“What the hell?” I turn to discover a tall, wizardly old man. He has a Merlin-like goatee and is wearing a massive hat on his head. And when I say massive, I mean a proper British wedding hat bonanza.
But a question I don’t ask him is, ‘Who are you?’
“You’re the book,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Not exactly,” the old man smiles mysteriously. “You can call me Magister Mulligan for now.”
“You are Magister Mulligan?” I say with wide eyes. “The guy who wrote the book? I thought it would have made more sense that there was a soul enslaved to the book by Magister Mulligan. Like some demon with great knowledge and stuff like that.”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you,” the self-titled Magister Mulligan keeps smiling.
“Wait. You only appear now? Not when I was begging like a madman—I was having a meltdown, and you completely ignored me,” I say with a frown.
“Ignore? You, child, wield a tome of magic beyond the current times. The state that magic has fallen into is shameful. You are the only person on this continent who is practicing magic the way it’s supposed to be practiced.”
I don’t know what to say.
My brain seizes for a second.
“Ask,” he simply says, looking at me with a straight face.
“Why now?”
“I gather you have heard quite a lot about the Vanedeni so far,” the man says in a serious tone. “I am here to offer you to become Magister Mulligan’s disciple.”
“You are talking of yourself in the third person because Magister Mulligan isn’t your real name.”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to become a disciple of a guy who doesn’t even tell me his true name?”
“You’ll learn, Joey Luciani, child, that names are things of power. They are not to be trifled with. One day, you might hear it, but not now. You are not worthy yet.”
I stare at the man, feeling slightly angry at the fact that he has appeared just now. On the other hand, I can vaguely understand his intentions. I wasn’t thinking straight when I was begging.
“Can you cure that [Curse]?” I ask.
“[Rottenbone]? No. Not in this form, at least. I can weave Tier 6 spells in this form and some Tier 7 spells with the right magic catalysts. I can stave off its effects, but I cannot cure it. Mauser was a misguided child, but he was still a [Hero].”
I dig my nails into my palms.
“I know some things about medicine. I know how people used to cure it in my old world. I suppose you must have been reading my thoughts or something like that. Do you think we can use that knowledge to cure Antoninus’s mother?”
“Child, I’m not a [Soothsayer]. Nor a [Witch]. I don’t throw random magic into a pot and hope for the best. I’m an [Archmage]. I have no spells to contrast a [Curse] so powerful. And it has already taken root in her. Do you think you can cure her?”
The question floors me.
I open my mouth a few times, but I don’t know what to say. I can even feel a small panic attack rising from within my chest.
“You have a lot to learn,” the [Archmage] muses. “I will need to hear the words, though, young Luciani.”
“What—”
“You said it yourself—I can read your thoughts. It’s not my specialty, but yes, with enough work, I can read into your past. I’ll teach you how to prevent that too. Before then, avoid lying to me. You are magnificently good at lying to yourself, but spare me. The Vanedeni have never tolerated a weak spine. You just thought of them—the words. I need you to say them out loud.”
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
The panic attack creeps closer and closer to my heart.
It feels like there’s red-hot liquid mercury boiling in my veins.
I take a deep breath and try to steady myself, but my heart is pounding so strongly that I feel like I’m about to topple over.
“Child, I never had to teach anyone like yourself. My disciples were more akin to Princess Valarith than they were to you—just lacking her talent. Here, I see the opposite. I’ve never had to deal with this. Say the words.”
The words…
Some of the words I have heard from Arminius come to me first.
“You? And how could you fight? You can barely hold a sword. Is there a weapon you can even use, Human? Is there anything you can do?” He looks at me condescendingly. “Or are you just a worm who thinks he knows better? Come here, show me what a little, disgusting worm like you thinks he can do in the world of monsters that I know. Or go back to wherever your filthy family of Humans is. This is not a place for you. All your leaves will get burnt if you go down this road.”
My brain still has that crystal-clear clarity, and sadly, these words vividly appear in my mind.
“I,” I pause immediately, taking a deep breath to shake off the panic attack, “I think I should save Claudia.” I wheeze, bending over.
“Fuck my life,” I swear. “Fucking hell, sorry, mom.”
“Young Luciani,” the man says with a solemn tone. “You think that you should?”
I raise my gaze with hate in my eyes.
“Fuck! Yes, yes! I think I can!”
As those words leave my mouth, I bend down and vomit the little food I had for breakfast.
“Fuck!”
I retch several times and take big breaths before I shakily rise again to meet the now smiling [Archmage].
“Good enough. Shall we, then, young Luciani? Even though I am an [Archmage] but I could have broken in two any of the [Champions] of this weak era with these bare hands of mine. You might die while training with me. The book was hard on you, and your [Green Mage] friend has already explained that the Vanedeni never go easy on their children. Which is partially incorrect—because the Vanedeni never go easy on anyone.”
“So, first,” I say, my eyes watering from the retching, “young Luciani sounds like I’m about to release a SoundCloud tape, ok? Second, I suppose this will be some epic-style training montage that will take me away until the duel. Am I correct?”
“You are,” the man looks at me with an interested smirk.
“Good. Then, I need to settle some scores before we go. I can’t just leave the bakery behind like this without giving any notice. And I wanted to clear some things up with Irene too. I’ll need the entire afternoon, and then, we can start.”
“Suit yourself,” the [Archmage] says. “Come back when you are ready.”
…
I know, I know.
Having the chance to train with the Arnold Schwarzenegger of [Archmage]s is great and all, but even though I had to vomit my way to admitting that I believe I can do something for Claudia, I still have other commitments.
“Quintus! Tiberius!” I knock on their door. “Out! Now!” I tell them. “We’ve got work to do!”
…
“Joey, you don’t want to train with us? What? Baking?” Tiberius looks confused.
“I have my way of doing things,” I tell them. “And it’s Chef this afternoon. I won’t take any insubordination.”
We are speeding at a fast pace toward Happy Bakery. Lucillus and Antoninus are behind us, and I already asked both to notify Clodia and Flaminia. Raissa too.
“I will train for the duel as soon as I’m done with this, I promise.”
Tiberius and Quintus look at each other but don’t say anything.
“Alright,” Tiberius sighs. “Please, don’t die, Chef.”
“I won’t,” I reply, giving him one of my custom winks.
…
I meet Flaminia and Clodia outside Happy Bakery, and they are both looking at me with worry in their eyes.
“What’s happening, Joey?” Flaminia asks, concerned.
“I have already explained it broadly to Quintus and Tiberius. I’m going away to train until the day of the duel. Before that, I first wanted to, well, tell you. Second, I know that you are all thinking that I’m a fool, right? I want to teach you some stuff that you can practice while I’m away. When I come back and win, the Three Roses will find a new nightmare on their doorstep.”
Clodia, who would usually rejoice at any mention of putting the Three Roses out of business, doesn’t even curl the corners of her mouth. She just keeps frowning at me.
“What? Trust me. I know a bunch of recipes, alright?” I say, giving them the most genuine smile that I keep in the vault. “I want to teach you something that will remind you of me in my absence. Again, just for two weeks. I don’t plan on dying or getting kicked out of Amorium. Please?” I add the last part when I see everyone looking very skeptical.
“And what is that you had in mind exactly?” Clodia relents. Her arms, previously crossed before her massive chest, are now down by her sides.
“Well, do you all trust me?”
I see another round of skeptical gazes.
But I had somehow expected this. And all this mental clarity reminded me of what happened during the bake-off – the distinct feeling I got when I was so immersed in my work that I lost myself to it; and how from that, sprouted something special.
Aura, I smile to myself. It’s this stupid brain of mine that gave me the idea.
I channel the same concentration, the same energy, trying to envision the wide net I’m casting over everyone around me.
I see their jaws unclench, and their frowns change.
Now, with renewed vigor and a weirdly resounding voice, I ask.
“Do you trust me?”