Chapter 238: Magic Contest

Knights Apocalyptica

Boon nature scattered, free and wild,

Each plant or flower, the mountain's child.

Here eglantine embalmed the air,

Hawthorn and hazel mingled there;

The primrose pale and violet flower

Found in each cliff a narrow bower;

Foxglove and nightshade, side by side,

Emblems of punishment and pride,

Grouped their dark hues with every stain

-Walter Scott, The Lady of the Lake (2nd Era, 1810)

Colin scoffed at all the peasants and plain folk sitting around watching them, judging him and all the others in the contest. It was a place of magical refinement and creation; the panel of judges watching the stage was prestigious in its own right. Grandmaster Towers, along with two Arch-Magi, one of whom was the Chairman, the other with a slick pompadour that Colin had seen in Vega. The level of magical talent on display here for this ‘glyph-working study demonstration’ was on the next level.

In Colin’s opinion, the contest here far exceeded even the tournament’s potential for growth. But these gawkers—peasants in all—had no idea what they were even watching.

A fair few of them may have received some basic mysticism education, but in general, this sort of specialized knowledge was something that one developed over the years. One only really steps into it if one intends to join the military or the knighthood. Everyone was capable of magic. But the complex equations and mathematics needed to form geometries to conjure glyphs often went beyond the basic education systems.

So why was it that they cheered for things they didn’t understand?

He waited, hands behind his back, off to the right of the stage, watching one of his rivals. Much like that annoying wrestling match had been structured, the ‘preliminaries’ of this were everyone in a similar bracket, displaying a spell of their own creation. Though it was just the morning, he’d already waited over an hour for his turn.

A rival took to the stage—a man from Vega, based on that blue cloak, even one of the Magi. Diligent, the man displayed his glyph work in front of the judges, as Colin watched with golden eyes.

A simple fire glyph, the lines were intricate. Conjuring, shaping, and then controlling the fire. It was like stringing together a simple sentence in magic, only adding a bit of a twist and character. He could tell distinctly by how the magic flowed and by recognizing the patterns in the glyph-work itself what would happen before it did. When it erupted, the result was predictable.

The crowd roared in shock as fire sprang from the glyph in a large stream, flowing out overhead, and then it began to curl. Scales could be seen in the fire as it twisted—the head of the gout of flame condensed into that of a dragon, and as the last bit of flame left the glyph, a tail trailed afterward. It flew over them, doing two circles, before vanishing into the stage ground in a puff of smoke.

Also, infuriatingly, the crowd gasped in amazement. The garish and overtly showy display captivated their imagination.

Foolish.They don’t even realize what they’ve seen. But Colin knew the truth. The set of instructions in the glyph had moved the fire in a predetermined pattern. It wasn't actually that the man had conjured a dragon out of fire; it was more that he made a fire that looked like a dragon that moved in a certain way and vanished.

Glyphs could be a set of instructions. And to conjure a dragon made of fire that would react to the command or adapt on a battlefield, it would take far more complicated and intricate designs in the glyph-work to enable that sort of behavior. This was a simple illusion, a mere act of glyph-work that brought about a desired result but wasn't practical in the least. In other words, the man had wasted time making a fancy spell that had no real use on a battlefield.

Colin snorted as the judges conferred with one another, wrote down their notes, and then sent the man on his way once more to an overly enthusiastic reaction from the crowd.

Over the last hour, he’d seen many spells like this as his competition went through the preliminary round. Spells that were a waste of effort. Big, flashy, but no point.

The purpose of the competition was to display original spells to advance the knowledge of magic and to reward the most promising Mysticism user… He was annoyed that so many from Vega focused on things that looked cool, rather than being functional. They lived in a world of war. If your spell would impact and contribute to the beauty of magic, it should be made with a purpose other than to impress peasants who didn’t know a thing.

For another minute, the crowd kept roaring for the man who’d left the stage. No doubt tricked into thinking they’d seen a living, breathing fire dragon. Despite it being so far from it, it was laughable.

Still, it was an original glyph. It's just that not all spells were made equal.

The crowd slowly began to stop cheering as his next competitor reached the stage. This one was a woman who came from one of the more foreign destinations—the tattoos coating her skin a mark of her home. Not from Vega at the least; the worn scabbard on her back told him she hailed from the wasteland and was a fighter.

Colin hoped that whatever she’d come up with would be more useful than a stupid fire dragon. He sat up and paid attention as she began to work.

Steady white thrumming lines appeared. The glyph work was neat. No wasted lines, no wasted mana, no wasted energy. An efficient glyph that pulsed to life into a bright ball of light. There was no shock and awe from the crowd, even as the ball changed colors with a snap of her fingers.

No, not just colors. Colin realized as he saw the very mana in the ball changing with his golden eyes. Light—to fire when it was red—to earth. She’d altered the spell’s mana as it went on at her command. Impressive in its own right… Then it began to circle her. She pointed to a target, a mannequin of a man, not far away on stage.

In a blink, the red ball darted forward and smashed into the target, setting it aflame.

Useful.

A versatile spell. It could light your path, it was directed through your control of magic, and not in a predefined way like the false dragon had been. And then if you ran into a sudden threat while wandering through the dark, you could turn it into a weapon. A series of commands and triggers had indeed allowed for a rather functional spell. Though how she’d allowed it to easily shift between the different mana was the most impressive feat.

That and the efficiency made for a good spell. Colin gave it a nod of approval. A tool fit for a person surviving in the wasteland. Practical and elegant. The best kind of spell.

After all, his experiences going into the wasteland had told him that big, showy things that didn't achieve their desired results were a waste of time. One had to be intentional with their spellwork if they wanted to survive. The world wasn't a place for flash and prop. However, it seemed that many of the Vega contestants had taken that into the very nature of their spellwork, sacrificing efficiency for showy methodology.

It was embarrassing to spend so much effort and time crafting a perfect spell only to ruin it by making it gaudy. And they should feel bad about their magic.

Though he judged this spell better, the crowd disagreed. They shared confused looks, which only earned a few scattered applause. This wasn’t the type of magic they understood. Colin shook his head and scowled at the crowd, even as the woman on the stage rubbed her head nervously at their lack of reaction. They couldn’t understand.

You did fine. Colin thought to the woman, noting as the judges conferred and then sent her on their way. Given the level of magic on that bench and their expertise in Mysticism, he felt confident they would recognize the value in what she’d done, even if the pithy peasantry below couldn’t appreciate it.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Contestants came and went, as Colin got a feel for the preliminary rounds of the magical contest. A relatively simple affair and was organized well. Of those judged in the preliminary, the judges would pick out a top twelve to invite for a second display of magic. Then, among those would be a winner, who would receive an arcane tome from Vega written by an older Arch-Magi. This was what Colin was after the most. Any information he could get that improved his standing and allowed him to advance his magic was precious.

Over time, he understood what a gift his talent was. The way it let him see magic and understand it much faster meant that he could grow quicker than any other in this field, as long as he applied himself.

That natural talent was a key. It allowed him to envision his future. One in which he could bring glory to his house, and protect his friends where they needed it most. And to that end, he’d do whatever it took.

It became his turn. And knowing he had only two opportunities to display his magic, he put himself out there as far as he could.

There were two glyphs. The first was simple: a condensing of his mana, as much as he could shove into it, along with a reflection on the environment, cultivating a miniature storm whose energy would be directed into the glyph. The purple lines appeared, shrouded immediately by a black cloud; sparks ran around him as he formed an overlapping glyph.

Amplification.

Colin raised his hand and pulled the trigger—it only took a second to put this together. After that second, the glyphs burst into a shower of sparks and lightning, shooting forward in an overlapping arc of electricity that slammed into the mannequin of a man on the other end of the stage. After the first impact came the second impact, the surge of electricity violently expanding with a boom, bursting across the stage and shattering the wood below him in an instant roar of charge and destruction that would rival the gods themselves.

An emergency glyph activated, surrounding Colin and the stage with a blue barrier.

Two seconds later, it faded away, leaving Colin standing with a finger pointed at where half of the stage used to be.

He looked out over the stunned peasantry, a smirk on his face.

Behold. This is a true spell. Conjured in a second, destruction on a scale you’ve never witnessed before. I can destroy a man in the time it would take for you to draw a sword.

He turned from the shocked crowd, starting to break out into an applause that mattered not a bit to him, and bowed deeply to the judges already conferring. A good impression was often the best case, as the competitors were judged not only on their last spell, but both spells they presented before the judges, meaning, in Colin's opinion, the best method for winning this thing was to go all out at the start and then show your second best spell next.

After their discussion, he was sent back to watch the rest of the magic. The stage reformed in a minute, growing out of the remaining stage. Damage in a competition like this was to be expected, and the Arch-Magi presiding had invested their own glyphwork to keep things going along.

Still, Colin was content to watch and judge the others, grasping at the foundations of their spells as he observed with his golden eyes. He took notes as he went to his work later. This was a prime learning opportunity; whether he won the competition or not, there was plenty to take away from here. It didn't surprise him that once they had gone through all the riffraff, he had been called back for the top twelve. The woman from before, with the light ball, was there, along with some others, including a man who looked like one of the Arch-Magi, judging.

He wore a pompadour, and he had a thick shoulder set. The spell he had used had been something based around sound, in that he had silenced the entire crowd in a second, and then that silence had turned into a weapon that he directed at the ground, shattering the stage beneath his feet. An interesting use of energy transference, and the ability to manipulate sound, wasn’t a magic Colin was used to seeing.

The twelve took the stage and bowed before the judges.

The chairman gave him a fond smile as he took the stage with the other ten competitors, and then, like that, the second and last round of the contest began.

He pulled back and watched the rest of his competitors go. The woman with the light didn't have quite as impressive a spell this time. She conjured a reflecting pain of it, and then stepped through it, and two versions of her appeared, although this was more of a gimmick. It was an illusionary magic, and not at all impressive in the way he'd seen illusionary magic wielded before, which had invoked a mana of dreams. She performed poorly in the second round, which meant she had given her best in the first.

The bulky man with the pompadour went next, and once more muted the crowd. This time, though, his muscles seemed to bulge with the effort. He grinned, walked over to the mannequin of a man, and then threw it into the sky. It soared with a bang, before vanishing from sight—Colin didn’t see it land anywhere, meaning it must’ve flown quite far.

Colin then got a feel for what this guy could do. He was able to use the amplification of sound around him to enhance his spells. It was, in a way, redirecting the energy, so it was a sort of transference magic, which was interesting, a very distinct and set skill that Colin hadn't seen before in his textbooks. Not only that, but with sound, which was rather rare to see any magic contained. The glyphwork was strange too, and worked in a way that was hard for him to understand.

But he did appreciate the skills on display for what they were. A rare magic, with complicated glyphs, achieving what appearing to be very practical and versatile results.

Most of those that made it to the final twelve were Magi, given that the initiates in his year and this bracket didn't nearly put as much of a stress on mysticism as those of Vega, it made sense for the Knights to be a smaller representative in the final twelve. None of his peers thought Colin was really interested. They used foundational Academy knowledge to form the basis of their own spells, and hadn’t had the time or exposure to branch out very far from it.

Next came Colin. And he had a very particular spell in mind.

Colin opted for a different sort of spell, one that he wasn't as familiar with, and still in the process of perfecting. Though, like the rest of his magical research, it involved Lightning Mana. The way it reacted to him, and through the use of that ‘Soul’ Virtue he’d gained, made it make the most sense. Forming glyphs using it was easy, and the speed at which it could conjure a spell was far superior to any other form of mana. Nothing else moved quite as fast, and seconds in a battle could mean life or death, and it packed quite a punch.

It was deceptively simple. For months of effort, only those truly appreciative of magic would see what he’d done.

Colin began to work, purple lines appearing in the air. Smaller glyphs, layered upon layer, circling his right hand that he held out. Their complicated interweaving began to stack up as he used what he’d learned from Sir Able to refine and cut magical pathways. His golden eyes traced out each line as he worked.

It took ten seconds from the start for him to finish the spell. All of the focus, weaving, and careful linework made it necessary—even with the speed of his lightning mana, one had to be careful. And by the end, he was left with a straining headache and a large lurch of used mana.

But it was done.

In a split second, a burst came —a boom of sonic lightning as the glyphs condensed and formed the spell, bringing out of thin air a crackling sword composed of live lightning into his hand. His fingers clutched the grip, neither charred nor seared, as it sparked so brightly that the weapon was difficult to look at. With the confused crowd, Colin gave a swing, leaving a bursting trail of lightning in the blade's wake.

It needs to be faster. Colin criticized himself as he held the weapon steady for the judges to see. At this speed, it wasn’t battle-ready. And if one looked closely, they could see the live glyphs present in the lightning blade itself—glyphs maintained by a current of electricity that turned this from not just a deadly weapon, but also a way to conduct magic.

See, it wasn’t simply a sword. It was a sword that could further enhance any lightning glyphs cast by wielding it. A multifaceted tool that could be conjured on demand, eliminating the need for any other weapons.

But it’s too slow to use, for now.

The judge’s eyes lit up as they studied it. Then, without saying anything, Grandmaster Towers rose from her spot and walked over to the stage. Leaning over Colin as she took a better look at the weapon. She leaned in after staring at it for a few seconds, then spoke in a whisper. "You've done well to represent us here. Be very proud of yourself, Sir Nitidus." She clapped him on the back and returned to the judging panel.

There was confusion from the peasantry, as they didn't necessarily understand why this was a feat of magic or impressive. Some were impressed by a sword made of electricity, but he saw it in their eyes. They didn’t realize this was a much more profound feat of magic than his first round.

Annoying. He snorted and then walked off stage, leaving the sword. It vanished back to nothing, Mana no longer charging it.

The round drew to an end.

And to Colin’s supreme shock, the winner wasn’t him. The judges called the man with the pompadour back to the stage, declaring him the victor. Colin felt an indignation—perhaps it had been his second spell? Too unrefined? Too above him since it took ten seconds to cast? Or maybe…

The Arch-Magi with a similar pompadour ran up to the stage, grabbing the victor and raising his arm to the sky, declaring a well-fought victory for his student.

Was this nepotism? Favoritism?

Colin’s jaw worked as he glared at the winner.

So be it then. His magic had been rare and impressive enough. And Colin would have his chance to practice more in the future. Now that he’d seen it too, he could try to steal concepts and glyphs and incorporate them into his magic. For now, I’ll eat. Standing around and studying all day had created a wicked hunger, and the next bracket would begin in a couple of hours.

There was no way that he would miss the magic on display there, and he was trying to learn tricks for himself.

He made it several steps before a man wearing a light blue cloak stopped him.

“Colin Nitidus?” The Magi asked

“That is I,” Colin responded as he crossed his arms.

“I’ve a letter here for you. The Arch-Magi would be delighted if you could share a table with him and his student.” The Magi bowed his head and presented a letter to Colin—after he grabbed it, the young Magi walked off, not waiting for a response.

Confused, Colin opened the letter and read through it. Like the man said, it was a message from Arch-Magi Chairman Trellis, directly inviting him to a dinner to discuss the spells that he'd put on display today, and suggesting that the Arch-Magi had some ideas to refine his ‘sword conjuration.’ Colin grinned as he went over the contents again—his eyes flashed to the big brute on the stage. A conversation with an Arch-Magi was no doubt he stage who’d ended up winning the competition.

Let him have his victory. I don’t need it.

A conversation with an Arch-Magi was no doubt a more rewarding affair. With a smirk, Colin left, intent on going to get food and then coming back and studying some more. Assured that he’d be having a lively conversation later today about magic.