“Well said.” Grandpa Lich's words broke the still silence that ensued from my piece.
Backpedaling to my seat, I passed him rising from his throne to approach the edge of the stage, lean over the crowd, and growl. “It would be wise for you all to remember this day well. Now, off to class.” He threw his bear paw of a hand dismissively. “Those of you who are injured, head to the witch hut immediately. The rest of you are released.”
The students bowed in unison before converging into various groups or cliques and filing out the door. Immediately filling both the dojo and the expansive corridors beyond with a cacophony of chatty noise.
“That includes you three,” Grandpa growled at those behind me. And with a bow, they too rose from their seats and filed out the door behind the mob of students, idly chatting to themselves. Leaving me and the undying old man by our lonesome.
“I assume you’d like a tour of the school?” He turned to me only after the still silence had returned.
“I’ve already explored most of the place,” I said. “But, I am interested in what you can tell me about the place.”
The corner of his lip curled up in a soft sneer or scowl before he grunted, surged his body with shadow mana, and released it into the room. Just as fast as a torch or light would come to life and illuminate one's surroundings, the magical darkness Grandpa Lich produced spread across the room in a fraction of a second; coating the expansive space in the drab gray-on-gray tones I’d long since grown familiar with. I wondered the reason for him releasing the domain, though. Especially once I saw his ghostly visage drifting toward the ceiling. He uttered not a word until I emerged on the 51st floor, wherein he pointed from our little dark corner to bring my eyes to the college campus-like complex. “All students have classes eight out of ten days per week. "Five hundred fifty-six of them belong to the sixth year. This floor, the two above, and the two below is their domain. Here, outside, and in my office is where you’ll be spending the majority of your time, Amun.”
I quickly shifted my gaze from the environment to his ethereal body, curiously grinning at me. “Doing what?”
“That’s up to you, for the most part.” He coyly shrugged, then took on his physical form to step towards the elevator.
A moment later, I stepped through the entrance of his office just as he was settling behind his desk, reaching down to hoist a large chest onto the already cluttered surface. “Care to help me?” He asked, dumping the chest's contents with a sickeningly sly grin.
I tried not to scramble after seeing the loot for what it was, but all in vain; as I snapped out my hand to grasp one of the radiant gems as soon as the mountain of gems settled across the desk. It was no larger than a bottlecap. A diamond with the same pale blue radiance as the ambient mana around us, neatly cut and carved with strange runes or sigils on the largest facets. They seemed to be an amalgamation of various tribal, native, and aboriginal symbols or hieroglyphs from ancient Earth and, I presumed, the Mortal Plane; arranged or merged with each other to form a single character.
“All we have to do is prime them with shadow mana.” Grandpa Lich gestured to the larger pile on his right. Followed by the smaller one on his left. “And death mana.”
I paid close attention to the gem in hand while mana was withdrawn from my well. Out of the affinity core, it flowed as always, changing the blue fluid into a river of amorphous darkness that soaked into the crystal like a greedy sponge. The mana flowed until the thing was, I assumed, full. Denoted by the abyssal black hue of the crystal etched with blue-white sigils. “How do these work exactly?” I gasped in fascination, placing the primed enchantment onto the desk.
“If I’m not mistaken, the runes indicate specific conditions for a spell. That’s all I know, however.” Grandpa sighed as he threw down a completed stone. “Artificers are the most secretive of them all.”
“I see.” I nodded, set down yet another completed stone, and picked up another to closely study the runes, logging them in my Eternal Eye.
After becoming familiar with the priming process, it was evident that each enchantment required a different amount of mana to become activated, thus the pile before us couldn’t be charged all at once. Taking that and Grandpa Lich's words into account, I compared the sigils with every other enchantment I’d seen thus far and came to hypothesize each sigil represented one of at least six conditions. Most likely, they were comprised of activation time, duration, the three spatial dimensions, and power output. Even if I could memorize the sigils, however, I had no way of deciphering them without testing each enchantment. And considering they were usually at the center of a piece of architecture like the frames around the shade elevators, I figured that’d be an unwise course of action and decided to make do with memorizing the foreign symbols as I primed them.
We spent the next few moments in companionable silence, Grandpa Lich and I, fueling enchantments and otherwise enjoying the peaceful environment of the expansive office around us. Relatively short those moments may have been, they allowed me to gain a newfound perspective or appreciation for my great-grandfather, Everandus Cole. Before, I only knew him as an aloof old man who was unable to hold an intellectual conversation for more than a few minutes at a time. Looking at him now, however, I only saw the pinnacle of wisdom and power that everyone else in the Empire saw when they looked at him. Or... something between the two. Here was a man who had spread his influence over entire worlds. And multiple times throughout history at that. A Magus who created and upheld the prosperous Empire we were a part of for nearly two and a half centuries.
It was natural, I assumed, that I’d be eager; if not desperate, to learn as much as I could from the great Necro King of Odissi. And for once, he seemed willing to teach me.
“As I was saying on our way here.” He eventually broke the silence with a dramatically strained grunt. “The sixth-year students and above have completed their formal lessons. Thus they are able to take apprenticeships in whatever profession they please. Which brings me to why I brought you here.” He set down a completed stone as if to punctuate his words, then leaned forward, squinting at me intently. “Your Father and I had a discussion. We came to an agreement. A deal.” He growled low in his grizzled voice. “If you’re truly serious about breaching the barrier and taking back Ulai, you and your vassals will need to be as strong as possible; as you've said. But much sooner, Amun. Before you attend the awakening ceremony. Thus we agreed to increase the difficulty of training that was already in store for you. If you affirm your goals to me, Amun; your training will be far more grueling than both your father’s and his father before him. Combined.”
“My goal hasn’t changed.” I quickly stated. “I will form a guild to take back Ulai, build an empire, then explore the Mortal Plane in its entirety.”
“Hmm.” Grandfather grunted. Nodded to himself slowly before he curtly tilted his head like a curious dog. “And what will your guild be called?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” I shrugged.
“Well, let me know when you do.” A soft chuckle pushed him back into a recline. “As you may have guessed." He paused to pluck another uncharged gem from the diminished pile. "You’ll be taking a few classes and training with me during your stay at the Tower. For now, I have you assigned to take classes in recovery and healing magic. Otherwise, you can choose whatever classes you like.”
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“Alchemy and artificing,” I said without a second thought.
“Hah! Artificing can only be learned at the academy.” He laughed. “On the other hand, I can arrange for you to attend an alchemy class after lunch. They’re doing a practical exercise today, coincidentally. Though you’ll be more of a spectator, rather than a full participant.” He added with a pointed finger. “You won’t be required to attend the classes you’ve chosen on a regular basis and can drop in whenever you please. Though your other lessons are mandatory.” He sternly growled.
“Understood.” I curtly nodded. Then leaned forward in my seat a bit. “If possible, I’d like my vassals to receive certain classes as well.”
“They already have schedules set in place for them.” Grandpa huffed out a laugh through his nose. “But I’m open to amending them, given a suitable justification.”
“All this time, Toril has been training with a one-handed axe,” I explained without pause. “He needs to receive professional lessons with his weapon and learn to use a shield as well. Additionally, Toril needs lessons; preferably from you, on military discipline, tactics, and leadership. On top of a smithing course.”
A single brow shifted on my Grandfather’s brow. “A smithing course?” He asked, clearly bemused.
“It’ll give him a better connection to his chosen weapon,” I explained. “An appreciation or a new perspective on the inner workings of his weapon. Plus, it’ll give him the ability to forge his own one day.”
“Uh-huh.” Grandpa nodded slowly, stroking his beard. “Go on.”
“Jaimess needs to continue learning of finance, business, and politics; preferably from my father, but I understand how that may be difficult. More so, he needs to learn to properly fight with a mace and shield; if not with dual weapons. Most importantly, he needs art lessons. Whether it be drawing, painting, or sculpting doesn’t matter. He simply needs to expand his imagination beyond mere numbers and equations so he can unlock the full potential of his paper magic.”
“It is agreed.” He quickly nodded, surprisingly with no debate. “And for Jonet?”
“She needs tutelage in espionage and covert or clandestine operations. On top of that are two things.” I held up two fingers. “First, is that she receives theater classes. By learning to act, dance, and sing, she’ll learn to not only blend into any environment but will gain the means to secure an advantageous position from which to gather information. Second, is that she receives the same lessons as Toril and Jaimess, for politics and war are powerful tools for a spy.”
“Hmm.” He nodded after a few long moments. “Your terms are agreeable. I shall amend their schedules by tomorrow. As for you.” He pointed a thick finger towards me, coincidentally concealing most of a sadistic smile spread across his face. “Your combat training and necrotic education begins tonight. And it will continue every night after until I say otherwise. During the day, you may take whatever lessons or classes, or otherwise do as you wish. But come nightfall, you are to report to me.”
“Understood.” I bowed in my seat. Grabbed another gem and fell into another silent rhythm of fueling and replacing enchantments with my forefather.
Sooner rather than later, we worked through the entirety of the pile, bringing Grandpa Lich to shove them off the edge of his desk into a shadow-infused filing cabinet before regally clasping his hands atop the cluttered desk. “It is nearly an hour before noon, the bell for lunch is soon to ring. The alchemy class begins at one in the afternoon. With all your... exploring, I’m sure you know where to find it. So…” He gestured to the door with a hand and a subtle smirk.
Fighting back the impulse to roll my eyes, I nodded my goodbyes and rose from my seat to lounge about in the parks of the guest floor until the bell rang. With the vast majority of the students on the 50th level, two floors below; presumably scattered about in their groups, gossiping about the events of this morning, a peaceful silence was left to accompany me while I admired the industry and architecture. As I essentially expected at this point, each structure within this level was dedicated to a specific field of study. Entire warehouses sat next to massive labs, workshops, factories, storefronts, and pieces of enchanted machinery that dwarfed the clusters of buildings in the center. It was an engineer's playground though and through. And my time to play would come soon enough. For now, it was class time.
A bit of meandering saw my arrival at a large complex near the far left corner of the floor. A towering, modulated building of blackwood and white marble that; like the other industrial buildings, had large vents, tubes, and conduits breaching the walls behind them. Inside were complexes of classrooms, offices, and labs that one would expect to see at a prestigious university. Only blown to immense proportions. Like every other module in the place, a vibrant, bonsai-like tree sat just beyond the door, reaching upwards to the vaulted ceiling to spill earthy scents and cast a bit of shade on the sample cases lining the four-way intersection. To my left was the administration hub while the labs sat off to my right. Continuing forward brought me through a set of great doors to enter a lecture hall furnished with what I assumed to be alchemical tools on the terraced desks. Only one being was inside, however.
Standing at the bottom, near the center, was an animated skeleton scribbling furiously on the board with his bare finger. The bone of its body was bleach-white and wreathed with a black and gilded robe that covered all but his forearms and lower legs. I made it halfway down the steps when a sudden something shocked his spine straight and spun him around in a blur. "Forgive me, Mast- oh?” He spasmed again, then looked up at me through the empty sockets of his eyes. His lipless, gold-toothed mouth held agape as he studied me intently. “You are the young master!” He finally gasped. In... my mind. Like a telephone call heard through ear implants or straight-up telepathy. But I could hardly concern myself with that now.
‘Do not call me that.’ I immediately spat back in my mind. But he only continued staring, somehow with visible confusion. So, I audibly repeated myself in the same tone. “My name is Amun. Not young master.”
“Forgive me.” He bowed again. “However, you are royalty. So, I shall refer to Your Grace by your title.”
“So be it.” I subtly nodded. “I assume you’re the alchemy teacher? I’m here to spectate your class.”
“That I am, Your Grace.” He bowed. “My name is, Urda, the Mixer. I’ve been the Necro King’s alchemist since long before the Empire existed. I’d be honored for you to bless my class with your presence.” He bowed again before erecting himself.
“I’m honored to receive instruction from one as experienced as you.” I bowed in turn. “I’ve been told there’ll be a practical exercise?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Urda nodded while gesturing to the many stations scattered throughout the space. Each of them was topped with simmering pots of a mushy red liquid that filled the air with the soft earthy smell I detected earlier. “We’re making common healing potions today.”
"Oh?" My ears perked up at once. My eyes snapped my eyes back to him, wide with anticipation as I nearly frothed at the mouth. Only to have my mirth stolen.
“Regretfully, the hard work is already done.” Urda sighed. “Though, I can give you the recipe. If you like.”
“By all means.” I nodded, content with the newfound middle ground.
“Common healing potions are made from Amanita mushrooms, of all things,” Urda explained in a more lecturing tone, complete with pacing, drawn-up diagrams, and punctuated gestures. “The recipe calls for one to grind the mushrooms in a mortar and pestle before mixing the resulting paste into an even ratio of distilled water. The resulting mixture is then to be brought up to a boil and simmered for six hours with the lid on before it is then reduced to the consistency of a watery syrup.” He paused to gesture at the many stations around us. “Once filtered and cooled to room temperature, the result is an incomplete potion that is a slight pink color. Completing the process requires one to add a drop of their blood. Giving it the trademark crimson color healing potions are known for.
“Because of the process, however,” Urda added. “Each potion is only consumable by the blood donor and has a shelf life of thirty days after activation. Conversely, the incomplete forms have a shelf life of a year and are what is commonly sold in the markets.”
“Fascinating!” I gasped. In other words, alchemy was simply this world's version of chemistry; but mixed with a bit of the culinary arts and a lot of phytotherapy. Yet the process was still the same as chemistry: different materials were added or subtracted and put under any number of atmospheric or thermal conditions to produce a reaction that formed something else entirely. Only in this case, the concoctions produced by alchemy yielded magical effects.
Like many things in this new life, however, new knowledge only yielded more questions. Namely. "What happens if someone who’s not the blood donor drinks one?” I asked.
To which Urda solemnly shook his head. “Absolutely nothing, Your Grace. It’s an utter waste of product and materials.”