Central Black Tower – 72nd Floor, Social Gathering
The grand hall on the 72nd floor pulsed with opulence, its golden chandeliers casting a warm, almost liquid glow across the polished marble floor. Tapestries of legendary Mages battling planar horrors adorned the walls, their runes shimmering like veins of starlight. The air buzzed with the chatter of official apprentices, their robes a kaleidoscope of crimson, sapphire, and emerald, each one a subtle flex of their master's prestige. Spiced wine and arcane perfumes mingled, creating a heady atmosphere that was equal parts intoxicating and suffocating.
Edwyn, with Elia on his arm, stood in a quiet corner, his royal black robe tailored to perfection, its silver runes catching the light. His badge, marking him as Joron's apprentice, gleamed on his chest, and his polished leather shoes clicked softly as he shifted his weight. Elia's black dress hugged her curves, the sapphire necklace at her throat glinting like a captured star, her blonde hair swept up to reveal the elegant curve of her neck.
Edwyn's eyes flicked to Erik, who stood at the center of the hall, radiating an aura that made the air feel heavy. The guy had stopped Rurik's spiked club like it was a toy, his mana a crushing force that had silenced the room. "Damn," Edwyn muttered. "That's some serious juice. This what High Apprentices are packing?"
Elia leaned in, her voice low and casual, but her eyes sharp as she followed his gaze. "My master says Erik's Vice Chancellor Elric's golden boy. Word is, he's so good Elric wants him to skip the Mage Trial and go straight home to inherit his family's stash. Turn into a full Mage, no sweat."
Edwyn's grin faltered, his eyebrows shooting up. "Family? As in Mage family?" His voice was a mix of shock and intrigue. Mage families were relics of the Magus Civilization's early days, shadowy powerhouses that operated behind the scenes. The strongest used academies as their public face, while weaker ones clung to Grand Overlords like vassals, hoping to snag a slice of power in the era of inter-galactic conquest. Either way, their kids got resources most apprentices could only dream of, mana-rich diets, private tutors, and artifacts that made Edwyn's meager Mana Stone stash look like pocket change.
"Yup," Elia said, sipping her wine. "That's the rumor from Lady Susanna. Erik's got the bloodline and the talent."
Edwyn whistled low, his grin returning, but his mind was racing. "Well, damn. No wonder he's strutting like he owns the place." He leaned back against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the room like a predator. The hall was growing livelier, an unseen orchestra filling the air with haunting, melodic notes that seemed to drift from the chandeliers themselves. Groups of apprentices broke off to dance in the center, their movements fluid and practiced, a display of grace and power.
Elia nudged him, her green eyes glinting with mischief. "Hey, Ed, wanna hit the dance floor? Shake things up a bit?" Her tone was teasing, but there was a restless edge to it. As a merchant's daughter, she'd navigated enough aristocratic balls to find this scene painfully familiar, same posturing, different robes.
Edwyn chuckled, brushing off a couple of apprentices who'd sidled up to chat, their eyes gleaming with curiosity about Joron's mysterious new apprentice. "Nah, princess, I'm not big on twirling around like a noble. My moves are more… explosion-based." Truth was, he was starting to regret coming. On a normal night, he'd be in his dorm, nose-deep in Joron's tomes or brewing potions, not dodging small talk with a room full of scheming Mage-born.
Elia sighed, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, this is just another stuffy noble party with extra sparkles. Let's leave." She tugged his arm, already heading for the exit.
Across the hall, Joseph held court, his golden hair catching the light as he laughed with a gaggle of apprentices. His black robes were impeccably tailored, his badge proclaiming him Ulrich's apprentice gleaming proudly. Unlike Edwyn, who kept his head down, Joseph was a star, charismatic, Mage-born, and not shy about it. "Joseph, is it true you've mastered Focus Oil Potion?" an apprentice asked, his tone dripping with flattery.
Joseph downed his wine in one gulp, his smile smug as he leaned back. "Indeed. Master Ulrich handed me the formula himself. From now on, his shop's stocking at least fifty bottles of oil a month. Consistent supply, no shortages." His voice carried, drawing gasps from the crowd.
Edwyn, halfway to the door, caught the boast and smirked. Fifty bottles? Cute. His own batch of 46 had already hit Agnes' shop, and he wasn't even pushing full capacity. Focus Oils were a hot commodity, officially five Mana Stones a bottle, but in low-supply months, they could fetch double or more. Joseph's claim was bold, but Edwyn knew the game. The guy was flexing, and the crowd was eating it up.
Joseph's eyes flicked toward the exit, catching a glimpse of Elia's dress as she and Edwyn slipped out. "Elia?" he muttered, his alcohol-fogged brain slow to process. He shook his head, dismissing it. "Whatever. Just another pretty face. Let her go play with that nobody apprentice." He took another swig of wine, his confidence unshaken. "She'll regret it."
Edwyn didn't hear Joseph's words, but he felt the weight of eyes on them as they left the hall. His grin widened, a mix of amusement and defiance. "Let's get outta here before the fan club catches up," he whispered to Elia, his tone dripping with playful rebellion.
Dormitory Tower – Three Months Later
Edwyn's desk was a battlefield of alchemical gear, vials, beakers, and a rune-etched cauldron sat amidst stacks of notes, each page filled with meticulous records of his potion experiments. The past three months had been a grind, every spare moment spent brewing Focus Oils, chasing a pattern that would boost his success rate. His notebook, now as thick as a brick, lay open, its pages crammed with data on ingredients, temperatures, and reaction times. Yet, despite hundreds of experiments, no clear trend had emerged.
"No damn patterns," Edwyn muttered, slumping back in his chair, his red hair falling into his eyes. His grin was gone, replaced by a rare scowl of frustration. "This can't just be about gut feeling. There's gotta be a system." Mages lived for empirical evidence, numbers, precision, control. The idea that potion brewing relied on instinct alone felt like a betrayal of everything he'd learned.
A sharp knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Elia stood outside, her blonde hair a mess, dark circles under her green eyes. She yawned, thrusting a stack of manuscript pages at him. "Here's your homework, genius," she said, her voice groggy but teasing. "Ice Spike's rune structure, torn apart like you wanted. Most of it's kinetic force, only a tiny bit handles the ice. Weirdest elemental spell I've ever seen."
Edwyn took the pages, his grin returning. "You're a damn rockstar, Elia." He gave her a playful pat on the head, ignoring her half-hearted swat. "Go crash. You look like you've been wrestling a dragon."
She smirked, yawning again. "Yeah, yeah. That's the kinetic force model on the last page. Hope it's what you needed." She shuffled off, muttering about coffee.
Edwyn flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning Elia's meticulous notes. The final page showed a simplified rune ring, the kinetic force component, stripped bare. A note caught his eye: Energy conversion efficiency: 60%. His jaw dropped. "Sixty percent? That's insane!" In his past life, that kind of efficiency would've revolutionized engines. But a footnote clarified: actual efficiency depended on the rune's material substrate, topping out at 50% with the best conductors.
"Mana conversion…" Edwyn froze, his grin fading as a revelation hit him like a fireball. Mana. He'd been so focused on physical and chemical data, temperatures, quantities, reaction times, that he'd ignored the most critical variable in the Magus world: mana flow. Every potion required a steady stream of mana as a catalyst, and he hadn't tracked it once. "Son of a-! I've been thinking like an Earth nerd this whole time!"
He bolted from his chair, adrenaline surging, then skidded to a halt. The stairs would take too long. With a reckless grin, he leapt onto the balcony, his robe flapping as he sprinted toward the commercial zone. He needed help, someone who knew mana like he knew potions. And he knew exactly who to ask.