The Extra's Rise

The next day's class was Spellcasting II—which, for a room full of fist-fighting prodigies, was the equivalent of handing a broadsword to an accountant and asking them to solve a duel with calculus.

The focus was on four-circle elemental spells. Most of us were far more comfortable breaking things with our bodies than with our minds.

Unlike the Body aspect, where raw instinct and sheer physical conditioning ruled, the Mind aspect required thought, precision, and an unfortunate amount of mathematics.

"Spellcasting is a language," Nero Astrellan announced as he paced in front of us, his grey eyes scanning the class with the patience of a man who already knew exactly who would fail first.

"It is not merely throwing mana at your opponent and hoping something happens. It is calculation. Structure. Order."

He turned, raising a hand. With barely a flick of his fingers, a glowing four-circle sigil appeared before him, rotating lazily in the air, arcane glyphs shifting like pieces of an impossibly complex clock.

"This," he said, gesturing at the circles, "is what separates an actual spell from the kind of half-baked mana blasts that untrained children throw around."

The Circle Method was the backbone of all structured spellcasting. Each circle represented a layer of complexity, an additional component of control that enhanced the depth and precision of the spell.

One-circle spells were the most basic—elemental manipulation, minor bursts of fire, lightning, ice, or whatever else your affinity dictated. Two-circle spells allowed for directed control—changing a fireball's shape, guiding wind currents, stabilizing unstable elements. Three-circle spells introduced multi-layered inputs, enabling spellcasters to combine properties and refine their casting speed.

"Four-circle spells," Nero continued, letting the one floating in front of him hum with energy, "introduce the most crucial element of high-level spellcasting."

He let the sentence hang in the air, waiting for someone to guess.

Cecilia, who had been lounging at her desk like this was all beneath her, lifted a single, perfectly-manicured finger.

"Compression."

Nero nodded. "Correct."

The higher the circle, the greater the complexity—but also the greater the difficulty in stabilizing the spell. At four circles, a spell had multiple interacting equations, requiring the caster to compress all of them into a singular controlled form before release. If done properly, the spell would be exponentially stronger. If done poorly, it would collapse. Possibly in the caster's face.

"Which would be tragic for your survival," Nero added, "but highly educational for the rest of us."

The class groaned.

The basis of the Circle Method was mathematics. Mana input. Spell coordinates. Force calculations. All of it had to be measured, controlled, and balanced perfectly.

But then, just as the logic of spellcasting began to sound nice and orderly, Nero made things worse.

"However," he continued, "math alone is not enough."

There was another factor. A slight but significant part of spellcasting that made everything horribly unpredictable.

"Mana is not just energy," Nero said, his voice calm but pointed. "It is intent. It is will."

He let the four-circle spell in his hand change, the perfectly formed glyphs shifting, bending, reacting.

"Spells are affected by what the caster feels, because mana is, at its core, a force that responds to the individual."

Which was why spellcasting wasn't just a mechanical equation, but also a product of imagination, conceptualization, and emotional resonance.

This was why only living beings could hold and manipulate mana—because only living minds could give it meaning.

"Try forming a new four-circle spell," Nero finally instructed, stepping back. "Let's see how many of you collapse under the weight of your own incompetence."

Another day, another impossible lesson.

Learning a new spell wasn't easy. Not by a long shot.

Sure, spells weren't as instinctive as martial movements. They didn't rely on muscle memory or the innate reflexes drilled into a warrior's body. But that didn't mean they were simple.

Spells were numbers, intent, and willpower all wrapped into one infuriatingly precise equation. Get a single calculation wrong, and instead of a Flame Lance, you got an underwhelming puff of warm air—or worse, an explosion to the face.

And since we were Silver-rankers, four-circle magic was the absolute limit of what we could cast.

That didn't make it any less painful to learn.

Nero assigned each of us a different spell.

When he reached me, he handed me a set of notes with a title that immediately filled me with unease.

Flame Lance.

I skimmed through the details, feeling the weight of high-level spell theory settle uncomfortably on my shoulders.

The spell required fire-elemental mana particles to converge, shaping themselves into the form of a lance. But that wasn't the hard part.

The hard part was the compression process.

The fire mana didn't just take the shape of a lance—it transmuted, its entire composition altering to become something more than just raw fire.

It became a weapon.

A true, solid lance made of living flame.

"This is the first four-circle spell I am learning, not Arthur," I reminded myself as I reread the notes. Arthur's memories helped, but they didn't give me actual experience.

Nero, as always, watched us with mild amusement, like a scientist observing a group of test subjects attempting to solve a puzzle they were doomed to fail.

"Once you understand the underlying theory, creating your own spells—or rather, viscerally learning spells that already exist—becomes easy and possible," he said. Then, after a beat, he added, "Of course, this is only for those truly committed to the Mind aspect."

The implication was clear.

If you weren't fully devoted to spellcasting, you would struggle. A lot.

And that struggle began right now.

I took a deep breath, gathering my mana.

The first step was aligning the fire-elemental particles, focusing them into the correct formation.

The glyphs began to glow faintly in front of me, the first circle taking shape.

Good.

The second circle followed smoothly, and I felt a small flicker of confidence. Maybe this wouldn't be so—

The third circle faltered immediately, my control slipping.

And then the fourth?

Gone. Completely gone.

Instead of a Flame Lance, I got a pathetic spark of heat that fizzled out before it could even pretend to be useful.

Nero sighed audibly.

"Predictable."

I wasn't alone in my failure.

Across the room, Seraphina's spell collapsed spectacularly, her water mana overloading and vanishing. Ian, ever the brute, was forcing mana into the circles like he was hammering a nail into the wrong wall, while Jin just stared at his half-formed glyphs like they had personally offended him.

But there were two exceptions.

Rachel's four-circle glyph flickered, on the verge of stabilizing.

Cecilia's, though slightly unstable, was almost complete.

Nero stopped pacing, his gaze flicking toward them.

"Interesting," he muttered. "At least two of you have some grasp on this concept."

Cecilia smirked, looking entirely too pleased with herself. Rachel, as always, remained composed.

The rest of us? Well.

I tried again.

And failed again.

Nero clasped his hands behind his back, his face betraying absolutely no surprise.

"As expected," he said, because of course he expected this.

He gestured to Rachel and Cecilia.

"These two are the closest to success, but even they have not fully mastered the spell."

Then, his eyes swept over the rest of us, lingering on me for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"You will all have until the end of the month to succeed."

He turned, walking toward the exit.

The door slid shut behind him, leaving us to either succeed or fail.

I exhaled slowly.

Three weeks.

I had three days to master a spell that currently refused to exist in my hands.