Chapter 68:

Nick stood in the middle of his makeshift training ground in the fields behind his house—a patch of land marked with the scars of all his magical experiments. Soon, it would be seeded with crops after the Purification of the Ashes ritual, and any stray spell could mean weeks of hard work. This was his last chance to use it freely, and he intended to make it count.He absently twirled his wand as he tried to decide on the best approach. He’d initially wanted to use the Stalking Gait training to better understand how Akari was able to escape his notice and thus develop a spell incorporating that knowledge.

Unfortunately, the skill had proven far more complex than he had imagined. What his mother initially described as a martial art was actually a gateway—a foundational practice meant to elevate the body and mind. It was akin to an elemental affinity for a mage.

Nick was no martial artist, and his magical class imposed significant penalties on such endeavors. It was frustratingly clear that even basic mastery would require years, if not decades. However, he did manage to learn some things.

He exhaled sharply, stirring the still air around him. Letting his wand rest lightly in his palm, Nick began to channel, allowing his mana to diffuse into the surroundings.

The world opened up. He felt the air around him, its subtle currents whispering secrets of movement and pressure. A bird darted overhead, and Nick could sense the tiny displacement of its wings against the sky. He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the sensation, allowing his body to sway with the breeze.

This was familiar territory, the base form of his air sense. Now, he tried to layer the teachings of the Stalking Gait onto it—instinctive confidence and a constant connection to the rhythm of the air. His focus sharpened as his breathing synced with the shifts of the world around him. He focused on tracing the wind's patterns, letting them guide him as he moved across the field.

The information flowing from his air sense became easier to process, as if there were fewer filters it needed to pass through. He could feel the grass bending beneath his feet and the faint tremor of a rabbit darting through the underbrush. It wasn’t a spell, not yet, but it was something.

Nick stopped, forcing his chest to rise and fall with measured breaths.

The real challenge would be turning this into a functional spell. Freeform casting was risky and needlessly wasteful—even if made the cost bearable—and he couldn’t rely on it forever. He raised his wand again, enjoying the way the raw power hummed at his fingertips, eager to take shape.

First, he tried to form a simple detection spell based upon using his air sense as the core. The magic flickered to life, spreading like a ripple in the wind, but it quickly unraveled and collapsed into nothingness. Nick barely contained a huff, as that would have interrupted his breathing pattern.

“Come on,” he muttered, resetting his stance.

This time, he focused on incorporating the Stalking Gait more actively, exhaling in tandem with the breeze as he cast. The spell lasted a fraction longer as the ripple spread further before it broke apart. It wasn’t much of an improvement, but it proved he could get there. Eventually.

Nick paused, wiping sweat from his brow. He needed a better approach.

His other option was to follow Ingrid’s style, which was instinctive and almost reckless, yet ruthlessly efficient. She didn’t waste time on overly complicated spell forms; she relied on her affinity to fill in the gaps. Maybe that could synergize well with the Stalking Gait.

Nick knelt, drawing a series of rough sigils in the dirt with the tip of his wand. Ingrid’s notes suggested a spiral structure for spells that relied on the natural flow of air, and Nick had used similar designs in his previous experiments. After all, they were the basis for and .

He combined them, adjusting the angles and patterns until the sigils felt right.

Standing, he took a deep breath and began casting again. This time, he avoided even thinking about what he wanted the mana to do, simply trusting in his design and desire to provide the guardrails for his intent to follow. The spiral sigil glowed faintly as he cast, and the mana coalesced into a pulse that swept outward. It was faint, barely more than a whisper, but it didn’t collapse. Nick’s mental picture expanded significantly for the brief second it worked before dimming back down into his passive sense.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Nick grinned. “Finally.”

He repeated the process, refining the spell with each attempt. The pulses grew stronger, their range extending even further. It wasn’t perfect—he could feel the strain as his affinity still wasn’t strong enough, and the structure's inefficiencies remained apparent—but it was progress. More importantly, it was his own creation, a spell born from his understanding of air and his growing mastery of the Stalking Gait.

He raised his wand again, ready to try once more, when a tremor rippled through his air sense. He froze, lowering the wand as he focused his awareness northwest, where it originated from. The sensation was faint at first, a subtle disturbance in the wind’s rhythm. Gradually, it intensified, resolving into the unmistakable weight of footsteps—calm, heavy, and unhurried.

Nick squinted toward the edge of his perception, trying to place the figure. It wasn’t anyone he knew, not Devon, not Akari, not the girls, and certainly not his parents. Yet, something about the presence was familiar. Then, it clicked. The sheer size, the heavy steps—there was only one person it could be.

The Prelate. Marthas was walking straight toward him. Instead of using the dirt path, he was crossing through the empty fields to reach him.

Adrenaline flared through Nick’s veins. He raced through his options. He could run, but the house was too far, and if Marthas meant him harm, there would be no point. He had a healthy respect for his father’s skills, and Akari was possibly even more powerful, but neither of them could hold a candle to a Prestige class. Especially not one with such esoteric abilities.

The man didn’t exude malice—yet his presence alone was enough to put Nick on edge. The Prelate didn’t seem the type of person who wandered about without a purpose, especially with the ritual so close.

Nick forced himself to stay calm, slipping his wand discreetly into his coat pocket. If Marthas had come to confront him about his presence at the inspection, it wouldn’t do to act like he was guilty of anything. Still, his muscles coiled with tension as he stood his ground, watching the massive figure approach.

When the man finally came into view, he was exactly as Nick remembered: towering and broad-shouldered, with dark skin that gleamed in the sunlight and an aura of quiet power that made him seem even larger. His robes were casual, more suited for a leisurely walk than a temple official’s duties, but the golden sigil stitched over his chest marked him unmistakably as the highest ranking member in Floria.

Nick’s heart thudded in his chest as Marthas stepped onto his improvised training ground. He looked around as if admiring the countryside, briefly glancing over the patch of earth Nick had made his magical testing ground. Then, to Nick’s utter surprise, the man smiled warmly.

“Lovely weather we’re having, don’t you think?” His voice was a rich baritone that carried easily across the open space and seemed purpose-made to set whoever heard it at ease.

Nick blinked, uncertain how to respond. The Prelate’s tone was conversational, even friendly, yet Nick wasn’t about to lower his guard. He cleared his throat, attempting to sound casual. “Uh, yeah. It’s been nice lately. Not too hot.”

Martha chuckled softly, stepping closer. “It’s a rare thing, especially with how close we are to the planting season. I hear it’s been good for the town. Given how challenging things have been, facing long rains would have been awful. Brother Thomas assures me that the good weather should hold at least until the planting is done, and he’s the foremost expert on the subject I know. At least, he’s the only one who would bother to use his talent to observe such mundane patterns.”

Nick nodded, absorbing his words in silence. The Prelate didn’t seem in any hurry to explain himself, instead allowing the conversation to meander like they were old friends. The casualness only made Nick more antsy.

“You seem to have a strong connection with the wind,” Marthas continued, gesturing vaguely at the field around them. “Even from a distance, I could feel the refreshing touch of air magic. It’s rare to find such a skill at your age. You’re quite talented.”

Nick’s stomach dropped. He fought to keep his face neutral, though his fingers twitched at his sides. “Oh, uh… thank you. I’ve been practicing.”

Marthas’s smile widened, giving his normally foreboding features a much friendlier look. “Practice is the foundation of all progress. But talent like yours… it often comes with questions. Questions about power, responsibility, and the limits of what one should pursue.”

Nick swallowed hard. He had no idea where this conversation was headed, but every word felt like a probe. Was Marthas testing him for his reactions? Fishing for information?

“I’m just trying to figure things out,” Nick said carefully. “Magic’s complicated, you know? A lot of trial and error. And I don’t have the benefit of having a dedicated teacher.”

“Indeed,” Marthas said thoughtfully. He glanced at the horizon, as though considering something far away. “But trial and error can be dangerous, especially for the ambitious. It’s easy to overreach, to grasp for knowledge one isn’t ready to bear.”

Was that a warning? Did Marthas know about the grimoire, about Nick’s experiments? He kept his expression as calm as he could manage, meeting the Prelate’s gaze. “I’m just trying to get better at what my Class is supposed to do.”

Marthas regarded him for a long moment. Then, he smiled again, and the tension seemed to ease. “Good. Humility is a rare virtue, especially among the gifted. Hold onto it.”

Nick nodded, unsure whether to feel relieved or more paranoid. The Prelate turned slightly, looking around the training ground once more. “Your efforts are commendable. And yet, this field will soon be reclaimed, won’t it? The Purification of the Ashes is near.”

“Yes,” Nick said, the word slipping out automatically. “It will be used to plant crops. It’s important to use all the land available to us. We can’t rely on caravans coming regularly to feed us.”

“Very important,” Marthas agreed, his tone growing quieter, almost introspective. “It will be a delicate ritual, balancing purity and preservation. The Green Ocean’s taint must be cleansed, yet the land must remain fertile. It’s a difficult line to walk.”

Nick didn’t know what to say to that. He watched as the Prelate turned back to him, his expression jovial once more. “Ah, but I didn’t come all the way here to bother you with such talk, young Nick.” Orıginal content can be found at N0v3l.Fiɾe.net

“And what did you come for, sir?” Nick felt safe enough to ask, now that the weirdly intense moment had passed.

“I plan to hold the next few lessons at the temple personally, and after speaking with Brother Alexander, I decided that taking a few hours to converse with the most talented local students would be beneficial. After all, Sashara teaches us that small flames need nurturing, or the wind may extinguish them.”