Chapter 1 #3
“You said this world doesn't have magic or the system, yet you activated both. I believe you when you say it's not prevalent, but we proved that you can cast spells. Magic works here, so, in theory, the mechanics should still function in the manner we need.”
“I didn't think you studied magic.”
“I lived another thousand years after I completed the phylactery. I had time to read.”
“I'll do what I can to help, but I don't have any money or pull whatsoever. If we need anything rare or expensive, that's going to take a while.”
“This would be easier if you had an interest in leveling.”
“I never said I didn't. I just said we didn't have dungeons. Would I like to level and learn more spells? Hell yeah. I don't know how we do that without dungeons, though.”
“Will points don't require a dungeon, so all is not lost. Since you're interested in leveling, then the spirit of our contract still applies. I'll help you get stronger while we search for a vessel. I can give you the life you've always wanted.”
“I mean, okay, but our worlds are very different. Human sacrifices? Murder? None of that. You can't be that hardcore here.”
“Hardcore.”
“Yes, it means-”
“I understood the meaning from context. Murder is not as difficult as many believe. I believe you are capable.”
“No murder. No crime at all, in fact.”
Good lord, I was really having this conversation.
If this was the Byron from the book, I now had a psychopath living in my mind, the kind of psychopath that was the star of a war crimes tribunal and then inspired decades of study into how one person could become so deranged.
He hurt and killed a lot of people, and if he really lived another 1,000 years after the story in the book, what I knew was only a fraction of the carnage he wrought.
A young mom with a child running along next to her passed our library table. She wore modest jeans and a knit sweater.
“Our” table? No. My table. If I started saying things like ‘we’ and ‘ours’ to represent me and Byron, I would for sure get committed.
“Young mothers love to be bent. She may still be breastfeeding, even.”
“Jesus Christ, dude. I've been with one woman, and I haven't had a thousand years to refine my kinks. I'd love to get laid, but you have to keep that crazy shit in check.”
“Tell me which part was crazy.”
“You were stoked she might still be breastfeeding, which suggests you like the idea of her lactating and that being involved with the fucking somehow.”
“David, I truly mean to be your ally, and I will attempt to respect your standards. Know that our cultural differences are significant, however. What seems benign to me may not be so for you. Consequently, I may overstep unintentionally.”
“That's fair, and you're right. I can give you some slack.”
“I do suggest exploring. You know you're a man when you make a woman cum so hard that she squirts milk. Not dribbles. Sprays. One should be open to new experiences.”
Fuck, this was going to be hard.
But she was cute. Byron’s creativity aside, I wouldn't say no to sleeping with her.
“I propose we spend the day discussing potential plans. I want my own body again, and you want wealth, women, and power.”
“I never said that.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Well, no. Except for power. I don't care much about that one.”
“That will change.”
I had my head down in a book, pretending to read while Byron and I shared dream boards and bucket lists inside my mind. Someone sat across from me, and I assumed they were another patron just sharing the table. That was normal for libraries.
A white envelope with a white seal slid into my eyeline. Written on the front, in scrawling, ornate cursive, was “David.”
My eyes shot up. A tall man with dark skin and salt and pepper hair stared back at me. His suit was a deep purple and the button up beneath it was hunter green.
That sounds like I'm describing a pimp cliche, but this man was poised and put together. These clothes weren’t cheap and oversized.
They were expertly tailored, and though I had no proof of it, I knew they were expensive.
Even with the loud colors, the vibe I got was far closer to a rich CEO playboy than a street hustler.
“Do not mention me.”
“No shit.”
The man smiled. “Good morning, David. My name is Hartwell, and I am a talent scout. Apologies for not making an appointment.”
“How do you know my name?”
“You will have many, many questions in the coming hours. Early this morning, you cast your first spell, and it is my job to notice such things. I’m here to tell you that you’re not alone.
Thousands of people practice magic around the world.
That letter is your invitation to join that world by enrolling in Farrun University, the top magic school in America. ”
“I told you magic was real.”
When I touched the wax seal to open the letter, it dissolved, and the letter unfolded on its own.
I looked around the library, nervous that we would be seen.
“I assure you we are safe,” Hartwell said. “A simple illusion spell can make two people at a table so uninteresting that no one notices them, even if they’re practicing magic.”
Hartwell opened his palm, made some jazz hand movements with his other hand, and blue fire erupted like a 4th of July sprinkler. When he closed his hand, the fire disappeared.
“This says I qualify for a scholarship?” I asked, reading the letter.
“A topic we should discuss sooner rather than later. Tell me, where did you learn the spell you cast?”
“Short answers. Speak in vagaries until we have a better understanding of who this person is and what he is offering us.”
“Uhh… It just kind of happened,” I answered.
Hartwell wrinkled his face. “Spontaneously?”
“More or less.”
“Have you cast spells before?”
I shook my head.
“Manifesting a spell by chance is fairly common for those with significant natural affinity for magic. The spell you cast was far stronger than any spontaneous manifestation I have seen, however, and I know this will sound like the flattery of a recruiter, but your mana is… Well, it’s beyond exceptional. ”
“Ask him to explain.”
In my head, I said, “I know. That’s exactly what I was going to do.”
“Can you explain what you mean?” I asked aloud.
“Most people call wizards with my affinities ‘Finders.’ We specialize in search and analysis spells. Now, let’s say that a typical fledgling mage has a mana pool equivalent to this book.”
Hartwell slid a book on ancient Egyptian history out of my stack and put it between us.
“This book is the average. Most wizards start there and grow another three or four books over their careers. Your mana, on the other hand, is akin to the library. I have met some impressive arch mages in my time, and their mana is still significantly weaker than yours. This is an opportunity, but it is also a danger. If you lose control of that mana, thousands of people are likely to die.”
I suspected Hartwell was seeing Byron’s god-tier mana rather than whatever I possessed naturally.
Leaning forward, Hartell tapped on the letter.
“That is why we are offering you a full scholarship. It’s for your own good and ours, frankly.
Your scholastic achievements thus far don’t meet the standards for typical first-years, so you will be assigned tutors to help you catch up.
This program will be harder for you than any of your peers because of that knowledge gap, and you’re likely to feel that challenge for the entirety of your academic career. ”
“What kind of prerequisites am I missing?” I asked.
A small book appeared in Samuel’s hand, and he searched it for a specific page.
When he stopped, he said, “You took three years of Spanish. We prefer our first years to know English, Old English, Greek, and Latin. Competition gets fiercer each year, so we’re even seeing applicants who can speak and read traditional Chinese as well.
Math is important, but you seem to have sputtered out when you began geometry.
I think you know that your trig and pre-calc course wasn’t really much of a course at all, so that needs to be addressed as well.
We’ll have to get you up to advanced calculus as soon as we can.
And there’s more, but you get the idea.”
“If I am to live in this world, I need to acquire this knowledge as well. How does this offer compare to your current path?”
I didn’t really have a path, and I don’t know why I thought I could hide that from Byron, but I still attempted to.
“This is better than what I had planned,” I answered in my mind.
To Hartwell, I asked, “How would this work?”
“I can explain all of that on our campus tour. Shall we?”
“Now?”
He nodded.
“Okay. Yeah. Let’s go.”
“Before we depart, please wear this necklace to disguise your mana. Your potential will attract a great deal of interest, very little of it good.”
“Hold it up, so-No, don’t!”
“What?”
“How did you live this long? A wizard hands you a strange necklace and you fucking put it on? Just like that?”
“Sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Try to think more before you act, if not for yourself, then do it for me. I’d prefer not to die again.”
“David?” Hartwell asked. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, sorry. Got lost in my thoughts. What now?”
“With me, please.”
We-Fuck. I followed Hartwell into the stacks, making a left at young adult books and then a right at baking recipes.
Without breaking his stride, he walked right into a bookshelf.
Everything peeled back in blocks like it was suddenly voxel art.
The doorway stayed open for me when Hartwell disappeared.
“Am I allowed to step inside?”
“No need to be petty. And yes. Step inside.”