Chapter 402

Nick hurried down the corridor on the forty-fifth floor, weaving through the crowd of older students heading out of their midday alchemy labs. He ignored the whispers that followed him and slipped into the first available elevator.Technically, what happened inside the inner temple was even stranger, but since no one knew the truth, people seemed happy to make things up.

He pressed his hand against the panel, and the rune glowed gold, recognizing his status as a direct apprentice of an Archmage. The lift shot upward, skipping the intermediate floors to reach the seventy-seventh.

He was cutting it close. Tholm had called for a mandatory lecture, the first since their return from the expedition, and the tone of the summons had been uncharacteristically grave.

When the doors slid open, Nick saw that the private lecture hall was already full. Raphael was spinning a stylus between his fingers, looking bored but anxious. Willow was reading a book, while Mikel and Lina were studying the blackboard, which was already filled with Tholm’s dense, spidery handwriting.

But it was the last person in the room who caught his interest. Osmod was going through a stack of papers, carefully reading each one before signing with a flourish.

Nick hadn’t really had much time to talk with the man, given how chaotic their return had been, but he was glad to see that his recovery from blowing himself up was finally finished.

“You’re almost late, Nicholas,” Tholm grunted, having just appeared next to the desk.

"I was delayed by a question in Master Battera's class," Nick replied smoothly, taking his seat next to Raphael. Nature magic would never be his focus, but the old druid had a way of explaining things that made it very hard to get up and leave.

"Battera likes the sound of his own voice too much," Tholm grunted, letting it go. He moved to the center of the room, taking in his students.

"We are living in interesting times," he began without preamble. "The city is changing. New powers are rising, or rather, old powers are reasserting themselves. As mages of the Tower, you are taught that Magic is a precise art. That it is the application of will upon the world through the medium of mana, governed by spellforms, affinities, and structural integrity.”

With a flick of his finger, a piece of chalk floated up to the blackboard. "But there is another kind of magic that doesn’t care about our hard work. One that you will see more of in the coming months, and it is high time you understand its nature.”

Behind him, the chalk wrote a single word in bold letters. FAITH

"Today, we will discuss Thaumaturgy from the perspective of the Divine," Tholm said. "And why it is both one of the most powerful and the most fragile forces in existence.”

He turned to Osmod, who rose and approached, pulling out an artifact that, to Nick’s senses, felt surprisingly delicate. From its form in the ether, he recognized it as divine in origin but knew it was currently inactive, leaving its true nature still hidden.

"This," Tholm said, pointing to the bell, "is a Relic of Holy Gherman, a minor protective deity of the southern barbarians. It holds a residual charge of Divine Authority, which will be very useful to demonstrate exactly what faith magic is. Osmod will assist me.”

Lifting his hand, he made a show of going slow, conjuring fire mana to form a .

Although it was a simple spell that any aspiring Tower student could cast, Nick could see how much better Tholm’s control of mana and grasp of the element were.

It didn’t burn very hot, and its size wasn’t anything unusual, but it had been cast with just a flicker of mana, and he knew for a fact this was the old man limiting himself as much as possible to their level.

“Defend yourself,” Tholm warned, and Osmod immediately snapped up a basic shield spell, quick enough to show he’d been drilled relentlessly.

Nick focused on the two men, blocking out everything else from his awareness.

A moment later, the bolt slammed into the blue barrier. The impact hissed, and the shield fluctuated as it withstood the fire, neutralizing the energy by dispersing it to the sides.

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Tholm nodded and cast another , this one slightly hotter.

Osmod fortified his shield to maximum strength, but it shattered under the roaring flames. The bolt fizzled out just inches from his face.

“This is standard arcane defense, which I imagine Lasazar has already explained to you,” Tholm narrated. "Action and reaction. Energy exerted against energy required. The shield failed because the input force surpassed the structural limit of the matrix.”

Nick already knew that much. He had felt the aftershocks of his barriers being shattered by a stronger force, and unfortunately, the only way to improve was to develop better spells, increase his mastery, and gather more mana. At least, that was the case so far.

He was getting the impression that Tholm would show them something different.

“The difference between that and faith magic may seem subtle to an unobservant mage, but it will soon become clear to you. Osmod, use the artifact.”

Osmod lowered his hand and raised the rusted bell, channeling mana into the artifact, and speaking a single word as he rang it. “Deny!”

The bell emitted a gentle yellow glow, and the air around Osmod became difficult for Nick to track, which was impressive given his wind affinity.

The next bolt Tholm fired was identical to the second one. It screamed across the room, striking the space in front of Osmod before stopping suddenly. It didn't explode, as its matrix demanded, nor did it shatter the barrier. Instead, the flames flickered and went out, and Nick could tell that the very fire itself was being affected by something.

Lina gasped, and even Nick found himself leaning forward, suddenly very curious about the little bell.

"What did you see?" Tholm asked, turning to the class.

“It completely compromised the spell’s structural integrity. The fire mana’s urge to burn was stopped, so there was no explosion, which made it not a contest between two constructs but a denial,” Willow breathed, sounding impressed.

Nick gave her a surprised look, not having known she had such refined senses, before he remembered that her whole specialty was barrier magic, so it made sense that she’d pick up so much.

"Because Faith magic works on different principles," Tholm said, erasing the board with a gesture and guiding the chalk to write down a basic spellform. "Arcane magic is a conversation with the universe. It is a means to convince reality to let us impose our will upon it, and to make that easier, we need to give it the proper structure, understand exactly how to shape the energy, and provide enough power.”

Behind him, the board was erased. "Faith is not a conversation, but a command issued by a third party. The priest does not care to shape the mana or calculate the proper structure. He appeals to an authority that simply decrees that If the connection is strong enough, reality obliges.”

“That sounds very hard to beat,” Raphael muttered.

“It might seem so,” Tholm agreed. “But observe.” Raising his hand again, he formed another bolt. But this time, Tholm didn't aim directly at Osmod. He twisted his wrist, and the bolt trembled, splitting into three smaller darts.

“Defend!” He ordered.

Osmod rang the bell, chanting exactly the same way. “Deny!"

The strange warping of the air happened again, but as the bolts curved, trying to flank him, the field flickered. Osmod flinched, his eyes widening, and the warping attempted to expand to his sides, but it thinned out, becoming weak enough that Nick knew he could regain control of the air.

The bolts slipped past the edge of the influence and hit the wall behind Osmod, scorching the stone.

"And therein lies the weakness," Tholm said softly. "Arcane magic requires hard work, but it is a logical force if one has studied it long enough. A shield is a sphere because it was built that way, and it can adapt to any situation, provided that the caster has the necessary mastery.”

He walked over and took the bell from Osmod’s hand.

"Divine magic is external. It depends on the Priest’s belief and the God’s domain. Holy Gherman was a gatekeeper, so his authority is most effective against frontal assaults. When faced with complexity, lateral thinking, or situations outside the God’s conceptual domain, the magic weakens. It is inflexible.”

Tholm set the bell on his desk. "An arcane mage can adapt. A priest can only pray harder.”

Nick stared at the bell. The gears in his mind were spinning so fast they threatened to smoke.

When he cast , he wasn't asking a god for lightning. He was harnessing the emotion of Wrath—a conceptual, spiritual fuel similar to Faith—but he was channeling it through more structured arcane spellforms.

, Nick thought, and a chill ran down his spine as he worked through the logical conclusion.

It was… Well, he doubted this realization would make much difference, since he had already been applying all these concepts successfully without knowing, but it still felt like something he should think about for a while.

"Now," Tholm said, breaking Nick's reverie. "Let us examine a more esoteric application. Barriers are familiar enough to serve as a first example, but I want you to grasp the full scope of a priest’s arsenal.”

He gestured toward the back of the room, where a long table appeared. On it, a chaotic collection of items was spread out: leather-bound books, quills, iron daggers, a steel sword, a wooden staff, and a silver locket.

“Levitation is basic magic," Tholm said. "A standard spell that even hedgemages can figure out. Raphael, if you cast on that table, what happens?”

"Everything would lift," Raphael responded immediately. "Or I have to target specific objects one by one, weaving them into the matrix. It can be done very quickly with skill, but it’s one of the known issues of kinetic magic.”

“That is correct,” Tholm agreed, gesturing for Osmod to move to the table. “It is the main reason why kinetic magic isn’t often developed beyond the basics. The curve is very steep and not particularly rewarding.”

Osmod stepped forward, pulling out a different artifact from his robe, a strip of white cloth stained with old, dried blood.

The mana in the room shifted, acquiring a sorrowful tone as he closed his eyes and chanted. "Rise, instruments of pain.”

The books remained stationary. The quills stayed still, and the silver locket stayed flat. However, the daggers clattered, and the steel sword scraped the wood. Gradually and eerily, only the weapons began to lift and float. They hovered, held aloft by an unseen force.

It wasn't anything particularly flashy, and it was obvious that Osmod wasn't a priest, given how slowly the magic was working. Still, it was a level of precision that Nick doubted anyone without years of practice could achieve, yet Osmod accomplished it without even believing in whatever deity was tied to the cloth.

“Such discrimination in the choice of targets is rare," Tholm said quietly. "This spell targets history rather than the weapons themselves, determining whether one or the other has been used to spill blood.”

The implications of a spell that could only target the guilty were not lost on him.

"There are ways to counter priests, of course,” Tholm said, signaling Osmod to release the spell, causing the weapons to clatter back to the table. “Higher mastery, dissonance, or even introducing concepts that contradict their domain. But never make the mistake of trying to out-will a zealot, because there is a high chance you will lose. You must out-think them."