathways, was it? The pathway I'm linked to is limited to the inside of this cavern. Outside, it's useless.

He was still what he had been: a body whose mana circuit had collapsed, unable to cast a single spell. If he carelessly revealed Creation, the powerful would seize him and set him to manufacturing magic—a lot worse than the machines of the Eastern Union. To use the power of Creation properly, he first had to find a way to make use of this Mana Link.

Levian nodded. Even if he never told anyone what this power truly was, Mana Link alone would change a great deal. He would be able to make real the theories people had ignored for no reason except that he could not cast.

Now I can prove that other magic is riddled with flaws. That I wasn't wrong.

He meant to prove that the theories he himself had drawn out were not mistaken. Mages who followed magic that was neither efficient nor beautiful, as if it were scripture, and the dullness of refusing, to the very end, to admit a mistake. If he could only use magic as it ought to be used, he would not merely show them that they were wrong...

Changing this world itself would be possible.

A new interest had appeared in a life that had been dull. After a brief pause of thought, Levian made a swift decision, hungry for more information.

The cavern was empty. Beyond the light, pitch-black dark ran on, and there was no telling how deep the space had been cut. The flames wavered enough to feel ill-omened. He had no fear, and no worry. At the far end, he was certain, waited the woman who had placed a new chance in his hands. Without hesitation, interest held close, Levian stepped into the unknown.

Fwoosh—! Magical torches lit in the wake of his steps. And while he passed along the long corridor, the owner of the voice sank into thought. She was reading Levian's memories.

The Western Union had advanced by the power of magic and ritual, all of it gathered under the name Mystery. Walk any street, and even a woman at her laundry, even a potbellied man at a grill, used magic as a matter of course. Gas ranges, washing machines, refrigerators—the things the Eastern Union used—were unnecessary. With Mystery, all of it was possible.

Levian himself was grimy, as if he had gone days without washing his clothes. Because he could not use magic, he had not even been able to live a human life.

Then what was Levian's dream? Revenge on those who had tormented him all this time? Or something more extreme—wiping this world away? The owner of the voice kept tracing the memories back. And...

She could find no goal worth the name. Revenge, if it was revenge. Recognition, if it was recognition. Success, if it was success. All of them were nothing but steps he passed through. What Levian truly wanted was proof—a truly ambiguous purpose. Worse, so long as he could not use magic, it was nothing but a daydream ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he could never reach. If not for the future she had promised, Levian might not have been standing here at all.

She was a being made without a body, only to manage the cavern, and even so her chest grew tight. What could have happened to that tidy young man, that his mana circuit had been destroyed? Whether it was something from when he was very young, or the memory had been erased, there was nothing more she could confirm. The work that had to be solved piece by piece stood like a mountain.

Step. Step.

Even at that markedly unhurried pace, Levian had already passed the corridor and reached the first room. As if she had been waiting, the voice brought out the words she had prepared for him.

At the same time, light opened through the dark room, and the hidden space began to reveal itself. The breadth was enormous, easily the size of a respectable hall.

This time the voice sounded pleased. He had no idea who was producing it, or from where, but the feeling in it was, as ever, difficult to understand.

But the longer she went on, the more indifferent Levian's face became.

...Why is this so long-winded?

Even incompetent teachers rarely explained at such length. Too many words called phone scams and swindlers to mind, and the interest he had felt at the start was, visibly, gone.

A flustered cry from the woman, who had read what he felt. At the same time the smoke that had been drifting in soft billows drew together and sketched familiar shapes.

The second trial had begun.