Of course, showing off a new toy is a habit best left to children, and Spencer Raventa — approaching fifty and notwithstanding his vampiric traits — was well past that stage.
As such, the prestigious Line Mage Corps remained a little-known entity, busying themselves with their first official assignment: bandit extermination.
Bandits, a perpetual nuisance, always required reining in.
Due to its geography and scant resources, the Northern Territory was known for its hardy temperament, where the locals were as harsh on strangers as they were on each other.
In the northern reaches, it was not unusual for the common folk to lead dual lives: farmers by day and bandits by dry season. This duality resulted in a swath of banditry across the Northern lands.
While Spencer's reforms relieved much of the people's hardship and decreased the bandit numbers, the departure of mages from remote regions inadvertently expanded the bandits' terrain.
Where the proximity of a mage tower once served as a deterrent, the skeletal remains of these towers now emboldened the outlaws.
Under Spencer's guidance, the Line Mage Corps spent over two years combing the wilds and resettling struggling people to more secure areas, thus eradicating a problem that plagued generations.
Afterwards, this unwaveringly loyal Corps stayed within the capital's barracks, undergoing relentless daily drills until Spencer Raventa and Grey Alwyn took up arms in rebellion, finally bringing the Corps to the battlefield.
Now, back to the present. With the steady rhythm of the Line Mage Corps behind him, the Duke of the North couldn't help but smirk with self-satisfaction, akin to a culprit who delights in visiting the scene of their meticulous crime. Spencer had longed to showcase his elite force beyond the North, but only when rebellion firmed in his heart did he breathe life back into this ambition.
As their march halted, the Corps aligned behind Spencer, who raised his hand, feeling the latent energy for a few seconds before decisively swinging it down.
A gust of wind?
Everyone felt it — the mages' and the multitudes' leather boots alike — a breeze that caressed their backs and whisked towards the mages.
Old Arwin was the first to comprehend, stating with conviction, "It's mana." Even Eric, usually unflappable, sensed a sliver of surprise.
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Turning, Eric saw some of his magically ungifted soldiers reaching out, questioning whether their senses were at fault.
"Why can they feel it, even the ordinary ones?" Eric pondered aloud to his father.
"The magnitude of mana is overwhelming," Arwin said assuredly. "Remember the Chronicles of Humankind and Demons and the tale of the demon lord's awakening a century past?"
"I recall the book mentioned every power in the world felt his awakening," Eric mused after a moment.
"Exactly. That's the convergence of the world's mana," the old Duke paused before continuing, "Everyone knows, even the most potent demon lord can't possibly absorb all the world's mana. But every strand of mana in this world will be drawn to such immense power, including the sliver within every soul and the kind contained in top-tier beings."
As they conversed, an incomprehensibly massive fireball manifested above the Corps. It was almost as large as the Corps itself, a pseudo-sun that made many soldiers' skin glisten with perspiration, whether from the scalding heat or the innate fear of gargantuan objects.
When the fireball ceased growing, the Corps brandished their wands in unison. The searing globe began to hurtle towards the city walls with increasing velocity.
Spencer could have quickened the casting, but a slower process provided a clearer demonstration of the Line Mage Corps' formidable strength, given their certainty of victory.
The colossal fireball, slightly higher than the wall, collided silently with the stone barrier, exploding into a ten-meter high wall of fire that raged between the hills.
"Father, what kind of siege tactic is this?" Eric, puzzled, rode forward to consult the ever-knowledgeable Arwin.
"Raventa seeks to raze the walls. That way, our retreat later faces no obstruction," Arwin observed the searing wall, "He's quite thorough."
"Just a fireball?" Eric remained baffled.
"Watch and learn," was Arwin's unperturbed response.
After minutes of fiery embrace, the flames dwindling on the stone began to wane. Had an army faced the initial blast, it would now resemble charred remains.
And then Raventa raised his hand once more. As his arm descended, everyone felt a breeze again. The Line Mage Corps marshaled their second mass spell. But this time, what loomed above wasn't a sun-like fireball but a black cloud, dark as spilled ink.
Many of the soldiers, former farmers, knew the rule: the darker the cloud, the heavier the rain. Yet never had they imagined it would turn this nightmarishly black; perhaps 'black cloud' was a more apt description than 'dark cloud.'
As the flames sputtered out, the modest cloud moved directly above the wall. In seconds, a deluge plummeted down, mingling the sound of rain with the cracks of splintering bricks.
Amidst the clamor, soldiers on dry ground watched in awe as the wall faced the storm's erosion, stone chips falling in the noisy rain, the wall shrinking much like a shedding serpent.
Minutes later, both the inky storm and the wall vanished from view, leaving behind a humble hill of rubble basked in the dying sunlight where once a formidable barrier stood.
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Publicly Available Intelligence (strictly confidential):
Raising a wizard is prohibitively expensive. Spell components, magical gemstones, and suitable wand wood all cost a pretty penny. The worst part? Everything carries a risk of failure. So for most from modest means, the career path of choice remains — a warrior. However, if you happen to be a lucky duckling with the gift for magic, congrats! You might become a Spellsword (a second-tier profession), mastering combat with a side of spellwork — and no, it doesn't have to be a sword.