Chapter 15: Warning Signs

Most of the time, Alaric blessed the greatest achievement of his life. Becoming the Headmaster of Arcoryx Academy had taken decades of not just stellar research and a spotless academic record, but also a good deal of politicking and influence-garnering.

It called upon too many skills and abilities to be anything short of a momentous accomplishment. Alaric couldn’t help but be proud.

If he was being honest, becoming Headmaster of Arcoryx Academy was an even bigger accomplishment than becoming a Primordial-ranked Archmage. There was just one other person of that rank in all of Androvia, and she was the second most powerful figure in the nation.

Yet, there was only one Headmaster of Arcoryx Academy in all of the Accorded Realms.

Today, however, was one of those days he was tempted to curse his appointment as Arcoryx’s eighteenth Headmaster.

Alaric could deal with exacting board members, eccentric teachers, and wayward students. He could handle the various crises that tended to pop up all over the academy—experiments gone wrong here, funding issues there, and so on. Those were expected problems.

What wasn’t expected, though, was the man who had triggered every significant warning Alaric had the ability to check.

The magical clock on his desk whose hands pointed to different circumstances he was currently facing? Right now, its lone hand pointed at twelve o’clock. At Calamity-level danger. His magical goldfish? It had teleported away from inside its fishbowl. The small Inscribed colourless jewel hanging from his ear? It was glowing a deep, fatal red.

And those were just Alaric’s personal effects. Arcoryx’s strongest defence, the Tier [21] [Warding] spell Inscribed across not just the campus but the entire city beyond it too, had sent out a category zero warning.

It wasn’t indicating imminent, calamitous danger. Otherwise, the whole city would have been up in arms. Rather, it had sent out a subtle indication of a fluctuating situation.

A potential for obliterating peril.

All because of this man sitting across from him, munching on a terribly-gnawed breakfast roll.

“I see you’ve already had food,” Alaric said. “But would you care for any further refreshments?”

His words might have come out smooth, but his soul really wasn’t. Because this whole situation was unprecedented. Alaric had been in the presence of rare individuals who had set off all his personal alarms before. Others who were Primordial-ranked, the lone Empyrean he had been blessed to meet, they had all been powerful enough to give him the same sense of power.

But not the same sense of outright danger.

In truth, that was partly because he had been prepared for those meetings. He had gone in expecting to be in the presence of figures who had branded themselves into the pages of history.

This Ryland was a complete unknown, yet had given rise to the worst flood of alarms Alaric had ever faced.

“No, thank you,” Ryland said smoothly. Was that his real name or just an alias? Alaric would need to check the records. Even if it existed in truth, it could be an impersonation.

Ryland turned to the boy, who flushed at being the centre of attention.

“No, thank you,” the boy, Viren, echoed. “Headmaster.”

And to think an academy student was mixed up in this. Whatever Alaric did, he’d also need to consider how he could extricate Viren safely from the situation. He’d never let a student remain in danger for any longer than was strictly necessary. Yes, the Excursion Club’s very existence occasionally grated on him.

“I see,” Alaric said. “Then let us continue our discussion. You said you were seeking your old research? To… find a piece of yourself, as you put it?”

“That is the immediate goal, yes.” Ryland took another nibble of his roll, then inhaled a deep, preparatory breath. He started speaking so fast, even Alaric had difficulty keeping up. “…used to be a student… didn’t have patience to get Archmage… in the Realmbreaker Wars for research… saw a Calamity… fought a Calamity… unleashed a Calamity…”

Resisting the urge to tug his beard, Alaric cleared his throat a little noisily. The deluge of information wasn’t hurting his head so much as the fact that his Glyph of Truth, hidden in his palm, was glowing an irrevocable, undeniable green. “Unleashed a Calamity, you said?”

Ryland was about to take another bite of his roll, but he paused mid-bite. “I would like to prevent more Calamities from rising.”

It was the absolute truth.

Alaric had a hard time resisting the urge to run his hand through his beard again.

Normally, any lone man claiming that he wished to stop Calamities would have been the height of ridicule. And yet, the defensive Glyphs Inscribed upon Alaric’s body and clothes were flaring to life. The one on his heart, the one he trusted the most, insisted that he had never before been this close to death.

That fact should have terrified Alaric. He was the strongest mage in the entire academy, if not the entire city. He might have been Primordial-ranked now, but slowly but surely, he was closing in on Empyrean as well.

Yet Ryland posed the greatest, most fatal threat he had ever faced.

It was just that his sense of alarm was clashing wildly against the man taking a small bite out of his roll and clearly savouring it.

“The Manabreak mine is well contained,” Alaric said. “We haven’t had any breaches or other issues in over two centuries now.”

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Ryland nodded. “I’m aware. However, that isn’t the source of Calamities I came here to counteract. The dungeon I destroyed when I met Viren had grown out of a tiny sliver of a fingernail. My fingernail. I destroyed it before it could outgrow its status as a mere dungeon in the countryside. I’d like to prevent something similar from occurring in Arcoryx.”

“That’s…”

True, said his Glyph of Truth.

It wasn’t just any old Glyph, of course. This was a Tier [18] Glyph of Truth. There was only one version that was stronger, and that was employed in the Royal Justice’s court.

The Glyph judged how true a statement was not just based on the speaker’s belief, but based on circumstance as well. A madman could state the wildest of things, yet basic Glyphs of Truth would claim it was perfectly believable because the speaker believed it. But not his Glyph.

“So you believe there’s another sliver of your fingernail in Arcoryx?” Alaric asked, hating just how ridiculous the sentence sounded.

“Not necessarily a fingernail…” Ryland cast a Glyph. Alaric recognized the shape—a Glyph of Questing—but it was the potency that made his mouth refuse to close. That gleaming, iridescence-dotted white was way beyond Tier [19], the highest spell Tier Alaric himself had reached. He couldn’t even identify its exact Tier. “As you can see, it’s here. In Arcoryx.”

Who in the world had Viren dragged into the academy?

Certain details formed a disquieting picture in his head. Someone from the Realmbreaker Wars had returned. There were infamous reports of ancient mages from all those centuries back still existing out there in various capacities.