"Tell me, Head Instructor. Is this the fabled Necronomicon?" Arthur asked, using his two hands as a pedestal for the thick book titled Speculum Alchemiae that Vigo had just handed him.
Vigo stopped and turned from the ten-foot-tall wall of bookshelves with tranquility in his eyes. The discipleship had begun mere minutes ago.
"Is that the mythical tome you expended so much invaluable time seeking within the Lesser Archives, Arthur?"
Arthur felt his pride—as one always remaining vigilant—chip.
"It does not exist."
"I beg your pardon?" Arthur demanded uncouthly, with half-suppressed impatience, nearly dropping the book.
"Maintain your grip. You hold a singular artifact of profound rarity."
Arthur looked at his hand that held the book with three fingers, and, seemingly acknowledging his mistake, he wrapped his hands firmly around it.
"To be precise, the fabled tome capable of absolute resurrection is a fabrication."
"The authentic Necronomicon… is this."
His arms spread outward, and Arthur's eyes zoomed out to view the book-wall of knowledge behind him in its entirety.
"This, alongside the cumulative research of our entire decentralized network of Black Mages, constitutes what we designate as the Necronomicon."
"As of our previous assembly a decade prior, absolute resurrection remains theoretically unsolved."
"Take these texts." He stacked four additional books into Arthur's hands—all titled Speculum Alchemiae.
"Internalize them with absolute efficiency. Your assimilation of this data dictates when you may assist my primary research."
"Retire to your quarters. Your allotted leisure time has permanently concluded."
He recalled the nights he spent following his receipt of the book—it wasn't difficult; after all, he had spent all of those nights awake, reading through each and every single one of those books.
And in the second book, he found his favorite recipe of them all, Sivanamine: an alchemical stimulant that provides energizing effects. It has a thick and muddy-green consistency accompanied by an objectively putrid taste and an anxiety-inducing fever. Though, Arthur seemed completely unaffected by it.
He brewed and drank from his four-liter pot every night when he studied. And in one week, he completed the 1,000-page series eleven times.
Speculum Alchemiae
A series of five books authored by Researcher Sivan Ruarc Vigo and approved by the Mage Association. It details hundreds of alchemical recipes, largely discovered by himself alongside previous knowledge, serving as the primary source of knowledge that all alchemists employ—each book in the cascade holding information much more dangerous than the last.
He had not slept for days reading the collection, nor did he want to—it didn't affect his academic performance, so it was harmless to him.
The dense metal links thudded as they struck the ground, revealing purple rings circling the areas where they once clasped.
Arthur shook his hands up and down, assisting the circulation of blood to lessen the pain he still very much felt.
The localized tissue calcification minimally impedes joint articulation, though the lingering physiological distress is... significant.
I require a synthesized analgesic to maintain operational efficiency. Perhaps a Sivanomorph derivative?
He advanced toward the book to make certain of the recipe he had already memorized, but his body failed him.
He fell to the sweat-drenched ground with his arm outstretched, knocking down the table and the book.
His eyes never left the book—watching as it tumbled onto his bed.
My lower-body muscular endurance is failing. A gross miscalculation. I must prioritize physical conditioning.
He slowly pushed himself up while moving toward the book, when suddenly his darkness-adjusted eyes spotted another book—two other books.
His eyes flared upon realization.
The texts Cedric attempted to present to me!
He crawled to the sacred belongings of the Saint with supernatural strength and fervent desire. Pain was no longer a sensation he felt, and he passed Book 5 of Speculum Alchemiae without so much as a glance.
From the darkness, he retrieved two texts and pulled his upper half onto the soft sheets of his bed.
Immediately, he realized the books were thin: neither had a thickness greater than two centimeters.
He was drawn to the crude one first—made of cheap tanned maculature and bound by linen threads—grainy, with no external cover.
The outermost pages were blank, lacking a descriptor of both title and author.
He claimed authorship of this volume…
His hands trembled as he brought it close. It was the last material possession Cedric had left behind.
He stated its primary focus was martial technique.
The clash of dark aura-imbued weapons from that fateful night rang in his head.
If I can harness that exact magnitude of power...
The book opened, and from the first sentence, Arthur was induced with gluttonous fanaticism at the enlightenment this book bestowed.
After thirty minutes, the book closed. And from his hand burned a light-devouring darkness.
Extraordinary. The physiological optimization is instantaneous.
My cardiovascular output has quadrupled, distributing vital energy flawlessly. This must be the equilibrium martial artists experience when channeling mana.
Except, my mana pool should be completely depleted by now—as it is when I utilize the crude method of mana amplification to imitate a sword aura.
But instead of depleting, my mana reserves remain entirely intact, entirely bypassing standard depletion rates.
The structural integrity of my physical form feels practically absolute. If I were to strike this fortified stone wall, it would be the one to fracture.
He brimmed with excitement, but he had to contain it for now.
And the second volume...
He held the one with the smooth, black cover made of something like high-quality leather. It was covered in several strange—gold—engravings he had never seen before.
Holding his eyes still—mind racing—he opened the book, but the contents continued to be illegible, though unnaturally precise.
Is this truly an undecipherable cipher?
The peak and base of each character aligned perfectly with every other character on the same invisible horizontal line—perpendicular to the vertical edges of the paper.
As he flipped through the pages, this pattern only continued.
The language was not alphabetic like human-tongue; it appeared to be logographic like the Magic Language, but different still.
This spatial precision dictates the use of Mind Transcription. Ergo, it cannot be arbitrary nonsense.
These geometric configurations suggest a specialized grimoire, aligning with Cedric's previous descriptions. It diverges entirely from standard Magic Language protocols; there are no conventional incantations or runic circles present.
Deciphering this syntax would require an indeterminate expenditure of archive research. My time is optimally allocated to mastering the martial power I have already secured.
With this, my retribution becomes a mathematical certainty.
But the morning bell rang, so his training would have to wait.