Ophelia was just as intrigued. Her talent was excellent and her efficiency at using spiritual power to guide blood energy in cultivation was high, but this was the first time she had encountered a method that worked purely on spiritual power—the spiritual power solidification rune.
Mage Blake sketched out the spiritual power solidification rune once more, then said, "A rune is the language of magic, one of the foundations on which a Mage casts a spell. It has no fixed form of writing; however a Mage comes to understand the knowledge he has mastered, that is the rune that will take shape."
Mage Blake paused there; perhaps because he was in a good mood, he went on, "Learn the rune combinations other Mages have created, and you can use their spells. Inscribe a rune of your own comprehension into your soul, and it will become your own spell."
Adam thanked Mage Blake. Put that way, every spell was like a program, and Mages were both its developers and its users—the difference being that the developer holds the source code and the user does not.
Then Mage Blake turned to her. "So, Miss Ophelia, do you have a question?"
Ophelia was dazzled, lost in this wonder of Mages and spells that so far surpassed knights, her head full of the thought of becoming a Mage. Hearing Mage Blake's question, she blurted out, "How does one become a true Mage?"
"There is no single path to being a Mage, but in essence it is a process of transcending the level of one's soul and one's life. Find your own path, learn the knowledge sufficient to elevate yourself and master it completely, then inscribe it into your soul—and you may achieve the Mage's path."
Mage Blake was rather vague on this question, because the subject was too vast: explaining it in detail would take a very long time, to say nothing of whether Ophelia could follow it. And most crucially, a guide's duty was not enough to offset the value of that answer.
Watching Ophelia, still muddled, and Adam, deep in thought, Mage Blake mused, Besides, those two questions do share something in common. Anyone clever enough should already be able to tease out a thread of it.
"You may go and rest. If you like, you can come and watch tomorrow's aptitude test—perhaps your future companions will be born among them. If not, that is up to you as well. But for most Mages, the road in pursuit of truth should not be a lonely one, because one person's wisdom is, after all, limited." With that, Mage Blake left the main hall at Count Johnson's invitation.
Ophelia and Adam looked at each other in silence, then went back to their rooms to rest.
Adam did not sleep all night. He sat upright on the bed, carefully turning over the scene he had witnessed that evening and every word Mage Blake had spoken, until at last his attention settled entirely on that simple spiritual power solidification rune.
If that rune was a simple program and Adam's spiritual power was the data, then clearly the program could not carry too great a load of data—meaning that if Adam wanted to keep improving, the first thing he had to do was optimize the program.
"Set task: develop a rune structure with greater capacity."
The spiral rune Mage Blake had demonstrated was two twisted lines, looking a little like an hourglass, but in the end it was only a two-dimensional planar structure. It had shape but no volume. On a rune of that kind, spiritual power traced out the figure as lines, and the portion of spiritual power that formed the figure was then solidified and remained in his mind; because part of his spiritual power was solidified, a little room opened up for spiritual power to grow.
Adam analyzed in silence while sketching runes at a furious one per minute. By dawn nearly five hundred runes had taken shape and settled into his mind—yet Adam found that this did not do a damn bit of good. If Adam's total spiritual power was taken simply as one hundred, then each rune could hold less than 0.1 of it. In other words, unless Adam developed a more efficient rune structure, with only the rune Mage Blake had demonstrated, even if he stuffed his memory full of it he still could not solidify all of his spiritual power.
Still, one night was plainly not enough to invent a more efficient structure. Adam was in no hurry, though; his mindset was good now, and he was not afraid of hitting problems—hitting a problem meant he was on the road. His only fear was not even being qualified to set out.
The morning clamor outside the city lord's mansion made Adam stop his Mage training. He stepped out of his room; overnight, everyone in the mansion had learned that this boy's status was different now, and a servant hurried over to guide him to the dining hall and present him with a lavish, exquisite meal.
Halfway through Adam's meal, Ophelia came in and sat down beside him. "Did you do any Mage training last night?"
Adam nodded.
She looked thrilled, the old coldness and distance gone. "I drew nearly a hundred runes, and I can feel my spiritual power has grown. And Mage training can actually erase fatigue—I didn't sleep all night and I'm still bursting with energy."
Adam said nothing, but Ophelia's enthusiasm did not flag. "You know," she said, lowering her voice mysteriously, "after you left last night, I got another piece of news out of Mage Blake."
Adam kept his head down, chewing. Seeing no reaction, she said, annoyed, "Don't you want to know?"
Adam did not stop his knife and fork. After swallowing what was in his mouth, he said quietly, "Your heart rate is sixty percent above normal right now. Your mind is in an abnormally excited state."
Ophelia's expression froze. Was he saying she had lost her mind?
Adam went on, "As for the news—if you want to tell me, I'll know it soon enough. If you don't, curiosity won't do me any good."
Ophelia blew out a breath. She knew her state of mind was a little overexcited, but the day she left her boring life and the cold Northland and her family behind was nearly here, and she could not suppress her joy.
And Adam, the companion who would walk the Mage's path alongside her, had become far easier on the eyes—which was why she had set aside her noble pride to talk with him.
Truth be told, Ophelia was only a sixteen-year-old girl; liveliness ought to have been her nature.
Ophelia decided not to hold Adam's manner against him. She badly needed someone to talk to. "Do you know why the honored Mage came in person to preside over a little aptitude test? Do you know why the site was chosen in the barren Northland?"
Adam's interest stirred; this was exactly his own question. Mage Blake had seemed kindly yesterday, but the indifference toward mortals in his eyes had not escaped Adam. It was not arrogance or prejudice, but a disregard that came of a difference in the level of life.
Perhaps in Mage Blake's heart, he and mortals were simply not the same kind of creature.
Which raised the question: why would a Mage in such an exalted position stoop to doing such a thing?
Seeing Adam finally lift his head, Ophelia was satisfied. She lowered her voice portentously: "A year ago, Mordo Mage Academy began an academy war with the same... the same..." She stopped short, racked her brains for a moment, then went on, "Uh—with Monte Carlo Mage Academy.
At first the two academies were evenly matched, but just two months ago Monte Carlo Mage Academy erupted and drove Mordo Mage Academy back in steady retreat. In the end Mordo lost the war and lost most of its Mage apprentices; I hear even its sphere of influence was largely seized. So Mage Blake came in person to select apprentices."
Adam was briefly startled, then composed himself. Even ordinary people had their quarrels and wars; how could Mages who commanded transcendent power all be loving and mutually helpful? "Was it only a war between apprentices?"
Ophelia said, "No, of course it wasn't only a war between apprentices—a few formal Mages fell as well. But those are things far beyond the likes of you and me. What I want to tell you is a piece of good news..."
Blake, who had at some point come down from the second floor, picked up the thread. "Because so many elite Mage apprentices died, the formal Mages of Mordo Mage Academy will choose disciples from the new batch of apprentices. This is your opportunity—once you are chosen, you will take many fewer wrong turns on the road to becoming formal Mages."
Adam and Ophelia rose and bowed respectfully. Blake waved a hand. "So you are willing to come with me to select apprentices? Then let us go together."
Ophelia mustered her courage to recommend herself. "Honored Mage Blake, I..."
Blake did not turn back. "Formal Mages are extremely careful in choosing disciples. You will have to train at the academy at least until you have gained a preliminary grasp of your own path before you have any chance of being favored. And every Mage's path is different; mine may not suit you."
In the long life of a Mage he had seen no end of dazzling talents of the apprentice stage—yet, as he had said yesterday, aptitude had never been what decided whether one could advance; wisdom and knowledge were. Raising a disciple was an investment, and no one wanted to pour resources into a business that could not turn a profit.
Ophelia lowered her head, a little disappointed. Blake's regard had made her think she could successfully take him as her master, but plainly Mages were not such shallow people.
Adam did not even bother to ask. Mage Blake was quite right: if a teacher could not point out the road, merely supplying resources would make no critical difference—and Adam still had no idea what his own Mage path was.
The same main hall as yesterday. Before going in, Ophelia recovered her mood and her bearing turned noble and unassailable once more. She could show friendliness to Adam, who now stood on her own level, but toward everyone else she remained high above.
Outside the main hall, many boys and girls waited nervously, each attended by equally anxious, helpless families. This was likely the perfect chance for the poor to change their fate and the rich to enter a higher class; everyone had made countless preparations in advance and sworn to give it everything they had.