“Is this correct?” Elian tilted his head, examining the Urwaz rune invented by the Kymonthyr sages, far descendants of the Kymorathi. The angles of the last downward stroke seemed too far to the left.

He swept the soil with his foot and drew it again with a stick furrowing the ground. It was loose soil so he could write runes on it without effort. He found out earlier that compacted soil required some digging which somehow counted as an attack. Dratted Elder Giant’s Curse hampering his life.

It took Elian about fifteen minutes to make a defense seal that increased the Health, Armor, and Magic Resilience of those entering it by five percent. He only cared for the first two because his Magic Resilience was always zero anyway. He drew the seal starting from the center, spiraling outwards. Simple magic seals could be made just by drawing with anything, so he dedicated thousands of hours to practice making them and committing to memory runes from different civilizations.

As he wrote the last rune on the outermost circle, the whole seal glowed a slight whitish blue.

Tiptoeing over his work, taking care not to smudge anything, he made his way to the middle. He didn’t need the seal’s defensive boost; this was a practice and a test. He’d make a more permanent construction over time.

He left his cleaver outside the circle, losing a big chunk of his Armor, because he wanted to test how much leeway he had until the daily Tribulations would become a huge concern. And he hated the itchiness the cleaver caused whenever it nibbled at his Health.

Instead of standing and raising his right hand as he did yesterday, he went down on one knee to better absorb the impact. He then crossed his arms above his head. Borlen explained to Elian over roasted star hens last night that the intent of calling for the Tribulation mattered, not the pose or the words used.

“What about the location?” Elian asked Borlen that time. “Can I call for the Tribulation while deep inside a cave? A mountain blocking the strike would help a lot.”

“You need a clear line of sight from the heavens,” Borlen explained. “That is why the Tribulation will descend despite many layers of transparent barriers but not if the Penitent is beneath the earth.”

Fortifying holes seemed to be the go-to strategy of most Champion Penitents. But that was for a stage when the Tribulation’s area had grown wide enough. Elian didn’t need to puzzle over how to dig holes for now. If his magic seal test went well, he’d just make layers of them.

He focused on the Magistrate’s Curse and shouted, “Bacon, lettuce, Tribulation sandwich!”

Blue light flashed twice barely a second apart, a smidge brighter than yesterday. Something heavy pressed down on Elian. A slight strain on his arms that bore the brunt of the Tribulation, if it could even be considered a brunt. No marks on his skin. Didn’t even redden. Plenty of time before he’d start to worry if the Tribulation would kill him the next day.

The Tribulation had blown away some of the central parts of the magic seal, proving that it wasn’t just the gentle push that Elian felt. Next time, he’d write on wet clay and then harden it. He’d prefer etching runes on stone but his Curse surely wouldn’t allow him to do that.

Just as the Tribulation’s power had slightly increased, the rewards did as well. Health and Energy added twenty points each to the previous amounts. As for Attack Power, Magic Power, Armor, and Magic Resilience, they became forty points. As before, Elian chose to get Attack Power and Health.

“That’s the Tribulation done for the day,” Elian said. He should always remember to complete this. Would be a big surprise if he was struck by it while he was fast asleep at midnight.

The agenda for the day was picking one of the Six Paths of Enduring Penitence. He agreed with Borlen’s suggestion that picking the Path of Vigor was the best option for beginners, which he technically was. But that applied only if surviving Tribulations was the goal. Elian had a glaring weakness that needed addressing—he had zero Magic Resilience. A fireball could easily barbecue him.

The Path of the Mind seemed to be the best option because mages could make all sorts of defenses to meet any threat, like Energy Mantle and magical shields. However, it meant a serious investment in Energy. He’d rather focus on Attack Power since it gave the most bang for his coin.

And so, the only option left was the Path of the Immaterial—Aether Magic.

If only I’d known this would happen, I would’ve prepared for it. This was as far from the martial art forms of the War Monastery as could be. But that was how life was, as Priest Thalman had told him. He wouldn’t get what he expected.

Fortunately, Elian wasn’t clueless about Aether Magic. He had some experience using it, and his knowledge of Energy-based magic was mostly applicable. After all, Energy-based magic evolved from Ather Magic.

From the forests behind the Cauldron, he made the long trip to the top of Immaterial Hill and lined up outside the Temple of the Path of the Immaterial. Well, there wasn’t any actual line. Barely any people went in and out of the temple that was, in reality, a school. Not a surprise. Other than the Path of Vigor and the Path of Energy being better options, Aether Magic was… outdated.

The school of the Immaterial Path was grand, a central section of crystal spires while its left and right wings held several floors of rooms. Floating armors hovered above the spires in the middle while statues dotted the roof of the building wings. Still, the building was smaller than that of the other Paths and its grounds were less well-maintained.

On his way up the hill, Elian also noticed there was barely anything related to Aether magic sold by the few vendors here. There were fewer people on this hill, be they pilgrims, merchants, or people just wanting to learn Aether Magic.

“Are they accepting people here?” Elian wondered, looking for someone who could teach him how to apply.

A man wearing light blue and purple robes exited one of the spires and approached Elian. Unlike the guy Elian met at the school of Vigor, this man didn’t manifest his tattoos of the Magistrate’s Boon. He also wore a gauntlet of what could be Aether-constructed armor on his left arm. It glinted with unnatural light and shed some sparkles as the man walked.

Looking longer at the beautifully crafted Ather gauntlet, Elian realized that there was no hand inside. The man wasn’t wearing it. He used it to replace his hand.

“A good day to you,” said the gauntleted man. “My name is Varmisal, a teacher of this institution. Are you perhaps interested in joining the Path of the Immaterial?”

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

“My name is Elian Ward and I certainly am interested.” Elian unbuttoned his long-sleeved shirt—he bought this to easier show his Tribulation number without revealing the rest of the tattoos—and made the Kymorathi number for two appear on his chest. “Is this sufficient?”

“Oho, a new Penitent!” Varmisal knew how to read the Kymorathi symbol. He excitedly clapped his hands, not making any noise as his right palm struck the material of Aether-make. “Just in time. Two others are waiting for the instructor for introductory lessons. Come along now and start on the Path of the Immaterial.”

“That’s it? Don’t I need to show a high aptitude for Aethersense first?”

“Ah, you’re familiar with Aether magic school. That is why you came here instead of the other temples. We do things differently here, new Penitent. Our goal is to teach Aether magic to everyone, not find prodigies and only train them. Everyone can ask for the Magistrate’s Boon. Everyone should be taught Aether magic to survive the Tribulations should they choose to come here and learn. We will help them Aethersense.”

Varmisal led Elian to the left wing and into a modest hall the size of half a basketball court. The room had seen better days, with paints peeling off and carvings entwined with cobwebs. Several chairs were to the left side, arranged in uneven rows, while there were four blue cylinders large enough to fit a person to the right. Elian couldn’t recall the actual name of those cylinders, something hard to pronounce in an ancient language. He just called them Aether-enhancing vats.

Those vats were pretty expensive and rare, with only the wealthy and ancient Aether magic schools possessing them. Surprising they had them here; four at that. They were used for rapidly improving the Aethersense of chosen initiates, spending days on end meditating inside. Perhaps they could also be used to help anyone sense the loose and unbound magic of the world. Everyone was accepted here, Varmisal claimed.

The Aether-enhancing vats looked old. They had cracks around their base of magical dragon steel and some of the runes appeared to be recent etching to replace broken ones.

The Temple of the Path of the Immaterial was like that one department in the university the board cut the funding to because of low enrolment rates. And because the department lacked funding, resulting in deteriorating facilities and fewer teachers, even fewer people enrolled there. A downward spiral.

Could it be a mistake going here? At least his fellow classmates looked interesting.

“Hello there, fellow beginner Penitents.” Elian smiled broadly as he thumped his chest with an open palm, the usual greeting in this part of Raelyon. Best to make a good impression on possible future allies. “My name is—”

A door loudly swinging open cut short Elian’s introduction. In came a woman with bright blue hair that cascaded in waves past the back of her knees. She had a youthful face, though the streaks of a few wrinkles at the corner of her steel blue eyes hinted at her older age. She wore the same design of robes as Varmisal and displayed rings of Aether-make on her fingers.

“Huh, three for the day?” she said with a snort. The perpetually tired and bored look she had, as if she had seen much nonsense in the world, confirmed she was indeed older than she looked. “When was the last time this happened? Like maybe a month ago?”

Varmisal, standing by the opposite door, replied. “Yes, it seems we are blessed with a surge of interest.”

“A blessing? Everything can be a blessing if one rationalizes hard enough,” she said. “And I don’t know about this surge of interest you speak of. Once these kids learn the truth of Aether Magic, we won’t see them tomorrow. They’ll have gone to the other Paths.”

Elian looked at the two other new students—a red-haired young man in his early twenties and a woman who might be around the same age even though she looked younger hiding her thin pale face behind a curtain of black hair. Elian sat beside the black-haired woman.

“Don’t go discouraging our students, Lyra,” said Varmisal. “Take this opportunity to impart your knowledge upon others who are eager for it.” Varmisal exited the door before Lyra could continue their banter.

She shook her head with a sigh. Placing her hands on her hips, she looked at the new students. “Let’s begin with introductions, shall we? I go first. My name is Lyra Khestri Samora of the Faded Seas.”

The female student gasped. But Elian didn’t recognize the name or the place. Their teacher was probably famous around the areas destroyed by the giants early in the war.

“If we’re going by tradition,” Lyra continued, “I would’ve asked to be addressed as magister or master. But I hate how that sounds very much. Address me simply as ‘Teacher Lyra,’ to make it seem that I’m nice. Which I am… most of the time… sometimes. Before you introduce yourselves, I have to tell you that I do not have the Magistrate’s Boon.”

Elian raised a brow. Did that mean Varmisal wasn’t a Penitent too? Could be why he didn’t have the tattoos of the Magistrate’s Boon and didn’t call Elian a brother.

“Wha-what? Why?” the black-haired woman blurted. She gasped and covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry if I wasn’t supposed to ask that.”

“Why don’t I have the Magistrate’s Boon?” Lyra shrugged. “Because I don’t want to. We only have eight Divine Bestowals, and I pick what would best help my Aether Magic. Also, the prospect of getting flattened into the ground is not appealing to me.”

“I think so too,” said the black-haired woman beside Elian in a whisper that he barely heard.

“And it’s not required to have that Boon to teach here,” said Lyra. “Otherwise, they’d have a very limited pool of teachers. Now then, you—” she pointed at the man with the red hair “—introduce yourself.”

The man stood up, revealing his towering height and formidable physique. From looks alone, he had the potential to be a Champion Penitent. Maintaining a resolute and stern face, he said in a deep voice, “My name is Thorren Wilts of Rakhon.”

“Tell me, Thorren Wilts,” said Lyra. “Why did you ask for the Magistrate’s Boon? Why undergo the Tribulations? I know the answer might be personal to you, but give me and your classmates an idea so we can gauge your resolve to learn Aether Magic. All of us will be helping each other progress.”

“I have no qualms sharing my reason for being here,” said Thorren. “I aim to be a Champion Penitent and gather a fortune.”

Wow, straight to the point, Elian thought. Respect for this guy.

“You want to be rich, Thorren Wilts?” Lyra regarded him. “There are far better ways. As you reach higher Tribulations, yes, you’ll find more sponsors, but you’ll also use that wealth to fund surviving the next Tribulation. And if you fail, then goodbye fortune. Not very good, this idea of yours, I tell you that.”

“Money was my first goal,” said Thorren. “But after watching many Tribulations of Champion Penitents, I want more than that. They have followers that weep for them when they die, even more so than for fallen warriors. I’ll gather a fortune and followers. Choosing Aether Magic sets me apart from the other Champion Penitents, making me more recognizable.”

“You sound very motivated, I give you that. We'll see how your plan unfolds.” Lyra pointed at the black-haired woman. “Next one.”

She timidly stood up. “I’m Jadewell of Stoneholde.”

“Stoneholde?” Lyra peered at Jadewell. “Are you perhaps living outside of the town, let’s say on a manor on a hill? And is your family name Khaero?”

“Um, yes. I’m a Khaero… the family of Aether mages. My family sent me here because they want me to explore the world and meet new people. They also said the Temple of the Path of the Immaterial has respectable teachers.”

“I’m respectable now, am I? What about your reason for taking the Magistrate’s Boon, Jadewell Khaero? I doubt it’s only to enter this school. A huge waste of a Divine Bestowal slot, if that’s the case. You could’ve stayed with your family and learned from them.”

Jadewell took a deep breath before sighing long, letting her shoulders droop. “My grandfather was a Champion Penitent and made Stoneholde Academy famous. My parents think that I… can do the same. They said that grandfather became strong because he survived many Tribulations. I should too.”

Lyra accepted the answer with a small nod before turning to Elian. “Last of all. What about you, sir with very weak Energy?