“Wrong.”
A newly enrolled Orth student mutters as he sits cross-legged on the covers of his dorm bed, lightly shaking his head. Surrounding him are numerous sheets of parchment, calculations and figures filling the pages strewn about carelessly. They are the result of a battery of tests which the boy had run this day – the very first day he was accepted into the illustrious Orth Academy. But his goal is much unlike the other mindless rabble that have clawed their way to a spot; no, in his mind, his purpose is magnitudes grander than materialistic wealth, or meaningless power.
He was here to expose a conspiracy.
Both his hands were raised, palms facing up. In his left, suspended in mid-air by the bindings of sorcery, was a Class Two Rock Shard, lazily rotating in place. In his right hovered a similar spike of compacted stone, nearly completely identical to the one opposite to it.
Yet Ting Ren knew that while one was the product of a spell conferred onto him by the Class System, the other was created by an obscure incantation invented by an unknown pioneer, buried deeply by the passage of time behind dusty scripture and fraying books.
This version did require a catalyst compared to the Class System variation – the consumption of powdered yellow orchid petals, which could be considered a detriment to its viability in combat. However, Ting Ren found that unlike what had been written in the tome he had been studying, it worked just fine even in the absence of the ingesting of this flower – it merely took a slightly longer time to manifest. An increase of about three seconds of cast time.
Almost no one would have discovered this strange connection between these two extremely alike spells other than one like himself, a voracious consumer of volumes retelling the history of magic development.
Even then the only reason he had stumbled onto this thread was due to sheer luck – he had been researching his family’s own brand of magic, retracing the evolutionary roots of his inheritance to learn how it had come to be. By coincidence, he noticed that one particular branch shared striking similarities to the system eventually adopted into mainstream use at Orth nearly ten years ago.
Any other person would have shrugged off this discovery, chalked it up to development in parallel. It could be explained as any number of trivial things. Both inventors could have been in communications as they worked on their separate spell schools, this was the most straightforward way to bring together strands of magic to effect this phenomena, one inventor had stolen from the other; etcetera, etcetera.
Ting Ren didn’t see it that way.
By themselves, these two facts would serve as nothing more than mere trivia; little more than oddities to be discussed with friends and family around the dinner table. Someone might remark on the interesting factoid, maybe quip about how fortunate they were to be living in an age of sorcerous advancement where things like catalysts were relics of the past.
Ting Ren had realised something deeper. Something that if indeed true, would be truly chilling. Utterly insidious in its execution; uncaring of the lives it might endanger. A monumental betrayal of the trust of hundreds of students over the years.
And something that over the course of the first day he had come here, had been slowly but surely been proven to be irrefutably correct.
The Class Two Rock Shard in his left hand had cost an average of a hundred and fifty six MP.
The Minor Stone Spike in his right cost a flat seventy five.
“I was right,” Ting Ren whispered softly, letting both spells crumble into dust by his sides, the scattered dirt melting back into atmospheric mana in the absence of a target. “Someone is siphoning off MP from every user of the Class System; every student in Orth, former and present.”
There could only be one person who could have done this – the one who had introduced the standardized, rigid system in the first place, silently replacing the former curriculum which championed the freedom of students to choose whatever spell school they wished to specialise in.
The Headmaster, An Shen.
“It’s been in use for ten years,” Ting Ren grabbed a half-filled page off the bed, pen in hand feverishly scratching out a quick equation. “Every batch of students that enrols, every student that takes an admissions test, every former student in employment in Glint and those that might have left for other parts of the world; day on day, week on week…”
He stared in disbelief at the estimated figure.
Billions and billions of MP.
Skimmed off the top, the victims none the wiser.
And that number would be growing, even now.
The piece of paper was roughly crushed into a ball by an angry palm. How could the Headmaster do this?! People depended on the magic they learnt to earn a living; to defend themselves! After devoting your studies to a flawed System, you would come out worse off than if you had simply picked up a different spell school. How many people had perished after being cornered by a beast, mana depleted? How many families ruined by this cunning scheme?
“I need to put an end to this.”
~
He had ultimately decided on a course of action – one that would arouse the least suspicion from the culprit. The Headmaster had to be brought in to face charges for his crime, that much was certain. But it all hinged on when the right moment to strike was.
Ting Ren reasoned that upon being exposed, it was likely that the mastermind would flee, abandoning his prestigious position to save his own skin. There was no way that he wouldn’t. The guilty were a timid lot after all, skulking in shadows rather than strutting about in the light. So a plan needed to be formulated, a perfect stratagem to capture the guilty party without enabling his escape. All Ting Ren needed was a way to get close to him, to get the Headmaster alone in a place of his choosing, where a readied trap would then close around the unsuspecting criminal.
The best way to do that would be to lure him with bait so mouth-watering that there would be no choice for the Headmaster but to swallow it whole, hook and all.
What could be a bait so enticing, so attractive, that something like that could-
“Yo, Ting Ren! Nice fight. Hey – what was that trick you used; around the middle of the fight? Where you fired off two consecutive Class Two Fire Bolts without any cast delay?”
Ting Ren glared at his sparring opponent, a grinning, babbling fool who was strolling over to shake his hand. Why were his classmates so carefree? He was in the process of trying to entrap the greatest master thief in all of Glint history! Who cared about polishing your skills with a garbage system?!
The offered hand was slapped away by Ting Ren.
“If you have time for pleasantries, you have time to study,” he spoke icily. “How dare you have the gall to stand there smiling; when you were defeated soundly by a sequence of Class Twos without landing a single shot of your own? Disgraceful.”
The smile on his opponent’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a scowl.
“Fine, you don’t need to be so rude about it. Prick.”
Ting Ren watched the snubbed student storm off towards another bunch of equally hapless imbeciles, likely to moan about how he’d been treated. Idiots, the lot of them; here he was, trying to save them all, and they were trying to occupy his attention with useless banter? Ridiculous.
The following weeks would see his classmates distance themselves from Ting Ren, who had been labelled a rude, uncooperative loner, with nothing going for him but his prowess in spell casting. Ting Ren was unfazed by this development; in fact, he much welcomed the solitude. It gave him more time to hone the blade which would take the Headmaster down, once and for all.
~
One afternoon, after classes had ended for the day, the Headmaster had returned to his office with a mug of tea in hand, a sheaf of reports to be reviewed in the nook of his elbow. Just as he sat down at his desk, the armchair creaking slightly with his weight, the door to his office was rapped twice. Two knocks, no more, no less.
The Headmaster got up, mug deposited on a coaster on his desk, and ambled over to the door. Perhaps it was a student, looking to inquire about his or her accommodations. He put on a disarming smile, ready to greet the youngster and see to their query. Upon opening the door however, there was no one there. Nothing save a small white card placed in front of his doorway.
The Headmaster picked up the card, plucking it from the ground with his thumb and index finger. He flipped over the card; and his smile turned to a frown in an instant.
I KNOW THE SECRET BEHIND THE CLASS SYSTEM.
WITCH PLATEAU IN AN HOUR.
OR THE NEXT TO KNOW WILL BE THE ORDER OF GLINT.
An Shen’s face hardened.
Someone had figured it out – the widespread theft of mana from every user of the Class System by none other than the one setting the rules at Orth Academy.
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And yet… if the Glint Order had been notified, there was no way he would still be lounging in his office. He would be in chains in the dungeons of Glint right this very moment, countless magic sealing bindings wrapped around his person. What could this mysterious stranger be planning with this?
Whoever had learnt the truth wanted to meet him face to face; talk it out in person. Blackmail was a very likely possibility, with the value of the secret they held. It was known that the position of Orth’s lead educator afforded An Shen many a privilege, including a sizable compensation package. Money would be no object to someone like that. Except that they must know that he wouldn't simply let them fleece him forever, even if he did pay up. One person that knew this secret was one person too many. Without a doubt, they would be killed as soon as they showed up.
Blackmail was unlikely.
Then...
This could be the trap; the invitation itself being a way to draw him into the open, out of the home ground of his Academy, where his defenses would be the greatest. A ploy to keep him from turning his school into a castle, and an arrest into a siege.
The card was crumpled into a rough ball by a determined fist.
It didn’t matter what this was; the plan was too close to completion to fail now – not right at the very end.
This threat had to be stomped out as soon as possible – before it became a reality.
~
An Shen arrived at Witch’s Plateau, not a minute late. The sun was setting in the background, casting the surroundings in a pleasant orange hue. If he had come here in a different mood, An Shen might have admired the view in all its majesty.
But right now, he didn’t give a damn about the scenery – the only thought in his head was one of caution. He was taking a huge risk coming out here; if this was indeed a trap laid by the Glint Order to restrain him, he would lose everything. All his preparations, the decade long ruse created to harvest and store MP for his eventual goal; wasted in a moment of carelessness.
And with the destruction of his plan, his beloved Orth and his precious Glint would both inevitably end in ruin.
As he made his way further into the Plateau, the waiting figure of a male came into view – his would-be accuser. An Shen hastened his pace towards the one that had called him here, anxious to find out the identity of the one who had found him out.
As he approached, he slowly realised that the figure was dressed in an Orth uniform, and as he got close enough to see the boy’s face, he recognised that the student in question was in fact the most promising of his newly enrolled batch. One that would likely go on to do great things, by An Shen’s own estimations.
This was of course, something to be celebrated. For it were the next generation that would bring Glint to greater heights of peace and prosperity. As such, he had taken great care to nurture this future master of magic, providing the youngster with as many resources and training opportunities as he might want.
And here he was instead – about to throw his life away for nothing.
“Oh,” An Shen said, dumbly. He hadn’t expected to be meeting a student. The guess he had leaned more towards it being a teacher or a researcher of some sort, an individual who would have greater insight into the inner workings of the spells they used; not one of his most cherished flock. “It’s you, young Ting Ren. You called me here?”
“Yes, Headmaster,” Ting Ren replied solemnly. “I know about the mana theft.”
An Shen frowned. He cursorily scanned his surroundings, looking for hidden mana signatures of experts like himself, waiting to spring out. None popped up.
“You haven’t brought any reinforcements as support? Why not?”
Ting Ren scoffed derisively, as if the very thought was foolish. “Like I could. The second I take a step towards the chambers of the Order, you would have bolted. And it’s pointless to bring back-up when all that would achieve would be providing you with hostages with which you can negotiate. I alone will suffice to bring you down.”
An Shen gazed disapprovingly at the child. Even as his own meticulous plans teetered dangerously close to destruction he couldn’t help but point out the young student’s utter hubris.
“What makes you think you wouldn’t become a hostage yourself, young Ting Ren?”
Ting Ren smirked at the veiled threat. After all, he had been planning this confrontation a very long time. Long enough to complete the ultimate countermeasure.
“Headmaster, I believe you are quite mistaken. The only reason I called you out here was to prevent you from absconding. And I can be so confident because this plan has been in the works for ages; months, actually.”
Ting Ren clapped his hands together, fingers splayed in practiced configurations as invisible tendrils of mana leaked from his body to the hidden bulbs of solidified MP loosely buried in the soil of the Plateau at equally spaced distances. The bulbs reacted to his mana signature, letting out a faint blue glow as the crystals that held the stored MP ejected their payloads into the atmosphere.
Enough MP to overcome the mana requirements of spells far exceeding his own mana pool.
This was Ting Ren’s masterstroke; over the course of eight months, he had painstakingly injected two hundred and thirty six mana storage bulbs with as much MP as he could produce, emptying his reserves constantly. He had to do this alone – who knew what prying eyes or ears the Headmaster had positioned within his hunting grounds? One slip up and it would be all for naught.
No, he had to do this alone.
As a result, without fail, he would go to sleep aching all over from mana exhaustion. But he pushed through the pain; because it would be worth it. That much MP would power an unbreakable prison to trap the Headmaster in.
and as a final taunt-
“Mana Sealing Encagement: Class Ten-!”
-he would use the Headmaster’s own spells against him.
A dome of pure blue shimmered into existence over the Headmaster’s head, encasing him within a glittering sphere of mana. An Shen knew the theoretical upper limits of the Class System, and if he put himself to it, his personal mana pool could just about perform a Class Seven. Young Ting Ren had casted a Class Ten, all by himself.
“Headmaster,” Ting Ren grinned triumphantly. “even you can’t break out of a Class Ten, can you? Plus, the Encagement absorbs mana; if you did try to break it through brute force, all that would achieve would be extending the duration of the spell. All you can do now is wait as the Order comes to pick you up.”
Outwardly, An Shen kept his face flat, choosing to maintain a neutral countenance. But inside, he was smiling, having been completely awed by Ting Ren’s display. The ingenuity of coming up with this plan – even facing someone so much stronger than himself he had calmly assessed his options and found a way to prevail! This child had so much potential, so much raw talent. It was as if he was watching his younger self, still brimming with hope, and untrodden by the cruelty of harsh reality.
So it was too bad.
Too bad that he had to snuff out one so brilliant as young Ting Ren.
“Young Ting Ren,” the Headmaster spoke seriously. “You are indeed one of the best Orth has to offer. Yet, even someone as intelligent as you failed to understand one simple concept.”
“If I can grant you usage of the Class System-”
“-I can just as easily take it away.”
Ting Ren’s hand gripped the hem of his uniform nervously. Surely that was just a weak jeer meant to scare him – right? He had tested this strategy exhaustively at several different scales, with multiple different variations. He was absolutely certain that the Encagement was unbreakable. And he had never once heard of magic that could be stolen from you once you had learnt it.
“The rule of law is the rule of strength.”
Ting Ren had misunderstood something crucial about the Class System.
“To dominate over all and stand at the peak.”
Yes, learnt magic could never be erased from your Skills.
“Complete control, in infinite length.”
But if the magic was never yours-
“And you shall become the one they seek.”
-then that didn’t apply, did it?
Intermediate Magic Grimoire removed.
Ting Ren watched in horror as the dome of blue began to disintegrate, mana dissipating quickly as the spell lost cohesion. The Headmaster stepped nonchalantly over the broken shards, taking slow and measured steps towards Ting Ren. There was no need to hurry; his prey was completely defenseless now that he was without magic.
“Ice Shard: Class Three! Fire Bolt: Class Two!”
The frantic cries from the student failed to form even a single spark.
Right, I can still use my familial magic-!
“Anterse-mmph!” A wrinkled hand clamped firmly over Ting Ren’s mouth.
“For what it’s worth,” An Shen looked solemnly at Ting Ren, even as tears began to form in the corners of the boy’s eyes. Too late he realised that his song would end here, where no one would hear it. “I would have loved for you to graduate from Orth as one of our treasured alumni.”
“Psychic Shock: Class Five.”