Chapter 542

The linen sheets chafed against Nick's skin. Not because he could be bothered by minor annoyances like that, but because they represented his loss.

He opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh white glare from the ceiling crystals. A dull throb radiated from his chest, following the diagonal line where Xander’s blade had carved through his reality.

He focused inward, seeking the damage. Before his rank-up, he would have directed his senses toward his circuits, checking their structural integrity and the health of his internal well. Now, there was no core. His flesh and his soul were a single, overlapping truth.

The concept of a central power source belonged to mortal mages. He was Prestige, with every drop of blood, bone, and muscle vibrating with his power—both fueled by and integral to his being. He was both the vessel holding the power and the fuel sustaining it.

The wound burned with a clean fire. Xander’s strike had inflicted a conceptual severance, a lingering taint meant to prevent healing by constantly cutting the tissue as it tried to knit together. Nick felt the memory of it, the ghost of the Grandmaster's intent clinging to the edges of the cut.

[Blasphemy] pulsed in response, uncompromising in its rejection.

The foreign concept shattered against his denial, leaving only physical trauma. The trait refused to let another’s truth dictate the state of his existence.

Without the sword's taint continuously severing his mana, the healing process was frighteningly fast. Mana danced along the edges of the gash, knitting tissue and soul back together with ease.

As he finished, the infirmary door clicked open, and Horatio Bluetear stepped into the room.

Midnight-blue silk whispered against the floor, and silver constellations shifted across the fabric, catching the ambient light and revealing ever more detail than the mortal eye could discern.

He pulled a wooden chair to the bedside, its legs scraping loudly in the quiet room.

“I will say, it’s not often I’m treated to such a display, but perhaps it would be good for your continued health to refrain from any more of it,” he said, crossing his legs and resting his hands in his lap.

“I think I’ve had my fill," Nick replied, his voice a dry rasp.

Horatio drew a silver flask from his robes, unscrewed the cap, and offered it. Nick pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing as the skin on his chest stretched, and took a long sip. Cool water slid down his throat, easing the dryness.

“I was honest when I said you put on a spectacular show," he said, leaning back. "The merchants are buzzing about the birth of a new prodigy, and I dare say the nobles are scrambling to update their alliances. You gave them a monster to fear and a hero to worship, all wrapped up in a neat package. The Tower’s standing has been fully restored.”

That, Nick knew, was the real reason the Archmages had allowed his request. Even with all their efforts, the people of Alluria hadn't forgotten that one of their own had been behind the Incursion, but the show he put on would do much to distract them.

“I still lost,” he muttered, with bitterness that surprised even him. He’d known from the start that victory was impossible, yet some part of him had still hoped for a miracle.

"Surviving against a man like Xander is a victory." Horatio steepled his fingers, the rings on his knuckles clicking together. “Still, I know better than to deny the youth their brooding. What matters more is that your performance accelerates our timetable. We have much to discuss about your future as a Mage Errant, but before we delve into titles and writs, we must discuss your dog.”

Nick blinked for a moment, then realized what he meant.

"The spiritual hound you stationed in the crystal forest near Floria, yes,” Horatio confirmed. "A fascinating creature. Fiercely loyal. It nearly took the arm off one of my surveyors last week.”

“He has standing orders to attack only those who pose a threat to the trees,” Nick replied.

“Yes, and I made sure to impress on the men that obtaining ‘samples’ for their own research isn’t allowed. But I still own a stake in the harvesting operations in that region," Horatio said calmly. "I am not a businessman, Nicholas, but the Tower requires vast resources to function, and the crystal from Floria could meet half the Kingdom’s needs. When I received reports of a spirit guarding it, I was prepared to dispatch a strike team to clear the area.”

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Horatio paused, his eyes narrowing. "Then the surveyor reported that the beast had the distinct feel of a certain young mage, and I canceled the strike team.”

Nick met the Tower Master's gaze, searching his face for any threat. “Why?"

"Consider it a professional courtesy," Horatio offered a thin, calculated smile. "The crystals are valuable, yes, but a prodigy with a grudge is bad for long-term investments. The cost of replacing a strike team and repairing the inevitable collateral damage you would cause outweighs the profit. You can keep your hound there, so long as it knows not to attack my men. We will adjust our harvesting routes to bypass its immediate territory.”

"Thank you, Tower Master.”

"Do not thank me; it is merely a transaction." Horatio waved a hand, dismissing the gratitude. "This is the reality of your new station. A Mage Errant operates outside this institution's standard hierarchy, meaning you are free from mandatory service. You are free to pursue esoteric research, to delve into the sealed ruins of the Old Empire without petitioning and waiting decades for approval, and to experiment with magics the conservative factions would deem too unstable for anyone, much less a child.”

Nick bit his lip. Even adding the years of his previous life to his current one, he was still little more than an infant compared to the centuries-old archmage.

"With that freedom comes the burden of representation," Horatio continued, his tone turning serious. "You will carry our silver writ. It is both a key and a shield. City guards will make way for you. Provincial nobles will offer you their high tables and fear your displeasure. When you enter a foreign court, you do so as my voice. No petty lord or overzealous knight can strike at you without declaring war on Alluria’s Tower.”

Horatio leaned forward, the silver constellations on his robes swirling. "In exchange, your conduct reflects on us. You must navigate the world knowing that your actions carry far greater weight now. Protection and prestige, duty and consequence, those are the burdens of a Mage Errant.”

Nick nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken warning. “I still need to pass the Graduation Exams, though. Archmage Tholm said the trials begin soon, but I’m not sure how soon. I’ll probably need at least another day to be back to full power.”

Horatio chuckled. “‘Tis mere formality. The standard trials test a mortal mage's endurance, adaptability, and combat proficiency. Sending you into the gauntlet would be a farce. You would tear the testing grounds to pieces and humiliate the proctors. We are adjusting the parameters of your examination. We need to design a scenario that accounts for your raw power so the event retains some dignity for the institution.”

"I appreciate the consideration.” He really didn’t. If it were merely a formality, they should have let him pass, but it seemed some Archmages still hadn’t had their fill of testing him. Or perhaps it was a warning that, even with his title, they could make his life difficult if they chose.

It’s a good thing I have little interest in staying here any longer. The title's protection is worth the annoyance, especially since I’ll be heading to the capital soon, but the sooner I’m out of their sight, the better.

Horatio stood, smoothing the front of his robes. For a moment, the genial Archmage vanished, and something older, far more cunning, and so very cold took its place. Then it was gone, and he smiled. "Rest, Nicholas. Heal your soul," he said. "Make your way to the top. Refine that storm of yours and learn to temper your power with experience. Perhaps one day, when you have mastered it, you and I will have a duel of our own.”

With a final nod, the Tower Master swept out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Though it should have felt like a threat, as Nick knew the Tower Master was on par with Xander, if not more powerful, he couldn’t help but take it as acknowledgment.

Two days blurred into a haze of sleep and healing. Nick lay in bed, watching the sparks of his mana stitch the final layers of skin across his chest.

The pain faded into a dull, persistent itch, and he learned to sense how his soul interacted with its material expression, subsuming his own blood and flesh to make more of itself.

It wasn’t quick, and he suspected it would continue until the end of the tier, but with every passing moment, every level he gained, he became more.

On the morning of the third day, he was as healed as could reasonably be expected. The gash was gone, leaving only a smooth, pale scar that cut diagonally across his chest.

He knew he could have vanished that too. The taint of Xander’s will was gone, thanks to [Blasphemy], but he wanted something to remember this moment, so he left it.

Nick sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling his bare feet meet the cold stone floor. He stood with confidence, his muscles supporting his weight without effort. The weakness in his knees was gone, replaced by the familiar power humming beneath his skin.

He found a fresh set of clothes folded on a small wooden table by the door—dark trousers, a crisp white shirt, and his long coat, cleaned and its enchantments restored. He dressed quickly, enjoying the fabric sliding against his healed skin.

A healer gave him a clean bill of health, baffled by his quick recovery but far too professional to keep him just because he didn’t understand.

After leaving the infirmary, Nick took the spatial elevator to Tholm's floor.

The metal doors parted, revealing the familiar, chaotic expanse of his master's domain. Books stacked high against the walls formed precarious towers of knowledge. The hum of active enchantments filled the air, a constant background noise that Nick had come to find comforting.

Tholm was waiting for him with a cup of herbal tea in hand. “I see your recovery was as speedy as Horatio assured me it would be,” he murmured.

Nick inclined his head. “I’m too busy to die of a flesh wound like that.”

His mentor snorted.

“He also came to impress upon me the importance of my new title and to work out an agreement for harvesting the crystal forest near Floria.”

"Everything with Horatio is a transaction," Tholm muttered. "He gives you leniency now so you owe him loyalty later. He wants you to remember who holds the leash, even if he extends it to the edge of the continent. That’s how everyone with enough power to matter operates, so don’t think too badly of him.”

"I understand.”

Tholm gestured toward the corridor to Nick's private quarters. "Your exam is scheduled for tomorrow at noon. The Council finalized the adjustments last night.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. "What will it be? The Tower Master mentioned they were changing the parameters.”

“That would be telling,” Tholm replied with an amused smile.

Ignoring Nick’s annoyed expression, he patted him on the shoulder. “Oh, don’t be so dour. You’ll pass with flying colors. Now, knowing you, I’m sure you have several system messages and realizations to work on, so don’t let me keep you.”