Dragon Mage 070 - Beyond Enchanting (Patreon)

379 days until the Arkon Shield falls

This isn’t working.

I cut off the flow of mana, and instantly the spreading cold disappeared. So, too, did the strands of spirit. Most withered away from the absence of cold while the rest retracted back into the fragment.

Hibernation activated. Fragment dormant.

I grimaced. The effect I’d obtained was not what I’d been aiming for. The fragment had not used the energy I provided to grow into the spellform I desired but had only done what was in its nature to do—produce cold.

I bowed my head, thinking. Feeding the crystal mana was the right approach, but I couldn’t only do that. I also needed to guide its growth. I raised my head. Perhaps.

Gathering more mana, I dribbled a little into the crystal, the tiniest amount I could manage. At the same time, I formed the spellform of freezing sphere in my mind—it was the only water magic spell I knew—and superimposed it onto the blade of the longsword. Then I slipped more mana into the fragment.

At first, there was no reaction. Undeterred, I yanked on the outer edges of the spirit lattice, coaxing it to grow into the metal.

The temperature in the room dipped once more, and for a moment, I feared I had erred again. But then I noticed something else was happening. Ever so slowly, a single spirit filament uncurled to delicately probe the crystal’s rim.

Sensing I was on the cusp of a breakthrough, I fed more mana into the crystal in as measured a fashion as I could manage. The fragment drank in the energy eagerly, and the stalk of spirit grew larger before finally breaking through the crystal-metal boundary.

“Yes!” I shouted, expelling an explosive breath. A Trials message awaited me, and eagerly I opened it.

Your skill in sorcery has advanced to level 1.

You have rediscovered the secrets of sorcery on your own. For this achievement, you have been awarded lore.

Lore: sorcery is the art of spirit weaving and is a difficult Discipline to master. Living creatures are naturally resistant to spirit manipulation, and even the most weak-willed can shrug off harmful sorcerous intent with ease, making sorcery of little practical offensive use.

Where sorcery excels is in restorative efforts—growing, healing, nurturing. The wise sorcerer only uses sorcery that aligns with their targets’ natural tendencies. In its most basic form, sorcery can be used to effectively guide spirit growth.

Beware sorcery is fraught with danger too. Because the art allows the manipulation of one’s own spirit, the unwary can cause irredeemable harm to themselves. Many a foolish sorcerer has perished by attempting to improve his own spirit. The prudent sorcerer restricts his spirit manipulation to simple creatures only.

My heart nearly stopped at the unexpected Trials message. Sorcery? I was performing sorcery? I couldn’t believe it. Even more extraordinary was the revelation that sorcery was a Discipline. The wiki had been wrong!

The thought gave me pause, and I found myself wondering if it was simple oversight on the gnomes’ part or if they had deliberately tried to obscure facts. Once again, I found myself caught out by my incomplete understanding of the Trials.

Still, the Trials message was confirmation that I was on the right path, and I had earned a valuable piece of lore in the process. Returning my attention to the fragment, I channeled more mana into it.

Your skill in sorcery has advanced to level 2.

Additional stalks of spirit broke through the crystal-metal barrier. Keeping the design of freezing sphere overlaid on the blade, I directed the new filaments to grow into the spellform.

Step by step, the spirit structure grew, and as it did, something else interesting happened. Whorls and lines etched in cold silver appeared along the blade’s surface. My eyes widened at the sight. I had seen similar designs on Regna’s warhammer, and come to think of it, on the dungeon obelisk. What I’d mistaken for runes were actually only patterns created by the spirit permeating the weapon.

I kept the flow of mana into the fragment constant, and gradually the spirit stalks expanded until the spellform of freezing sphere was more than half constructed.

Then the fragment cracked.

“What—!” I exclaimed.

Aghast, I stared at the objects in my hands. The crystal had not only broken, it had died. In my magesight, both the fragment and sword were dull and lifeless again.

A Trials message dropped in my mind.

This crystal is incapable of anchoring the spiritform of a rank 2 spell. A fragment of water has died. You have failed to etch a longsword with a water enchantment.

“Damn,” I muttered. I had been so close.

Pondering over the Trials feedback, I realized I’d failed because the spell’s design was too intricate. Regna had warned me about something to that effect, I recalled belatedly. I couldn’t let myself be discouraged, though. Failure was part of the process.

I considered my store of learned spells. Which ones had the simplest constructs? The touch-based damage spells: flare, shocking touch, and toxic skin were the most basic. While they contained nearly the same number of spell weaves as freezing sphere, their design was more compact.

I wasn’t sure flare would work. As similar as dragon magic was to fire magic, it wasn’t fire magic, and it was possible the fire fragment would refuse to assume flare’s spellform. I wouldn’t risk it, not yet.

I picked up one of the air crystals. Shocking touch it was then.

✽✽✽

I began the process anew in the same manner I had the first time, fusing crystal and longsword together and then dribbling mana into the fragment.

But this time, I worked much slower.

If the fragment was going to crack under the strain of my working, I wanted to spot the tipping point and, if able, to pull back. Observing the spiritform’s growth with hawklike intensity, I watched the air fragment’s spirit seep into the longsword with torturous slowness.

This time, the fragment did not break.

You have created an enchanted longsword of air. This weapon is made from aquaine, is anchored with an elemental fragment, and has been etched with the spiritform of shocking touch.

Your skill in sorcery has advanced to level 3.

You have discovered basic enchantment, a Technique from the Discipline of sorcery. This ability etches the spiritform of a common spell in an ordinary object. The enchantment can be empowered with spirit and be cast without magesight. Its casting time is very slow, and its rank is common.

I sat back and blew out a relieved breath. I had done it! In my magesight, the entire length of the enchanted blade shone with spirit. The metal was no longer inert. It lived now as an extension of the elemental fragment embedded in its pommel, and it had one purpose only: to create magical charge. Picking up the blade, I felt a tug on my spirit. It was the longsword.

Letting the weapon drink from my spirit, I raised it aloft and watched as crackling white lightning ignited along the entire length of the blade.

I smiled in pleasure. It worked beautifully.

Of course, the enchanted weapon was of limited use to me. Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn’t use my spirit to cast so basic a spell and would instead reserve it for invincible. Still, the weapons would be invaluable to the village’s fighters.

Lowering the weapon, I deactivated the enchantment and returned my attention to the other items on the floor.

My work was not done yet. I had eight other enchanted weapons to create, and I didn’t intend to break any further crystals.

✽✽✽

The first thing I did was spellcraft two more rank one spells.

You have spellcrafted a touch-based spell from the Discipline of water magic. The name assigned to this spell is frozen grasp. Its casting time is fast, and its rank is common.

You have spellcrafted a touch-based spell from the Discipline of fire magic. The name assigned to this spell is burning touch. Its casting time is fast, and its rank is common.

The two spells were the fire magic and water magic equivalent of shocking touch. Equipped with the new spells, creating the remaining enchanted weapons went off without a hitch.

You have created 2 enchanted warhammers of fire, 1 enchanted longsword of air, 2 shortswords of earth, and 3 enchanted battleaxes of water.

Your skill in sorcery has advanced to level 10 and reached rank 2, Trainee.

Content with my efforts, I sat back and admired my creations. Each weapon was adorned with sigils—a side effect of the enchanting—and shone brightly in my magesight. They will serve Sierra well, I thought in satisfaction.

Stifling a yawn, I rolled shoulders gone stiff from hunching over. What now? I wondered. I was tired but reinvigorated by my success, and sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. Rising to my feet, I opened the window shutter—there was no glass, of course—and peered out into the village.

It was dusk, and the sky had darkened considerably. I was eager to show Jolin and Marcus what I’d achieved, but night would fall soon. It can wait for tomorrow, I decided, letting my gaze roam over the streets. There were far fewer people out and about than earlier. Not all in the village was quiet, though. In the far-off distance—from the direction of the market square, I thought—I spied bright lights, and straining my ears, picked out the sounds of raucous laughter.

Someone’s having a party, I thought with a grin.

I glanced back at my empty cabin. My night’s labors were far from complete. There were still many spells I had to attempt learning, not to mention experiments I had to conduct with my dragon magic. But the thought of spending a few more hours locked up in the cabin did not appeal.

Time for a break.

Stepping out of the cabin, I closed the door behind me and made my way to the market square. I was sure I would find John’s tavern somewhere there.

✽✽✽

John hadn’t lied. Sierra had beer, homebrewed and bitter as hell, but beer all the same.

It turned out that the tavern I searched for was the source of the merriment I spied from afar. Not unsurprisingly, it had become the center of the village’s newborn nightlife.

Stepping through the tavern’s doors, I found its main floor packed with patrons, all standing shoulder to shoulder and with barely any elbow room in between. For a moment, I despaired of ever finding John or anyone else I knew. But I needn’t have feared. I was quickly recognized, and my name was called out from multiple directions at once.

I was still deciding which way to go when Anton slipped out of the crowd to appear before me. I smiled at the smith. “I should’ve known I’d find you here,” I said, yelling to be heard over the noise.

Anton only grinned in response and shoved something in my hand. Looking down, I saw it was a mug of dark liquid. Ale. “Drink up!” he shouted.

I nodded and took a careful sip, grimacing at the brew’s bitterness. Leaning forward, I placed my mouth next to Anton’s ear and shouted, “About the fragments, I’ve managed to—”

The smith slashed his hand down. “Tell me later! The tavern keeper has only one rule: no talk of Overworld, nor the Trials.”

“But—”

Anton clamped a hand down on my shoulder, interrupting me again. “Tonight, all we do is drink, Jamie. We forget the dead, we forget Earth, we do one thing only, and that is to celebrate our continued existence, that we are still alive.” He stared at me unwontedly serious. “You understand, lad?”

I nodded.

“Good. Then drink up!”

Mutely, I did as he bade, downing the contents of the mug.

Anton laughed. “Thatta a boy! Now let’s find some company. Drinking alone is no fun!”

✽✽✽

The rest of the night passed in a haze. Anton plied me with drink after drink, and despite having little fondness for beer myself, I didn’t refuse.

The notion of forgetting was alluring. Not thinking, not worrying, not pondering my next move, my mind craved such forgetfulness more than I imagined, and for one night, I let myself go.

It was an indulgence I could ill-afford, but at that moment, surrounded by the other refugees from Earth, who, no matter how hard they laughed, couldn’t disguise the hidden loss and grief in their eyes, I found myself unable to care. Not about the orcs, not about my vendetta, nor even if we’d survive the year. Relinquishing all inhibitions, I set about getting gloriously drunk.

At some point, we found John, Michael, and a half-a-dozen other spearmen to drink with, and from then onwards, our consumption rate accelerated—if that was even possible—and I remembered no more.