A massive shockwave managed to throw most of the Mutated Torpedo Snappers back into the water. That had been Iakopo’s doing.
He had earned some time to explain to Talia what she needed to do.
He couldn’t have used Space Water, nor could he have launched a more powerful attack because Awa might have been capable of intercepting it.
However, this was more than enough to explain to Talia what she really needed to do in order to take care of the monsters long enough for the students to leave and for him to be able to use Space Water.
This was the last shot he would be able to get in without the Sword Demon being able to intercept him.
Even though he had practiced Azure Lightning Water for a long time, he was still facing the second-strongest swordsman in the world.
While he would have been able to make short work of him with Space Water, using his second strongest ability, Azure Lightning Water, meant Iakopo was roughly on equal ground with the man.
Talia, seeing that Iakopo had given her some time, awaited instructions.
Now, Iakopo’s voice came with a tinge of stress.
“The reason you cannot use your Primary Mana Channel is because your wrist marks are conduits for Abyssal power.”
Talia didn’t understand.
Iakopo continued.
“Abyssal power can only be used with raw Mana. What you might think of it as is the same energy that powers Abyssal creatures. It’s renounced to using normal Mana because they can now store Mana the same way that Abyssal creatures can, and that has inherently many advantages. The main one is that they have much larger Mana reserves than normal people. However, they also cannot regenerate Mana outside the Deep. They can still survive because they haven’t corrupted their whole being like Abyssal creatures, but they are subject to many of the monster’s own limitations.”
Talia’s brow furrowed in confusion.
She didn’t understand what the Iakopo was saying.
Essentially, Cultists can’t use a Primary Mana Channel because they had Abyssal magic?
And Professor Iakopo was somehow implying that she herself had something similar to Cultists in her wrists?
But why could she regenerate Mana normally, then?
What was the professor talking about?
“Yalena needed my help to defeat the Kraken, Talia,” Iakopo said, his voice heavy with the weight of the past. “I don’t think that this is the moment to explain my history with your mother. So just know that the wrist marks you have are not by chance. They are your mother’s doing.”
Talia’s eyes widened.
Iakopo continued, his words coming faster now.
“I don’t know everything that your mother did or planned, but I can tell you what those wrist marks are for. Abyssal magic and normal magic cannot coexist inside your body. You can still generate normal magic because it flows through your navel. That’s where we regenerate magic from. However, Yalena knew that to practice the kind of ritual she needed, she might have had to use both Abyssal magic and normal magic, essentially combining raw Mana and normal Mana that humans generate at their core.”
For the first time in her life, it seemed like Talia was about to get some real answers about what she had considered a curse for her whole life.
“To do that, your mother needed separation of concerns,” Iakopo explained. “The raw magic couldn’t touch the normal magic. That’s why she had initially considered donning these marks herself. Interestingly enough, she managed to do without them. I don’t know why nor how.”
He paused, his expression growing serious. “But I do know how to use them because I, not your mother, was the one who designed them.”
Talia frowned. “Why are they shaped like this?” she asked.
Iakopo hesitated. “I thought it would be fun when I was designing them.”
Talia felt cheated out of her childhood because an idiot professor had decided to have fun with this magic. She clenched her fists, trying to control her anger.
“Listen,” Iakopo said, noticing her reaction, “The wrist marks are a powerful spell to absorb Abyssal magic. I have no idea how Yalena managed to make them work. Theoretically, and probably the reason why your mother didn’t use them, they weren’t supposed to work without killing whoever used them. It’s just impossible for raw magic to circulate through someone’s body without ravaging it, even if it was only contained in a single part of one’s body.”
Talia couldn’t believe what the man was saying. She opened her mouth to speak, but Iakopo continued.
“But how they work,” he explained, “is this: Just focus on them. Close your eyes. Visualize two circles of raw Mana around your wrists. You will feel some Mana in that region. It won’t feel any different than your normal Mana, in theory. However, you can use the Risk Marks as channels. Instead of your primary Mana Channel being what circulates the Abyssal magic, use the Risk Marks to circulate the magic, the Abyssal magic, I mean, around the wrist marks. By doing that, you will be able to use your primary Mana Channel.”
Talia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “It was this easy all along?” she asked incredulously.
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“Yes,” Iakopo admitted. “The reason your primary Mana Channel is so weak, by the way, is probably because no one ever taught you that, and the raw magic progressively atrophied the primary Mana Channel since it wasn’t supposed to be there all the time. Unlike normal magic, which would have nourished your body, the raw magic probably inflicted damage on your primary channel for 16 years.”
Talia wanted nothing more than to insult the man and pummel his face. However, this was neither the place nor the time. Instead, she followed Iakopo’s instructions.
She closed her eyes, ignoring the scuttling of the Torpedo Snappers that were once again climbing up this rocky platform and about to swarm her. She saw that around the Cruster, there was indeed just a little more Mana than in the rest of her body. She didn’t believe that those sparks of Mana there had been the entire reason she couldn’t have accessed her primary Mana Channel, nor could she believe it was the only reason her primary Mana Channel was so weak to start with.
She circulated the tiny motes of Mana around the Cruster, thinking of them surfacing through the wrist marks. And with almost no effort, so frustratingly easily, they just rose, hopped her wrist marks, and started spinning in circles. She didn’t even have to do anything after they had started.
Talia opened her eyes to find her wrist marks glowing with a white light that didn’t feel as ominous as when she had drawn the power from the wrist marks before.
“To do that, your mother needed separation of concerns,” Iakopo explained. “The raw magic couldn’t touch the normal magic. That’s why she had initially considered donning these marks herself. Interestingly enough, she managed to do without them. I don’t know why nor how.”
He paused, his expression growing serious. “But I do know how to use them because I, not your mother, was the one who designed them.”
Talia frowned. “Why are they shaped like this?” she asked.
Iakopo hesitated. “I thought it would be fun.”
Talia felt cheated out of her childhood because an idiot professor had decided to have fun with this magic. She clenched her fists, trying to control her anger.
“Listen,” Iakopo said, noticing her reaction, “The Risk Marks are a powerful spell to absorb Abyssal magic. I have no idea how Yalena managed to make them work. Theoretically, and probably the reason why your mother didn’t use them, they weren’t supposed to work without killing whoever used them. It’s just impossible for raw magic to circulate through someone’s body without ravaging it, even if it was only contained in a single part of one’s body.”
Talia couldn’t believe what the man was saying. She opened her mouth to speak, but Iakopo continued.
“But how they work,” he explained, “is this: Just focus on them. Close your eyes. Visualize two circles of raw Mana around your wrists. You will feel some Mana in that region. It won’t feel any different than your normal Mana, in theory. However, you can use the Risk Marks as channels. Instead of your primary Mana Channel being what circulates the Abyssal magic, use the Risk Marks to circulate the magic, the Abyssal magic, I mean, around the wrist marks. By doing that, you will be able to use your primary Mana Channel.”
Talia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “It was this easy all along?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Iakopo admitted. “The reason your primary Mana Channel is so weak, by the way, is probably because no one ever taught you that, and the raw magic progressively atrophied the primary Mana Channel since it wasn’t supposed to be there all the time. Unlike normal magic, which would have nourished your body, the raw magic probably inflicted damage on your primary channel for 16 years.”
Talia wanted nothing more than to insult the man and pummel his face. However, this was neither the place nor the time. Instead, she followed Iakopo’s instructions.
She closed her eyes, ignoring the scuttling of the Torpedo Snappers that were once again climbing up this rocky platform and about to swarm her. She saw that around the Cruster, there was indeed just a little more Mana than in the rest of her body. She didn’t believe that those sparks of Mana there had been the entire reason she couldn’t have accessed her primary Mana Channel, nor could she believe it was the only reason her primary Mana Channel was so weak to start with.
She circulated the tiny motes of Mana around the Cruster, thinking of them surfacing through the wrist marks. And with almost no effort, so frustratingly easily, they just rose, hopped her wrist marks, and started spinning in circles. She didn’t even have to do anything after they had started.
Talia opened her eyes to find her wrist marks glowing with a white light that didn’t feel as ominous as when she had drawn the power from the wrist marks before.
“That’s it,” Iakopo said. “Now, just conjure a Mana Board.”
Talia looked emptily at the water, and she heard a sigh in her ear.
“You’ve forgotten my instructions already?” The man sounded snappsih. “Close your eyes. Visualize the Mana flowing through you, condensing beneath your feet. Shape it along the longer side and slowly expand it horizontally.”
Talia hesitated for a moment, then closed her eyes.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the swirling currents of Mana that flowed through her body.
Following Iakopo’s instructions, she focused on that energy, willing it to coalesce beneath her feet.
To her amazement, as she stepped into the shallow water, she felt something solid forming under her.
Her eyes snapped open, and she looked down to see a shimmering board of pure Mana hovering just above the ground.
“Good,” Iakopo’s voice echoed in her mind. “Now, for the Dark Water.”
“What the Cultists are trying to do here today is to kill enough people so that the Dark Water Well will coalesce enough magic to bestow one Dark Water Affinity upon a person,” Iakopo explained.
Talia listened while hovering over the water with her Mana Board, the skill coming effortlessly to her now.
“Dark Water is another thing that your mother,” Iakopo continued, “needed for her fight against the Kraken. I was the one who found out that in our Academy, there’s an artifact that, if you sacrifice enough of your own vitality, bestows you control of Dark Water. However, the amount of vitality one has to sacrifice is huge. It’s essentially impossible to gain a Dark Water Affinity that way. You would simply die, and that artifact doesn’t allow you to draw upon other sources of vitality.”
“Wait,” Talia interrupted, her eyes widening in recognition. “Are you talking about the Darkstorm Sphere?”
There was a beat of silence from Iakopo, who then said, “Yes. How do you know about it?”
“I—” Talia began, but Iakopo cut her off.
“Okay. It’s not important. The fact that you have the Risk Marks explains how you must have been able to use Dark Water.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Well, Dark Water is essentially the reversal of normal Hydromancy. The reason it cannot be gained through normal means is that it works as a sort of anti-magic that consumes Mana while being made of Mana itself. It’s an enormous contradiction. And even throughout my studies, I couldn’t fully investigate the nature of Dark Water.”
Iakopo’s voice grew somber as he continued, “Your mother thought that the key to using both a primary Mana Channel and Abyssal magic was Dark Water. She was, of course, wrong. But that didn’t stop her from letting everyone in Placid City die so that your father,” his voice tinged with spite, “could earn Dark Water.”
Talia felt her world shatter. “Wait. What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve blamed myself for 20 years for what happened in Placid City,” Iakopo said, his voice heavy with regret. “But what really happened was that your mother was behind all those deaths.”
Talia’s mind reeled, struggling to process this information. “Mom was responsible for the Placid City catastrophe?” she thought to herself, her heart pounding. How could that be possible?