Alastor Creighton, a legend whispered in hushed tones, stood before me. One of only three in the world who wielded the devastating power of nine-circle magic, he was a cornerstone of humanity's defense against the monstrous Shadow Seekers. His journey had been meteoric, a magical prodigy who ascended to the prestigious rank of Radiant in his thirties. But Alastor was more than just power; he was a dutiful lord, fiercely loyal to his people and his land. And he was Rachel's father.

He possessed a powerful Gift known as Sage's Eyes, akin to a lesser version of the fabled God's Eyes. This ability granted him an unparalleled understanding of mana flow, making him a master of magical efficiency. While not the flashiest Gift, its utility was undeniable. Tragically, like the Windward king, Alastor's fate was intertwined with a future invasion by the Shadow Seekers, demons, and a Vampire Monarch. Preventing that future was a distant but looming concern.

What surprised me most was Alastor's decision to personally demonstrate five-circle magic.

"Aren't you a bit… busy for this, Father?" Rachel asked, mirroring my astonishment.

Alastor chuckled. "Consider it a lesson for both of you. After all, reaching -rank is just a few months away."

He was right. Both Rachel and I hovered at the cusp of -rank, currently at -rank. Understanding five-circle spells, spells within our grasp upon reaching -rank, would be invaluable. They would not only aid in our advancement but also lay the groundwork for future magical endeavours. While the mana requirements meant we wouldn't be casting them just yet, the knowledge itself was a priceless gift.

"Please," I requested with a bow. Seeing five-circle magic cast by an archmage was going to be very different from one cast by inferior mages. The understanding of magic itself is on a completely different level after all, and thus the spell turns out different even at the same circle and mana purity level.

Alastor didn't waste words. With a sharp snap of his fingers, a vibrant blue orb materialized in his palm. The flames, unlike the flickering orange of lower-level spells, burned with an intense, concentrated brilliance.

"A basic five-circle fire spell," he explained. "At this level, the increased mana density creates a hotter, more focused flame, hence the blue color." His gaze flickered between me and Rachel. "Let's delve into the mechanics..."

He launched into a detailed explanation, his voice filled with an infectious enthusiasm. He broke down the spell's components – the specific mana manipulation techniques and the underlying magical theory. It was a whirlwind of information, a glimpse into the elegant complexity of high-level magic. Rachel and I listened intently, our minds buzzing with the possibilities this new knowledge unlocked.

Alastor paused, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Of course, spellcasting involves precise calculations, things like spatial coordinates and such," he said. "But there's an elegant way to streamline the process, a technique not for the faint of heart. It requires a deep understanding of mana flow, something the Creightons call Laplace."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Laplace allows you to bypass some of the calculations by directly reading the ambient mana flow and then shortcutting the spell formation calculation. Imagine understanding the very magic air around you when casting your spells and using that rather than crunching through all those numbers."

Alastor's smile was confident. "I have no doubt both of you can grasp the basics of Laplace with some practice, especially by the time you reach -rank." He then proceeded to demonstrate the technique, weaving intricate hand gestures while simultaneously manipulating the ambient mana to form the spell. The time saved was remarkable. A -rank mage, unburdened by fatigue, might take several to a dozen seconds to cast a five-circle spell conventionally. With Laplace, that time could be halved, or even further reduced.

His gaze shifted to me, his blue eyes glinting with an unspoken question. "Though, Laplace might not be exactly what you're after, Arthur, is it?"

Rachel's head tilted as I responded honestly, "I'm more interested in magic that complements my swordsmanship, rather than being the primary focus."

"Ah," Alastor chuckled, a hint of understanding in his voice. "The Creightons are a family built on the foundation of magical prowess. While I can't exactly offer you a crash course in magic for swordsmen, I can certainly help refine your current skills and bridge the gap between your magical abilities and your swordsmanship."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Hearing it from an Archmage like Alastor was a different kind of blow compared to my own internal assessment. He was right, of course. My magic skills had been neglected in favor of honing my swordsmanship.

"Father me too!" Rachel protested. Alastor's gaze flicked to Rachel, his voice firm but gentle. "Hold on, Rachel. Mastering Laplace and these five-circle spells is your priority right now. You've reached a plateau as a four-circle mage, but this will push you to the next level."

Turning back to me, his expression turned appraising. "Now, Arthur, let's see what you're truly capable of. Show me your strongest spells."

Anticipation hung heavy in the air. Here I stood, a fledgling mage before a living legend, about to expose my meager magical skillset. A deep breath steadied my nerves as I raised a hand, picturing the simple fire spell I relied on most. With a muttered incantation and a surge of will, a small orange flame sputtered to life at my fingertips. But this wasn't enough. Focusing further, I channeled the flickering flame, transforming it into a blazing spear I could grasp in my hand – the four-circle spell, Flame Lance.

Silence stretched between us as I met Alastor's gaze. A low hum escaped his lips before he gestured for me to launch the attack. Uncertainty flickered within me, but I steeled myself and hurled the lance at him. It streaked through the air, propelled by my will.

Alastor didn't flinch. My senses flared as I felt the ambient mana around him respond. It swirled and coalesced at his fingertips, forming an invisible barrier that intercepted my lance. With a flick of his wrist, the fiery projectile disintegrated into harmless embers.

"Not bad," he rumbled, his voice surprisingly encouraging. "Your mana itself is pure and strong. However, there's room for improvement in your spell construction." He took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. "Let me show you a few ways to tighten it up, to squeeze more power out of your magic."

A flicker of relief washed over me. Being judged by a legend could be nerve-wracking, even with a compliment. Alastor's offer to refine my technique was a chance I couldn't miss. He stepped closer, the power rolling off him subtle but undeniable. Raising his hand, he mimicked the gesture I used, but his movements were far more precise, imbued with an effortless grace. A tiny spark materialised at his fingertips, then grew with controlled intensity, morphing into a crackling lance of vibrant orange flame.

"See the difference?" he asked, his voice low but clear. "The key is precision. Every movement, every thought, contributes to the spell's final form. A sloppy incantation or a wandering mind muddies the magic itself."

He flicked his wrist, and the red lance shot forward, leaving a trail of shimmering heat in its wake. It slammed into a nearby boulder, shattering it into dust with a deafening crack.He used the same level of mana as me, but this spell was simply put together better than mine while at the same circle, thus resulting in more delivery of power.

"Now, try again," he said, his tone gentle. "Focus on channeling your mana with laser-like precision. Imagine your will shaping the flame, molding it into your weapon."Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, replaying Alastor's movements in my mind. I pictured the fire, not as a flickering ember, but as a potent force waiting to be unleashed. With renewed focus, I raised my hand, the incantation rolling off my tongue with newfound clarity. A spark ignited at my fingertips, growing steadily into a vibrant orange flame. This time, it felt different – more focused, more controlled. With a surge of will, I molded the flame into a lance, its form holding true without wavering.

It wasn't perfect, not by a long shot, but it was a world of difference from my previous attempt. A small smile tugged at the corner of Alastor's lips.

"There you go," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "You see the difference control makes? Now, let's see if we can add a little more oomph to it."

Alastor spent the next hour meticulously dissecting my magic. He pointed out flaws in my incantations, areas where my mana leaked inefficiency, and even subtle adjustments to my hand gestures that could optimize the flow of power. It was a masterclass in spellcraft, a deluge of knowledge that threatened to overwhelm me. But Alastor, sensing my overload, peppered his critiques with encouraging words and practical exercises. He'd have me repeat the same fire spell, each time focusing on a specific element – the precision of the hand movements, the clarity of the incantation, the visualization of the desired form.With each iteration, I felt a subtle improvement. The once-wavering flame solidified, its orange hue deepening with a newfound intensity. The spell itself felt lighter, more responsive to my will. The frustration that had bubbled within me earlier gradually transformed into a quiet determination. I craved to master this newfound control, to push the boundaries of my magic and bridge the gap between my swordsmanship and my fledgling magical abilities.

Finally, Alastor clapped his hands, the sound echoing through the silent observatory. "Enough for today," he declared, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You've absorbed as much as you can for now. Head back to the manor and rest. We'll continue your training tomorrow."

Relief washed over me, mingled with a surge of excitement. Today's session had been grueling, both mentally and physically, but the progress I'd made was undeniable. A seed of hope had been planted within me, a vision of a future where my magic and swordsmanship would coexist in a harmonious and deadly dance. With a grateful nod to Alastor, I turned to leave, Rachel following me after she finished her training for the day as well. As I reached the doorway, Alastor's voice stopped me.

"Arthur," he said, his tone serious. "Don't underestimate the power a well-placed spell can have in the heat of battle. A swordsman who can also command magic is a force to be reckoned with."