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

"And then she said, 'have him be under my tutelage'," Fabrisse spread his palms, trying to physically recreate the scene and failing to do so.

Liene, dressed like a normal student, sprawled sideways on the bench across from him with one leg dangling off the armrest, raised an eyebrow. "Look at you. Hottest prospect in the Synod overnight. You realize you've become a full-blown headline, right?"

Fabrisse groaned. "I didn't do anything."

"I'm surprised they didn't go for you earlier, to be honest. You're the Chosen One of the Eidralith, after all. I'm curious, though. What did you say to them afterwards? Who did you pick? Tell me it's Monasterie."

"Nothing. They started arguing amongst each other, and Dir got so mad he turned into smoke again, so I didn't say anything."

Liene sat up, propping her head on one hand. "So you just stood there while four archmagi fought over you like some limited-edition summoning crystal?"

"Three. Draeth couldn't care less."

Liene gave a gasp that sounded entirely fake. "Only three?"

"Any more and I wouldn't have been able to process what they said." Fabrisse scratched the back of his head. "I almost tuned out when Monasterie said if I become her student, she could give me a breakthrough in my innate resonance. Something about untangling my inner bottleneck."

She sprang up instantly like a fallen tree, but in reverse. "Wait. She said that? That's huge. She knows exactly where your problem is! What did the others offer?"

"Dir said something about offering me a pathway to Smoke-based Thaumaturgy."

Liene froze. "I'm sorry. Smoke? That's real? I thought that was just what professors called a misfire when they didn't want to admit it was one."

"I saw him turn to smoke with my own eyes, Liene. And that if I trained under him, he'd let me in on the true blend."

Liene let out a low whistle. "Okay. That's insane. You know how rare that is? Smoke thaumaturgy is like the philosopher's stone of hybrid casting. I don't think anybody knows the base components. For light thaumaturgy, I need to blend flame and crystal. And I had to get crystal from ice, which I had to get from water! And I thought that was hard." She paused before speaking again, "Okay, okay. What did Rolen say?"

"He told me he won't make stupid promises, but I can get a pink aether ball as a souvenir."

"That's it? A pink ball?"

"It was very pink."

She squinted at him. "Right. So who are you going to pick?"

"I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair.

"Don't pick anyone," Liene said immediately, leaning forward. "Tell them you're thinking. Drag it out. Make them compete a little longer. They'll all try to show off, and soon they'll all teach you their little secrets to sway you."

Fabrisse stared at her like she was wearing clothing she normally wore. "I don't think that's . . . ethical."

"Neither is using you as political leverage for Synod funding and personal prestige."

He stayed silent for more than socially acceptable.

Liene leaned in closer and tilted her head to try and make eye contact with him. "Well, if you don't like that idea . . . We can go with Rolen. He'll put the least pressure on you. Is that okay?"

"Um . . ."

"What's on your mind?"

He finally met her gaze. "I need to practice flinging stones."

The wisp of light drifted faster than Fabrisse would've liked.

It darted sideways just as he let loose the spell. The stone veered off course and plunked into the grass with all the threat of a wet acorn.

His accuracy was off, wildly. It was much harder to hit a moving (albeit slowly) target. And what does the system mean by 'Lacking in Variety'?

Liene clapped, very unhelpfully. "That's your fifth miss, but out of nine! You're improving."

They were out at the eastern training field (not to be confused with the eastern target field), where first-years usually practiced basic conjuration or panicked over botched elemental fusion. Fabrisse had chosen it because no one else would be around to witness his descent into mediocrity.

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"It's nine already?" He muttered, moreso to himself. "Has it been thirty minutes."

"Twenty."

"Don't you have your own practice or assignments to do?"

"I already turned in my assignments, Fabri." She had probably just lied, and would most likely whip up something on the final day like always. "But I'm heading to town with Celine later, so you better hit the target quick," Liene said, conjuring another wisp. This one twinkled a warm orange and zipped in a corkscrew pattern around a dummy pole. "Try again."

Fabrisse narrowed his eyes, placed a Stupenstone into his palm, and flung. The stone shot across the field with the speed of an injured dog.

The rock ricocheted off the dummy pole and narrowly missed the wisp, which did a smug little spiral in response.

"Your control is still stuck in beginner form," Liene reminded. "You can't brute force finesse."

"I'm not trying to brute force finesse. I'm trying to hit a glowing ball." He took out another stone from his satchel. He stared at it and realized it was his trusty old friend, Gravelkin. Its smooth, river-worn shape, a perfect oval with just enough heft, was ideal for cutting through the air. The balanced weight settled comfortably in his palm. A promise of a stable, true flight; a projectile purpose-built by nature.

He had an absolutely brilliant idea. He knew to focus his strength on the arm now. Adding more strength wouldn't make it less accurate; just the same accuracy but faster. Maybe the stone would fly fast enough to reach the target before it drifted. "Alright, fine. Let's brute force finesse."

"That's not how—"

Too late. He hurled the stone with a full-bodied windup, like he was trying to exorcise his frustration from his elbow.

The Stupenstone shot across the field with the speed of a faster injured dog. Right as it passed over a cracked glyph etched into the dueling mat stone.

The glyph flared.

A sudden surge of compressed wind exploded like a geyser of raw aether pressure, catching the stone mid-flight and slingshotting it forward with a banshee shriek.

It ricocheted off the dummy pole, then off a glyphlight, then rebounded from the edge of the summoning frame and—

Thunk.

Directly into someone's head.

It had missed the wisp.

Both Fabrisse and Liene turned in slow motion.

Cuman Golliver stood at the edge of the field, eyes closed, hand pressed to his forehead. The stone rolled off his boot.

My stone lost velocity at the end. Why did it dip?

Fabrisse suddenly remembered this critical piece of information from the description of Stupenstone Fling.

Oh no. I threw it with too much Strength. Now it flew a bit too fast, and my RES was so garbage that I couldn't control the flight path.

Now he had even more problems. Not only did he need a better SYN, he also needed to upgrade his RES promptly.

Oh! A bonus! Have I gotten enough Mastery points to upgrade an existing skill?

Cuman's fingers jerked.

A second later, a current of air twisted around his free hand, gathering speed and shape until it roared into a coiled vortex, a wind spell that absolutely wasn't beginner tier. The air snapped sharp, tugging at Fabrisse's sleeves. The other hand was still rubbing the red mark blooming on his temple.

"You've met your maker now, punk," he growled.

Fabrisse took a step back. "It was the glyphlight! The stone! Physics!"

"I am physics," Cuman growled, wind howling louder with each syllable. "And you just violated natural law."

Liene muttered, "Okay, that was kind of a sick line."

But her hands were already weaving a defense glyph into the air. She formed a shield of light in front of herself, bending like warped glass. "Don't be an idiot, Gollivur. If the Instructants catch you spellcasting on a student again, you're going to be on probation again."

The swirling wind kept gathering behind Cuman, looking more and more like a storm cloud now. It didn't look like he was going to stop until he'd launched Fabrisse into the stratosphere.

Fabrisse took a cautious half-step forward. "We don't have to do this, okay? I didn't—"

The system violated his vision again.

You've got to be kidding me.