For Malk, the first day of classes at the Andalorian Society of Mages started with a mad dash around offices and filling out a good dozen forms. At the last moment, it turned out that passing the admission committee and having a recommendation letter wasn't enough to enroll in the Society's courses. The local bureaucrats craved filled-out questionnaires, a paper copy of his passport, and several permits for access to restricted sections of the library. At first, Malk thought it was the black star in his personal file messing up his life again, but no, while wandering the Society's corridors, he met a few other poor souls who were being tormented just the same.
He also seriously feared they'd charge him ten or twenty drachmas for tuition, but he got lucky. Madam Leara's letter was a magical cure for the bureaucrats' corrupt desire to make money off Malk. The only thing he had to pay was a ten obol archival fee for registering his personal file in the document storage, but that was such a trifle it wasn't worth worrying about.
By lunchtime, Adept Malk officially became a student of the Andalorian Society of Mages, and in the afternoon, he had his first introductory lecture...
Despite the paperwork hassle, he was one of the first to arrive. He took a seat in the back row of the lecture hall, allowing him to calmly study those he'd be grinding through magical studies with soon.
And it had to be admitted, what he saw was pretty disappointing. Though he hadn't expected to find friends or comrades among his classmates, he subconsciously hoped the course students would least fit the definition of being like-minded. After all, studying at the Society instead of a School wasn't a choice you'd make if things were going smoothly. A lack of money, talent, influence, or just plain luck—it didn't matter why someone had fallen, only the result. In that sense, they were all equal, so there shouldn't have been any place for arrogance or disdain... Heck, even the competition for resources, inevitable among inner and outer disciples of high-ranking Schools, was pointless here! At the very least, because the Society had no resources to allocate to special students.
Yet despite such obvious reasoning, the first student to enter the hall—a guy with a monumental square jaw and this year's trendy mosaic pattern on his left arm—shot Malk a look so full of disdain that if it were poison, it could have contaminated a couple of blocks in Andalore. Then, he sat in the front row and acted like he was the only person in the room. Malk could only wonder about the reasons for such a bizarre reaction from his fellow Adept.
And it got worse. Right after that arrogant jerk, three buzz-cut guys in infantry uniforms barged in. Judging by their chatter, mostly curses, they clearly weren't cut out for studying. However, the four young men who showed up a minute later in gendarme uniforms weren't much different from the "grunts" in that regard...
Before the lecture began, six more people took their seats in the hall—two girls and four guys. Judging by their clothes and manners, the girls were probably poor nobles, while the guys didn't look like people of noble birth or servicemen. One was clearly a tradesman, two were poor craftsmen, and one was definitely a peasant whose father had managed to scrape together some money and send him to study. The newcomers didn't talk to each other and deliberately sat as far away from the others as possible.
The perfect company to storm the heights of magic, huh... So it was all the more surprising when one of the guys, the same whom Malk had pegged as a peasant, suddenly got up and moved to the desk next to him.
"Serge," he said, introducing himself to a slightly taken-aback Malk. After waiting for the latter to introduce himself in return, he added with rural straightforwardness, "I'm not trying to impose, but is it okay if I sit next to you? I don't like dealing with city folks, and you don't seem like one of the Andalorians..."
Malk just shrugged indifferently, mentally telling his new neighbor to go visit Yorrokh. "Don't seem like an Andalorian," huh! As if Malk came here to rid himself of being a Colhaunian, not to become a mage.
Still, Serge's words unexpectedly hit a sore spot. And even the appearance of a cute girl in a floor-length green dress walking to the lectern didn't lift his mood.
Malk didn't have time to sulk for long: the lecture finally began, and he didn't want to miss anything important. After all, he wasn't a student at some university for the ungifted, who could afford to enjoy life and ignore boring classes, nor was he a lucky bastard born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Having passed the initiation, he entered a race against time for the elusive chance to become something more than a worthless Adept. And he wasn't going to lose!
Meanwhile, the girl-lecturer finished arranging papers on her lectern, scanned the room with a stern look, and addressed the audience:
"Alright, I'm glad to welcome you to the introductory course at the Andalorian Society of Mages. My name is Lamara Gorzhan, I'm an Apprentice, and I've been tasked with telling you what we'll be doing this academic year... Or less, if you finish the program early."
The fact that a mage of Apprentice rank was sent to deliver the lecture didn't surprise Malk. It would have been strange if they'd assigned a Bachelor or a whole Junior Magister for such a task. But some didn't like it. The arrogant lover of skin patterns snorted loudly, and the guy Malk took for a tradesman grumbled something angrily... But that was the extent of their indignation. An Apprentice she might be, but no one was stupid enough to mess with a mage backed by an influential organization.
"And we'll start with the basics: what you all signed up for. The Arcane Arts you'll be studying in your ability development classes," Lamara continued. "At the end of the lecture, each of you will get a brochure describing the Art offered to you, so I won't go into detail. You'll figure it out on your own. My job now is to tell you what to expect in the near future and what mistakes to avoid..."
Even though Malk knew he shouldn't expect any revelations—books about the challenges of developing a Gift at the Adept stage were easy to find even in Colhaun libraries for the ungifted—he still squirmed in his seat with anticipation. Because reading about something in a textbook was one thing, but hearing it straight from a practitioner was a whole different deal.
"So, the abilities of any mage consist of the following characteristics: reserve volume and recovery speed, affinity with magic, their Authority, and the development of their Spirit," the Apprentice began. "Each of these parameters is important, and they all determine how powerful a mage you'll become. Reserve volume directly affects how many spells you can cast, recovery speed determines how quickly you can replenish spent energy, and affinity defines your closeness to a particular type of magic... But you should already know all that. There are no uninitiated here."
"And how is affinity different from Lineage?" Malk's neighbor suddenly spoke up, making him flinch.
"Good question," Lamara smiled, as if shouting questions from the floor was perfectly normal in her classes. "And quite relevant. Affinity determines how easily you will be learning a particular Element and how serious the damage your own Gift will be causing you in practice. The higher the affinity, the fewer resources your training will require, and the easier your path in magic will be." The girl frowned for a moment, showing that the problem of low affinity hadn't spared her. "Lineage, on the other hand... it's what makes you stand head and shoulders above other mages. The ability to cast more complex and destructive spells, closeness to the Elements, maybe even innate talents... A good Lineage... it represents everything a mage could dream of!.. And something only a select few can attain..."
Lamara's last words were noticeably quieter, but still loud enough for all the students to hear. While the others weren't exactly moved by her reverence for those with Lineage, Malk nearly spat in irritation. Belief in willpower, the ability to overcome any adversity and even break free from his cruel fate—that was the cornerstone of his worldview. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to throw off the yoke of being a "dud" and take the first step toward his dream. And now he had to listen to someone revering those lucky enough to be born with the right blood. Pah!
"And how do you get this Lineage?" Serge kept pestering the girl with questions, seemingly oblivious to how dumb he sounded.
"Very simple... Be born into an influential House!" Lamara replied a bit sharply, paused, and when it became clear there would be no more questions from the floor, continued in a different tone, "So, besides the first three characteristics, Authority and Spirit are extremely important for a mage. Many Adepts forget about them, and they're often glossed over in literature for the ungifted, but that's wrong. Because it's Authority that determines how powerful your spell will be. And it's Spirit that brings together all the other characteristics of a mage."
The girl paused, as if lost in thought. And this time, it was Malk who couldn't hold back his question.
"Could you elaborate? It's a bit unclear."
"Sure." Lamara shrugged indifferently. "The importance of Authority is best seen with the simplest spell, Spark. A Spark cast by an Adept who just broke through the Howard's Boundary won't leave a bruise on the skin of someone hit. A Spark from an Archmage who's lived for centuries will pierce the armor of a mechanized warrior. Moreover, it'll require much less energy and effort to create... As for Spirit... it's the collection of those subtle bodies that tie together a mage's personality, individual magical reserve, affinity with certain Elements, and determines the extent of their Authority. In some Schools, they believe Spirit is the mage themselves. Otherwise, how would some senior mages manage to travel through elemental planes, transfer into other beings, and resurrect after completely losing their physical bodies?" The girl suddenly laughed. "My mentor even says Spirit is the hanger on which the 'suit' of the real body hangs... But I don't insist on that interpretation."[1]
"Then Arcane Art..." Malk started, but Lamara immediately cut him off.
"Yes, Arcane Art specifically develops a mage's Spirit, which in turn affects the changes in the characteristics we need. In theory, you could try to train your abilities without touching the Spirit, but that inevitably leads to all sorts of complications. What kind exactly... I think some of you here know firsthand."
Although Madam Gorzhan wasn't looking at Malk, he took her words as a jab at him. As for the reason behind Serge's sudden blushing, it took him a while to grasp... Another fan of forbidden practices, huh?
"Alright, we've gotten a bit off track. Let's get back to Arcane Arts, specifically their ranks," the lecturer continued. "As many of you already know, magic uses a vertical gradation measured by the number of stars and a horizontal one determined by color. For Arcane Arts, each star indicates a rank, reaching the peak of which is possible with its help. So, if one star allows you to reach the peak of Adept, seven stars suggest the potential to reach the peak of Archmage."
"And to step beyond?" the arrogant skin pattern lover suddenly spoke up.
"To step beyond, you'd need an eighth-rank Arcane Art, but where to find one, no one will tell you," Madam Gorzhan snapped. "Stop dreaming of the impossible and focus on more realistic goals. Like reaching the peak of your abilities as an Adept!" After venting her irritation, the Apprentice snorted in a very feminine manner and continued more calmly, "As for the color gradation, it ranges from red to violet and describes the depth of transformation of Spirit and the spectrum of abilities developed. If the red one-star Arcane Art, the Saint's Shield, which you can easily buy in any bookstore for a couple of drachmas, won't give you anything but a tiny boost in affinity with Earth and the ability to not faint at the sight of a lesser demon, then the legendary violet Art of House Cheringar, the Mark of Fire, will not only unlock your abilities in Fire magic and prepare you for the next rank, but also help awaken innate magic..."
Malk imagined for a moment that instead of a "dud" lineage, he had... Yorrokh take it, a lineage from any aristocratic House! He wouldn't be sitting here listening to a lecture about renowned Arts; he'd be choosing among the strongest ones to find the best fit for himself... Damn!
"Imagining what it's like to be an heir of some great clan, huh?" Serge suddenly addressed Malk, having caught his gaze by accident. "Same here. Oh, if I were the pampered son of some powerful family... I'd even settle for being a bastard! ...instead of all this..." His neighbor sighed heavily and started studying his own calloused hands.
Malk suddenly felt a reluctant sympathy for him. "All of this" really did grind his gears sometimes!
Meanwhile, Lamara continued her lecture and, while they were daydreaming, she'd already explained the nine circles spells were divided into and gave a brief overview of the seven types of magic sources. She didn't say anything new: Malk could even name a couple of widely available textbooks that covered the topic more interestingly and in detail. But when the overview ended and the lecturer moved on to the development of the Gift, Malk turned all ears.
And he wasn't the only one.
"So, Adepts, remember the three main rules, the strict adherence to which determines your success in reaching the peak of your rank. They are the first-year rule, the three-spell rule, and what all the books call Rzavian's Standard," Lamara said in a serious tone. She let them ponder her words and continued, "The first-year rule means that right after initiation, you have about a year, at best a year and a half, to double your reserve... With the right training, of course... After that, to double it again, you'll need about ten years. And that's in the best case... Then the growth rate will drop to one or two ergs a year, and eventually, it'll fall to laughable fractions of an erg... So, ladies and gentlemen, don't miss your chance! It's given to a mage only once in a lifetime!"
"Reserve's not the main thing..." grumbled someone from the "gendarmes," who had even stopped chatting by the end of the lecture and started listening to the lecturer intently.
"True. But if your reserve doesn't reach twenty to twenty-five ergs, don't even dream of advancing to the Apprentice rank," Lamara said a bit condescendingly, clearly emphasizing that she had already reached that necessary goal. "Just like if you forget the rule of three spells! What's the point of it? The thing is, mastering any spell takes a lot of time. The time that could be spent developing your Spirit. And if you spread yourself too thin on the practical side of magic, a year will pass, and you'll still remain an Adept."
"But why exactly three spells?" Malk couldn't resist asking another question.
Lamara sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair back.
"As experience has shown, that's the number of magical constructs you need to study to develop your Authority to at least the middle of the red level. More if you're talented or lucky, but less is a no-go, even if your Authority's at Archmage level. Because, aside from developing Authority, it's learning spells that causes in your Spirit the changes necessary to maintain its integrity when crossing the rank boundary. Hear me, not Arcane Art, but working with spells!" Madam Gorzhan smirked in a rather manly way. "There were some smartasses who tried focusing solely on Arcane Art, and they ended up stuck as Adepts forever!"
An awkward silence hung in the room; even the "grunts" who were whispering from time to time fell silent. No one wanted to be an Adept for life...
"And the last one—Rzavian's Standard. It was established a long time ago, according to legend, by the legendary Holy Demonslayer himself, and it literally means this: only a mage who can fully restore their reserve in a day can move to the next rank," Lamara announced. "And that's the third rule you must remember as beginner mages..."
The two-hour class continued in that vein. And although Malk heard a lot of interesting and useful things, he remained largely dissatisfied. The information was dumped on them haphazardly, Lamara often jumped from topic to topic, and the atmosphere in the auditorium wasn't very conducive to learning. Overall, for someone who originally intended to enroll in a real School and had the expectations to match, the course's start was too much of a letdown. And no amount of initial leniency toward the lecturer's rank could change that!
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Still, he didn't complain. And when at the end of the lecture the students were given a schedule of free classes—there were plenty of paid ones too—and were asked to mark the ones they wanted to attend, he pushed his dissatisfaction to the darkest corners of his memory.
"Looks like they didn't give you much choice of spells, huh?" Serge asked with rustic straightforwardness, nodding at the single sheet of paper listing the spells available for Malk to study.
Unlike Malk, he had four such sheets.
"I'll manage," Malk shrugged. With his strong focus on Pneuma, limited means, and poor talent, the selection couldn't have been large in the first place.
The answer sounded almost rude, but Serge didn't seem to notice. Instead, he immediately started grilling Malk about which spells he planned to study, and again couldn't get an answer. The thing was, it wasn't that Malk didn't want to talk; he genuinely didn't know what to choose. No matter how limited the selection of spells offered to him was, several paths for further development opened up. Some of them were even described in his secret notebook. So, Malk planned to make his final decision only after some thought—luckily, the Society's rules allowed for that.
Besides the introductory lecture, Malk's schedule—each student had their own—had another class that day. And it was arguably the most important one in the entire course. The newly-minted Adepts were about to study the Arcane Art designated for them. And just the thought of it made Malk tremble inside. And how could it not, considering that it was the development of the Spirit that made a mage a mage, and therefore, familiarizing himself with the much-needed Art would complete Malk's transformation from a "dud" into a real sorcerer!
Unlike the introductory lecture, the class on abilities development was held not in a traditional classroom but in a hall resembling a winter garden. It had columns, high ceilings, mosaic floors, and pots of plants scattered about. What's more, there was even a small fountain in the center of the room!
In the hall, the students—besides Malk himself, Serge and the trio of "grunts" also showed up for the class—were already awaited by a thin man of indeterminate age in an old-fashioned suit with goggles perched on his forehead. At least, Malk assumed that the intricate system of lenses and gears was a pair of goggles and not something else.
The teacher dryly introduced himself as Mr. Lok, and then, not wasting any time, guided the students to their designated spots. The "grunts" were placed on benches near the fountain, Serge got a seat near a flower bed opposite the entrance, while Malk had to go to the far corner of the hall and settle right on the floor. He was about to protest this injustice, but then Mr. Lok's assistant placed a low table with Druzal's Mirror in front of him, and the urge to make a scene vanished. Malk's attention was now focused on the artifact—it was a much newer and more advanced model than his own. And he was bursting with the desire to get a good workout with it.
"Don't touch anything until I tell you!" Mr. Lok barked at Malk and tossed onto his lap a wooden box, a white emblem on its lid, that appeared out of nowhere. "Sit and study. In an hour, I'll come and check what you've learned. Got it?"
Taken aback by such forcefulness, Malk nodded silently and, not waiting for the teacher to leave, grabbed the box. He gave it a light shake—something was definitely inside—then slowly ran his finger over the ridged surface of the emblem. He already knew from books what it was. Without even trying to open the lid, he immediately pulled out his medallion, placed it on the white imprint, and fed it a drop of energy. The iron disc responded with a faint tremor, something inside the box buzzed and hummed, and then there was a distinct click. The box was open. And a moment later, Malk held in his hands the thin booklet stored inside, titled "Crystal Heart."
Well, at least the name of his Arcane Art sounded decent. In his dreams—which he shared with no one, not even Helavia—where he crushed demons and conquered savages with aristocratic nonchalance and disdain for death, his skills were supposed to sound like that. Modest, unpretentious, but meaningful. Yeah...
Malk spent the next half hour studying the Arcane Art he got, which, as promised by the Junior Magister, was one-star, yellow rank, aimed at strengthening his affinity with Pneuma. It also decently trained reserve replenishment speed while strengthening the ability to maintain a clear mind under mental influence and improving resistance to phantasmal effects and curses. Deep down, he still harbored a hope that the Heart might somehow solve the problem of the inaccessibility of the Elements, but no miracle occurred. Practicing the Art not only didn't affect closeness to the Elements but also lacked any methods for developing Authority. This meant... it meant Malk faced a tough choice: abandon the technique borrowed from another Art or take the risk and continue.
And he didn't hesitate in making his decision!
The only thing that truly pleased Malk was the simplicity of the spell formulas and the clarity of the visual diagrams needed for practice. Sure, there were a few unclear spots that required the teacher's explanations, but nothing more. When Mr. Lok returned to Malk, the latter had already learned the entire content of the booklet and was ready to move on.
"Do you know how to use Druzal's Mirror?" Mr. Lok asked after answering all of Malk's accumulated questions and making sure he understood the key steps of the Art he'd been given.
Malk was about to say that he not only knew but had become quite the expert at using his Mirror, but he thought better of it. Not because he wanted to hide anything—his teaching artifact had left its creator's hands too long ago to compare it to modern magical tools. The Society, on the other hand—no matter what Malk thought of it—didn't skimp and provided students with models that, while not top-tier, were far from the worst.
So, in response to the teacher's question, Malk just shook his head.
"Then watch what I do. And next time, do the same," Mr. Lok coldly said and leaned over the Mirror on the table.
Unlike Malk's artifact, this one didn't look like a box with retractable eyepieces and a control panel. The Society's Mirror, most of all, resembled a strange binocular attached by two corrugated hoses to a massive-looking stand shaped like a pyramid. On one side were three round holes the size of a Boreas drachma, and on another side were two verniers Malk was already familiar with.
"Now... where's Crystal Heart?" Mister Lok muttered, rummaging through his belt pouch.
Finally, in his hands appeared three glass cylinders, which he forcefully inserted into the holes on the stand. The setup was completed with some "fine" tuning using the verniers.
"The control units and records with the necessary parameters you'll be getting from me at the start of each class. And returning them at the end! Understood?" Mr. Lok strictly warned, then made an inviting gesture with his hand. "Get started."
There were no more explanations, but Malk didn't ask for any either. The Mirror had been prepped for practice, and he could handle the rest himself. As the unknown creator of the Arcane Art taught, he first sat with his legs crossed Styxson-style and his back straight, formed his fingers into a complex sign, changed his breathing rhythm, and once he got a bit comfortable, started visualizing intricate shapes, positioning them inside his chest.
Subconsciously, Malk expected that it would take a long time to feel any noticeable effects, but he turned out to be wrong. Crossing Howard's Boundary had changed him much more than he had realized before. Malk barely finished the first practice cycle when he felt something like the finest, almost imperceptible psychic currents from all directions reaching out to him[2]. They surrounded him like a cloud that prickled his skin, got sucked in, and filled his muscles with dry heat, then started resonating within his very essence with bursts of vibrations. Once, twice, thrice... Yet, the strange influence didn't harm his Spirit, didn't destroy or injure it; on the contrary, it nourished and made it stronger. Maybe just a bit, but stronger nonetheless.
At some point, another wave swept over Malk's consciousness, spinning and twirling it, then suddenly tossed him into the familiar desert. This time, though, there was no excruciating pain, but the sensations still were far from pleasant... The immersion into training happened without the Mirror's aid, so the vision lacked depth and clarity. Some part of Malk's mind still perceived himself sitting in front of the table and even heard what was happening around him.
"Very good! You got it on the first try!" Mr. Lok's voice reached him as if through a fog. It turned out the teacher hadn't left and was now closely watching Malk's first steps in practicing the Art. "Before the invention of the Mirrors, mages developed their skills exactly like this: through repeated mental exercises prescribed by the Art. Slowly and for a long time, sometimes even pointlessly. And only with the advent of the artifacts did the effectiveness of training improve..."
Mr. Lok, though distracting Malk with his conversations, didn't disrupt the state necessary for practice. On the contrary, such duality gave the training a new dimension, inadvertently deepening his understanding of certain details in the techniques being performed.
"Now try with the Mirror," the mage ordered, turning the "binoculars" toward the student absorbed in the new sensations.
And Malk tried: slowly, without even realizing how, he seemed to mentally distance himself from the desert, gently pressed close to the eyepieces, and shifted his focus into the Mirror. He as if gazed inside, but not with his eyes—with his very Spirit...
The intuitive decision turned out to be absolutely correct. Instead of an unstable and not very effective visual channel, a golden thread seemed to connect Malk and the Druzal's Mirror. Albeit thin and weightless, but sufficient to fully unlock the potential of the magical tool.
In front of Malk, magical circles spun again, and then a misty cloud emerged... This time, though, there were no less than several dozen circles, and beyond the outer edge, images and symbols prescribed by the Art appeared, moving, flowing into each other. As for the mist, it was now entirely silver, not a hint of blue... But it was still a Mirror. More modern and much better suited for training than Malk's own, but still a Mirror. Which meant he knew how to work with it. And so, in a moment, the shadow of the desert still lingering in the depths of his mind filled with power, came alive, and expanded to the size of a whole world.
'Hah! Now it's more lively,' Malk thought once he managed to get a good look around.
If before, when practicing Rain of Pain—even after initiation, when his tormented by the Arcane Technique Spirit finally gained access to energy—Malk involuntarily perceived his mental space as either a branch of the plane of Fire or a torture ground for particularly nasty demons, now... now it seemed infused with life. Not completely, the process had just begun, but the once dead world was breathing. And this "breath" seemed to urge Malk to continue practicing the Art.
The next step prescribed by the practice guide was to focus on visualizing a symbol in the form of a right angle with three dots above it—the very one that, in mage language, corresponded to heart. However, it suddenly turned out to be a lot harder than it seemed from the description. Not only did the Yorrokh's glyph refuse to take a stable shape and kept trying to dissolve into thin air, but the process of creating it was almost as tough as a dockworker's job in the real world. At some point, Malk simply ran out of strength to continue practicing. Then came the pain, along with apathy, wrapping him in the suffocating embrace of drowsiness. He felt a sharp urge to give up and lie down on the sand... And the fact that he didn't, instead trying to break the connection with the Mirror, could be considered a testament to his willpower and strength of character.
This strange state seriously worried Malk. The hardest initial stage had been long over, back when he trained Authority, and he hadn't made any obvious mistakes either, so there was no reason for such a nasty deviation in practice. Then what was the problem?!
As if in response to his burst of anger, other strange events surfaced in his memory. A series of extremely unpleasant incidents on the train, the baffling occurrence during the interrogation at the gendarmerie—wherever things started going wrong, a certain nasty dwarf always appeared.
Could it be the same here? The thought wasn't just unexpected and annoying; it was terrifying! Because the scariest enemy isn't the strong and powerful one, but the one you don't understand. And Malk, for his part, absolutely didn't understand that dwarf. Moreover, he had no idea what to expect from him or how to fight him...
Saints know how far his thoughts would have gone if some external force hadn't broken his contact with the Druzal's Mirror and brought his consciousness back to his body.
"Idiot, what the Yorrokh were you lingering in there for? You got a death wish or something?!"
Those were the first words Malk heard as soon as his mind cleared and he felt himself back in the real world.
"W-why?" he asked with some difficulty, suddenly realizing that the weakness hadn't gone away, and he still craved rest.
"Because if a mage exhausts their reserve but keeps messing with magic, they start using their life force. And it certainly won't last long," Mr. Lok practically growled. "Feel that sucking emptiness inside? Remember that feeling. That's what an empty reserve is like. Got it?"
"So I burned through nine whole ergs in just a few minutes?!" Malk asked, refusing to believe what he'd heard.
Of course, he knew his limits, but he never thought it was that bad.
"Well, not a few minutes—almost half an hour, but... yeah, that's all you've got." The teacher laughed mockingly. "That's life, lad. Without quickly replenishing your energy at a source, you won't reach the peak of your rank or break through limits in a reasonable time. And it's not about talent or," Mr. Lok snorted meaningfully, "advancements in forbidden practices. It's, lad, a matter of money and having some power backing you."
"And since I don't have money, then...?" Malk asked angrily, fed up with everyone trying to profit off him.
"Then find where you can earn some, train to control your reserve level and practice your Art whenever you can," Mr. Lok grimaced. "That's your path to magic! And... for all the Saints' sake, if you plan to die again, at least don't do it in my class. Deal?"
Malk's response clearly didn't matter to him. The teacher just turned and went to another student. One who still hadn't mastered his Arcane Art but was rich enough to stimulate Mr. Lok's desire to teach with drachmas and obols.
Malk had nothing more to say to him either. The lesson was over for him; he had taken the first steps in his training, acquired an Arcane Art, and got at least some guidance from the teacher... he was in the black, as Tolfan liked to say. As for the blow to his pride... time would tell. At least, Malk sincerely believed in that; after all, if you don't believe, what's the point of living?
[1] Author's note: If anyone's curious, this metaphor is common among real-world Taijiquan Masters, and the principle itself is a cornerstone of all esoteric practices.
[2] Translator's note: the original uses not "psychic currents" but "fluids" literally. However, I don't expect readers to know about "magnetic fluids" from Mesmerism(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animal_magnetism), hence the replacement. In the original, it's a loanword (likely adopted from English), so it doesn't create confusion.