“Ugh, I know it's spring, but how the hell can it be so hot?” Even the summer heat waves in New York City weren’t this insane… Though, if someone from the south heard him, they’d probably laugh in his face.
I guess the Yadrian continent is located at the equator? Celestine was at the center of the map, after all.
As he continued walking down the busy street, his ears picked up on an interesting yet annoying conversation.
“Hey, did you hear about The Wandering Fairy?”
“You’re talking about the one during the incident? I wasn’t even in the plaza directly and I heard the lullaby clearly! Was that some miracle sent down by the Greenfather? Praise the Nurturer!”
“Who knows! But I heard that a few who were closer to the incident were even able to see strange visions of ‘him’ in their dreams!”
They’re talking about me again… This was also something he didn’t expect in the slightest—not until a few days ago.
During the Crimson Ritual Incident, Soren had subconsciously casted a spell out of desperation to save the remaining civilians from being massacred… Since his affinity governed over illusions, it was obvious what the result would be: mass hypnosis.
The magecraft spell which was created through affinity mixing of Mesmerism and Wards ended up putting all the civilians to sleep, alongside the puppets commanded by SIlmar. But for some odd reason, a strange phenomena occurred during the casting of this magecraft. The people who were under its influence not only fell asleep, but woke up remembering strange hallucinations and dreams regarding the incident.
Some claimed to have seen strange butterflies of gold and violet, while others spoke of a soothing voice whispering reassurances. A few even described a figure cloaked in a veil of starlight holding a strange magical book. There was no consensus—every vision seemed different from the last.
However, one thing remained the same. No matter who the victim was, they all reported hearing the same name:
“The Wandering Fairy.”
And so, a strange legend was born. A mysterious, spiritual being roaming the lands like the leprechauns of old, offering solace to those in need and bringing comfort to the weary hearts of restless souls…
As for the ‘legend’ himself, Soren wasn’t pleased…
He wasn’t pleased one bit…
The hell you mean I bring comfort to people’s hearts? Are these fools serious? Something about that statement truly rubbed him the wrong way. And then there was the fact that even his own Soul Weapon was taking part in making fun of him… There was now a page under the Mythology section labeled, ‘The Wandering Fairy.’
God I need to kill that bastard… If the figment of his imagination existed only to drive him mad, it was certainly succeeding.
Soren sighed, “Was this also a result of fate?” The hypothesis seemed plausible, but he also theorized that maybe the strange connection between his True Self and his Soul Chain was the real cause. His affinities were bleeding into the authorities that his Abstract Rune governs, and vice versa…
A strange form of mixing between magecraft and Mysteries…
With his thoughts sinking deeper, Soren quietly maneuvered through the busy streets and slipped into a familiar back alley. The air was thick with dampness, even though it hadn’t rained in three days. Still he appreciated the cool that the shade had brought.
Ahead of him, a crumbling wooden hut stood—its rotten planks on the verge of collapsing.
Soren exhaled with a slight smile, “Found it…”
The world spun upside down. Bookshelves were hung from the roof, benches were shown hovering through the air, and the ground felt distant yet close from his eyes…
Another hangover? He thought as his stomach bubbled and his head rang.
Ugh…
His limbs felt weak as pain flooded back into his system… Pain that he wished to forget.
With a frown, Gunther lifted his head from the counter—wiping his drool away while massaging his temples with his other hand.
His eyes trailed across his decadent shop. Cobweb clung to every corner, mixing smoothly with the shadows, while the relics remained covered in dust—forever forgotten. Their stories were left to rot in silence…
This was the tenth day in a row without a single customer.
Seriously, should I just close down shop? Those ungrateful brats can’t recognize value even if you shoved it down their faces, ugh!
He shook his head to chase away the pain from last night, but it only made it worse.
I need another bottle…
Just as he was about to make his way to the back of the shop, a loud creaking sound was heard. The door flung open, flooding the once proud shop in warm light.
“Welcome to Gunther’s Magic Shop, how may I hel—oh?” He paused.
Gunther stood silently with a frown, his eyes focused on the rare visitor. A young man with softly glowing amber-colored eyes, wearing a dark black checkered robe paired with a cone hat stood beside the slowly closing door. In his hands was an ancient looking tome—one that seemed to hold archaic knowledge of ages past.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
It took him a while, but he recognized him.
“You’re that brat that came with Cassia…”
Soren flashed a faint smile. “Old man Gunther, didn’t your daughter tell you to stop drinking? It reeks in here.”
Gunther scoffed, “Did that missy send you here to lecture me?”
Soren shook his head. Silently, he glanced around the slowly rotting store. Indeed, it was the same as the last time he had visited.
Back then, he was accompanied by both Cassia and Nicholas. He was able to obtain his spellfocus here.
“Need anything?” Gunther’s voice cut through his thoughts like a knife. Glancing back at the old man, Soren nodded.
“Yes,” he lifted his wrist and flashed a faint amber stone dangling like a bracelet. Its shine was long gone, now replaced by countless cracks and blemishes.
“I broke it,” Soren said. “I need a new spellfocus.”
As embarrassing as it was to say, the experiments he had been conducting were anything but safe. Yesterday’s trial ended with a mild explosion that didn’t really affect him all that much, but it finally managed to break his spellfocus.
Seeing this, Gunther frowned. “It's only been a month and a half! What the hell have you been up to?”
“Oh, you know,” Soren chuckled. “Nothing too crazy, just mixing affinities and whatnot. No big deal.”
Gunther’s jaw dropped. “You… Say that again?!”
“Affinity mixing. I am experimenting with it.”
“You insane fool!” He slammed his hand against the counter. “Do you have a death wish?!”
Soren’s smile widened. “Do I?... Maybe I do…”
Gunther couldn’t help but stay silent. Here he was, watching a young man no older than twenty five joke about something that turned countless archmages into brain-dead asylum patients…
“Did Cassia tell you to do this? No… That little girl wouldn’t dare…”
Soren shook his head. “It's entirely my own will to do this, don’t worry. Now, can I see some of your spellfocuses?”
Gunther sighed and walked past the counter, “Young people nowadays… This world really is going to hell.” He glanced back at the neatly dressed young man. “What are your affinities?”
“Mesmerism and Wards. Don’t worry about the first one—it’s rare.”
“Wards, huh…” Gunther sighed as he led Soren through one of the isles. “This will be a bit difficult.”
Soren knit his brows. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing really…” He replied. “Just that I only have one spellfocus with that affinity in mind remaining…”
Just as Soren was about to ask, he interrupted again. “Here it is.” Gunther picked up something from the shelf and dusted it off.
His eyes widened. Sitting plainly in the old man’s hands was a matte-black stick the length of keyboard. Its design seemed fairly old, with engraved silver lines wrapping around its circumference, intertwining to form a central node somewhere at the bottom. A faint, white gem could be seen embedded there, shining faintly from the light entering through the gaps in the rotten wooden planks.
“A wand?” This was certainly not in his expectations, but then again, there was no rule that said that a spellfocus should only be shaped as a bracelet.
No, in fact he found it to be more fitting than his original one.
Gunther nodded. “Found it in a dungeon three decades ago. Never found any use for it.”
Ignoring the casual mention of ‘decades,’ Soren asked, “How much do you want for it?”
Hearing this, Gunther’s mood shifted. It was as if a switch had been turned on.
“Well considering how in demand the Philosopher's Stone embedded within it is and the fact that I am taking a risk by selling it to you—someone who isn’t a licensed magi…
“1200 Lorins.”
Soren’s lips twitched. “Old man, are you insane? That’s more than double my monthly salary!”
“Hmph, young people nowadays don’t understand the value of things. That Philosopher's Stone has the purity to handle three thousand Channels of Willpower at once. I am doing you a favor for even selling it this cheap!”
This shocked Soren as he glanced back down at the enigmatic wand with a clearer view of its capabilities.
As of this moment, Soren only had about thirteen Channels of Willpower in total. It wasn’t hard to open these channels, especially since he had witnessed first hand how Tazzith handled his anima during the Crimson Ritual Incident. But he knew that a wall would soon be reached. The more Channels of Willpower a magi opens, the harder it becomes to open the next one after it.
While a 1st Circle magus only required ten channels, a 2nd Circle will require a hundred. A 3rd Circle… a thousand. Each successive advancement required ten times the channels of the previous one, an exponential climb that bordered on the impossible for most.
To reach the 4th Circle, one would need ten thousand channels. And the numbers only grew more terrifying from there. Those at the Zenith—9th Circle magi—required a staggering one billion channels just to wield their magecraft.
It was due to this insurmountable climb that many magi found themselves forever stuck at the 3rd Circle, with no way or motivation to advance further.
As Soren continued to stare at the matte-black wand in Gunther’s hands, the more reasonable the price became in his head. Yes, he was most likely getting ripped off a bit, but as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers. Especially since this wand was able to handle three thousand channels at once—it was highly favorable even to those in the 3rd Circle.
If Gunther was a licensed seller, Soren had no doubt he could have sold it for ten times the current price.
He sighed. “Fine. I’ll take i—”
A faint knocking sound was heard from the door, interrupting him. Soren turned to see who it was. Before Gunther could address it, the door was kicked open as three silhouettes showed themselves uninvited.
The one at the front spoke loudly, “Old man, how much longer will you make us wait?”
Soren got a clear view of his features—he was a fairly tall, middle aged man with a receding hairline and a scar on his left eye. He wore cheap leather armor with a sword sheathed to his back. The two standing behind him were also armed similarly.
Who? He turned to see Gunther’s reaction—the old man was frowning.
“Not going to talk, are we?” The rough looking man glanced around the store and spat. “Did you think we were just going to forget about you or something? Bastard, you still owe us 10,000 Lorins!”
The shorter man standing behind him snickered. “Captain, you’re wrong. He owes us 15,000 now. You’re forgetting the interest!”
“Hey you!” Their other companion yelled. “You aren’t related to this rusty old man, right? Go right ahead and fuck off. We have business with him.”
Hearing this, Soren glanced at the three men and back at Gunther, who was still frowning, then back at himself.
“Me?” He asked, with the most innocent face he could pull.
Their captain tilted his neck, “Who else, dumbass?”
Soren chuckled. Just as he was about to take a step forward, he paused.
An idea flashed through his mind.
“Hey old man,” Soren glanced at Gunther and smirked. “How about this—you give me a discount if I help you deal with these fine gentlemen over there. How about it?”
Hearing the proposition, Gunther glanced back at him with a confused look. It was as if his eyes were saying, “How the hell are you so shameless?”
Soren chuckled again. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Without waiting any further, he grabbed the wand from Gunther’s hands and expanded his Soul Realm.
“Huh, does this bastard think he’s a magus?”
“An esteemed magus? Here? In this dump? I’ve never seen a poser that committed to their act before—haha!”
“That bastard old man doesn’t even sell real products! Did he trick this guy into thinking he’s an actual magus? That’s fucking hilarious!”
Paying them no attention, he channeled his willpower and imagined the proper axioms and their positions—the spellform only took a second to manifest itself with the help of the wand.
“Bind.”
One word. That was all Soren needed to bring them to their knees.