Xander lowered his practice blade, resting its tip against the packed dirt, even as he fixed Nick with a knowing look.
"I need to test my limits," Nick replied. "Against someone powerful enough that I don’t need to hold back and who will let me know exactly where my boundaries lie. I am asking for a spar, Grandmaster.”
A slow, feral grin spread across Xander’s weathered face. He rolled his shoulders, his thick back muscles shifting like coiled cables. "You reach the Prestige tier, and your first instinct is to come looking for a beating. You are just like your father, the fool.”
Though his tone and words might have been harsh, Nick could vaguely sense his fondness. Xander had always been very hard to read, and even now, he couldn’t claim to see everything—such was the depth of his soul—but surface emotions were much more visible, so he just shrugged with a cheeky grin.
The duel with Arthur was nice, but we both held back too much, and it’s a bad matchup for him anyway. Xander, on the other hand, should be able to handle everything I can do and more, so I don’t need to worry about accidentally hurting him too badly. If anything, I’ll be the one in danger.
But then again, people didn’t earn the title of Grandmaster of the Sword by accident. Xander would undoubtedly make him pay for his cheekiness, but it would be worth every bruise, both physical and to his ego.
"I will grant you a bout a few days from now, since I regrettably have some matters to attend to. But we cannot fight here, Nicholas; the resulting shockwaves will level the noble district and turn my manor to dust. Find a place strong enough to hold us. Your Archmage should have one.”
"I will," Nick promised, offering a respectful nod, even as he was already calculating the cost of reserving a dueling chamber of that level and what he could gain by allowing a few people to spectate.
Normally, he’d be loath to give up any of his skills. It was just how he was built, a remnant of life on Earth, where every scrap of knowledge was sacred and sharing was profane.
Now, though, a demonstration of that sort wouldn’t be amiss. The Crown already knew much of what he could do from secondhand reports from Toneburg and from the little show he put on in Floria. Establishing himself in Alluria would be worth more than the loss of secrecy, especially since he was still feeling out the limits of what he could do. He didn’t doubt that by the time he reached the capital, he’d have developed plenty of new spells and arts to surprise anyone who thought they might know him.
"See that you do," Xander grunted, turning back to his forms. "And bring your best, boy. I will not hold back. At least not too much.”
Nick felt a drop of cold sweat slide down his back and wondered, for a moment, if he’d bitten off more than he could chew, but shook it off. Yes, he’d probably lose, and it wouldn’t be close, but he needed this. The Capital would have plenty of monsters at the Prestige tier, and even several above that.
Just remembering what the Archmage’s attention had been like in the First City swept away any doubt. He had to know how far he had to go before he could start working on it.
Leaving the estate, Nick joined the steady stream of foot traffic heading toward the city center. The Magic Tower dominated the skyline ahead, a colossal white marble spire piercing the clouds.
As he walked, Nick focused on his core. For the past weeks, he had kept most of his power locked behind an ironclad mental vault.
He slowly began to loosen his grip, allowing his presence to bloom in the ether. It was a subtle shift. To a civilian, Nick was just a young man in a dark coat. To any mage worth their salt, and there weren’t many of those out and about, he was a walking storm front, a deep hum on the spiritual plane that sent shivers down their spines.
He approached the grand plaza surrounding the Tower, where crowds of lower-level spellcasters hoping to join and the occasional tourist parted instinctively as he neared, shivering at a sudden chill they could not explain.
A whole squad of elite spellblades guarded the massive adamantine doors at the main entrance, one of the clearest signs that the Tower had changed how it did things. Their armor was etched with glowing blue runes, and enchanted longswords capable of cutting through steel like butter hung at their hips.
Unlike in the past, when only two spellblades had been deemed sufficient to guard the Tower, there was an even stronger presence behind them, lurking in the shadows, ready to act at any moment.
Nick wasn’t surprised when the Captain of the guard stepped out, blocking the threshold. The man was clearly a veteran, with a Prestige-tier class of his own.
He locked eyes with Nick, and for a long moment, the air between them grew taut, the ambient mana vibrating with the friction of two apex predators sizing each other up.
The Captain’s eyes flicked to the Crowley sigil on Nick’s lapel, then swept over the sheer density of the aura radiating through the ether, clearly recognizing its hue despite the significant change in power since he was last here.
The tension eased, and the man offered a crisp nod, stepping aside and gesturing toward the open doors.
"Welcome back, Apprentice Crowley," he said. The title sounded oddly ill-fitting for the power Nick now wielded, but it was what he was. For now.
"Captain," Nick replied politely, stepping over the threshold even as whispers spread.
Once inside the grand hall, he bypassed the bustling reception desks and headed straight for the central elevators, pausing only a moment before pressing the button for the seventy-seventh floor.
A part of him wanted to head to the student lounge first. He pictured Bellamy dozing on a couch, surrounded by unfinished earth-golem schematics, or Eona meticulously reviewing new spellforms in the corner. But the reality of his return pressed in on his thoughts. He needed to understand the broader state of the Tower before reconnecting with his peers, and it’d be an insult to his Master to delay any longer.
Surprisingly, as he pressed the button, space folded around him, and the stomach-dropping sensation of instantaneous vertical transit carried him upward. Unlike in the past, when the Genius Loci controlled the elevators and they were mostly mechanical, if beautifully enchanted, someone had taken the time to turn them into a true Artifact.
It would make seizing the Tower again essentially impossible. I’m traveling through a fold in spacetime, so any attempt to block access to the subterranean floors would be futile. And separating them from the Tower’s spirit makes it even harder to access.
The runic doors slid open with a soft chime.
Despite being briefly overtaken during the fighting, Archmage Tholm’s private floor was exactly as Nick remembered it. Workbenches cluttered with journals and half-finished artifacts lined the walls. Floating orbs of warm yellow light lit the towering bookshelves.
Tholm sat at a desk, carefully engraving a microscopic rune onto a silver band. The Divine Artificer wore plain, if extremely well-made, gray robes. Several simple bands adorned his fingers, meticulously muffling a presence that rivaled Grandmaster Xander’s own.
Upon his entrance, Tholm looked up and took him in with a serious expression. “I see my hopes weren’t misplaced,” he murmured.
Nick grinned and took a seat on the other side. “I apologize for making you wait so long, Master.”
A glint of satisfaction flared in the old man’s gaze. He clearly saw the shift in Nick’s soul, the crystallization that marked the leap into the realm of legends.
“Indeed, I had to content myself with whispers and gossip filtering in,” Tholm said with a smile. “I am glad you are back, my boy.”
"It is good to be back, Master," Nick replied, feeling strangely relieved to be back among the clutter. He hadn’t spent much time here, but this place would always hold a special place in his heart for being where he’d opened his eyes to how vast this world truly was. "Where are the others?”
"South," Tholm answered, waving toward a map pinned to the wall. “They’re on a mission near the Valis River where a minor elemental required containment. Raphael is leading the group, and if everything goes well, they will return in two days.”
Nick smiled faintly. "He took to command, then.”
"Naturally," Tholm said. "After the incident in the Sunlands, the others look to him for stability in the field, and he acquitted himself more than well during the Incursion. Willow’s runic barriers provide the anchor, Lina manages the terrain, and Mikel breaks whatever gets too close. They are a lethal cohort, though they lack their heavy hitter.”
"They seem to be managing well enough," Nick said. He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking. "And the Tower?”
Tholm’s expression grew serious. He picked up a polishing cloth and began wiping the silver band on his desk. "Stable. The Tower Master holds the reins tighter than ever; the structural rebuild after the incursion is complete, and the wards are stronger. We have also recalled most of our mages to consolidate our strength.”
"That explains Master Lasazar’s absence in the north," Nick murmured. "He was not with the Royal Army fighting the dwarves, and I feared he had died in the fighting.”
"Lasazar was furious," Tholm confirmed with a dry chuckle. "He was recalled just before the final push, but Horatio insisted, and what he wants, he gets. The Tower must project unassailable strength at home, especially given the instability in the city.”
"The temples?" Nick asked.
"Jockeying for influence, as always, but much calmer," Tholm explained. "Duke Anton stepped in with an iron fist, leveraging fear of another cult uprising to enforce strict boundaries on the clergy. The peace holds, but it is fragile, for everyone is waiting for the chance to grow their power.”
Nick hummed, taking it in. He wouldn’t have said things were so bad, judging by the streets, but Tholm undoubtedly knew more than the average civilian.
I’ll have to make time to visit my old friend.
"Which brings us to you," Tholm said quietly, tossing the polishing cloth aside. The Archmage leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "You walked out of here as an apprentice and have returned as a peer to some of our best Masters. Having you fetch spell components or sit through theory lectures would be a farce.”
"I am still your student, Master.” Nick shook his head. Gods knew how much more Tholm had to teach him.
"In spirit, perhaps," Tholm agreed. "But the Tower’s hierarchy cannot accommodate a Prestige-tier student. The other Archmages will see you as a threat to the established order, a wild card they cannot control through traditional discipline.”
Nick met his gaze. "What are you suggesting?”
"I am proposing that you take the Graduation Exam early," Tholm stated. "Within the next two weeks. That way, you’d bypass the remaining six years of your contract. And if you pass the trial with flying colors, as I know you can, I can push for you to be granted the title of Mage Errant.”
Nick recognized the term from his extensive reading in the archives. A Mage Errant was a rare designation reserved for spellcasters of significant power who served as recognized agents of the Magic Tower but operated outside the strict chain of command. An Errant was not required to teach, nor were they bound to remain within the walls of Alluria. They were free agents, wielding the Tower’s legal authority across the Kingdom.
"They will not give up that title easily," Nick pointed out.
“They won’t,” Tholm agreed. “You’d need to put on a real show.”
Nick hummed, then, after a moment of thought, smiled. “I might just have the thing.”