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

He checked his existing and unlockable Common-grade skills, and saw a new one under the unlockable sections (skills he hadn't had yet).

This spell wasn't here before. But I saw Liene use it just now and recognized it. Not that I need it; I can already fling stones.

Then another glyph popped up.

Third Arm of the Beaver? That's a mistake, right? It's supposed to be 'Weaver'.

Huh. I get what you mean, but you don't have to dunk on me with bureaucratic language.

He scrolled the glyph down below and saw a number of higher-level Epic-graded spells, all of which he recognized from the textbook 'Codex Thaumetica: Glyph Theory & Applications'.

Okay. These are the Tier 3 spells I know from my studies, but there might be more.

There was even a Tier 4 spell, the Legendary-graded, Synod-named Faultvein Convergence. This spell had been attempted by the Rank VI Professor Margenholt.

Fabrisse stared at the skill for five seconds straight even after he'd finished reading it. Plunging enemies to the nether was an insane ability. He didn't know it could be as powerful as the description made it out to be, though. The textbooks mentioning Rank VI Stone Thaumaturge Margenholt only noted that she cracked the ground, but did not specify by how much.

Is this the full capability of Stone Thaumaturgy? This can be as powerful as any other element. And there might be more skills that I haven't learned the name of yet.

He double-checked the spells he could see and saw that some lower-level spells like Seismic Teeth were particularly important as they were the prerequisite for higher-tier spells, so those should definitely be prioritized. On the other hand, Stupenstone didn't really have synergy with anything.

Stupenstone Fling has really limited potential.

As hurtful as it felt, he might have to stop dedicating so much time on the Stupenstone until he could actually find spell combinations to unlock skills higher up. To do that, he'd need to refresh his knowledge and possibly pay a trip to the Synod Archive.

Speaking of the Archive . . . I have a job interview in two days.

He had a newfound motivation to nail that interview now. What could possibly be better than earning some Kohns on the side while educating himself on all the Stone skills recorded throughout the history of Thaumaturgy?

Fabrisse gaped at the glowing projection of his Stone Thaumaturgy Skill Menu, utterly absorbed in the interplay of spells and their potential. So absorbed, in fact, that he didn't notice the eerie quiet settling over the alcove. The usual bustle of distant voices, the clatter of trays and stray laughter all had faded into an unnatural hush.

He squinted at his apparition, then at the flickering light outside the narrow window. Something was off; the colors in the refectory seemed drained, as though a dim shadow had smothered the vibrancy of the room.

A chill prickled down his spine. Am I in a Void trap again? he wondered. He thought of a random shameful moment and immediately activated his Veil of Shame. This is bad, bad, bad. I'm so stupid. How could I have agreed to being left alone, staring at the System at the same time?

He bit his lower lip.

This should never have happened. I will never let it happen again.

If I get out of here in one piece . . .

Before Fabrisse could stand, the door burst open. Celine stumbled through, breath ragged, hair half-unraveled, eyes wild with something that didn't look like fear. It looked like guilt.

The aura bleeding off her made it obvious. It shimmered in sputtering shades of ashen violet—the telltale hue of regret turned volatile. Sparks crackled off her skin like little shards of lightning. Her entire body glowed in a fractured halo, pulsing in mismatched rhythms.

A crescent of crystalized aether traced the side of her face like a cracked mask, one shard splitting just beneath her eye. Defensive reaction—probably automatic. Crystal was a high-level hybrid element, and it was notoriously draining to use. One would only use it for defense when in grave danger.

He jolted.

"Kestovar. Run!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the marble pillars.

What? How? Run where?

She grabbed her pen. Sparks of aether ignited at her fingertips, writhing like living filaments up the shaft. The metal cracked as aether wrapped around it, and the pen elongated, crystalizing into a midnight-blue lance, runes burning white-hot along its length. Celine spun, brandished the weapon with both hands, and drove it straight into the dark. It exploded into the darkness outside the door, and promptly reduced itself into nothing.

She turned to him, her shout morphed into a desperate growl, "Smash the window and get out! It's all my fault. I–I didn't know. I'm so sorry!"

In the span of a heartbeat, as Fabrisse scrambled to his feet, something like an impossibly black whiplash slammed into the back of Celine's head. Shattering sounds of crystalline crumbling resounded. Her eyes turned white immediately. With a strangled cry, she collapsed onto the floor.

Fabrisse shuddered. His heartbeat spiked. He grabbed a Stupenstone from his satchel, but his shaking hand dropped it immediately as he touched it. He stared at the entrance.

Darkness sucked it in like a black hole.