Lecture Request
Long-distance communication technology bore a certain resemblance to mental magic. Just as a caster's mana influenced the target's mind, communication worked by inputting a message into one magitech device, which then affected another to output it.
The key lay in stable mana transmission and connection strength. Until now, researchers had tried various methods: direct mana transfer, elementalizing mana forms, using spirit stones as signal amplifiers, or deploying relays. But every approach had its flaws—excessive mana consumption, poor accuracy, heavy dependence on individual mages, low complexity making it hard to convey common language, and so on. They kept hitting walls.
"Magister Kroitz. What are your thoughts on creating an artificial ring?"
Marcel Reich had sought the wisdom of scholars at luncheons, formal dinners, banquets, and academic gatherings. Could an artificial ring truly be made? What ripple effects would it have? The answers varied.
But the conclusion was unanimous.
"Creating a circulation structure is only possible within a mage's own vessel."
"Circulation requires the self-regenerating structure of a mage's vessel, but we lack the technology to produce that flow."
"Even the Empire hasn't implemented it yet."
"Iron can be forged, but how do you standardize mana’s uneven flow?"
"Impossible."
Such insights, those insights. All agreed: it was impossible.
Yet Reich thought otherwise. It seemed possible. The theory scrawled on the cotton fiber paper Isaac had given him. If they could build something matching that theory, they could create an artificial ring and overcome the hurdles in long-distance communication.
"Ha."
Reich couldn't suppress the foolish laugh bubbling up. The scholars, repeating only that it couldn't be done, seemed so powerless. Magic and magitech lagging behind the Empire and Republic—clinging to frustration and stubbornness, they turned away from even a sliver of possibility. Easier that way. Facing endless unknown failures hurt less than betting on potential.
In a sense, they were older than him. Age, maturity, ripeness—these weren't determined by breaths taken. Depth of understanding in magic was the same.
Sitting in his dean's office, Reich reviewed Isaac's cotton papers again. It wasn't mere theory. The meticulous combinations and logic felt refined through experiments. Equations and hypotheses weren't wild fantasies; they hinted at feasible paths.
A mere twelve-year-old's insight and breadth surpassed any scholar he'd met. Was Isaac truly a genius worthy of the name? Or was Reich, grown old and dull, deluding himself? He couldn't easily tell.
But there was no time to hesitate. If Isaac's words held true, the Empire was likely already considering magitech sword deployment. Ordinary soldiers rivaling knights might not be distant future.
Isaac's proposed artificial ring wasn't just for long-distance communication. It heralded a new mana transmission method. It could even usher in a new era.
After some deliberation, Reich declared a sabbatical. He gathered a few trusted scholars from the Blue Tower in utmost secrecy and began artificial ring development.
Spies might linger in the Academy labs. Cut off from the outside, holed up in the tower, Reich threw himself into the work day and night. Vitality surged from his withering body, from some unknown source. He forgot meals, forgot sleep, repeating failures and revisions.
Magitech artisans, foundry workers, blacksmiths, rune engravers, and magitech engineers streamed in and out without rest. Magic lamps burned ceaselessly; his lab piled with hundreds of research logs.
The tower's accountant protested the endless drain on funds; elders warned repeatedly. Decades of tower assets were depleting rapidly, yet Reich refused to disclose the project.
Thanks to the tower master's intervention, Reich finally succeeded in the first phase.
Time sense dulled; he didn't know how long had passed. Euphoria faded, and his ragged body screamed its limits. His body burned like fireballs, yet limbs were ice-cold. Muscles stiffened; fingers barely moved. Slight motions made joints scream. Despite no food, bitter bile refluxed; even still, breath came short.
Reich collapsed into near-unconscious sleep. Waking briefly, he gulped gruel to stave off hunger. Four or five days passed.
A letter arrived for Reich: Isaac had come to the capital.
His head still heavy, faint tinnitus ringing, dizziness and fatigue crushing his aged flesh. Yet Reich felt it—his old heart pounding vigorously again.
The first phase was complete: the artificial ring's framework.
He wanted to show Isaac right away. Receiving the letter, Reich penned a reply immediately.
"……Marcel Reich? Who's that?"
"The dean of the Royal Academy and one of the royal advisors. I'm going to see him—want to come?"
"Pass. I've got to finish the interrupted interrogation in the prison."
Raphael shook his head at Isaac's question, uninterested.
"Gaspar planned to deal with me through Botmer from the start. That's why he openly burned the bishop's testimony record. Kill me en route, write the bishop off as sudden death. My demise would be brushed off as a heretic ambush."
"Feel betrayed?"
"Just pity. Gaspar already distrusts the Church. Like burying that young priest's death, he'd bury mine too. With Botmer's hefty bribes."
Raphael crossed his arms, staring toward the palace. A fleeting gaze.
"If the inquisitor had died, would the Church have stepped in, unlike with the young priest?"
"……I'll have to go to the cathedral. Once the investigation ends, I'm returning to the Papal Domain. Prepare if you're coming."
Raphael ignored the young baron's question. Either answer left only doubts. Stepping in would mean a special inquisitor's life outweighed a young priest's. Not stepping in meant even a special inquisitor was just a tool for papal gain.
The contradictions piling in him were burden enough already.
"Enet, let's go."
Isaac spoke, gazing at the street view from the inn's second floor. Still midday.
"M-monster!"
A vagrant with a dangling broken wrist fled, yelling. The others, sprawled and gasping in the dirt, couldn't rise.
"What a hassle."
Carlson dusted his hands.
"Yeah. They looked fine entering, but wandering around shows their true colors."
Isaac agreed. They'd reached the inn without issue. Raphael had a platinum medallion etched with a holy mark—sacred proof granted directly by the Papacy, not bought through clerical corruption.
Without Raphael, guards stopped them every hundred paces for suspicion checks. Isaac lacked title deeds, signet rings, family crests, or connections. No noble-grade gear, horses, or attire—his clothes too plain for aristocracy. Enet and Carlson needed no mention.
Three country bumpkins strolling the capital. Freshly bathed at the inn, no stench, but shabby garb hid nothing. The capital's checkpoints split between royalist and assembly factions, making it trickier. Same person got opposite treatment by post.
Royalist posts hassled imperial sympathizers, assembly, Second Prince backers. Assembly posts blocked royals, First Prince allies, sending them packing.
Passing which post signaled politics. Isaac's only proof: a document stamped by the Royal Academy dean.
Thus, suspicion or hassle everywhere. Dodging checkpoints led through alleys and slums.
Even that wasn't easy, thanks to gangs and vagrants.
"No different from Bernsi."
Carlson scanned the slums: narrow twisting alleys, crumbling wood buildings, stench, seated beggars, weary prostitutes, sword-belted men.
"People's lives are much the same everywhere."
"This way should lead back to main streets."
Enet guided. Isaac and Carlson were capital newbies, but Enet had scraped by in these slums before meeting Isaac.
"Another checkpoint."
A pass divided slums from commerce district: silk-clad merchants and nobles, gleaming carriages, bustling orderly shops. Stark contrast made it brighter.
"No other way?"
Isaac asked Enet. Guards manned the pass to commerce.
"Not that I know."
"Such a pain."
Isaac sighed, approaching guards with the dean's letter.
"Royal Academy? Student?"
"Not a student. Heading there for academic discussion."
"Stamp's legit. Go in."
Fortune or not—the post was assembly faction. Royal Academy's pro-imperial scholars let Isaac's group through easily.
"This is it."
Isaac eyed the Royal Academy's main gate: grand iron doors under a massive stone arch etched with the crest—eight stars, laurel-wreathed owl ascending. Below, an imperial emblem plate.
"Whew."
An hour's walk stretched to three. Carlson and Enet looked drained, faces sour.
"It's huge."
Enet's whole impression. Carlson ignored architecture.
"Mention checkpoints again, and I might kill someone."
He eyed gate guards warily, braced for more hassle.
"Won't happen."
Isaac's hunch proved right. Guards recognized the dean's seal, courteously escorting them inside.
The magic faculty building lay deepest. High stone walls enclosed vast gardens; orbs symbolizing elements orbited centrally.
"Kingdom-style magic—professors hate it. Inefficient."
"Still, our house sticks to kingdom traditions."
"Stubbornness leads to failing again?"
Passing students always mentioned the Empire: kingdom magic outdated, imperial practical. Royal infighting chatter too.
"First or Second Prince—hard to escape imperial sway."
"Second Prince, though? Ripped apart another bed-boy yesterday."
"Watch your mouth."
Overhearing gave Isaac the Academy's vibe.
Faculty halls lined portraits: old kingdom mages beside imperial ones. Less Royal Academy, more joint kingdom-empire institute.
Dean Marcel Reich's office: first-floor hall end, metal nameplate.
"Long time, Enet. First time for you."
Reich gave curt greetings, sending Enet and Carlson to another parlor via guard. Only Isaac and Reich remained.
Reich looked ill at first glance, but his eyes sparkled childlike.
Isaac meant to share his and Goethe updates, but Reich struck first.
"Before that, may I speak first?"
"Go ahead."
He brimmed with excitement.
"Good news and a request."
"You've made the artificial ring?"
"Exactly. Design's done. Framework's set. Just tuning and verification left."
Reich nodded vigorously, beaming. Gaunt face belied radiant smile.
"So, the request?"
"Give a lecture. Just once."