Melia didn’t know exactly what she could do, but she felt like she had to try something, as this was basically her fault. Once again an off-hand action she hadn’t given a second thought to had caused far reaching consequences. And this time they directly affected somebody she cared about.

  After seeing Ellesea in the state she was in, deflated and devoid of any sort of warmth or joy, Melia was outraged on her behalf. She had to work to keep herself calm, at least on the outside, lest the others panic and think she might go on a rampage.

  Which she sort of was, now that she thought about it. A very low key rampage. Most would say that there’s no such thing as a low key rampage, but then again, “most” would never dare to barge into the kingdom’s premier magical academy after hours to make an appointment with the Dean of Thaumaturgical Studies with the express intent to scold him.

  Or at the very least have him retract the demerit he’d placed on Ellesea’s record.

  This entire operation could have probably been better thought out, but Melia was a little late in coming to that conclusion, as she stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the grand front entrance to the academy. For one, she didn’t tell any of her teammates where she was going this morning, only that she had “an errand to run” and she might be gone for several hours. Ellesea was distraught and Melia wasn’t sure if she’d be able to make a difference, so she didn’t want to get the girl’s hopes up or potentially make things worse.

  Which, judging from the open stares she was getting from nearly every person walking by, was a distinct possibility, but Melia was too stubborn to give up without trying. Hopefully the Dean was a calm and understanding man, but given that he was the one to give the punishment in the first place, Melia was doubtful.

  That was why she dressed to impress, which resulted in all the stares. Gnomes were rare in the city in the first place, and for some reason she had thought that putting on her old [Arcanist’s Regalia] was a good idea. The robes were an eye-catching bright red and rich purple, with golden embroidery, and the “helm” was a nearly invisible silver circlet that projected three miniature arcane orbs above her head, swirling slowly in a circle. It might give some legitimacy to the tale she was spinning about being a powerful [Mage], which she supposed was true even if she didn’t consider herself one anymore, but it was certainly eye catching and distinctive.

  She tugged briefly at the high collar that rose behind her above her head and adjusted her grip on her staff, sighing a final time, before walking in.

  Rochester Hamilton was having a fine day, and he was in a fine mood.

  All of that came crashing down very quickly upon setting foot into his office first thing in the morning.

  “Sir, you have an appointment at 8:45.”

  His secretary had taken the liberty to spring that upon him while delivering his coffee, making the bitter beverage taste sour. He immediately demanded who had approved this arrangement on such short notice, as he had nothing on his schedule this morning when he went home yesterday, and nobody checked with him if he was available. His secretary had paled, but remained calm enough to explain that it was supposedly a “traveling [Archmage].”

  Such a thing was laughable. [Archmages] didn’t travel. They locked themselves in their towers and studied their respective fields of mastery. That was what he himself wished to do, but he was stuck teaching for another few years first. Not enough tenure. Bah.

  Rochester could begrudgingly admit that it was not wise to turn away an [Archmage] so brashly, so he swallowed his complaints along with a good portion of his first cup of coffee. He supposed there was a certain amount of appeal to be a traveling [Archmage] if one couldn’t find a tower of their own, roaming the world to discover its secrets. Not for him, of course, but he would not deny others their madness if they were insane.

  He gathered what little information his visitor left for him and his mood dropped further.

  “Melia the Magnificent”.

  That was what they chose to call themselves.

  Rochester nearly spat in disgust. Such arrogance! He doubted profusely that this person was an actual [Archmage] at all, choosing instead to rely on half baked, self imposed titles to give themselves a feeling of grandeur. When he read that this Melia was a gnome, he rolled his eyes. It was just like the little people to blow things out of proportion.

  Like as not, she was some street performer who’d gotten some small amount of fame and was coming to beg for some boon…to what end, Rochester did not care to guess.

  The clock on his mantle across the room struck out a note for the three-quarters of an hour, and as if summoned from some hell, there was an instant knock on his door.

  At least she was punctual, he snorted.

  “Come,” he said in an authoritative voice.

  His door quickly swung open, and the first thing his eyes fell on was his secretary, who was looking even more nervous than she did when she broke the news to him this morning. For some reason, that irked Rochester. Why should she show more reverence to some inconsequential stranger than she would her own master?

  And then his eyes dipped down to where the Little One was trailing in her wake. Without thinking, Rochester found himself rising to his feet.

  “Welcome. Please have a seat.”

  He motioned to a chair across from him, a plush, luxurious thing, though not the same quality as his own. It was meant to both impress and draw a clear line: his guests were obviously due some sort of recognition, they wouldn’t be in his office if they didn’t have some accolades to their names, but clearly they should understand the difference between them and the man behind the desk.

  And for the first time, except perhaps when speaking with the Headmaster himself, Rochester wondered if he was on the wrong side of the table.

  He took the opportunity to cast [Identify] on the small gnome as his secretary helped her into the large, overstuffed chair. This was the smallest gnome he’d ever seen, out of the admittedly limited pool of gnomes he’d ever met, and she looked like a child, perched on a chair much too large for her to be comfortable. Sitting with her back all the way against the cushion, her feet didn’t come close to reaching the edge.

  He hoped she didn’t take any offense.

  Like most of her kind, she didn’t seem bothered at all, like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her enormous amethyst eyes scanned the room, filled with wonder, an undisguised smile curling her lips.

  The same could not be said for Rochester. He had cast [Identify] several times, as if expecting different results, but it returned the same information every time. It was incredibly rude, he knew, but he was a level 650 [Thaumaturge] and certain amounts of liberties were granted to one of his station. He was an [Archmage] himself, of a fashion, recognized by his peers if not by the system.

  He could not say the same for the gnome. When his secretary initially introduced her, he figured the name was a blatant grab at power, a way to boost her own status. He was wrong. He did not know what the gnome had done to deserve it, but “the Magnificent” was an honest to gods system given title. And the system did not give out titles for petty reasons.

  [Melia the Magnificent]

  Level: unknown

  Class: unknown

  The return on his [Identify] was laughably vague. But Rochester could read between the lines and understood two things. Melia was undoubtedly higher level than him, which meant she was almost certainly exactly what she claimed: some sort of [Archmage].

  Her robes and her staff all but confirmed this fact.

  [Arcanist’s Regalia]

  Rarity: Epic

  Level: 1000

  Set Bonus [5/5]

  Increase damage and healing done by magical spells and effects by up to 1800

  Decrease the magical resistance of your spell targets by 1000

  [Arclight Manastaff]

  Rarity: Epic

  Level: 1000

  Intellect: 4400

  Spirit: 2990

  The second was that she was not someone to lightly be trifled with. Rochester found his gears instinctively switching from dismissal to calculation, wondering how he could possibly benefit from such a person.

  He shook his head and banished the thought. Now was not the time.

  “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  He made sure to include the base amount of decorum while still expressing his annoyance and displeasure. Should he find his time being wasted, he would have no qualms throwing her out, all the while verbally lambasting her.

  The gnome quickly stopped peering around the office, gawking at the certificates and accolades awarded to him over 30 years of academic excellence. She gave an awkward chuckle.

  “It’s a bit embarrassing, really,” she began, scratching her cheek, and Rochester’s’ eyes narrowed. As he suspected. She either wanted something from him or else had some harebrained scheme he didn’t have time for. His cold voice cut her off.

  “Lady Melia, I’m afraid I’m a busy man. If you could get to the point?”

  “Right,” she sighed, taking a deep breath. “Fine. It’s about Ellesea Barnes. I heard you gave her a demerit. I’d like you to remove it.”

  Rochester nearly recoiled, but he kept his emotions in check. Barely. He knew he told the gnome to get to it, but he didn’t expect her to be so blunt. And the audacity of her! To request, no, demand that he alter a punishment given to a student? Specifically one handed out by himself, in one of his classes? Outrageous! His eyes narrowed as a cold fury brewed.

  “How dare you?” he hissed, but for all his rage, the gnome didn’t seem bothered at all. She sat there, slightly bouncing in her chair, looking for all the world like she hadn’t made a demand of one of the most powerful [Mages] in the kingdom. Like he was beneath her.

  “Oh, easily,” she replied, as if chatting about the weather. “I dare because the truth is simple. You’re wrong. If you had given her a demerit because of her actions, well I’d have to live with it. But from what she told me, it was the knowledge she presented that you took issue with, and I can’t have that. Not when I gave it to her myself.”

  As quickly as it came, Rochester’s rage fled him. He sat back and studied the gnome, calculating.

  “What is your relationship with Miss Barnes?”

  Since they were speaking of a student, he didn’t feel the need to address her as the scion of a noble house. That being said…could it be possible that the Count, with his many connections, had located a practitioner of lost arts to tutor his daughter? If that was the case, he needed to reevaluate any dealings he had with the Count. Getting somebody to part with what was essentially heirloom knowledge was not easy, and it probably cost him a good many favors.

  “She’s my party member,” the gnome revealed, “and my friend.”

  Rochester didn’t know how to take that, so he leaned back and let it digest. This whole scenario didn’t sit well with him, for many reasons.

  Instead, he switched to something he did have more than a small amount of knowledge about.

  “Wrong, you say,” he scoffed, disdain palpable. “And what are your qualifications to make such a claim?”

  Melia tilted her head as if confused.

  “Is being an [Archmage] not enough?”

  While, in principle, it should be, reality was not so cut and dry. Even among his peers, not all [Archmages] were considered equal, and that wasn’t even taking into account their specializations.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Where were you accredited?” he asked sharply. If it were some low-borne school pandering to the masses-

  “Oh, I’m self taught.”

  Rochester froze, for the first time this morning his mind truly went blank.

  The empty thoughts were calming, the silence welcome, but he recovered near instantly, ire boiling into rage. He slammed his hands on the table as he jumped to his feet. The gnome didn’t even react.

  “Self taught?!” he bellowed. “And you have the audacity to claim that you, who has no title, know more than I, who am master of the arcane in this institution?! Such arrogance! I don’t care how ‘Magnificent’ you are, you go too far! Good day!”

  Rochester thrust his hand toward the exit in clear dismissal, but once again all the gnome did was tilt her head. Was she too dull to understand she was being shown out? He had half a mind to call the guards on this insufferable gnome before he went and did something drastic, like teleport her forcibly from his office.

  “No…?” Melia muttered, staring off into what must have been her status screen. Her eyes fell on something and she let out a tired, frustrated sigh. “That title…there, better?”

  Because he could, and certainly not because he was given permission, Rochester cast [Identify] again.

  [Archmage Melia]

  Level: unknown

  Class: unknown

  He blinked twice, his brain refusing to accept what his eyes were seeing. Impossible.

  There were only twelve system anointed [Archmages], three of which appeared during the Age of Upheaval, which was to be expected given the calamities that ran amok over a scant few decades. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Adversities and trials birthed champions, and all that.

  Rochester’s own status did not acknowledge him as an archmage, not like that.

  [Rochester Hamilton]

  Level: 652

  Class: Archmage

  Yes, he had earned the right to be called an Archmage, to be an [Archmage].

  But he held no system given title.

  He felt his stomach fill with ice as he considered the fact that he could not see the gnome’s level or class. Clearly, she had ascended to something greater, and the system rewarded her with a memento of her hard work.

  That did not stop him from being bitter.

  “What do I need to do to prove to you I know what I’m talking about?” Melia sighed.

  She expected something like this. Wasn’t this the way it always went in stories? Somebody makes a claim, then the other person denies the possibility, and then the first person has to prove themselves, or something. She was prepared to give a demonstration of her skills if need be, her mind was already reaching back to old rotations and patterns.

  The only problem right now was that the man sitting across from her seemed to be frozen in place. Admittedly, his half-grimace, half-shocked look somewhere between “I’ve stepped in the biggest pile of poop ever conceived,” and “Oh shoot, I dun effed up,” was hilarious. Especially the more burgundy his face turned the longer he held his breath.

  “How dare you,” he seethed once again, and Melia had to wonder how this man ever had the temperament to become a teacher.

  “To suggest that you know better than the Dean of Thaumaturgical Studies and Professor of Advanced Magical theory…! You besmirch the very honor of this school! I demand a duel!”

  Ah, there it was.

  “Absolutely not,” Melia instantly refused with a laugh. This man was more full of himself than she ever imagined. They let people like this teach? Was Ellesea getting a good enough education here? Perhaps she would offer more pointers as they came to her.

  Rochester looked like he’d been slapped across the face, and in some ways, Melia supposed he had.

  “For one, I’ve got no reason to accept something so foolish,” she explained, still laughing. “I’m not a child.”

  She let herself calm down and gave the man a very serious stare. He seemed to straighten in his seat.

  If this were the game, perhaps she would have agreed. It wasn’t real, for one, there was no input for pain or feeling. For another, if it was a system initiated duel, the only way to fight another player outside of specially designated PvP zones, limitations were hard coded in place. No matter how much damage the victorious player did, no matter how many damage over time debuffs the defeated player had at the end, the loser could never be dropped below 1 health.

  In the game, it was impossible to kill another player in a duel.

  Something Melia very much doubted was the case here, unless the system intervened.

  “You would die,” she said plainly, off-handedly, as if commenting on the weather. She didn’t trust herself enough to be able to hold back. Even her most basic spells, carefully regulated at her lowest output, were still extreme.

  “No, we will not be dueling. This institution used to have training dummies, is that no longer the case?”

  Training dummies were useful in the game to measure one’s damage per second, hone skills and practice spell or ability rotations. The game had built in chances for various enemies to dodge, and different tiers of target dummies simulated regular mobs, elite mobs, or bosses, respectively. They could not be destroyed, soaking up as much damage as any number of players dished out to them, only losing health as regulated on a bar, which filled back up after combat was over.

  To be honest, Melia wouldn’t be surprised if [Target Dummies] functioned differently in this world.

  Melia was just wondering if this was a lost cause, if she should bother trying to make an appointment with the Headmaster, or if she needed to give up entirely. That last option didn’t sit well with her, but if she tried and was refused, and in the end nothing could be done, she’d simply have to live with that.

  Rochester nodded stiffly and muttered out a gruff: “There are.”

  Melia smiled hugely at him as she hopped off the chair, expecting him to lead on.

  “Thankfully for you, I won’t do something stupid like say, ‘if I’m right you have to leave, banished forever, and I’m going to take your spot,’. I won’t even ask for an apology. I’ll be content to let you sweep this under the rug and pretend it never happened so long as you remove the demerit.”

  Headmaster Veloran was standing inconspicuously at the back of a small crowd gathered at one of the mid-sized training grounds.

  The absurd rumor quickly reached his ear that a teacher was going to duel a student.

  That, of course, was laughable. No member of his staff would be so stupid. No matter the outcome, if it were a real duel, they would still have to answer to him.

  But, a mid-sized training ground would be the perfect place to house a duel between two [Mages], hypothetically speaking.

  The rumors grew worse, as the declarer of the duel turned out to be a Dean, the head of the arcane branch, and the challenged wasn’t a student, they weren’t even an alumni.

  They just so happened to be a traveling [Archmage].

  It was to Veloran’s great surprise then to arrive behind a gaggle of erstwhile gawkers, who were by no means missing classes at the moment, just as a groundskeeper was dusting off a very large target dummy.

  Rochester, the fool, had originally arranged for a smaller target to be brought out, but the [Archmage], a gnome, had refused it. Was it meant as a slight against the small folk? Or perhaps a way to assuage the man’s own bruised ego? Veloran would find out, but he would let this farce run its course.

  At first he could not hear what was being said between the two, but judging from the Dean’s scowl, it wasn’t to his tastes. A modified cast of [Amplify] allowed him to hear as if he was standing only a few inches away.

  “…go first, if you’re so insistent, that way there can’t be any doubt. I won’t have my friend get in trouble for something I said, especially if it’s something I can back up.”

  Again, Veloran would have to get the details from the man later, the entire truth, but for now it seemed to be a dispute about semantics. Or perhaps method? It appeared that, while not a duel proper, they would be testing the same spell, cast by each of them. To what end? Veloran was intrigued.

  “[Arcane Blast]!”

  Dean Hamilton made a grand show of waving his hands, gesticulating wildly as he brought the spell into focus. Veloran tsked. While few people would care, especially after seeing the results, his movements were wasteful, with unnecessary flourishes and embellishments. To the average [Mage], it would appear flawless, but for an [Archmage], it was pitiful.

  Veloran watched as the spell formed briefly inside the target and white light flashed across the straw man’s chest. The target barely moved, almost a flinch, and the tiniest sliver was removed from a “health bar” that suddenly appeared above the target’s head.

  Veloran nodded appreciatively. That was a good strike. Not for nothing was this man in his 650s. For somebody not used to combat, it was an effective strike.

  The gnome tried to hide a cringe as she took her place before the dummy. Veloran doubted Rochester saw it, the man was walking around with his nose stuck so high in the air he couldn’t look down to see it. Veloran quirked an eyebrow. Was she nervous? Regretting taking place in this…contest?

  It was then that the Headmaster truly looked at the gnome. Her clothes, the way she held herself…her title.

  Rochester was not a combat [Mage] and never was. His position was granted to him more from personal ambition and lack of other options rather than any actual redeeming qualities. He subscribed to that regrettable mindset that “bigger is better”, his ego inflating as much as his damaging spells, devoting himself to flashy, showy theatrics. It was a shame his mind was as sharp as it was, or Veloran wouldn’t have second thoughts dismissing him.

  His opponent was another sort entirely. Horror dawned in Veloran as he realized what, if not who, his Dean took grievance with and he wondered if he could somehow appease this mysterious gnome. A system titled [Archmage]…Veloran never thought he'd live to see one.

  “[Arcane Blast].”

  Unlike Rochester’s grand show of things, Archmage Melia had only spoken the words aloud for the benefit of those present. She didn’t wave her arms around, didn’t make complex movements. She lazily lifted one hand and flicked her finger, as if brushing off some speck of dust, and precisely two seconds later, a brilliant white light seared his vision as the target nearly toppled over.

  The health bar…was entirely gone.

  Veloran himself stood in shock. He knew how much punishment those dummies could take, they were rated at level 1200. Supposedly what the toughest bosses in the deepest dungeons were. Raid Bosses, they called them. And this gnome one shot it.

  The only reason the target was still standing was because it was enchanted to be indestructible. Otherwise there wouldn’t be anything left, not even a speck.

  Rochester looked clearly shaken as the target refilled itself, but he was already locked in. He then cast a series of [Arcane Blasts], and of course, as the spell was designed, it did slightly more and more damage each time, all the while Rochester looked more winded. By his fourth cast, he looked like he’d just jogged up a decent flight of stairs, probably feeling the mana exhaustion from emptying his pool so rapidly, but he looked pleased.

  “There, you see?” he addressed the gnome. “A right, proper sequence of casts.”

  “And as I have said before,” the gnome replied in a tired voice, “It isn’t the only way, simply the way you know now. What I’ve said, and what I told Ellesea and what she wants to learn, is that there are different methods that suit different people better. As she has said, what you didn’t believe and punished her for, was that in the past, [Arcane Blast] scaled for haste, not power. Not better, not worse: different. Observe. [Arcane Blast]. [Arcane Blast]. [Arcane Blast].”

  As the gnome said, with each successive cast her cast time grew quicker and quicker, and Veloran’s eyes rapidly grew wide as saucers as the flicks of her wrist became more like a conductor directing a symphony of death and destruction.

  So this was the technique pioneered by the ancients.

  One the gods themselves deemed necessary to change. Oh, how Veloran wished he knew why.

  After the sixth and seventh casts, the gnome stopped speaking at all, as calling out the name of the skill was actually slower than simply willing it into being silently. It seemed her maximum capacity topped at around 10 casts, where there was practically a solid slash of light burned into the area around the target’s torso as the gnome’s hand moved up, down, left, and right with each flick, only a fraction of a second apart.

  From a technical standpoint, the display he was watching was nothing short of a masterclass of skill and dexterity, but sadly much of the nuance was lost upon the uninvited observers, who were not yet skilled enough to see the finer details of a true magical master. It did not help that her first [Arcane Blast] was powerful enough to wipe out the target dummy’s health fully. Alone, the thought was terrifying, but then the students could not see the more rapid pace at which it depleted with each successive cast.

  All in all, the Headmaster was quite pleased with Archmage Melia’s display. One theory for why the spell was changed had to do with how useless a mage became when out of mana. As his ill-informed Dean just showed, even a high level [Mage] could blow through their reserves in such a short time, so some said it would be better to make such limited strikes more impactful, count for what they could.

  Hamilton was certainly in this camp. He cared for raw strength and little else, the man should have been born a demon.

  Even though Veloran did not have the full understanding of what caused this event to transpire, he was already inclined to believe his Dean was in the wrong. He would have to keep an open mind when he interrogated him later-.

  The gnome did not stop casting, which was worrying now that Veloran thought about it, since a normal mana pool should have long ago dried up, and she took a deep breath. The whole feeling of the small arena took a sharper, more dangerous air as her concentration spiked with the single minded focus of a [Hunter] about to deliver a decisive, killing blow. No…like a chess master planning the defeat of a novice player they were toying with, many moves in advance.

  Veloran wished, in that moment, that he could somehow share his decades of experience and insight intuitively to all who watched, for he was amazed. He witnessed what he knew intellectually, but had never seen in person: a full rotation of a fully capable warmage dumping all their mana as fast as possible to do as much damage as they possibly could in as little time possible.

  An arcane glyph appeared over Melia’s head, the sign that she had just popped a buff. [Arcane Brilliance]. In theory she would have already cast that on herself, but Veloran supposed in this theoretical setting, now was just as good a time. It increased her Intellect by 10 percent.

  A jagged, ethereal lighting bolt materialized when the glyph vanished. [Arcane Power]. All arcane spell damage increased by 25 percent for the next 10 seconds.

  Two more [Arcane Blasts].

  A proc of [Arcane Missiles]. The spell, normally channeled, usually looked like a thin, wispy tether running from the caster to the target while several bulbs of arcane energy pulsed outward. This was hardly recognizable as such: the tether appeared and vanished nearly instantly, the bulbs squashed together in a seamless line.

  Three more [Arcane Blasts]. Two more [Arcane Missiles]. A final [Arcane Blast].

  Then, Melia’s stance shifted. With one hand raised high into the air and her feet set wide in a bracing stance, a vortex of swirling energy engulfed her.

  [Evocation].

  From what Veloran understood, the spell functioned fundamentally differently decades ago than it did today. It was a channeled spell that restored the user’s mana over the length of the cast. Supposedly, 60 percent of the total mana pool over 6 seconds. It was over in less than one.

  Four more [Arcane Blasts] were cast, and right before the lightning sigil vanished, Melia ended the streak with an [Arcane Barrage]. The tri-headed projectile twisted and wove through itself as it barreled inevitably toward the dummy, striking it with the intensity of a detonating sun.

  When the dust settled and the spots vanished from his blinking, watering eyes, Veloran stood, aghast, watching a half-disintegrated, crumbling dummy, which should have been indestructible, slowly piece itself back together. The ground around it was blackened and charred, the epicenter of some cataclysmic show of wrath.

  He glanced toward the Archmage and felt reverence more than fear. He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that everyone in the courtyard, probably the entire city, would be dead if she so wished it.

  She wasn’t even out of breath, frowning slightly as if she wasn’t pleased with her own performance, debating whether or not to try again.

  How glad was he then that she was not currently his enemy.

  Eventually the gnome turned toward the Dean, who looked stunned stupid. She waved her hand to get his attention, but his eyes were unseeing. She took a step forward and poked him in the leg, causing him to jump. Melia simply shook her head.

  “I expect a retraction of the demerit by the next time you hold class,” she said, uncaring if he responded or not. “I’ll check with Ellesea, I’ll know if you didn’t follow through.”

  Yes, it was very much time for Veloran to find out exactly what happened. For all that Hammilton was a competent [Mage], he did not belong in academics, teaching the next generation. Maybe he’d finally be able to get a competent Dean of Thaumaturgical Studies.