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

The swirling gale around Cuman deepened to a furious howl. The magic condensed into a tight spiral behind him, sharp and glowing with a coral-tinted red. He was pissed off.

He chanted, a long and impractical mnemonic,

"By fracture of breath and spiral of storm, I carve the lawless path through calm.

Rend, lash, unform!"

That didn't even rhyme . . .

It probably wasn't the brightest idea while his attacker was supercharging his spell, but Fabrisse felt a strange urge to peer into Cuman's attributes.

Then he checked Liene's attributes again.

His raw observable stats were actually better than Liene's. However, Fabrisse couldn't know their spell library. Liene could use hybrid elements like Light, so she had probably learned more spells than Cuman.

Cuman's arms jerked open. The wind behind him coalesced into a spiral lasso of air that crackled at the edges like it was shearing the atmosphere.

What's that spell? That's not a low-ranked spell we learned in class.

Two fingers curled.

The spell launched.

Compressed wind tore through the field, its edge honed to a screaming filament.

Wait. That's Razor Gale Whip?

Liene waved her hand in an arc and shouted her mnemonic,

"Bright bind, bend and shield!"

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A burst of pale radiance flared into a crescent wall, etched with glowing sigils.

The gale hit. The impact rang like a struck bell.

Fabrisse flinched. The arc of Liene's shield shuddered, cracks splintering. The edge of the wind whip didn't stop—it screeched as it carved through the air, digging into the radiant barrier and peeling one of the outer glyphs with a spray of sparks.

The shield held.

Liene shouted. "Gollivur! That spell can hurt people!"

The whip hissed away in a spiral gust, the wind scattering embers from the broken glyphs.

Cuman's fingers still hung in the air, and the spiral behind him slowly reformed.

"You flung a rock at my skull," he said. "I'm just returning the favor."

Fabrisse still couldn't believe that was Razor Gale Whip. They had learned the Rank I version last semester. His version stuttered when he tried it (unsurprisingly, since it was a Tier II spell that demanded mastery of a Tier I spell called Whirlweave, which he had not mastered). It wobbled in the air like an untied rope, more breeze than blade, and flopped to the ground when it hit a practice target. Normally, mentors wouldn't teach third-year students like Cuman how to level up intermediate spells to Rank III, as more advanced spellforms should only be trained in year four or the final year, after they'd chosen their alignment elements. Fabrisse had no idea where Cuman had learned that from.

A sharp crack echoed across the field.

A second later, three glyphs embedded in the edge-stones of the training ring flared orange, pulsing like coals. The first warning was fired. The field's ambient wards were still passive for now, but if another offensive spell landed, the Instructants would be summoned automatically.

"Gollivur, I am begging you to remember we're still in an academic institution," Liene said.

The last trails of wind dispersed around Cuman's fingers. His eyes settled on Fabrisse, "You can't hide behind a Light shield forever, Rock Witch. Next time you're alone, remember to look behind you."

He stepped back from the field's threshold. The coral glow gradually dimmed around his boots.

"See you around," he said.

Fabrisse felt his spine lock.

It was in moments like these that he appreciated gaining strength as a thaumaturge.

He flexed his non-existent bicep to see if he could feel any tangible change. Nothing. Just the usual twig of an arm.

A grin curled at the edge of Liene's lips. "Just to clarify, the warning glyphs saved the day, not you. Don't need to show off like that."

Fabrisse dropped his arm instantly, ears turning red. "I was checking for feedback."

"From whom?"

He decided it was better to not answer that question.

Liene walked over to the Stupenstone on the ground and picked it up for him, "So, we go again?"

He nodded.

They were about to return to training—Fabrisse already digging through his satchel for another stone—when someone else entered the field.

"Been trying to find ya, Liene!" Celine Moose strolled into view, twirling a crystalline charm around her finger. Her academy coat was half-buttoned, a scarf slung over one shoulder, and her star-shaped earring jingled as she walked. Then she saw Fabrisse and immediately smiled in a deeply conspiratorial way. "Oh! I knew you'd be with a certain company, Liene."

Why is everybody suddenly showing up at a training field that's literally empty at all other times?

Liene sighed. "You were supposed to meet me at the west gate."

"I got distracted," Celine said, grin growing. "Didn't expect to stumble onto a special training session." She snapped her fingers. A floating shard of lens-glass whirred into view over her shoulder, its embedded rune glinting.

"Say 'We're just academic partners!'" she sing-songed, already framing them in view. That spell could record people's physical outline into aetheric sparks. People wouldn't be one hundred percent sure who those outlines belonged too, but knowing Celine, they would know anyway.

". . . I have somewhere to be," Fabrisse turned and immediately began speed-walking toward the other edge of the field.

"Kestovar!" Celine called after him, one hand cupped around her mouth. "Don't be shy! You're the star of the scene! This is character development!"

He kept going.

"Hey! Don't forget the Arc Pebble Game! Mpppphhhhh—!"

Fabrisse turned back just in time to see Liene forcibly clamping a hand over Celine's mouth, dragging her backward by the scarf. Liene was saying something inaudible to her, but judging from both their facial expressions, it was probably menacing and equally ineffective.

"Mmhmmrph!" Celine replied through her hand, still grinning.

Fabrisse speed-walked away faster.