Chapter 546

The Highway's paved stones stretched eastward, a pale gray ribbon across the rolling green plains of the central provinces. Nick walked with a steady stride, leaving Alluria's towering walls far behind.

He wore a new dark coat embroidered with tiny golden swords in the Crowley sigil motif, a gift from his friends, with the Silver Writ tucked safely in an inner pocket and the star-metal medal resting against his chest.

The title of Mage Errant gave him freedom of movement, letting him pass checkpoints and toll gates with a simple flash of engraved silver. Even the Ducal Guards parted for him, and the merchant caravans gave him a wide berth.

He could have flown to the capital within a week or two, depending on his pace, but he had no pressing need to rush. The Royal Court in Siderea demanded his presence within two months. That gave him ample time to traverse the Kingdom, study the shifting landscape, and refine the volatile powers he had acquired.

He also had a more immediate engagement.

During the reception following his promotion, Master Lasazar had cornered him near the banquet tables. Though he’d offered his congratulations, he’d also leaned in, his voice barely a whisper over the surrounding conversations, and given him coordinates for a hamlet three days off the main eastern route.

The secrecy intrigued Nick. They had shared dozens of private moments in the lower levels of the Magic Tower, shielded by the strongest wards in the West. If Lasazar wanted a meeting place on the untamed fringes of the central provinces, the subject must have fallen outside the Tower’s jurisdiction, or perhaps even beyond its approved doctrines.

Still, the Battlemage had earned Nick’s respect many times over. An invitation from the man was not something to ignore, especially when he'd been dangled a reward for his performance against Xander.

He still had time before he had to be there, though, so Nick used the solitary days on the road to dissect his new magic.

He followed the main road from a mile away, hands open at his sides, letting his mana flow freely as he focused his intent on the [Saga of the Storm Caller].

With his precise control, he easily kept any mana from leaking out and spooking the regular travelers making their way to and from Alluria, and being in sight of the road let him focus on the magic without needing to watch his path.

A sphere of swirling plasma and pressurized wind materialized above his right palm. The construct hummed with the contained wrath of the divine bird and was plenty impressive on its own, but Nick narrowed his eyes, studying the matrix that held the spell together.

It was a novel experience for him to cast anything he didn’t yet fully understand, but that was the depth of Saga-spells.

That didn’t mean he would let that go unaddressed for long.

The battle with Xander had shown that a sufficiently skilled opponent could overcome raw force. The Saga-spells endured because they were anchored in a narrative recognized by the World. The Thunderbird was a myth of destruction, a creature of lightning and gale-force winds, and at full power, it stood even above the Grandmaster.

Even the fraction he could conceptualize was enough to resist far longer than his other magics.

Nick began by testing the narrative's boundaries. The Thunderbird was the purest expression of lightning, but it also brought the monsoon.

He shifted his internal focus, adjusting the weight of his intent as he visualized the deluge, the life-giving, drowning flood that followed the lightning strikes. He pushed this new interpretation into the spell matrix, carefully watching how it rippled in response, as if alive.

That might not be too much of a stretch, actually. Not alive in the sense of people or even animals, but it certainly experiences, changes, and breathes. A memetic kind of life.

The glowing sphere responded to his prodding, and its blinding white plasma dimmed, shifting to a deep, turbulent indigo. The razor-sharp gales softened, expanding outward as a saturated, carrying breeze. Moisture was drawn from the surrounding air, condensing rapidly within the sphere until a tight, swirling globe of high-pressure water hovered over his palm, within which flashes of gold were contained.

It was already a significant result, but as Nick analyzed the output, he was even more surprised. The mana cost remained the same, yet the physical manifestation had changed completely. The spell had changed purpose, becoming a bludgeoning force of overwhelming mass while retaining its structure.

After a few more minor tweaks, he dismissed it, letting the liquid splash onto the dirt road.

That turned out to be a mistake; he’d underestimated the sheer volume of water he’d summoned, but a quick flight saved him from being drenched as he watched a new pond form below.

Despite the surprise, his theory held. A Saga-spell was not a single, rigid construct. It was a conceptual toolkit bounded by the myth's parameters. By focusing on specific details of the story, he could manifest entirely different effects without crafting a new spell from scratch.

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But a single datapoint isn’t enough to confirm it.

Thus, he summoned a spark from the [Saga of the First Flame], and crimson fire danced along his fingertips, aggressive and hungry.

It was the fire of a newborn universe, and he knew that without his ironclad control, it would quickly grow into a magnificent blaze, requiring the Tower to mobilize to contain it.

Such was the power and responsibility of Prestige. Even minor uses of their might could reshape the land.

There was a reason why most of those who reached that rank preferred to keep away from mortal society, but that didn’t mean Nick feared his own power. He simply needed to be more careful.

He took it slow, isolating the concept of genesis, stripping away destructive heat and focusing his will on the light, the warmth that pushed back the void, the spark that gave birth to life.

The crimson fire fought him, and he knew his experience with that aspect was limited, but it still shifted to a soft, radiant gold.

When the aggressive heat finally vanished, replaced by a soothing warmth, Nick brought his hand closer to his chest. The golden light washed over his coat, seeping through the fabric to bathe his skin. There was little ache left to ease, but he could tell the radiant mana was accelerating his natural cellular repair.

“And just like that, I have a healing spell of significant power,” he muttered, incredulous.

It still wouldn’t compare to one of Ogden’s elixirs until he’d truly understood this aspect of the flame, but the mere fact that he could now wield a Prestige healing spell was significant.

He spent the next two days repeating the exercises. He isolated the concussive roar of thunder and compressed it into a soundless vibration that could shatter stone. He brought out the blinding flash of lightning, creating flares of pure light that could blind even those without eyes. He mapped the internal architecture of the myths, learning exactly how far he could stretch the stories before the World rejected his interpretation.

And through it all, his efforts were rewarded.

Late in the afternoon on the third day, the landscape changed.

Cultivated farmland gave way to a dense forest, though it felt less wild than the Green Ocean, more managed. The King's Highway grew obscured, the paving stones visible only through the shine of their enchantments.

Nick checked the sun's position and turned off the main road, following a faint trail deeper into the woods.

An hour before sunset, he reached the coordinates.

The hamlet nestled in a shallow depression between two wooded hills. It was a modest settlement, with a dozen timber-framed houses with thatched roofs, a central stone well, and a small watermill turning sluggishly in a narrow creek. Smoke curled from several stone chimneys, drifting lazily into the evening sky.

Nick stopped in the shadow of the tree line and focused his spiritual senses.

The physical world grew muted, replaced by the colorful hues of auras and intent. He saw the flickering lights of mortal souls moving within the timber houses. He sensed the slow pulse of livestock huddled in a wooden pen. The ether in the valley was calm, sluggish, and undisturbed by wards, scrying spells, or hidden traps.

In fact, only three people had enough mana to be considered warriors, and even they were below the average for Floria’s guardsmen.

He swept the surrounding hillsides, but no hidden master appeared in the darkness. No monster crouched in the branches. The hamlet was exactly what it seemed: a quiet speck on the edge of the western provinces, forgotten by men and gods.

Satisfied he wasn’t walking into a trap, Nick retreated a mile into the dense woods, where he found a dry, flat patch of ground between the sprawling roots of an ancient oak. He sat cross-legged, resting his hands on his knees, and settled into a light meditation.

The sun dipped below the horizon. The temperature dropped as the forest's dampness tried, and failed, to seep through his coat. Crickets began their chirping. An owl called out from a distant branch.

Nick let the sounds wash over him, keeping a passive net of spiritual awareness.

He waited, idly considering what Lasazar truly wanted.

The moon crested the canopy, and he began considering another round of experimentation. He was close to the next level, and if he could finally crack how to shift smoothly between the Saga’s narratives, he was sure he’d get enough exp.

Especially if I try to craft a new one. I should be familiar enough with other myths to do so. And if I have to, there is that spell, which I’m sure would work. The danger would be significant, but the rewards…

But before he could get to it, a sudden disturbance in the ether snapped his attention upward. A projectile of highly condensed mana approached from the west at a punishing velocity.

Nick stood, brushing the dirt from his trousers.

With a quick application of kinetic dampening, the projectile decelerated, barely avoiding tearing through the oak tree's upper branches, and Master Lasazar soon landed lightly on the forest floor, making barely a sound against the fallen foliage.

The Battlemage wore his usual tweed suit and a bowler hat, though the omnipresent cigar was missing, a detail that alerted Nick this was more serious than he’d thought.

The jovial persona that defined his presence in the Magic Tower was gone. The lines around his eyes were taut, and his jaw was set in stone.

Nick squared his shoulders, keeping his hands empty and visible at his sides. He recognized the look all too well, having worn it himself before stepping onto a battlefield.

Lasazar raised his right hand, extended two fingers, and pointed south. He bent his knees, channeled a burst of kinetic energy, and launched himself back into the night sky.

Nick cast his own spell, wrapping an aerodynamic sheath of air around his body, and then followed.

They flew south at a blistering pace as the wind screamed past his ears. He pushed his mana output to match Lasazar’s speed while studying the older mage’s technique.

His flight was brutally efficient, parting the air with wedge-shaped kinetic shields that eliminated drag and maximized forward momentum. Nick mirrored the construct, feeling a sudden surge in his own velocity that forced him to slow down lest he overtake the older mage.

Interesting. My affinity gives me an advantage, but his approach is more efficient. Not that I really feel the strain of flying these days, but it’s always better to learn something new than to stagnate.

Twenty minutes into the flight, Lasazar dipped his shoulder and plunged into a steep dive.

Nick followed the trajectory, and the dark expanse of the forest canopy broke, revealing a wide clearing where another village was.

Or rather, had been.