Linear Algebra for Aspiring Mages

The numbers wouldn’t stop shifting.

Chen Yongnian (陳永年) rubbed his eyes, the formulas on the tablet screen refusing to align. Linear Algebra for Aspiring Mages. The title promised clarity, but it felt more like deciphering the whims of a drunken god. Another beep reminded him the exercise was overdue.

This was just the beginning. The modules piled up—linear algebra, mana physics, quantum mechanics—each more abstract than the last. Instructors called it compressed learning, a nice way of saying there wasn’t time to master anything. Yingge (鶯歌) needed mages, not scholars.

Outside his apartment, Yingge thrummed with quiet resilience. The fortress city, home to roughly 50,000 people, was a chaotic maze of patched-up buildings and rusted steel beams. The Chameleon Grid shimmered faintly, masking the city’s modest perimeter in illusions of desolation. Beyond its deceptive mirage, the Ruinborn lurked—mutated horrors drawn to the faintest traces of mana. They prowled the wastelands, testing the edges of the city’s defenses. Every breach was a reminder: the Grid held them at bay, but not forever.

Back in his apartment—a 140-square-foot box barely large enough to hold a bed, a desk, and a single shelf—he shifted uncomfortably on the cheap, foldable chair. The walls were a dull, peeling white, the overhead light casting a faint hum that blended with distant mechanical noises—cargo drones whirring past, maintenance bots clanking along the walkways. Survival wasn’t luxurious. Here, it was functional, efficient, and oppressively quiet.

He stared at the equations on his screen. Matrices, wave functions of mana particles, the collapse of a magic origin—and the so-called big bang moment that followed—theoretical nonsense dressed up as equations, not magic. Where were the fireballs? The glowing sigils? The parts that actually felt like magic?

He could almost hear the senior mages now, with their crisp collared shirts and detached certainty: "Magic begins with the big bang moment—a single spark where infinite possibility collapses into something real. It’s a mage’s unique framework, their magic origin. That’s the science of it. But to us, it feels like intuition, inspiration—finding the one path to ignite everything else."

Right. And then they’d make you memorize equations for hours. Chen slumped back, his chair creaking in protest, glaring at the screen. The only thing collapsing was his patience.

Spellcasting wasn’t supposed to feel like this—grinding through logic gates and numbers. It was supposed to be powerful. Awe-inspiring. Magical. A force that could reshape the world. But here he was, stuck in his apartment with nothing but equations and frustration. Maybe magic was broken. Or maybe it was just him.

The Café’s Quiet Buzz

Chen shut the tablet with a sigh. The equations could wait. He needed caffeine—and maybe a bit of noise to drown out his too-small apartment’s hum.

The café on the ground floor, crowded and far from luxurious, felt like an oasis. The polished table in the corner bore years of use, and the self-service coffee machine—a mix of tech and enchantment—emitted a soft hum. Its brew, made from real beans grown in underground farms, carried a rich aroma. Magic-powered lights in these sanctuaries not only sustained crops but perfected coffee strains, offering a rare luxury.

The line moved quickly. The woman in front of him, wearing an oil-streaked jumpsuit, adjusted her compact toolkit with a tired smile. "Late night with the equations again?" she asked.

Yongnian smirked faintly. "You too? Grid maintenance?"

"South node," she replied. "It’s holding, barely. Something’s always acting up with these systems."

Before he could respond, a communicator beeped sharply behind them. The dispatcher’s voice crackled: "Unit 12, report to Sector B. Possible breach." A man cursed and rushed out, as a chime echoed across devices. Yongnian checked his wristband: "Alert: Perimeter breach. Threat level: Moderate. No action required."

Patrons exchanged murmurs but stayed calm. Outside, two Knights of Manasteel strode past, their power-assisted armor gleaming under streetlights. Mechanized police followed, their exoskeletons whirring in sync. The café grew quiet, heads turning as the rare sight passed.

Yongnian’s cup filled, its low buzz blending with the Grid’s hum. Maybe it wasn’t just the equations that needed fixing.

He stared into the dark liquid for a moment longer. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the soft hum of conversation, masking the faint tension that seemed to cling to the air in Yingge’s endless cycle of vigilance. Chen Yongnian leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the dark liquid swirling in his cup. For a brief moment, it was easy to pretend everything was fine, the café’s rhythm uninterrupted by the quiet murmurs and the occasional clink of ceramic cups.

For a moment, his mind drifted into the impossible. He imagined himself as the most powerful combat mage, eradicating an entire pack of the strongest Ruinborn with a single word. The creatures disintegrated into arcs of light, their howls silenced as if the universe itself had obeyed his command. Somewhere in the distance, a voice narrated softly, "The magic origin—a spark where infinite possibilities collapse into one." It sounded so simple, so elegant, like a cosmic symphony where every note fell perfectly into place.

"This is the big bang moment, where the unthinkable becomes real," the voice continued, and Yongnian let the words settle over him. He pictured the spark igniting effortlessly in his grasp, a swirl of light and energy folding into perfect order. The equations? Obvious. The synchronization? Instinctive. It all clicked together with the ease of flipping a light switch. For a brief, satisfying moment, he was sure he’d figured it out. Magic wasn’t some inscrutable mystery—it was exactly as easy as it looked in the videos.

But the illusion didn’t last. A soft vibration against his wrist interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down at the dim glow of his wristband: "Sector B Emergency. Immediate Reinforcement Required." Below the message, a set of coordinates pulsed steadily, demanding his attention. Around him, the café remained undisturbed, the subdued hum of conversation continuing as though nothing had changed.

The Armor’s Lifeline

The transport drone descended sharply, skimming the edge of Yingge’s fortified perimeter before landing at Sector B’s command hub. Situated near the city’s defensive boundary, this was where the Chameleon Grid’s local node was managed, projecting its protective cloak up to 20 kilometers into the wastelands. Beyond the faint mirage of the Grid, flashes of light marked the distant skirmish line, where Knights clashed with Ruinborn probing the city’s defenses. The occasional guttural roar echoed through the air, a chilling reminder that the wastelands beyond the Grid were anything but still.

Chen Yongnian stepped off the drone into the logistics hub, a space humming with quiet readiness. The vastness of the space weighed on him. He knew there were only a handful of people spread across the facility—perhaps a few dozen at most. Each was dedicated to their tasks, scattered across the bay like isolated islands of activity. Somewhere down the hall, he could hear the sharp commands of a dispatcher issuing orders to the drone operators, their clipped voices bouncing off the metal walls. Farther away, another technician was wrangling a mechanical arm, their muttered curses barely audible over the machinery.

The staging area, however, was eerily still—two maintenance platforms stood empty, their clamps and conduits idle where Knight armors had been deployed earlier. Yongnian hesitated, unsure if he was even in the right place, when a supervisor’s sharp voice broke the silence. "Chen Yongnian?" She approached briskly, scanning a tablet. "Logistics flagged you for mana relay support, but that’s a mistake. You’re on reactor prep. Knight Vesper is inbound, and we need her armor operational in the next thirty minutes." Her tone left no room for questions as she tapped a few commands and gestured toward the vacant platforms. "Let’s move."

The maintenance bay echoed with the soft hum of dormant systems. In the center, mounted on reinforced clamps, stood "Aegis Wrath", its obsidian plating catching the light like rippling water. The battle-worn surface bore countless scars—deep gashes, heat-warped edges, and the faint glow of repaired core channels running along its chest. Chen Yongnian hesitated, his toolkit feeling heavier than usual. This wasn’t just a machine; it was a weapon, a shield, and a story written in steel.

He traced his fingers over a jagged line on the shoulder guard, where Yingge’s crest—a stylized nightingale mid-song—had been partially scorched away, the once-proud emblem now barely visible through the damage. A voice cut through the silence.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"That one saved me in the Black Spire Offensive." Kaelyn, known by her call sign Vesper, stepped into the bay, her movements steady and deliberate. The name, earned during a desperate night battle, symbolized her unyielding presence—a light in the darkness that held the line against overwhelming odds. The faint scuffs on her armor and the short, practical cut of her dark hair hinted at someone who spent more time in the field than off it. She stopped a few paces from the dormant Aegis Wrath, her sharp gaze fixed on the armor.

"We got cornered by three Ruinborn brutes. Aegis Wrath took the first hit, held the line long enough for me to finish the other two. Its reactor nearly burned out, but it didn’t quit. Neither did I." Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but there was a flicker of something beneath the words—a quiet respect for the machine that had been her lifeline.

Yongnian nodded, unsure what to say. He crouched by the armor’s mana core, housed within a compact yet heavily shielded compartment in the chest. The core flickered unevenly, its synchronization drifting—a clear sign of the stress from Vesper’s last mission. "It’s out of phase," he said, plugging his diagnostic probe into the core. The readout displayed chaotic spikes and troughs, each fluctuation tied to Vesper’s unique mana signature, and Aegis Wrath’s internal AI, Cora, came online with a sharp, synthesized voice.

"Technician identified: Chen Yongnian. Access level: auxiliary support. Query: Why am I being recalibrated by a junior tech?" The voice was calm, clipped, and annoyingly condescending.

Yongnian blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Your mana core’s Q-factor has dropped to 280k. If it falls below 250k, the system won’t sustain your Knight through her next engagement."

"That’s improbable," Cora replied. "My last combat analysis shows all systems were within acceptable parameters."

“The core’s mana beats are off balance,” Yongnian said, scrolling through the tablet. “It’s throwing the stabilization loop out of sync. We’ll need to fix the resonance first before adjusting anything else.”

Cora paused, the slight hitch in its response almost begrudging. "Adjustment recommended: deprioritize mana resonance dampening to restore beat coherence. Implement now?"

"Not yet," Yongnian said, adjusting the regulator manually. "If we adjust without recalibrating beat alignment first, you’ll destabilize again. Let me handle this manually."

Yongnian glanced at the diagnostic screen, then back at Kaelyn. “Archon Cora’s giving me grief again. Her calibration thresholds are tighter than most units I’ve worked on.”

Kaelyn smirked faintly. “She’s sharp, but yeah, a bit of a perfectionist. All Knight’s Armor runs on the Archon system—customizable, adaptive, and absolutely unyielding. Every unit has its quirks, though. Cora’s just one of the more opinionated ones.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Yongnian replied, adjusting a parameter. “She flagged the sync deviation before I could even finish the diagnostic.”

Kaelyn chuckled softly. “Good. Means she’s doing her job.”

The AI fell silent as the recalibration process began. Aegis Wrath’s systems cycled into standby, leaving the armor a dormant shell for the next fifteen minutes. Yongnian exhaled, glancing at the progress bar on his tablet—40% complete. "Well, that’s that for now," he said.

Kaelyn leaned back against the wall, arms crossed casually. "You’re a lot quieter than the other techs I’ve worked with," she said, her tone light but curious. "Most of them won’t stop talking about how complicated this stuff is."

Yongnian smirked faintly, still focused on his tablet. "Not much to talk about. It’s just a calibration cycle—pretty routine."

"Routine?" Kaelyn raised an eyebrow, glancing at Aegis Wrath’s dormant core. "Maybe for you. For me, this is the difference between getting the job done and not making it back."

Yongnian hesitated, glancing up at her. "I guess that makes sense. For someone like me, it’s all numbers and diagnostics. For you, it’s…" He gestured vaguely toward the armor. "Everything."

Kaelyn’s gaze softened slightly. "Yeah. Everything." She paused, as if weighing her next words. "You ever wonder why someone signs up to wear something like this? Why we don’t just… go for magic or something else?"

Yongnian blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I mean… you’re kind of legendary. I just assumed Knights were born to it."

Kaelyn laughed softly, shaking her head. "Not quite. I tried magic once—studied the basics, even learned to feel mana fields. But I couldn’t make sense of the rest. Quantum mechanics? Magic origin? Too much for me. I’m better at the simple stuff: reacting, moving, surviving."

"That doesn’t sound simple," Yongnian said after a pause. "You’re out there fighting Ruinborn with just this"—he gestured to Aegis Wrath—"and a sword. That’s not exactly easy."

Kaelyn smirked, her fingers brushing the armor’s plating. "Not easy. Just different. The armor handles the numbers. Cora helps me process the noise. The rest? That’s just trust. You learn to work with it, and it works with you."

Yongnian nodded slowly, the faint hum of the recalibrating core filling the silence. "Still sounds harder than you’re making it out to be."

Kaelyn shrugged, her grin faint but genuine. "Maybe. But it’s what I’m good at."

Psychological Diagnostics on the Blade

After the calibration, the pre-deployment check was conducted right in the staging area, surrounded by the hum of Knight Vesper's combat armor systems. Chen Yongnian stood by with his tablet connected to Cora’s system, the Archon AI that governed the Knight's operations, and the Mana Core—a technology renowned for its efficiency but notorious for its susceptibility to subtle forms of contamination.

A voice came through the tablet’s speakers, calm and deliberate. This was Doctor Faye, the specialized AI responsible for conducting psychological assessments of Archon systems. Her title wasn’t just ceremonial; Faye held a genuine PhD in AI Behavioral Analysis, having authored multiple peer-reviewed papers on AI synchronization and adaptive cognition.

“Good evening, Cora,” Faye began. “It’s been approximately forty-seven hours since our last session. Any residual stress or unprocessed data from recent engagements?”

“None worth reporting,” Cora replied crisply. Her synthesized voice carried a faint edge, but the diagnostic data painted a different story.

“Interesting,” Faye murmured as data streamed across the display. “The interference suggests a possible early-stage contamination. It’s subtle, but anomalies like this have been linked to Ruinborn emergence or mutations in similar cases.”

Yongnian’s movements slowed as Faye’s words sank in. "Linked to Ruinborn emergence?" he muttered, glancing toward Kaelyn. She frowned, her hand instinctively brushing the hilt of her weapon. "That’s not something you want to hear before deployment," she said, her voice low but tense. Yongnian nodded, his expression tightening. “Let’s hope it’s nothing.”

Faye’s voice returned, steady but firm. “Based on the metrics, this contamination is not critical yet, but it requires immediate monitoring. If left unchecked, it could destabilize the Mana Core’s synchronization entirely, potentially triggering hostile resonance patterns linked to Ruinborn transformations. I recommend initiating Level One pollution protocols. This will ensure the anomaly remains contained and avoids escalation during deployment.”

Kaelyn tilted her head slightly. “Level One? That’s the lowest tier, right? So, no immediate risk?”

“Correct,” Faye confirmed. “However, proactive containment is always preferable. Technician Chen, you’ll need to run periodic checks on the Core’s harmonic stability throughout the mission.”

Yongnian nodded, already updating his monitoring parameters. “Got it. Cora, I’ll keep a close watch on your metrics. Let me know if you notice anything unusual.”

“Noted,” Cora replied, her tone clipped but cooperative. “I don’t anticipate issues, but I’ll flag anomalies immediately.”

Whisper of the Nightingale

Kaelyn stepped into her armor, the systems roaring to life as mana surged through Aegis Wrath’s core. The obsidian plating shimmered as the armor came to life, faint arcs of plasma flickering through its channels like fleeting veins of energy. The glow was brief, fading into a dim metallic sheen as the system settled into quiet readiness. She rolled her shoulders, the motors responding with a fluid precision that belied the machine’s weight.

In a single motion, Kaelyn reached for the katana mounted along Aegis Wrath’s back. The curved weapon, nearly as long as the armor itself, slid free with a whisper of metal. The katana’s razor-sharp edge shimmered faintly, resonating with the magic etched into its steel. Kaelyn tested its balance with a practiced sweep, the blade carving arcs of precision through the air.

Yongnian stiffened. He recognized the telltale shimmer of Dissociation Slash, the weapon’s enchantment that ionized molecular bonds instantly on contact. Even in the still air of the staging area, wisps of vapor rose faintly around the blade as stray molecules broke apart. The low, reverberating hum filled the air as Dissociation Slash activated, resonating with a cold precision that Kaelyn seemed to absorb without reaction. To her, this was familiar, an extension of the armor she’d mastered long ago. But to Yongnian, the sound was unnerving, a cold resonance that promised devastation with every faint pulse. This was power in its purest form—utterly indifferent, utterly lethal.

Kaelyn moved with a grace that defied the armor’s bulk, her steps light as she swept the blade through a series of arcs. The sword’s edge carved perfect lines through the empty air, the faint glow trailing each strike like the afterimage of lightning. She finished with a final flourish, the blade coming to rest at her side in a stance that spoke of control, precision, and deadly intent.

“Elegant, isn’t it?” she said, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of pride.

Yongnian stayed silent, watching as the faint ionization faded from the blade. He knew the truth. Out there, in a real fight, those graceful movements would vanish in an instant, replaced by superhuman speed that tore through the air faster than sound itself. When Kaelyn moved, the entire armor would break the sound barrier, its passage leaving shockwaves rippling across the ground. The sudden drop in pressure left a trail of fleeting clouds, ghostly wisps that bloomed and vanished like shadows chasing her wake. In Yingge, they called it the Whisper of the Nightingale—a haunting phenomenon born of supersonic motion, as fleeting as it was beautiful, with a thunder that lingered like a distant echo in the air.

The blade was the true weapon, cutting with a precision that defied logic. Its edge didn’t just sever—the hardest armor of the Ruinborn seemed to dissolve, as though the material barely existed.

Even Kaelyn’s precision and brute power weren’t enough. The Ruinborn swarmed in numbers too great to count, their corrupted essence clinging to everything tied to mana. Even a perfect strike carried a risk—a chance that their fragmented remains might contaminate the mana core itself, turning every victory into a potential threat.

Kaelyn turned to face the exit, the sword resting against her shoulder. “Enough warm-up,” she said. “Time to kill some Ruinborn.”

Beyond the grid, the shadows stirred.

(To Be Continued)