Perfect Progress
“Perfect. You're achieving results faster than expected.”
Metaph clapped at the meticulously formed sphere of mana. It was the time when the boundaries of the shadows grew hazy. Along with the praise, Maness dispersed his mana and wiped the bead of sweat from his forehead.
“I'm still a long way off. Last time, I think I made it bigger.”
“That's just the difference in environment, not a lack of ability on your part, Maness. Talent like yours blooms in the soil when your primal senses are heightened to the max.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than an ice spike materialized in an instant, shooting toward Maness's neck. His only visible reaction was to lean back.
“Like when you feel your life hanging by a thread, just now.”
“...You're taking the pranks a bit far, Professor.”
“The harsher the method, the better the effect. You might not realize it, but the mana you just wielded reacted with exquisite sensitivity and intensity.”
Was that so? Maness probed his upper body this way and that to sense the change, but felt nothing unusual.
“But we can't douse a sprout that's just broken through the soil with a bucket of water just yet. So let's gradually ramp up the difficulty.”
The field before the mountain where skeletons had poured down. Following instructions, Maness sat cross-legged on the dirt ground. As the moods of new students shifted erratically during this period, so too did the weather change swiftly. The chill of the wind brushing his cheeks had faded, and the soil still retained some of the sun's warmth.
“What did I say is the most important thing for a mage?”
“Unshakable senses.”
“Correct. Especially for illusion magic, it's even more crucial. You have to project mana precisely at your target and weave those senses into something solid. A mana bullet might be unstable but still packs a punch—blurry illusions might as well not exist.”
Looking down at his disciple from a standing position, Metaph snapped his thumb and middle finger, producing a crisp sound. Animal ears like those of a beastkin sprouted on his head, and a tail swished lazily behind his back.
“Have you ever seen a beastkin before?”
“No, just heard about them.”
“Then you, Maness, can't replicate a beastkin's form shift. That goes to show experience matters in magic—especially illusions.”
Metaph snapped his fingers again, and the ears and tail vanished as naturally as they'd appeared.
“To grant mental calm to your target, you need to know the leisure of serene nature. To inflict pain, you must understand the sharpness of a blade. Magic isn't convenient enough to impose sensations you yourself don't comprehend.”
Unlike games where a single button triggered spells, reality was unforgiving. Mastering even one proper spell demanded commensurate effort.
“Of course, experience is experience, but for you right now, Maness, something's even more vital: unwavering focus. The pursuit of it has no end.”
Metaph pulled a small orb from his pocket and set it before his disciple. Once it settled on the ground, it slowly lifted into the air, then began darting wildly in all directions.
“This orb reacts to mana. Try recalling the sensation of holding it steady with your own mana, Maness.”
Following the professor's words, Maness focused on the orb. It moved so frantically that just tracking it with his eyes was overwhelming, but he poured all his concentration into gradually extending his mana toward it.
Not an easy talent to come by.
Seeing the orb slow visibly, if only slightly, Metaph's smile widened, his eyes now openly gleaming. A typical freshman would struggle just to keep up with the orb using their internal mana. But this disciple wasn't just matching it—he was actively trying to pin it down.
Of course.
With the potential he'd shown so far, the sky was the limit—a true prodigy. Toying with a mere orb might even be a waste of time.
But as he'd said before, excessive greed invited disaster. Slow and steady growth was fine.
“Maness.”
“Yes?”
The moment he responded to the call, the orb's movements accelerated. His eyes flashed with irritation—“I'm concentrating, why call now?”—but Metaph ignored it. This was all for his sake.
“Watching you, it seems too easy. How about a little conversation from now on?”
“Conversation... you mean talk?”
“Keep your focus on the orb while we chat. You can handle that, right?”
Maness nodded in affirmation. It was exactly what he wanted. No reason to refuse a path that promised real results, even if tougher.
“Hmm, alright then.”
Before the real talk began, Maness refixed his gaze on the orb to regain his rhythm. Watching him, Metaph recalled the afternoon's events.
“You know, Professor Zentina gave me a fancy staff as a gift today. Asked me to convince you a bit.”
The stabilized orb shook violently again. Too provocative a topic to maintain focus.
“What do you think? Got any interest, Maness?”
“I remember you were against it back on the mountain...”
Barely regaining control of the airborne orb, Maness dredged up the memory. When Zentina had offered necromancy lessons, Metaph had urged her to give up—as if he couldn't let a talented illusionist slip away.
“Well, yeah. No professor would easily give up a disciple gifted in their specialty. Plus...”
Metaph flashed a sly grin.
“Above all, it's illusions.”
The uniqueness of illusions. He'd heard it straight from his master already.
“But from what you're saying now... it almost sounds like you're recommending I try necromancy.”
Seeing his disciple cautiously broach the topic to avoid breaking focus, the young professor smiled warmly.
“You've come to me, Maness. That's what matters.”
Alone in the lounge, sipping tea. He'd been certain when the disciple sought him out personally about illusion magic.
“Now I know just how tenacious the threads of fate are.”
“Pardon?”
“Just mumbling. Truth is, Professor Zentina promised me. She won't lead you down the necromancer's path.”
Can I take that at face value?
Instead of voicing it, Maness shot a meaningful glance.
“I don't know what other schemes she might have, but her word not to take you under her wing directly is enough. You should experience and learn as much as possible anyway, Maness.”
Thwack—
The staff slammed down, and the orb dropped limply. Maness showed no complaint, as if accustomed now.
“Last distraction—keep practicing so you don't forget the sensation. I have a guest to greet.”
“A guest?”
As Maness picked up the orb to refocus, he asked. Time until nightfall was short. A guest that even the on-duty professor had to greet personally?
“A courteous one who sent an advance notice. Mischievous, too.”
“Then before you go...”
As Maness rose to leave, he tossed out a question he'd been building up.
“About that illusion mage you mentioned last time. The one who drowned someone just walking down the street.”
“Mm, yeah, I've brought up that example.”
“Can delving deep into illusions really reach that level?”
He had no intent to drown anyone himself. Just curious about the limits of illusions, branded as fringe magic.
“Who knows? Maybe.”
That was the professor's parting words.
Like back at the dormitory, Metaph vanished from sight in an instant.
Maness pondered the ambiguous reply briefly before turning back to the orb. A chick couldn't follow a stork. To grasp his master's words, he first had to raise his own level.
“Hoo...”
Resuming mana control, Maness remained unaware. Of the shadow, lower than any other, creeping toward him.
*
“Sure stands out at a glance.”
Night Raven rookie Dylan swept back his hair, gazing at Snowrobe's nightscape. Though deep darkness had fallen, lights from unextinguished rooms and streetlamps evoked a mystical air.
“If you're gonna do this, why not just climb the wall from the start?”
Grumbling to his already-vanished comrade, he soon shifted to calculations. Key was choosing the target. Students were easier and caused more societal ripple, but it didn't sit right.
Since he'd come this far, snagging a high-and-mighty archmage's head would be far more satisfying.
—First, get a rough layout from memory. Best to climb the outer wall here and scout from atop.
—Separating?
—Got business. The big gate building visible upon ascent is the second-year dorm. Behind it, the fully lit first floor is the on-duty professor's quarters. Figure it out.
Arms crossed, tapping his dagger hilt, Dylan smacked his lips. Professor side still looked best. Infiltrating against newbie students? Laughable, even for mages.
Wait.
Mind set, he itched to charge, but his unlucky partner's words lingered. He'd send a signal—wait till then.
Superior in the group. Tempting to ignore, but protocol.
Just as he wondered when that damn signal would come—
“Isn't the night air refreshing?”
The sudden voice had Dylan instantly drop into a killing stance.
“......”
“When someone's thrown out a topic, it's polite to respond, don't you think?”
No presence detected. The purple-haired man stood casually, as if materialized from empty space. He'd been hyper-alert—even a leaf blown by wind would register.
“Nice trick. Most couldn't hide from me like that.”
“Thanks for the praise. Basic requirement to hold a position here.”
The squinting eyes, pupils unseen, scanned Dylan. Serpent-like gaze. Flat, yet laced with venom.
“But... you sure about this?”
“About what?”
As the mage tilted his head, Dylan twisted into a grin.
“Last chance.”
His dagger hand flashed. Not a sword—drawn were needles, piercing projectiles honed for lethality. They hurtled at the target.
Dylan inwardly declared victory. In bloodbaths, the one a step ahead always won. Lives turned on razor-thin margins here.
Mage arrogance. That's what would kill the fool.
“In such a hurry.”
But the grimace was his own. He'd nailed vital spots, neck included. No mistaking the moonlight glint on the darts, even in darkness.
“First time meeting—shouldn't we introduce ourselves first?”
The mage took two steps forward. Not much closer, but the aura thickened. Sly yet dark, heavy.
“6th rank illusion mage, Metaph.”