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

"I'm going to show you this spell. Let's see how good your intuitive understanding of Thaumaturgy Spellcasting is," Rolen said as he extended one hand, palm open, the other resting lightly behind his back.

Fabrisse stared, trying to track every detail. The angle of the arm, the steadiness of breath, the fractional delay before ignition. It's a bit similar to Severa's Basic Combustion Funnel. However, there was no whisper of a mnemonic, no incantation at all.

A soft snap of light curled upward from his palm, flaring briefly into a flame no bigger than a candle's. It hung there, perfectly still, like a trick of the air.

"This is my own twist on Combustion Funnel. If you do it a certain way, you can keep the mnemonic in your head," he said as he ignited another candle atop the existing one.

"Are you allowed to cast non-Synod-approved spells?" Fabrisse asked. "Also, are you allowed to cast Fire spells inside a room full of combustible material?"

"The rules only apply to sub-Archmagi level, Kestovar." Rolen shrugged.

Well, that's unfair.

The second flame flickered above the first, perfectly balanced. Fabrisse realized neither was emitting heat—at least, not in the usual way. The air wasn't warming and his skin didn't prickle. It was Fire in shape alone, not in nature.

"As much as I want to learn, I have yet to gain an affinity with Fire," Fabrisse's voice came out even smaller than he'd intended.

"That means you kind of suck, Kestovar," Rolen said.

"Uh, thanks."

"But you must work through your worst; only then you'll have a chance to make it to your best."

The conventional Synod-approved method of gaining affinity worked over an extended period of time. Conducted in controlled thaumaturgic environments, candidates are gradually exposed to raw elemental pressure (like being near controlled flame-cores). This process was part of every Apprentice's education. If, after months of sweating, murmuring mnemonics, and accidentally setting their eyebrows on fire, a student still failed to resonate with even a single element, they were politely asked to consider 'alternate academic paths.' Meaning they were expelled.

Fabrisse somehow managed to achieve an affinity with Earth and Air, so he got to stay.

He opened his Diagnostics again to look at his affinities.

"What's on the wall, Kestovar?" Rolen's voice pulled him back to reality.

Lorvan spoke, "The Eidralith is communicating with him, Archmagus. Best we let him be."

"Hopefully the artifact doesn't make it a habit to communicate when he's taking a dump," Rolen replied. "You should have told him to not make it so obvious he was not paying attention, Lugano."

"I did," Lorvan replied.

Fabrisse swatted the glyph away and asked meekly. "Am I too old to gain affinity with a basic element?" Magi learned new sub-affinities all the time; some picked up new sub-affinities well into their nineties. Basic ones, however, were a different story.

"Too old?" Rolen scoffed. "You're not a cheese wheel. You don't expire."

Fabrisse flushed. "I meant thaumaturgically."

"Oh, then yes. You're absolutely on the brink of magical menopause. But there are ways." He leaned in like someone offering a bad idea at a tavern. "Unorthodox ways."

"Archmagus, if I may—" Lorvan stood.

"This is an extraordinary set of circumstances, don't you think, Lugano?" Rolen said without turning back. "The boy will be fine."

That doesn't sound fine.

Lorvan stayed silent, then sat down again.

Fabrisse perked up. "Illegal?"

Rolen replied, "Absolutely. But only in the 'frowned upon by polite society' kind of way. Not the 'summoning demon centipedes in the library basement' kind of illegal." And hopefully not Iveta's kind of illegal.

"That's a specific example."

"Because I've seen it. Not pretty." He turned and rummaged through his robes, eventually pulling out something wrapped in worn, purple silk, and placed it on the nearby shelf. Inside: a small obsidian sphere with silver veins crawling across its surface, softly pulsing. "This is an Elemental Lodestone. Synod says they're unstable, unreliable, and liable to 'dilute the sanctity of natural magical attunement.' I say they're fast, painful, and effective."

Fabrisse's eyes seemed to have lit up at the mere idea of an aiding stone. His fingers hovered, hesitant, reverent—then closed around the Lodestone like a drowning man grabbing a rope. The pulse of it was irregular, hot and cold in cycles, as if testing him back.

He didn't care.

This stone is so much better than the other Epic-tier artifacts. And it says Imbued Tier 2. Has someone imbued additional aether into it?

This was speed. This was a cheat code, a shortcut past the long road of meditation, diagrams, and emotionally taxing feedback loops that always left his fingertips numb and his mind knotted like old wire.

He didn't dare chancing a glance at his mentor. Lorvan was probably looking at him very judgmentally.

"But . . . Headmaster Draeth hates rocks," Fabrisse murmured.

Rolen said, "Some people in the Synod abhor artifacts because it democratizes magic, Kestovar. If anyone with a bit of coin or luck can grab an affinity stone and start casting mid-tier spells? The hedge-mage market will be booming. You'd do well to remember that."

Lorvan immediately added. "Artifacts also introduce unpredictable variables, and more importantly, dulls the emotional and cognitive feedback training."

"That, too, but the downsides are vastly overstated. Don't worry about it."

Rolen sounded like he'd cheated plenty of times using artifacts during his youth . . .

"We'll train with this. But of course, only if you want to," Rolen smiled.

"What's the minimum time I can achieve Latent affinity with this stone?" Fabrisse asked.

"Hmm. I'd say . . ." He glanced up the ceiling. "Two weeks."

"Let's make it one," Fabrisse placed a firm hand on the shelf, Lodestone gripped tight like a war-banner. A crackle of displaced air signaled the Lodestone syncing with his own arcane signature.

"Please adjust your expectations to match your abilities, Kestovar," Lorvan said.

". . . Three weeks."

Fabrisse turned the Lodestone over in his hand, watching the silver veins pulse like a second heartbeat. The glimpses of attunement already made his palm itch with unspent magic, and part of him buzzed with reckless hope. Still, reality itched harder.

He looked up. "Is there any spell I could actually learn right now? Even with my affinity being complete garbage?"

Rolen tilted his head slightly, amused. "You mean besides the kind that backfires and singes your eyebrows off?"

Fabrisse blinked.

"I'm kidding," Rolen added, holding up a hand, though his eyes were sparkling. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Let me think . . . With your current stats and how the Lodestone's modulating your channels—" He stepped toward the shelf, fingers trailing through the ambient aether Fabrisse was leaking without realizing. "There might be one or two."