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Chapter 53 Consolidation arc
🕑 Added 2025-09-12 06:54:56 +0000 UTCPdf and Epub versions are below.
The Academy. Inside yet separate from the castle. Bustling with activity but almost entirely self-contained. Hosting them in the castle meant the students couldn't just come and go, only the weekends having opportunities to enter and leave. Both screened, both long, annoying and invasive. Most mages tended to stay unless leaving for Academy business.
And why wouldn't they? The vast majority of them hadn’t been in a castle before, let alone one that arranged for food, washing and proper beds. It wasn’t luxury, but for some of the recruits? Those coming from dirt poor farms or from the streets?
Most stayed, and were happy to. Plenty of things to do. Classes ran for most of the day, homework took up most of the evening, entertainment and relaxation was provided. Games and contests, quiet reading rooms and lively bars.
Well, bar, but still. Alcohol, cheap and plentiful. Marcus found it somewhat mean to supply the things most of the mages spent their allowance on, but then it kept costs down. Considering the Academy was a black hole of money, he could forgive that one little bit of monetization.
But despite it all, despite granting them more rooms, more support personnel, more resources, the castle was running out of room. It wasn’t built to be a school, wasn’t built for large numbers of people to move around in. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Which brought him to the council of three. Or the Council of Three, as Vess had put it, because capitalization was important. Apparently.
Nevertheless, he had important people to visit. Gratham, the former head scribe of the Royal Scribes, would be mostly neutral. Not entirely happy his order got absorbed into the Academy, but experienced. Emma, one of his former Court Mages and one of the first teachers of the Academy, and someone who apparently had a talent for efficient—and objective—administration.
One of Elly’s warmages completed the council; Domnic. A career soldier, and knowing what mages were likely to face in battle. Between the three they had the power and experience to actually run the Academy, notably the day to day operations.
Everyone seemed very quick to assure him he was still in charge, for some reason.
Marcus snorted, causing a few students to scatter. Oh, he’d been lost in thought. Standing around like some gargoyle and scaring kids. And middle aged farmers. More the latter than the former, in all honesty.
The literacy projects in Redwater were bearing fruit, but frankly magic was far too dangerous for kids to learn. Not without constant supervision, something only nobility could afford. No, it was mostly adults coming to join, either already knowing they could do magic and finally acting on it or being recruited by the many, many wandering druids in the kingdom.
Self-proclaimed Archdruid or not, Kleph had unified them. Very thoroughly. Bound them to the Academy in the process, though most were only loosely affiliated. Useful as outriders, though.
He shook his head and continued on his way, pretending the lapse of attention had been entirely on purpose. And, as was increasingly the pattern, people acted like it had been. A little annoying, but overall useful. Reputation was a shield, and one he was going to hold on to for as long as possible.
The Council Chamber loomed closer and closer, nervous students glancing at its imposing door with short, fugitive glances. A place where Things Were Decided, policy changed and projects approved. A place of power within the Academy, ruled by three souls from different backgrounds but united in purpose.
To Marcus it looked like a repurposed suite for a mid-rank noble, two dozen nearly identical ones in the castle beside it. He knocked, because he was polite, but didn’t wait before entering. Might have, just to watch those three freeze at having made an Archmage wait, but there were too many people watching.
Elly had called him cruelly polite, once. He’d called her a lazy layabout who pretended to be busy meditating when she had unpleasant things to do. She’d laughed, called him adorable, and honestly he’d rather not think about that memory anymore.
The Council of Three didn’t laugh. No. Domnic rose, ever the soldier, and saluted. Face neutral, stance rigid, holding that position for a few moments before relaxing. Emma rose too, graceful more than fast, and bowed exactly as low as decorum dictated.
Not out of spite, either. Just efficiency. The last of them stood slowly, pushing up from the table and not bothering to suppress a light grimace. Gratham, old and clearly feeling his years. Magical healing could do much, but there wasn’t fixing old age. Only its consequences, and even then only to a point.
Well, unless you had access to a very good healer, but Margaret was far too busy for that sort of thing. She wasn’t shy about the fact, either.
“Your Grace,” the old Scribe murmured, moving some papers to the side. It seemed the old man was their spokesperson, which suited Marcus just fine. It brought a refined air to an otherwise very new institution. “Welcome, welcome. Please, sit.”
Marcus hummed, taking a seat in front of the trio of desks. Made it look rather like he was here to be judged, but that was just the arrangement in furniture. The chair was nice, comfortable and supportive, and the others only sat after he had.
Things were what you made them, and while it could look like he was here to answer for something, he wasn’t. A fact that everyone present knew, which cast the arrangement in a different light.
Oh by the silent gods, he was turning into Vess.
Gratham cleared his throat, more for need than as a conversational tool, and shuffled to get comfortable in his chair. “Where shall we begin, your Grace?”
“Total number of active students and their rough specialties, if you don’t mind. I’d like to get an overview before we go into detail.”
The old scribe shrugged slowly. “Of course. As of the start of this week the active number of students sits at eleven hundred and thirty eight, divided into approximately forty thirty-student classes. Sixteen of these classes are introductory courses, meant to teach basic magical skills and ensure overall literacy. Those who join the Academy already possessing magical skills are required to pass an exam to ensure said skills are in order.”
“How many of those are there?”
“Every tenth student, roughly.” Gratham shrugged. “Trained mages are valuable, and many already have duties or loyalties that stop them from traveling to Redwater.”
“I see. Teachers?”
“Four for every class, to ensure individual attention can be given. Many are former students themselves, with a quarter being scribes. Mages need skills beyond the magical, and it does not take a mage to instruct meditation classes, nor a mage to teach basic self-defense.”
No it didn’t. It was good to show new mages that non-mages still played a role, and could very much kill them if motivated to do so. Marcus hummed. “Thank you. Please continue.”
“Sixteen introductory classes,” the man picked up, not seeming bothered in the slightest. “After which a mage can choose between two main courses; the warmages and the support corps. Of the remaining twenty four classes eight belong to the former, with twelve to the latter. The remaining classes are specialized based on individual skill, and don’t conform to standard teachings. Druidism, advanced summoning, etcetera.”
Domnic continued, tone crisp. Exact. “The warmages are instructed in additional self-defense techniques, both magical and non-magical in nature, and focus predominantly on elementalism, summoning and runes. They are also instructed in basic first aid, again both magical and non-magical in nature.”
“Elementalism?”
“They are instructed to master one element,” the man explained. “Usually through a number of simple techniques honed until they become reflex. Runes are used to create traps and enhance their self-defense capabilities, with summoning used to create short-notice shock troops on demand.”
Well, that hadn't changed then. Good. Better to know a few spells like the back of his—their, whatever—hand than to try and master every damn thing under the sun. Half remembered matrices weren’t going to come to mind when death stared them in the face.
Emma took over, explaining things he already knew about the support mages and their training—terraforming and healing, mostly—, before moving on to results. Grades, war games, the whole thing, and she seemed to realize he already knew the vast majority of what she was saying halfway through. Trailed off, tone not quite accusing but definitely growing a little more flat.
“You already know this.”
Marcus hummed. “Of a sort.”
“Then why, respectfully, are we here?”
“Because I want to make sure,” he replied, looking between the three. Gratham blinked slowly, not seeming terribly offended, and Domnic had stiffened again. Emma just looked cold. “This, what we’re building here, is the future. The centralized, standardized training of mages will revolutionize almost every aspect of the kingdom, and I needed to know I had the right people for the job.”
Gratham interlocked his fingers on the table. “Right?”
“You’re competent. I know that much,” Marcus shrugged. “We wouldn't be here if you weren’t. But if you had lied, embellished or otherwise attempted to keep me in the dark, then we would have had a problem. You didn’t, and I hope you will continue to show sound judgment like this in the future. A future where I might very well be away for months, if not longer. And now I’m going to authorize the construction of a tower with an internal diameter of five hundred feet, which the Academy will both build and use as its new main facility.”
Emma blinked. “That would make it the largest tower in the Kingdom by an order of magnitude. Masonry techniques don’t allow for that much weight.”
“They don’t. It's why it will also be an experiment to begin training mages capable of detailed construction, layering magic into the foundations of the building. Into every brick and window, if you’re feeling dramatic.”
“It will be expensive. Monstrously so.”
Marcus shrugged. “So it will. Fortunately, trade is rapidly growing and the treasury is full. We lost the war, after all.”
Domnic seemed to be the only one who found that funny, though Gratham cracked a polite smile. Oh well.
Emma moved to tap the table before stopping herself. “How high will this tower be?”
“At least the height of the castle,” Marcus replied, shrugging. “That would give the Academy enough room to properly house and train double our current number of students, though additional space can be filled in with all manner of useful rooms. Summoning chambers, libraries, dedicated sparring rings. I’m sure you could think of another dozen uses easily enough.”
More questions. Details. Gratham wrote it all down with the ease of someone who had been a scribe for most of their life, ignoring exact paraphrasing for general information, and things were discussed. Security by Domnic, timelines by Emma, costs by Gratham. Three specialties coming together to fill in any gaps.
Vess had done good work, not that that was a surprise.
The meeting still lasted nearly an hour, but he’d gotten what he came for. Left soon after confirming its location, which was a large villa that used to belong to now poor nobility, all too eager to sell it to the crown.
Close to the castle, too, but distinctly separate. Good access to the main roads, enough space for a proper wall, the whole deal. Domnic had seemed almost giddy.
It would take months to build. Months and months, longer if the Dungeon break called away a large number of mages. But Marcus wasn’t planning to empty his Kingdom of souls just to fight the thing, nor had Vistus requested it. Just himself and a proper army, which, apparently, worked far better than a mob of poorly trained soldiers.
He’d defer to the Empire’s experience.
The door to the Council Chambers clicked shut, and Marcus moved on. Moved through the Academy, small groups and whole classes both parting to let him pass. That had been uncomfortable once, that level of deference, but Vess had coached him on the right level of apathy.
Not too disinterested, that just came across as insulting, but not hugely interested either. Like moving through your own home, Vess had explained. It was well known, no single item was new or truly worthy of scrutiny, but it was all yours. All something you cared about, if not right then and there.
But most importantly, it was his. It wasn’t, of course. By now he’d barely helped build a fifth of it, and most of that came from donated books or dispassionate funding. He still taught a few classes, looking for spatial mages or lecturing on four-tier matrix exercises, but most of these people didn’t know him.
Creating enough distance to be objective, but not so much as to create apathy. Breed loyalty with the occasional visit, letting reputation and rumors do most of the work, then vanish to do something suitably mysterious and impressive.
Which, in this case, was getting his eyes properly reattached.
The small room the Imperial healer had been put in was, well, small. Luxurious, but nothing grand. The man had also been waiting since yesterday afternoon, which Marcus had felt a little bad about but Elly had been adamant on.
This was their castle, and he was an Archmage. And while the man was one of the Empire’s best healers and powerful in his own right, Marcus was not to be dictated in his own home.
Sometimes Marcus was reminded that Elly had seen her Kingdom die, had taken her people’s army for herself, used it to secure absolute power before dragging her people across an ocean no one crossed. All that with little more than determination and steel-knuckled spite.
All the same, Marcus entered the small room. Found the healer reading calmly from a book, eyes flickering towards him before slowly closing it.
Well, he supposed power went both ways.
“I’m Winston,” the man said, nodding slowly enough it could be considered a short bow. “I’m sure you are a busy man, your Grace, so I shall keep this short. Please sit.”
Marcus sat, glancing at Margaret. The woman had her eyes closed, more interested in feeling than seeing. Not like there would be much to see, after all. He looked back at the healer. “How long will this take?”
“A quarter hour. It will be uncomfortable, and I cannot dampen your pain. The nerves need to feel in order for me to adjust your immune system to your eyes. Or not adjust, as the case might be. Going blind is always distressing, but this will ensure you do not require additional replacements.”
Fair enough. Marcus glanced at a tome on the table, humming as the healer washed his hands. “That’s the bestiary?”
“With Archmage Vistus’ compliments,” Winston confirmed. “He apologizes about the delay. An unrestricted copy requires Imperial approval to be distributed, even to Archmages. Please sit still.”
He sat still, meditating as best he could while Winston fixed his eyes. Tried to pay attention for a little while, but healing wasn’t his specialty. Not by a long shot, and this felt like a sixth-tier spell. Interfacing with his body on every level.
Marcus briefly traced the man’s attention with his own, just to show he was watching, and for some reason the hand lightly pressing over his eyes shook. Just for a second, but that was fear. Unmistakably so.
Not used to people being able to see their own body? This wasn’t even that. Marcus just followed the man’s presence, imbued in his magic, as it did its work. Nothing a regular mage couldn't do with some practice.
Few bothered, admittedly.
Pain never quite came, but Winston hadn’t lied when he’d said it was uncomfortable. The kind of feeling you’d wish to go away right this second, but never quite enough to be called agony. Never enough to panic about.
Then it was over, and the man bowed his head. Left, leaving the bestiary and closing the door behind himself. Back to his party, no doubt, and then back towards the Empire. His services always in demand, an entire continent of people that needed him.
Still, he hadn’t even spoken more than five sentences to the man, and now he would probably never see him again.
Oh well.
Marcus turned to Margaret, who was smiling more broadly than he’d ever seen her do. “I presume that was insightful?"
“Oh yes,” she replied, shaking her head. “Very much so. I have to write this down. Using matrices to monitor feedback without consuming will and simultaneously filtering out intent? Brilliant. Yes, a third-tier version should be created. A practice spell for my apprentices, giving a complete overview of the body without taxing the mind.”
She kept muttering, abandoning him to his own devices. He stood after she was gone, picking up a small mirror nearby. His eyes looked perfectly normal, unsurprisingly, but now they wouldn't decay every few weeks.
Maybe Margaret would have found a solution, maybe not, but he had contacts in the Empire now. It seemed silly not to use them.
Marcus tucked the bestiary under his arm before turning to the door himself, resisting the urge to start reading. Soon enough, and he planned to study the beasts of the Dungeon quite thoroughly indeed, but for now there was more work to do.
It was high time he stopped ignoring the broken, malfunctioning artifact sitting in his vault. The artifact that had trapped him for over a year, that broke him and put the pieces back together almost seamlessly enough he couldn't quite hate the thing.
Time to see if the School of Life had more to give, even if it would never trap another soul in its fake world.
