Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotional Incompetent [A Magical Academy LitRPG]

"I did not know Montreal could be that petty," Lorvan said, his gaze fixed on the empty space ahead as he walked Fabrisse home.

Fabrisse didn't reply. There wasn't anything to say.

"You were in the top two. This is the job for you." Lorvan exhaled, sharp and short. "Such a disgrace."

"So nothing can be done."

Lorvan's mouth twitched. "Nothing official. But we'll figure something out. There are plenty of opportunities for those who seek them out."

"But . . ." But he needed the money now. No amount of overtime work would be able to compensate for a month's worth of pay, and he'd need to spend time practicing to pass classes too.

"So? Are you going to do anything about it?" Lorvan asked.

Fabrisse stayed silent.

"We can't do anything about the situation. It's better to move on." Then, Lorvan pivoted back to their original topic before he learned that his student hadn't landed the job. "Just to be clear, the Eidralith can imprint a spell and its execution proficiency directly into your memory?"

Fabrisse sighed. He hadn't gotten over the rejection earlier yet, but he should've known better than expecting Lorvan to dwell on it, or offer him consolation. The man treated failure like a splinter: irritating, inevitable, and best dug out quickly so the real work could resume.

"Yes, but not all skills," Fabrisse replied. "Just some of them, and only after I gained a certain number of points. Like how I can only graduate after I've earned enough credits." He then opened his [Skills] glyph section and asked. "Which skill should I learn, Mentor?"

"Run me through the options again," Lorvan said. "You said the Eidralith gives you a detailed breakdown of the spell's strength, range, and duration in numbers?"

"Yes."

"Then give me the numbers."

He presented the data as told.

"So, right now I have 2 Mastery Points, and these skills cost 5. The System calls them skills, not spells," he said as he pulled up the Tier 1, Common-grade Stone Thaumaturgy skills.

And finally, Stone Resonant Carry. The simplest skill to explain.

Oh no. I completely forgot my training for this skill. The training isn't supposed to be hard, either.

They turned another corner, and now they were only a few blocks away from Fabrisse's dorm. Lorvan nodded to himself as he finished listening to Fabrisse's relaying of information. "With only knowledge of these four spells, I say you're better off ignoring the offensive spells."

"Why?" Fabrisse asked.

"The offensive capability of Stone-based spells aren't worth it for the cooldown. I'd hazard that you'll have to upgrade Slatecast quite a few ranks before you're actually on par with a non-magical archer. The warding spell is also quite weak, and Stonewhisper's attribute requirements are too high. Trapping, on the other hand, is a cast dependent on the environment. So long as you're on a rocky surface, you can be quite a hassle." He paused, thoughtful, then continued, "So you have two spells that can work in conjunction with each other: Stonebind and Granule Drift. Anchor the foot first with Stonebind—short window, but it's enough. Then, while they're stuck, trigger Granule Drift beneath them to let them sink even more. Compacted dirt turns to loose sediment, and suddenly that solid ground they trusted sinks under them."

Fabrisse only nodded.

"Also, you're saying it requires less Synaptic Clarity for a successful cast for Stonebind and Granule Drift?"

"Yeah. Only 5 for Stonebind and 6 for Granule Drift for consistent casting. The other ones require like 9 or 10."

"Look into their Aetheric Reaction Equation." Fabrisse had also explained the concept of equations to Lorvan, and his mentor hadn't really questioned it. He just said that breaking down a spell into an equation would be an intuitive way to analyze it.

Fabrisse did as told and returned these results:

"Perfect then. You just need the right posing and coordination, which with your dexterity, you should be able to follow." Lorvan continued, "The cooldown duration for Stonebind is rather unfortunate, but if that reduces significantly as it scales and if the combination of Stonebind and Granule Drift unlocks higher-level spells, you should go this route. Become a Seismic Trapper."

"I like the sound of that." He was thoroughly impressed with the way Lorvan dissected spells like moving parts in a machine—identifying angles, testing tensions, already three steps ahead on how to use them in the field. That was why Lorvan was the mentor and he was the student.

"An obvious weakness would be that you'll need to have stones underneath your feet." Lorvan gestured downward with a slight tilt of his chin. "But look down, Kestovar. What do you see?"

Fabrisse glanced at the ground beneath their boots. The road was paved with irregular cobblestones, their edges worn smooth by centuries of foot traffic. "Stone," he said.

"Stone," Lorvan repeated. "Every road in the campus is stone-laid. For as long as you're in the Synod, you're in your elements."

"That's . . . you're right."

"There's probably a Mud Thaumaturgy spell that turns the sediment into quicksand. You should look into that. I'd advise unlocking Mud and train your affinity in that element if you go this route."

"I'll look into it." Fabrisse nodded.

He had learned so many things from this short conversation alone. Ideally, a perfect spell to learn would have these three components:

First, it should be easy to cast, preferably something with as little synchronization as possible, and not limited to a single emotion when channeling.

Second, it needs to open up a potentially overpowered mastery path that uses up very few Mastery points.

Third, it scales up well. If the Rank II and Rank III versions are significantly stronger than its base version, the skill alone could be worth it even without unlocking Tier 2 skills.

Now he just needed to get home and dig through the textbooks. If they could offer no better alternative or allow him to learn spells that were direct derivatives of Stonebind and Granule Drift, this build would be a no-brainer.

By the time he returned to the front steps of the dorm, the last of the cobbled path gave way to familiar flagstones—squared, flaked at the edges, and darkened by the faint mist clinging to the garden hedges.

Liene and Celine were already waiting.

Well, not waiting, exactly.

They stood off to the side, under the shade of the archway, looking like two girls locked in a meandering conversation, laughing over something and spinning half-formed thoughts into full-bellied giggles. At one point, Celine hugged her, and with Celine looking tiny and Liene tall and so full in figure, they looked like a little bear hugging a mama bear.

From a distance, it looked like they'd been chatting like that forever.

Fabrisse slowed.

Celine noticed him first. "Hey. Over here!"

Fabrisse pointed at himself. He wasn't sure if she was calling him.

Liene beamed as she spotted him. "Hey Fabri! Come! Good morning, Mentor Lugano!" She waved too. Their waves were somehow almost in sync, but never quite. Liene's hand always rose a beat before Celine, like two dancers stuck half a step apart.

Fabrisse glanced over his shoulder.

Lorvan was still standing a few steps behind, now with his arms folded. But when Fabrisse caught his eye, Lorvan gave a small nod—more approval than permission, like a commander dismissing a soldier to shore leave.

He turned back and jogged over to the girls.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, slightly out of breath. "I thought you had rituals class."

Liene leaned in as if she were about to share a conspiracy. "I proposed a new extracurricular."

"Oh no," Fabrisse said immediately. "What is it this time?"

"A jump-and-slide relay down the irrigation channels behind the Alchemy Tower."

1 FOR? I don't need FOR now. I haven't even thought about FOR.

Even if the rewards were as respectable as they usually were, he was in no mood for a sidequest today.

"Sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I need to practice. I just finished mastering basic synaptic threading and now I have a lot of catching up to do."

Liene blinked. "Wow! You're really serious about your studies now!"

She didn't say it with sarcasm—just genuine astonishment, as if she'd spotted a rare celestial alignment in broad daylight.

"He went to the library this morning, Liene." Celine elbowed her. "Maybe you should add study dates into your—Mpppph!" Her mouth was promptly sealed shut by a rag-shaped light beam morphed into a rag-shaped light rag.

Liene's grin returned, though it was smaller this time. "Well . . . if you change your mind, we'll be starting at the mossy arch. Anabeth will be there too, and she won't be overpowered in this game. First one to the fountain wins."

Celine was finally able to spit the light rag out with a dramatic ptooey after some great spontaneous acrobatics. The spell dissolved in the air.

"Wow, Liene. Aggressive much?" she huffed, wiping her mouth.

Liene flipped her hair with mock elegance. "Don't mind Celine," she said brightly to Fabrisse. "She's obsessed with teasing others because she herself is lonely and doesn't know the concept of boundaries or deeply resonating friendships."

I'd say you don't quite understand the concept of boundaries yourself as well . . .

Celine stared at her, scandalized. "That was so specific. I'll have you know not resonating with every single walking thing is a positive trait."

Liene arched a brow, sensing the shift in dynamic like a predator catching the scent of an opening. Her smile turned sly. "Oh? And is that why you always freeze up when boys actually like you back?"

Fabrisse, still standing off to the side, resisted the urge to back away like a startled forest creature.

Why am I the spectator of this? he thought.

"Freeze up? I'm not you." Celine placed a dramatic hand over her chest, eyes turned skyward as though delivering a monologue to an invisible audience. "I am immune to mere physical attraction. I once sat in the same room with the two most beautiful people on campus—Instructant Lugano and Professor Kaldrin—and I wasn't even fazed." She paused and lowered her gaze. "No man will ever reduce me to a giggling mess with just a smolder and a jawline."

Just as Celine finished her declaration with regal finality, the dormitory door behind them opened.

Out stepped a guy.

Shirtless, with a towel draped around his neck like an afterthought.

His hair was damp, plastered in thick strands to his forehead, as if he'd just wrestled a summoned beast or deep-cleaned the entire atrium hall. Sweat glistened across his well-defined torso—not the golden bronze of an athlete, but the pale, almost academic kind of toned, like a sculptor's statue left in the shade. He paused, squinting into the morning light, then casually raised a hand to wipe sweat from his brow. His other hand lifted to his fogged-up glasses, which he wiped against the towel with absent precision.

Celine immediately locked up like a stone golem. "W-w-w-w-who's that?" she whispered.

Liene and Fabrisse widened their eyes as they turned to each other before turning back to the guy in unison.

"That . . . that's Greg Johnson," Fabrisse said. But why is he shirtless?