Chapter 26: The Mission Hall

Anderson was not yet eighteen years old, blessed with an extraordinary affinity for elemental magic—so much so that he was once considered to possess magical talent on par with Dean Born Concinio himself. He needed less than three years to advance to an intermediate mage, and barring any surprises, his ascension to high mage before the age of thirty was all but certain.

At the same time, he was one of the most promising heirs of the Billion family, receiving thirty thousand gold coins and an assortment of spellcasting materials from the family every month to support his research and experiments. In every public setting, he maintained the utmost decorum and grace befitting a high-born noble; all other hours were devoted to the study and practice of magic. Advancing to intermediate rank in just three years was testament enough to his diligence.

In earlier times, his abilities would have easily secured him the position of president and chief of the Arcane Society. But with Netheril flourishing—thanks to the aid of the Yelland elves—more and more families were emerging into prominence. Sorcerers were no longer shunned, but instead wielded considerable power and status within the military.

With the development of Nether scrolls, innate talent was no longer the sole determinant; intellect had become even more crucial.

Such changes had also left their mark on Gilles Academy.

That afternoon, in the lakeside villa, Anderson’s quarters resounded with furious outbursts.

Crash! Another vase shattered on the floor.

Yet even that failed to dispel his frustration; he lashed out with a kick, sending a suit of knight’s armor toppling over.

“Damn it! One after another, all relying on their bloodlines for an edge. Without that, what are they? Just a bunch of mongrels…”

“Enough, Anderson! Watch your words!” Gerard’s voice rang out sharply.

Jarred from his rage, Anderson did not direct his anger at Gerard for the interruption. Instead, he walked to the cabinet, poured himself a large glass of wine, and drained it in one gulp.

Aside from Gerard, the others in the room all wore the uniforms of the Enforcement Squad. They watched Anderson’s lingering wrath in silence, offering neither comfort nor commentary.

They understood his feelings well enough. Their cohort of the Enforcement Squad might be the most ineffectual in the history of Gilles Academy.

Once, the Enforcement Squad was synonymous with fear; everyone was wary of them. Now, not only had they lost all authority, but they had become little more than firefighters.

The lower grades were manageable—they were only just beginning their studies of magic. But the upperclassmen were a different matter; each possessed one or two spells of considerable might.

When they fought, it was more destructive than a demolition crew, often leaving the Enforcement Squad to clear heaps of rubble and tend to the wounded.

Now, the Enforcement Squad was little more than a team of caretakers, constantly cleaning up after others. The nickname “firefighters” had spread like wildfire.

The Enforcement Squad had become little more than a joke.

And the man responsible for it all was Born Iolum.

...

As for the changes outside, Born remained oblivious—and even if he knew, he would not care. To him, Gilles Academy was an ivory tower.

The academic atmosphere and pursuit of research so highly esteemed by the dean and senior staff propelled the progress of arcane civilization. Each graduating class left to enter government, the military, or powerful families, gradually shaping Netheril’s future.

Seventeen or eighteen was the age of intellectual exuberance, when inspiration abounded and minds were still unformed, brimming with wild ideas. Many arcane disciplines found their direction at this stage, and research often continued even after graduation.

Looking at the shelves lined with notes and research materials—many of the magical concepts recorded there would not be invented until much later in Netheril’s history.

Born set aside his documents; the chip had already recorded the information, allowing him to access it whenever he wished.

“What a dazzling era—just from this, one can imagine the later brilliance of Netheril’s civilization.

“But it was precisely in such an atmosphere that arcanists gradually lost their reverence for the gods, grew arrogant, and marched toward decline.

“If not for the perspective granted by transmigration—seeing through history—I, too, might have been swept up in this atmosphere, becoming conceited and overbearing.”

Born sighed softly and returned the materials to their place.

“Though arcane magic and spells both fall under the term ‘magic,’ their conceptual understanding differs profoundly.

“Even analyzing spell models is a tedious task—mastering them is hard enough, let alone inventing new magic.

“The higher the tier of a spell, the more intricate and complex its structure. For a typical intermediate mage, learning a fourth-circle spell usually requires a minimum of three or four months!”

And that was merely to study it. Mastery required endless practice, overcoming countless failures before the spell could be truly learned.

The magical materials and items consumed in all that experimentation were not insignificant.

And there was always the risk of spell backlash upon failure.

Over these three months, he had been diligently collecting materials, enriching the chip’s database.

The chip’s simulations were not based on conjecture—they required vast quantities of data for analysis.

With each additional ring in a spell model, the difficulty of analysis increased exponentially.

Born had once whimsically tried to have the chip simulate a fourth-circle spell directly, hoping to ascend to intermediate arcanist in one leap, only to find the progress bar stuck fast due to insufficient data.

It was frustrating to see the fourth-circle spell model stalled at that point.

Ordinary materials were no longer of much use to Born; only knowledge of the extraordinary could benefit him now.

As he spent the past days holed up in the Arcane Society’s research room, ferrying materials, the progress bar had finally begun to move again.

“Ding! Data input increased. Fourth-circle spell simulated 3,125 times. Simulation proceeding.”

“How much longer will it take?”

“Estimated remaining time: 1 year and 8,167 hours.”

“Nearly two more years?”

Staring at the projected timeline, Born could not help but suspect that those grand arcanists must be human supercomputers. It was almost inhuman.

Thankfully, as more information was fed in, the required time would decrease accordingly.

...

At the Academy’s mission hall.

Every day, all manner of students gathered here—most of them commoners.

In the center of the hall stood a vast mission board, plastered with task sheets.

The majority of missions involved tending to plants or gathering magical materials.

Rewards included points, gold coins, or material resources.

The most coveted assignments were those of laboratory assistant. Since the Academy prohibited human experimentation, other intelligent species were exempt from this rule. Serving as a lab assistant meant one did not have to waste their own materials, and could gain exposure to unique knowledge—hence, these positions were in highest demand.

Red mission sheets indicated danger.

There were not many dangerous missions; the most serious at present was assisting the Sevendon constabulary in investigating a murder.

Even so, Gilles Academy required every student to complete at least one mission before the middle of each year.

Born had encountered this system shortly after enrolling in his first year.

It had frightened him—he thought it would be like a trial in a novel, where students were thrown into some area and forced to battle each other like insects in a jar, with only the strongest surviving to receive special training.

It turned out the missions were cleaning the outer walls of the wizard’s tower, organizing warehouses, or mowing sections of the lawns.

Upon seeing these tasks, he was utterly dumbfounded.

Wasn’t this just a campus-wide cleaning campaign?

On second thought, he concluded it made sense.

Gilles Academy was the largest school for mage training in all of Netheril. Only the wealthy, the noble, or the exceptionally gifted commoners could gain admission.

If one or two students died with every mission, it would be an unforgivable waste—these were all spellcasters, after all.

Moreover, the students were, in essence, still children. If the Academy truly demanded that a group of half-grown youths risk their lives on a task, then the nation would not be long for this world.

...