NOVEL NEXT Chapter 165: Enchantment Basics
Valen Aldritch and Erik looked positively wretched when they stumbled out of bed the next morning, pale as chalk and groaning like half-dead ghouls. Still, they managed to shuffle along with the others toward the day's first lesson.
Weylan checked his timetable as they walked. "Introduction to Enchantment Theory. Sounds awesome. Wonder who's teaching. Kaelthorne would probably just murder someone with an enchanted sword instead of explaining how it works."
Faya slipped into the seat beside him. "I just hope it isn't Professor Voynich. He'd spend half the lesson lecturing us on safety procedures and how not to stab ourselves with glowing swords."
Mirabelle sat down next to her. Wide awake, eyes sparkling, and eager to learn. "Safety procedures sound pretty useful to me. I still think we should start alchemy lessons with a prayer to Osha, just to be sure."
Alina followed her and dropped down hard on the chair next to Mirabelle. "I always do."
Mirabelle gave her a surprised glance. "Truly?"
"Sure. There's a shrine for her at the end of the alchemy corridor. I don't trust those exploding mixtures and splashing acids. I like my face how it is, thank you very much. No need to melt or disfigure it. Asking for the blessing of the goddess of workplace safety seems a reasonable precaution."
Darken dropped heavily into the row behind them, rubbing his temples. "I heard this class is usually taught by one of the senior Arcane Knights. Do you think those guys ever take their armor off?"
Weylan smirked. "Iron Ma'am did."
Darken blinked. "Iron who? You've met one of them before?"
"Long story. You see…"
A groan swept across the room like a wave as the students spotted their teacher.
Professor Dullmere entered, tall, gray, and perpetually frowning, his robes pressed to lifeless perfection. He clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed them with something between disdain and boredom.
"I thank you for your warm welcome," he said dryly. "Let us not waste time. Welcome to Enchantment Theory. An even duller subject than history, if you can imagine. We will start with the foundations, on the off-chance, one of you has been living under a non-magic rock and has not heard this before." He droned on in an even but quick tone. "Mana can be stabilized into a functional spell matrix by several methods, but all depend on some fundamental facts. The amount that can be stabilized depends on the absorption rate of the material. The more inherently magical the substance, the more powerful the enchantment it can hold. Observe."
He flicked a hand, and the wall behind him shimmered. Lines of text unfurled like banners: metals, woods, bones, monster parts, herbs, and more. All catalogued with neat little absorption rates beside them. The list seemed endless.
"To hold a spell matrix, or more exactly the spell matrix core," Dullmere continued, "you require a crystal with an affinity aligned to the spell. Ruby for fire, Aquamarine for water, and so forth."
The second wall lit up, covered in names of gems and minerals with their respective affinity.
"Size matters, of course. The more potent the spell, the larger the required crystal."
A third column appeared, breaking down the mana capacity per carat.
Weylan stared at the walls in dawning horror. Even Mirabelle looked shaken.
Dullmere gave a thin smile. "Therefore, you can often determine the type of enchantment merely by analyzing its materials. Which is why you must know these lists by heart."
The collective groan turned into full despair.
Alina raised a hand. "You don't really expect us to memorize all of that, do you?"
Dullmere actually chuckled, a dry, brittle sound. "No. Of course not." He waved again, and about a quarter of the materials highlighted, still dozens upon dozens. "Only the most common. Naturally, there will be a test."
Quills began to scratch furiously as students scrambled to copy everything before the illusion faded.
Dullmere spoke over the chaos, his tone as flat as stone. "While it is theoretically possible to store every aspect of a spell inside the crystal's matrix, few enchanters can hold so much information perfectly in their minds for the duration of the enchantment. To lessen this strain, it is common to inscribe some functions as runic glyphs. These not only assist in shaping the spell's effect but also anchor the exact boundaries where the magic manifests.
"If you ever encounter open inscriptions with activation words carved plainly, assume two things. Either the item was made for general use… or it is a trap. In either case, treat it as dangerous until examined by a professional. The exception, of course, are dungeon rewards. Dungeons do not hand out cursed or trapped loot. Were they to do so, they would be declared Rogue and eliminated immediately."
"Now," he said, clapping his hands once. "We turn to the written languages most commonly employed in enchantment."
The walls shifted, new symbols unfurling beside the endless material lists. Alphabets, glyphs, and curling scripts glowing in precise detail.
"Dwarven runes," Dullmere intoned, "not to be confused with Nordic runes, which are child's scribbles by comparison."
He waited for the suppressed cries of protest from two of the local students to silence again and continued. "This is Elvish script, elegant but maddeningly finicky. Next to it are Lizardmen hieroglyphs, favored for durability. And, of course, Old Cathurian: the lingua arcana of the enchanters of the fallen Empire."
He watched his audience despair at the realization they'd probably need to learn those scripts.
"The most common categories of inscriptions are boundaries, activation conditions and directional inscriptions. Boundaries are used in barriers and all kinds of containment enchantments to mark the exact location of the barrier. The most common are of course circles of summoning or imprisonment. Activation glyphs define how the artifact is triggered. And directional glyphs… well, they tell the magic where to go. Unless you enjoy fireballs detonating in your own face, you will learn to respect well defined directional glyphs."
A nervous chuckle rippled through the class.
Darken leaned forward, squinting. "So, it's like… programming a spell?"
Dullmere's gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade. "If by 'programming' you mean painstakingly carving precise inscriptions into resistant materials with precision bordering on obsession, then yes. Enchantment is programming."
He continued, shifting the projection. "Observe: the activation glyph for spoken command." A swirl of characters appeared, arranged in a knot-like loop. "Commonly paired with weapons. Dangerous, for obvious reasons. If you inscribe the wrong phonetic trigger, you may find yourself shouting 'Help!' and activating a lightning bolt."
Several students paled.
"Safer is gesture-based activation, as long as the gesture requires you to end up pointing the directional glyph away from you." A second rune set lit up, angular and sharp. "Requires the wielder to mimic a pattern. Often a twist of the wrist, or a tap on the hilt. Foolproof against casual thieves, though less effective if the thief has ever seen you use the artefact."
Even Weylan smirked at that.
"Gold-standard would be a combination of both phonetic and gesture-based activation, though defining the timing required can be finicky. It is recommended never to use any word that could be used in casual conversation. Using ancient languages like Old Cathurian is a good start, but make sure the word has not bled into modern usage or sounds too much like a common other word."
Finally, the third script glowed, far simpler than the others. A single rune repeated after a dash in mirrored form.
"And here," Dullmere said, "is the most brutal, inelegant, but practical activation method. Continuous. The item remains active at all times until its mana is depleted. Inefficient, wasteful… but ideal for lamps and protective wards. Using an enchantment able to draw mana from its surrounding, it can be used to craft something that will last potentially forever."
Dullmere turned back to the shifting diagrams. "You will copy these script sets and commit them to memory. They form the foundation of practical enchantment. If you cannot draw them properly, you will be barred from attempting your own enchanting work, for the safety of the academy."
Weylan lifted his hand. "Does that mean if I don't plan to learn practical enchanting, I don't need to learn writing them?"
Dullmere sighed. "Yes, that is correct. To pass my class, you will however be required to recognize and name the language used, as well as the most common inscription combinations."
To his surprise, Weylan nodded eagerly. "That seems useful. Is there a list of all common directional inscriptions?"
The professor waved a hand and another wall of text appeared, which Weylan eagerly started to copy down. "May I ask why you're so interested in this specific topic?"
"Pointing an artefact in the correct directions seems extremely important. Also, if something has a directional inscription, it probably has combat spells in it."
Dullmere gestured vaguely. "Not entirely true. There are plenty of exceptions, but you're mostly correct."
Silence fell as everyone continued writing.
Then Mirabelle paused while even copying the not-highlighted materials. "What is umbranium? There's a storage capacity of zero. Why is it listed at all?"
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The professor made a gesture to enlarge the entry. "This is considered an enchantment material due to its unique properties, even though it itself cannot be enchanted. Umbranium can only be mined in the Underground Kingdoms. It must be mined, refined, and forged without ever being exposed to any kind of light, magical or otherwise. If a single beam of light touches it, the whole piece will disintegrate into useless dust. After bringing it into the desired form, it must be exposed to large quantities of shadow mana, which will harden it against light exposure and activate its unique properties. It becomes a chthonic ore of umbral affinity, uniquely resonant with mana in its shadow-aspected state. Its crystalline lattice admits the imprint of condensed darkness, allowing motes of shadow charged with mana to grasp, displace, or exert leverage upon its mass. In practical terms, umbranium exhibits high susceptibility to umbral conduction, rendering it manipulable not only by direct touch, but by the touch of a projected shade."
Weylan's lips moved while he mentally tried to parse the complex explanation.
Dullmere sighed. "In layman's terms, refined umbranium can be touched and moved with magically charged shadows. Something that is normally impossible, since shadows cannot physically interact with any kind of matter. Except of course by imbuing matter with some of its characteristics. Umbranium is also impenetrable to shadow magic of any kind."
Weylan resisted the urge to touch his assassin's knife, hidden on his foot. Instead, he asked. "So, you can just use a thread of shadow mana to move it?"
Dullmere considered the question. "Well, yes and no. Yes, that would work, but it would be extremely inefficient, even if you could free-cast mana threads. You'd be out of mana in moments. More efficient would be to charge a shadow with shadow mana and use that. Provided you are satisfied to shove the Umbranium around on the floor."
"Couldn't I lift it up?"
The professor seemed genuinely interested as he asked. "I don't know. Can you?"
When Weylan didn't answer he clarified his question. "Do you have any spell or ability capable of moving shadows in free space, in contrast to moving it on a surface?"
Weylan shook his head.
Dullmere sighed. "Pity. I haven't seen any shadow-based spells for years. Would have been a novel experience. Then unfortunately we have no choice but to return to the less interesting part."
The students sat up straighter, only to slump down again as he continued. "The intricacies of the most commonly used inscription languages."
Dullmere pointed to the first of the sets of alphabets.
"Dwarven glyphs are compact and resistant to error. Their geometry naturally resists distortion when mana surges through them. This makes them ideal for enchantments meant to endure centuries. If you see an artifact still working after a thousand years buried underground, odds are it was written in Dwarven runes."
The projection shifted to enlarge an example: sharp, blocky characters interlocking like stone teeth.
He moved on. "Elvish script." Flowing letters unfurled, delicate curves linked like strands of silver thread. "Famed for elegance and efficiency. One Elvish glyph may carry the weight of three in other tongues. However,…" His tone flattened. "…it is fragile. One hairline crack, one imperfect curve, and the enchantment destabilizes violently."
On cue, the example glyph shimmered, warped, and the wall illusion cracked apart in a flash of sparks. Several students ducked.
"Precisely so," Dullmere said without batting an eye.
He gestured again. Harsh angular shapes appeared, interspersed with pictograms of reptilian eyes, claws, and waves.
"Lizardman hieroglyphs. Crude to the untrained eye, but remarkably resilient. These glyphs thrive in hostile climates like swamps, deserts, volcanic caverns. They bleed a fraction of mana at all times, which prevents sudden catastrophic failure. Inefficient, yes, but steady. A swamp ward in hieroglyphs will guide travelers along for decades without complaint."
Finally, the last projection rose. Thick, twisting letters of unfamiliar geometry arranged in concentric spirals, each symbol bristling with barbs and flourishes.
"And last: Old Cathurian," Dullmere said. "This was once the standard of imperial enchanters, back when complexity was mistaken for superiority. Every instruction is written in layers upon layers of redundancies, sub-clauses, and conditional loops. To conjure a simple light, one might require a hundred glyphs describing not only the brightness, but the angle of the glow, the emotional state of the user, the weather outside, and the prevailing astrological configuration."
A low groan rippled across the room.
Dullmere's lip twitched in faint distaste. "Needless to say, no one sane uses Old Cathurian anymore. It is the art of engineers who believed inefficiency was elegance. A single misstroke will not summon horrors… it will simply mean nothing happens at all, which in its own way is equally infuriating."
The glowing spiral collapsed, reforming into a much neater and simpler projection: clean runes aligned in pairs.
"The modern standard," he continued, "is vastly more efficient. Basic enchantments are constructed on a Verb–Noun foundation. Control Fire. Destroy Water. Create Light. A simple pairing can establish a functional core, to which you may then add runic refinements for strength, duration, or triggers."
He gestured to a fresh diagram, where "Cut Stone" and "Heal Flesh" glowed in bright, simple glyphs.
"Elegant. Manageable. And above all, teachable. Which is why all of you will begin here, rather than trying to write a legal contract with magic like the Cathurians did."
Darken leaned forward and muttered, "So, basically… the ancients wrote essays, and we just use command words?"
Dullmere gave a curt nod. "At last, a correct summary. Though if you attempt to reduce my field to mere 'magic commands' again, I will deduct points."
Dullmere let the simple pairs of glyphs hover a moment longer before snapping his fingers. "Now that you understand the base structure, we must address the common classifications of enchantments. Broad categories that cover nearly every practical artifact you will encounter. Memorize these. They are the grammar of our craft."
He tapped the first row.
"Enhancement."
"Perhaps the most widespread. The classic 'make it better' category. Better cutting blades, lighter armor, faster boots. Enhancements push physical limits, but they also consume mana rapidly if over-applied. Amateur enchanters who attempt to make everything 'better' usually end with artifacts that burn out after a few heartbeats."
Another row lit up.
"Protection."
"Wards, shields, barriers, resistance enchantments. Anything designed to reduce harm. Reliable, steady, often layered into armor or jewelry. Most adventurers prefer to order a stack of three different protection enchantments on one item, then wonder why it cracks the first time someone sneezes on it."
A third row flared.
"Utility."
"Lanterns, lockpicks, featherweight packs, warming stones, cold boxes, water-purifiers. You will find these most often in markets, and most frequently in the possession of students who can't be bothered to do chores."
A fourth row appeared.
"Weaponized."
"Fireblades. Shock lances. Quivers that replenish arrows. Less common, heavily regulated, and the source of ninety percent of accidental amputations among apprentices. Handle with care."
The next heading emerged.
"Binding."
"Not glamorous, but immensely useful. Nets that tie themselves, chains that lock, manacles that hold. When half of the enchantment is used to define the trigger and release conditions, its usually one of these."
Finally, the last set flickered into view, its characters drawn in sharper strokes.
"Control."
"The rarest and most difficult. Enchantments that command movement or behavior, of constructs, of summoned entities, sometimes even of minds. Forbidden for private use, regulated strictly by the Guild and the Crown. You will learn the theory. You will not practice it. Unless, of course, you prefer to spend the rest of your short lives in chains."
A ripple of unease spread across the class.
Dullmere folded his hands. "These six classifications will frame your studies. Every enchantment you will ever encounter belongs to at least one of these categories. Learn them. Understand them. And for the love of mana, respect them."
The glowing lists pulsed once, then began to fade. Quills scratched frantically across parchment as students hurried to copy the names before they vanished.
The glowing columns faded at last, leaving the classroom in tense silence. Only the relentless scratching of quills filled the air.
"That," Dullmere said, voice crisp, "is enough for today's theory. Your homework is to memorize both lists, the materials and crystals I highlighted, and the six classifications of enchantments. If you cannot recite them by next week, you will be left behind."
Groans rose from the benches, but he ignored them. With a flick of his wrist, the projections dissolved. In their place appeared a plain wooden table at the front of the classroom. Three items shimmered into being upon its surface, each one glowing faintly with restrained mana.
"Now. A demonstration. Appraisal, the most fundamental skill of an enchanter."
The first item floated up: a short iron dagger. Its hilt was wrapped in leather, and a faint red gleam pulsed from a ruby embedded in the pommel. A single rune had been carved along the blade's edge.
"Observe. Iron blade, ordinary leather grip. Ruby core, small, aligned to fire. Inscriptions: a single Elvish glyph, overextended but functional. Conclusion?"
He paused, waiting.
Darken raised his hand. "Maybe the blade bursts into flame?"
"Correct. More precisely, it heats along the edge when activated, enhancing cutting power through a burn effect. Inefficient inscription, but adequate."
The dagger drifted back down, replaced by the second item: a small bronze lantern. Within its frame, a chunk of milky quartz glowed faintly. Crude Lizardman glyphs circled the base.
"Bronze casing, quartz core with a water-aspected impurity. Hieroglyphic script, continuous activation." He tilted the lantern slightly; the crystal pulsed brighter. "Conclusion?"
"Utility," Faya said softly. "Light source."
"Correct. A child's lamp, nothing more. It will run until the quartz fractures."
He set it aside. The third item rose. A silver ring inlaid with aquamarine. Its inside band was etched with tightly compacted Dwarven runes.
Dullmere's expression grew grim. "Silver alloy, aquamarine core. Precision dwarf-work. Inscriptions: Glyphs for protection, control and mastery. Conclusion?"
The students hesitated.
Weylan ventured, "Protection enchantment. Maybe wards against water or cold?"
"Not wards. Resistance." Dullmere held the ring up, the blue light glinting off its surface. "This piece shields its wearer from water magic entirely. Valuable, but delicate. A single crack in the aquamarine would cause it to fail catastrophically."
The ring lowered back onto the table.
"This," he said, sweeping his gaze across the students, "is the essence of enchantment appraisal. Identify the material. Identify the crystal. Read the script. From these three alone, you may judge an artifact's function without ever activating it. Do so correctly, and you may live long enough to profit from your find. Do so incorrectly…" He let the silence linger. "…and your corpse will not be worth looting."
He clasped his hands behind his back. "Now: Volunteers."
No one moved. Students stared fixedly at their parchments, quills frozen in midair. The silence stretched until it became unbearable.
At last, Mirabelle raised a reluctant hand.
"Excellent. Step forward."
She rose, shoulders stiff, and made her way to the front. Dullmere flicked his hand, and a fourth item appeared on the table. A plain-looking oak rod capped with a cloudy aquamarine. Faint, curling runes circled its tip.
Mirabelle cleared her throat. "Oak wood. Not very magical, but serviceable. Can't be a strong spell. Level one or two. Aquamarine core means water affinity. The glyphs are… Dwarven, for water and containment. I think this is… a wand of water control?"
Dullmere gave a thin smile. "Half right. Oak is indeed weak, but the glyphs stabilize it. The aquamarine does not control water, it shields against it. This is a wand of water resistance, not water control. The spell it casts protects the target against getting wet for about an hour."
Mirabelle seemed displeased with her own performance as she returned to her seat.
"Next." His eyes roved the room like a predator. They landed on Weylan.
Weylan straightened, suppressing a groan, and stepped forward. The professor summoned another object: a copper bracelet with a shard of smoky quartz set in the center, etched with looping Elvish glyphs.
Weylan circled it slowly, squinting. "Copper has low absorption. Smoky quartz core, that's earth-aspected? I think? Elvish glyphs, they seem sloppily inscribed, at least compared to the alphabet you drew. So, the enchantment can't be too stable or just not very complex? Most amulets are defensive in nature. I'd say… some kind of minor protection?"
Dullmere inclined his head slightly. "Good guess. Protection indeed. In this case, against blunt impact. Which you would have known if you'd been able to read the glyphs. They are written in a less decorative style, which is very much not sloppy. The quartz is too small for serious power, but enough to keep their ranger trainees from breaking bones during branch running training."
Weylan smirked, relieved, and stepped back to his seat.
"Better than I expected," Dullmere said, tone as dry as dust. "Though that is not high praise."
The class exhaled quietly.
Dullmere gestured once more. The artifacts vanished in a shimmer of light, leaving only the bare wooden table.
"Homework stands. Memorize the lists. Next lesson, each of you will attempt appraisal in front of the class. If you cannot identify the basic structure of an artifact by then, you may as well transfer to broom-handling."
A low groan rolled through the benches, but not one student dared to protest aloud.
"Dismissed."