“A whole month! I was beginning to worry if you would ever make it," Walken's reprimand snapped like a cane, his tone equally accusatory and paternal. "You mustn't let the pride control you. There's no shame in asking for aid."

A month?
Gwen averted her gaze.
Just as she suspected, the old man had grown paranoid after she had left him neglected for a fortnight. By the same measure, his persistent attempt to undermine her confidence indicated a sustained interest at dimming her lights.

“Please accept my apology, Master Walken.” Her temple throbbed even as the platitude left her glossed lips. “Between classes and my part-time work, I’ve barely slept. And you're right. I tried to deal with my problem on my own, but I couldn't.”

“Then you have invested your time poorly,” Walken repeated his reprimand, then strolled about her person, inspecting her appearance and finding her attire lacking in conviction. “I see you're dressed to please. Do you have somewhere more important to go? I'd figured you more attentive to your studies."

"I am going out..."

Walken's glare would have made an Evil-Eye proud.

Gwen lowered her eyes and forced herself to focus on a point between her feet, glad that her disarming choice of floral, combined with her demure compliance, had tickled her target in just the right way.

"Unlike you, I’ve spent the month researching your condition.”

"Thank you, Sir. I am grateful."

“As you should be. What I found-” Walken edged beside her, close enough for conspiracy. “Will require some verification on your part.”

“You see, for sometime after my battle with Sobel, I became greatly interested in her ability to supersede the arcane fulcrum of Negative Energy. You of all people should know that Vitality-Mana consumption for high-tier AoEs cannot be sustained by low-Affinity users. For Sobel to deploy wide-range AoEs at Noosa Heads, or even against the Saurians, her affinity had to have reached 7 or higher.”

“And at tier 7.” Walken indicated at her forehead. “There are characteristic symptoms. I suspect that for both you and Sobel, the root of your mutual instability lies with an irresponsible rise in Affinity; a theory that accounts for Henry's plans to pace your training by balancing both Lightning and Void."

Gwen's ears perked up. The disparity of theory concerning the stability of her Void-talent, and indeed Spellcraft itself, was endlessly fascinating. Of her three instructors: her Master had forbidden haphazard experimentation, emphasising on intuition and natural growth. Wen's approach was entirely numerical, denoting that so long as she utilised 'N' Vitality, offset by corresponding positive energy, she should be fine. Now, as her third advisor, Walken instead pushed for an affinity-based solution: which made no sense unless he knew of a way to increase her elemental-sympathy, a process likely derived from Wen's revelatory papers.

“Can you clarify, Sir?” she implored her haughty Instructor. "About Sobel, I mean."

“The answer lies in the timeline of her demise.” Walken drew an invisible chart with his hands. “1976 was the Noosa Heads incident. 1972 was when Henry and I served on the Brisbane Line: he was a Field Commander, while I served with Command and Control, doing what Air Mages do best.”

And out of harm's way, Gwen thought snidely.
Meanwhile, her Master was knee-deep in corpses, commanding a stretch of the front a hundred kilometres long and four kilometres deep.

“The Saurian Truce happened in the summer of 1972, meaning between Sobel’s first Awakening in winter and her surviving Noosa in 1976, no more than three years and five months later, your Master reported Sobel's passing in 1979.”

Gwen finally realised what Walken was trying to get at.

“Are you saying Master had a hand… in rearing Elizabeth?”

“Undoubtedly,” Walken’s voice took on a hint of passion. “After Sydney, the Tower's Inquisitors discovered traces of a city-wide mandala, something that had been set up as a trigger for a strategic-class AoE. But during Noosa Heads, there was no way Sobel could have snuck into an unaffiliated base on a two-day visitation pass, not to mention the Mermen attack was entirely unprovoked and unforeseen. If so, how did she survive her magic? Even assuming it was self-perpetuating, the initial cost could have killed her outright.”

Gwen thought of Jane's tortured confession.
The girl had her back turned to Sobel, but it wasn't hard to imagine Sobel working through a few dozen Mages before she had enough to get her Black Sun jump-started.

“The answer is that in the years both before and after 1972, your Master had been working with Sobel, helping her tame her new found element, just as he was helping you. Back in the 70s, we didn’t know much about affinity-traits. The few geniuses that were renowned had their quirks and idiosyncrasies - but they were prodigies. Why shouldn't they be different? Towers were still going up one by one; cities were undergoing reclamation. What knowledge the Magisters of Western Europe managed to accumulate couldn’t be disseminated safely and reliably. We didn't have data-slates or Divination Towers, and Message Orbs were hardly common. To save his wife, Henry had to improve her affinity until it trivialised her expenditure.”

“That could explain why Sobel went mad in the end,” Gwen added to Walken's hypothesis, wondering how much Walken was in the know.

"Care to elaborate?" Walken invited her to continue.

Does he know about Hungary? She queried the man's eyes. What Walken knew had come from Faceless, but she had no idea if Faceless, fed a lifetime of resentment against her Master, was capable of anything other than a fabricated hyperbole. Conceivably, Walken's request was both a test and a desire for clarity. If so, she would tread lightly.

“Master spoke of it in bits and pieces.” She fidgetted with her dress, misdirecting his attention from her lying eyes. Blatant deception remained a challenge for Gwen, so she had chosen instead to redact the truth. “Master said that in Eger, he, Mark, Agnes and my grandfather hunted down his wife after she started draining random people to feed her growing hunger.”

“Did he speak of why her hunger grew out of control?” Walken enquired. His knowledge is incomplete, Gwen realised, noting the slight elevation in his tempo. Walken may have even spoken to Chandler at some point, but Gunther was hardly the type to leave a trail.

“I don’t know,” Gwen confessed. “According to Master, it happened overnight.”

She wasn’t about to say that against all expectation, Sobel had found herself pregnant and that in her desire to bear the future ‘Faceless’ to fruition, her Master's wife had embarked on a vitality-harvesting bender. If the world were to know that pregnancy could trigger such instability in a high-affinity Void Mage-

Her face blanched at the thought.

“I always suspected something had to have happened to Sobel,” Walken pondered aloud for his ward to hear. “When I first knew her, she had been a perfect English rose.”

"You knew her?"

"Both before and after Henry's intrusion into her life. As your Master's fiancèe, I knew her through dignitary functions. Before Brisbane, I had known of her while in England. She's the sole heir of a Baronet in Northumberland if I recall. I met her only once at a society-gathering, a childhood friend of mine, a future Countess, had planned a coming out soirée and Elizabeth tagged along."

"I didn't know Elizabeth was gay before she met Master," she remarked with surprise, playing on Walken's archaism. "Maybe that's why she-"

Walken opened and closed his mouth a few times; utterly flatfooted by her misunderstanding.

"Coming out to society," his voice rose an octave. "Stupid girl!"

"Sorry." She bit her lip. The things we do to please our men, Gwen sighed internally. It was a cynical truth that as an attractive young woman, the amount of effort she required to convince Walken of her naive simplicity was minimal. If she had been a Gunther-jawed young man, they'd be likely tearing each other apart by now. "If you recall, I attended a public school. And my family situation is... complicated."

At least the girl's opening up to him; Walken considered Gwen's supreme embarrassment - though he was beginning to gain a deeper glimpse into the abyss that was the girl's bruised and battered psyche: a neglectful father, an abusive mother, and then a dead Master - she had done well to survive her Void talent in one piece.

“I recall she was very meek.” The Magister's voice grew sympathetic. “As for your enquiry, all I can say is that Sobel was certainly the sort to attract a particular type of men.”

Did he mean her Master? What type? Gwen knitted her brows slightly. What’s Walken getting at now?

“You resemble Elizabeth, in many ways,” Walken continued, touching his chin contemplatively. “There’s a certain look, or quality; I should say, that you affect unconsciously. Have you never noticed that sometimes, men act strangely around you? They turn obsessive, jealous, or overbearing? You're a beautiful young woman, of course, but there's something unique to Void Mages, I noticed. A certain...”

Walken then gave her the most fatherly expression of assurance he could muster.

“Masochism?” Gwen blurted out her cousin's hypothesis, then immediately cursed her loose-lips, her face flushing with embarrassment.

Watching her contradictions, her opponent grew considerably concerned.

“It's a reasonable assumption, considering how so few of your kind survive to adulthood..."

“Which Master offset by raising Sobel's Affinity," she smoothly steered the conversation back on track.

“Ah yes,” Walken continued, taking her cue, equally eager to proceed past the awkward detour they had just taken. “As I was saying, Henry had to have found a way to increase Sobel's affinity. No matter her talent, there is no way to circumvent Allenberg’s Cost-Manifestation Quotient.”

The Magister paused.

“To wit, I had to consult with Sydney, trying to place your Master's training regime."

"With Irene?”

“That’s Magister Ferris to you,” Walken snapped. “You’d think Henry would have whipped some manners into you while he was busy picking away at your 'masochism'.”

Gwen parried the psychic assault by not daring to meet Walken's eyes. Her opponent smirked as she clutched her dress distressingly. It was super effective.

“It was Gunther Shultz, actually,” Walken continued off-handedly. “I am, after all, helping you in the IIUC. Magus Shultz likes to see you succeed as much as I. Sometimes, I am amazed at the restraint shown by those who walk the Tempered Path.”

“Brother’s patience surprises me as well,” she grumbled.

“It's a shame about that hellcat Sister of yours though; she's a right hellion. De Botton's lost her Caracal, didn't she? Had to drop the 'Scarlet' from her moniker. Now there’s someone I'd never figured for the Middle-Path.”

Gwen felt her Almudj's Essence tickling her throat. How many times did he have to gaslight her before he was satisfied? How paranoid could he be?

“Ah~, Alesia, the source of all our troubles," Walken continued to pry her weakness. "To think if she weren’t so blindly antagonistic, we would have profited each other in many ways. You could have been a liaison between Henry and myself, someone we both trusted, as it were.”

Strewth, the gall of this guy, Gwen swallowed hard, forcing her hands to relax. Her distressed-Disney princess facade was keeping up reasonably well, though if she were to fidget any more vigorously with her dress, she'd tear it in half.

Her Instructor chuckled.

“But back to business. Gunther informed me that Henry had used a custom mandala for your twin-elements. After all, regular arrays account only for pulling one Familiar out of the aether. Looking at Ariel and Caliban, I see two pseudo-spirits in their infancy, each capable of growth. I guess your late Master knew that finding you a Lightning and Void Spirit is likely going to be impossible, not to mention they’d neutralise one another at the first opportunity.”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Wait…” Gwen raised a speculative hand. “Caliban’s a Spirit?”

“Of course.” Walken gave her a bemused look. “Why should Ariel be the only Spirit?”

“That can’t be right. Caliban!” she called forth her Familiar.

“Shaa!” Caliban coiled around her legs, its obsidian body stark against her white ankles.

“Caliban, are you a Spirit?”

“Shaaa?”

“Can you bend this? Void Bolt!” She shot a sliver of Void-matter at a Force Barrier, imagining her Familiar bending her bolt like Beckham.

Instead, Caliban turned to Walken, coiled to strike.

SHIT! Her disappointment gave way to apprehension. The empathic honesty of Familiars was a troublesome thing.

“SHAAA!” Caliban shrieked at the Magister menacingly.

“What's it doing?” Walken studied her serpent as it opened its carapace and menaced him with barbed tentacles.

“I am not doing anything.” Gwen shook her head vigorously, demanding Caliban calm the fuck down before it gave her game away. "Sometimes, Cali's got a mind of its own!"

“Then Caliban must possess an Ego: ergo, Caliban should be a Spirit.”

“But I can’t IFF my Void spells!” She complained desperately. Cali! She screamed internally. FRIEND! Well - Frenemy, she appended. But that might be too much for Caliban to understand.

“A matter of time and methodology.” Walken smirked as the worm calmed considerably. “All you have to do is improve the animus of your Familiar.”

“I don’t know how.” Gwen took the opportunity to pack her Familiar away.

“Ah, but I think you do.” Her Instructor's grin grew wider. “You have access to crystals, or so I’ve heard - a great deal of it. I know of a way in which we can improve both your affinity and your familiar, striking two birds with one stone. It's expensive, but that shouldn't be an obstacle for you.”

Gwen's heart skipped a beat.
Walken, you bunch-backed toad! Her mind exalted. I’ve got your pound of flesh right here, you Je- Filthy Spider!

“But crystals aren’t going to buy me Void Cores,” she fretted with her fingers. "No one knows if they even exist."

“Don't be so ignorant, child. Cores aren’t the only things you can feast on.” Walken edged closer, his eyes glinting with triumph and mastery. “Am I right?”

“Right…”

Walken's outstretched hand reminded her of that scene when Aladdin had invited Jasmine for a late-night carpet ride. Only Gwen's date was the mangy old Jafar, and the old man's bird of paradise was a Winged Serpent.

If he says 'do you trust me?' I am going to vomit on his shoes, Gwen thought. Thankfully, Walken wasn't nearly so romantic.

Swallowing her revulsion, she took it, her fingers clammy and sweaty.

Walken's brows pulled involuntarily. The man was a germaphobe.

“Say the word,” Walken forced himself to squeezed her hand. “And I can offer you Demi-human... and human resources.”

She stared at Walken; this time, her shock was entirely genuine.
In all honesty, Gwen had expected more euphemism.

“I am not a murderer,” Gwen whispered, still disbelieving her ears.

“Squeamish? Don’t fret.” He warmed her frigid fingers paternally. “These are free-range products from the Frontier, harvested from the most ethical sources. Each one comes with a compliance guarantee, sealed and delivered in stasis. We can start modestly, and if indeed your talent can make use of them, our Faction is willing to invest in your future wholly and without reserve.”

“But why?” Her voice drifted through the air, hanging by a silken thread. "Why me? Why should I trust you?"

“I can be your guardian,” Walken promised. “And a friend.”

When the girl failed to respond, Walken knew he had her against a cliff. With a final push, she would belong to the Grey Faction, where a single taste of the forbidden fruit would taint her in their colours, now and forever.

“I can be as Henry was,” he swore with great solemnity, so much that he felt genuinely invested in his masochistic orphan. “I would be better than Henry. I would never mistreat you.”

For a split-second, Gwen wondered if she had passed out from the sudden hypertension arresting her cardiovascular systems.

“Enough!” she growled.

“Enough?” Walken started. “Enough of what?”

“Of your bullshit!” Gwen's retort cracked over Walken like a bullwhip. Dragon-fear poured from her body like a tide.

Reflexively, Walken's knees faltered. Caught unaware, the Magister couldn't resist the natural compulsion of the girl's purer Essence. Alarmed, he realised she still held his hands, preventing him from casting somatic magic.

“I am going to fucking kill you.” Gwen’s mouth was moving before she could think. “How can you remotely believe that you can replace my Master? Join your Faction? You’re dreaming!”

Walken's expression shifted from surprise to anger to teeth-clenching anguish as Gwen ratcheted the pressure exerted by her hands, pressing the blood from Walken's fingers.

“Release me,” he commanded her. The girl’s grasp was twin-vices interlocking his palm, sending blades of white-hot agony stabbing into his brain. “Gwen, listen to me, there’s no profit in your anger. I spoke in jest, okay? You’re too easily incensed, so much so that there’s no sport in it.”

Further gouts of flaming fury blossomed in the furnace of her chest. Her Almudj’s Essence thrummed, thrilling her ear with the sound of hastened blood.

No sport in it?
A joke?
Was the man daft?

“Just you try.” Gwen let her mask drop. “How dare you gaslight me.”

“Gas- what? You’re losing it!” Walken’s voice took on a higher octave, his eyes watering. “Gwen! It’s your Dragon-Essence. It’s controlling you! Fight it, for Henry's sake!”

“Bloody hell, you’re so full of shit!” Gwen twisted her grip.

“!”

A current of Lightning-charged mana flooded into her body.

But Walken’s mana lacked the purity of her natural affinity. Between Gwen's Essence-enhanced body and her au naturale Lightning-affinity, she withstood his assault with only a slight-numbness.

'Crack!'

She crushed his off-hand. The full force of her pent-up Essence was formidable.

“ARRRGH!” Walken desperately fought her death-grip, beads of sweat fell from his head like a spring-shower. “Gwen, how… how DARE YOU!”

“And why wouldn't I dare?” Gwen screeched at him. “Come! Do your worst!”

In the confusion that followed, she allowed the man to go.

“Do you have a death wish?!” Walken materialised a Superior Healing Potion and stabbed it into his wrist.

In the next moment, the Magister was upon her, his hand at her throat, his body swirling with Air, crackling with motes of Lightning. He was fast, almost too fast for her eyes to follow. The man’s mastery over Spellcraft was far beyond her ken.

“Don’t hurt me!” She withdrew, suddenly afraid.

With one hand at her slender neck, Walken paused. By now he had sensed that something was terribly awry. Why hadn't the girl erected a Shield? Did she realise she’d gone too far? As his mind cooled, he realised that her lips, glossy as they were, were curled in triumph.

Shit! Walken baulked. What-

In the next moment, to Walken's utter surprise, the girl took a step forward so that his outstretched hand pressed upon her neck, just above her collar-dimple.

“Well?” Gwen mocked her target with emerald eyes infused with Essence. “You hunted me so untiredly, and now you pause for breath?”

But her 'Gwenism' did not seem to have the impact she'd hoped.
Walken’s tempestuous, rage-filled moment of irrationality receded as quickly as it had distended. In a way, it was immensely impressive. The man’s control over his emotions demonstrated that Walken had indeed mastered his Affinity-trait.

“What’s gotten into you?” The Magister switched gears, reaching for her shoulders.

“Oh, cut the crap, Walken.” Gwen rolled her eyes, brushing away his wayward hand. “Don't touch me. Let's stop the shit-shovelling, alright? It’s not like I don’t need you. I am just sick of all the crap that comes with your help. You're worse than bloat-ware.”

Unexpectedly, Walken appeared struck by a sudden epiphany.

“Are you being mind-controlled right now?” he demanded conspiratorially. “Who's in there right now? Are you willing to parley?”

“Who-what? Don't be absurd” Gwen backed away. She tapped a finger at her temple. “There's no one in here-”

Walken stared.

“God damn it, _I am_ in here!” she stated seriously. “Me, Gwen Song.”

The Magister's expression grew even more suspect.

Now it was Gwen's turn to sigh. Was it that hard for Walken to believe that a teenager got one up on him? That he had lost? Was the theory that a bloody wizard had taken over her mind and was operating her like a finger-puppet easier to swallow than the fact that she had a mind of her own? Whatever the case, she would say her piece. The rest was up to Walken.

“Magister,” she began her prepared speech. All the pieces she had planned were now in place. “I have a proposal.”

“Alright, I am listening,” Walken remained on guard, both mentally and in the arcane sense. What if someone had one-upped him? He had heard that the Ashbringer's Dragon-consort was a user of Draconic-invocations: words of power tied to the creation of the Material world itself, unique to Mythic-class draconic-beings; if such a being-

The girl began to speak.

“You have knowledge and magic I want, and I can help you by emerging victorious in the IIUC, thereby ensuring you’ll be back in the good graces of important people,” Gwen kept her pitch low and her intonation perfect. “I want you to help me, really help me, without any of your manipulative bullshit. In return, I promise you full credit. Furthermore, when Alesia comes for you, I’ll do my best to ensure she keeps her vengeance in check, or at least give you a warning.”

“Absurd!” Walken retorted. “What a ridiculous offer, why would I be afraid of Alesia de Botton?”

“Because I’ll help her ambush you when you least expect it. Sure, maybe you're the superior Mage, but Alesia is tenacious. I’ll be astonished if she doesn’t blow up every venture you participate in, burn down every house you sleep in, turn to cinders every bed you lie in.”

“…”

What kind of absurd-logic was that?! Walken glared at the girl. Was this really the girl he’d try to sway to his side? What happened to the demure and pliant Void Mage with a history of histrionics? Who the hell was this Draconian that had replaced her?

“Not only that,” Gwen continued. “I’ll make sure the relevant people get a hold of this-”

“These are free-range products from the Frontier, harvested from the most ethical sources. Each one comes with a compliance certificate, sealed and delivered in stasis containers…” Walken’s voice played from a Message Orb hidden somewhere in the hem of her dress.

Walken's expression grew rigid.

He hadn’t even noticed! As devices predating Divination Towers, Ioun Stones had negligible traces of magic, not to mention the earlier models weren't of human origin. And to think he had presented it to her, bloody hell!

“Are you threatening me, young lady?” Walken demanded, advancing on her.

“Do you have a death wish?!” His voice answered him, followed by a girlish cry full of terror which unequivocally informed the listener of the circumstances under which the recording was made. “Don’t hurt me!”

“You!”

“Why would I be afraid of Alesia de Botton!” His retort mocked him.

For a moment, the Magister imagined mincing the girl with a Blade Barrier. But then he would have to flee, living out the rest of his life in the Wildlands as a Rogue Mage.

“I could just take that orb off you.” Walken changed the angle of his attack. “You can’t resist me.”

“I’ll D-D out of here, screaming blue murder, in my birthday suit if I have to.” The girl smirked at him. “You’re welcome to chase me all across campus if you’d like. I mean, a disgraced Magister abusing a popular, beautiful student, the Worm… The Flower of Fudan! What would people think?”

“You’re overestimating yourself.” Walken's forehead affected a sheen of sweat. “Give it here, now.”

“Ha!” Gwen chuckled. “Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged-”

She took a step forward.

Walken backed away.

The girl took another step forward, pushing herself against him until the Magister’s waxen face grew scarlet.

“I could be bad to the bone,” Gwen remarked, her eyes boring into Walken's face, their nose almost touching. “Or I could be a good girl.”

Walken straightened his posture.
He wasn't a stubborn man.

“Fine. I'll bite.”

Gwen took a deep breath. Before anything, she had to draw the line.

“I could Consume you,” she opened blankly. “I’ll be in trouble, a world of trouble. But its only trouble.”

Walken’s mien grew grim.

“Whereas you can’t silence me. Hell, you can’t even maim me or hurt me, at least not bad enough to count.” She kept her tone plain and simple. “If you did, Gunther, Alesia, my grandparents, Uncle Jun the Ashbringer, and by extension Ayxin, will hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

Her opponent chose to remain mum.

“Besides, it was you who initiated the difficulties between us. What had been Dean Luo’s offer? Take us through the IIUC, and you get to work yourself into the good graces of your Faction? Then what? Receive a position in China? Is that what he promised?”

“This and that,” Walken confessed.

“And instead, you took advantage of me… and my weakness,” Gwen spat the word between her pearly teeth with a hiss. “I am a quarter your age. Does that make you proud? The mighty Magister Walken? A bully and a liar?”

“I haven't lied to you.”

“Maybe not, but the truth you are peddling is awfully diluted.”

“Gwen…”

“Eric…” Gwen affected the same tone that her Master liked to use in his recordings, an effect which made Walken blink before he grew suddenly scarlet. “You still don't get it. We’re not in a position of mentor and mentee, nor a position of superior to a subordinate.”

“You and I…” she allowed the anaphora to linger, mocking Walken’s use of the words. “Are nothing alike. You and I: Eric, are at best companions rowing together up shit creek. We are equal in that regard. My benefit is your benefit; your gain is my gain. We both have to pull our weight and not drag each other down. If you think to profit from my loss, then you’re in for a world of hurt. Old Friend.”

Walken had to back-paddle as to take in the entirety of the girl within the scope of his vision. On the surface, what presented itself was an exquisite combination of dark hair, striking emerald eyes, a breathtakingly aesthetic mien and nubile limbs extending from a feminine sundress.

There was no hint of Sobel in Henry's old apprentice now.

Instead, her presence felt far older, elemental.

If he had not already seen her panicked and afraid, Walken would have thought her a Polymorphed dragon-kin, toying with his hopes and aspirations, laughing internally while he, Eric Walken, struggled like a vermin trapped by an Adhesion cantrip. There was no doubt about his blunder now. He had indeed entered their relationship full of purpose to empower the girl through her IIUC ordeal-

But he couldn't help himself. It was true what they say: old habits died hard.

When the moment arrived, when she stood before him, a bee box buzzing with indeterminate dark things thrumming to escape, the temptation proved too much. The girl had so much hurt in her that it threatened to spill like overwrought honey, the unintelligible thrumming of her aggression was a mob of maniacs.

He’d envisioned himself the salvation she sought, a Bee Keeper. If he could take Henry’s Apprentice for his own, it would be the ultimate triumph against an existence he could have never bested, more so in the wake of Kilroy's passing. When Gwen had paled and shuddered at his every word, that old fancy had seduced him like the sweetest nectar.

Walken did not sympathise with Henry’s manifesto, nor could he convince his old rival to believe in his. When he saw the girl, saw the gaping gash in her psyche, he instantly knew that she was the means by which he could finally put an old opposition to peace, not to mention mending his esteem.

Watching her defiant eyes, Walken felt full of ambivalence that the old fox had indeed found a kit worthy of continuing their antagonism.

But the time for moping had passed.
He would yield, for now.
Gwen was right.
Her allies in both Australia and China were strong; her higher ground was unassailable. Of course, if they were successful in their suit, as Fudan's advisor, he would accompany the team overseas: to Japan, to Korea, to North and South America, and inevitably, onto England.

And in England-

“Alright, Gwen. You win.” He extended a hand. “Truce.”

The girl took it; this time, she spared his fingers.

“Thank you.” The girl's eyes glinted mischievously, so much so that Walken almost considered withdrawing his amnesty. “More of a ceasefire, I’d say, but I do look forward to working with you, Eric.”


Now considerably calmer, Gwen and Walken agreed that they would reconvene the next day to continue her lessons, each desiring space and time to digest their new partnership.

Once outside, the two parted with an appearance of amiability, drawing mixed glances from the training hall's administration staff. Since arriving a semester ago, Fudan's Worm Handler had become notorious for her draconian training regime. Some admired her panache, others her appearance, but most of all, they drooled over the troop of Lecturers and Instructors that visited her on the regular. Perhaps, some joked sourly; there was good cause for her auspicious moniker.

As for Gwen herself, she first made sure Walken was truly away, then conveyed herself to the privacy of the back gardens, shivering uncontrollably while her adrenaline receded. The recovery was gradual, supplemented by the spring-time sun, her shuddering nerves subsiding as sensation returned to her clammy fingers. When she felt well enough, an additional injection of Almudj’s Essence fortified her nerves so that she no longer felt like throwing up. In that final moment of confrontation with Walken, she had been fully prepared to Dimension Door into the Dean’s Office, damning all consequence.

All in all, she had learned something today - it was mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausting to play the Lady Macbeth. That and she really should have held off on the XL milk-tea-plus-cream of human kindness before meeting with Walken.

After a few minutes, her legs stabilised, Gwen mentally checked her schedule, then returned home for some much-deserved lie-down.

The same afternoon, Gwen found herself back at the office. Still buzzed by the aftermath of taming a shrewish Magister, she slipped into her office-garbs, hoping the monotony of work would put her mind at ease.

In the three months since her induction, the development of Tonglv had ballooned. As Professor Ma had suspected, it was impossible to keep the news of the project’s profitability under wraps, which meant by now the Clans and Houses had flocked to Nantong like vultures to carrion.

So far, with sufficient foresight, the triumvirate of Patriarch Fung, Magister Chen and Vice-Chair Tu, backed by James Ma’s oversight, had kept the accounts arrayed.

When her Quarterly-Progress Report reached its final ten pages, however, her attention was drawn to a segment under the sub-title Personnel Liquidation, marked under Human Resource. When Gwen began to read the record in detail, she came vis-a-vis with no less than a hundred names.

Chen Hui - Embezzlement
Lei De - Fraud
Zhan Shun - Fraud, Bribery and Corruption, Manslaughter
Tan Zhong - Embezzlement
Fan Huan - Bribery and Corruption.
Dong Luoyang - Market abuse and Insider Trading
Liang Liuxian - Embezzlement
Zhu Zhenya - Fraud, Insider Trading
Xuan Chao - Fraudulent Record Keeping
Yan Ming - Fraudulent Record Keeping
The list went on for pages.

Those whose crimes were below 1000 HDMs received a strike in their Party record, meaning their careers as industry officials were effectively over.

For those whose offence exceeded 1000 HDMs, the standard punishment was being earmarked for the Front, returning only after achieving notable contributions to the state.

For those with stacked-indictments, condemnation was life-long.

Of the hundred people, ninety were Mages. The sight of names paired with crimes and a summation of their punishments was enough to make her feel ill. How can these people be so thoughtless in their pursuit of money? Did they think Patriarch Fung would tolerate their parasitic existences when the man had put his whole Clan on the line?

“Ruì.” She fired an enquiry at her assistant, morbid in her curiosity. “How much crystal currency until you're willing to defraud us? What would it take for you to falsify your reports?”

“I would never!” Ruì pulled back from her chair, her face alarmed and afraid. “I am doing everything I can to be of use to you, ma’am!”

“It’s hypothetical,” she told Ruì not to worry, that the PA should entertain her boss’s curiosity if she could. “A thousand HDMs? Ten thousand? Effi? Terence? How about you guys?”

Effi was the more effervescent of her other two NoM workers. A petite girl originally from Nanking, she had a heart-shaped face, long slitted eyes, and a bookish demeanour.

“I wouldn’t want to risk it,” Effi stated warily, wondering if this was a test. “However, if I was desperate: like for example I needed a rare potion for my mother, or if one of my siblings Awoke to magic and needed tuition, I would at least think about it. So it's not an amount for me, but a matter of need. The amount would be just what I need.”

“How about you, Terence?”

“I would do it only if I am confident I can get away with it,” the young man raised his hand. “To be perfectly honest ma’am, knowing what we’re doing here and what Professor Ma’s doing, I wouldn’t dream of it. I think most of the offenders on the list have no idea that there are hundreds and soon to be thousands of NoMs working through every receipt, payslip and invoice. There's another problem though: I don’t think us NoMs have any way to spend that many crystals other than land, but the acquisition of property leaves a huge paper trail.”

“Very perceptive, Terence. Well done. Ruì, back to you.” Gwen regarded her first assistant with interest.

Ruì quaked under Gwen’s keen gaze. For some reason, her Mistress terrified her.

“I… I can’t.” Ruì shook her head. "I love this job!"

“Aww, I won’t force you,” Gwen consoled the poor woman with a few well-placed platitudes and a well-earned hug. She apologised as well, realising she had traumatised the girl. In her eyes, Ruì was a perfect ISTP follower on the Briggs-Myers scale: she possessed uncanny attention to detail, was loyal to a fault, and was meticulous with managing Gwen’s timetable, so much so that she had entertained moving Ruì downstairs into Gouding B1. For any sensible manager, the PA was a keeper.

As for the others, more so than Effi, it was Terence’s answer that resonated with Gwen’s projection that having NoM accountants blind-audit Tonglv’s financial statements was a stroke of genius.

Simply put - the NoMs had nothing to spend Crystals on. Their greatest wish was to live in a friendly, upscale District, have access to good quality food, clean air and water, quasi-magical amenities, and a chance for their children to have the same.

They had no use for mountains of currency. For an NoM, procuring an excess of wealth wasn't a boon, it was a recipe for attracting disaster.

In comparison, a Mage, a Cabal, a House, a Clan, or even a Tower, had infinite uses for currency; so much so that all the crystals pouring out of Tonglv wouldn’t satisfy the appetite of those seeking centuries of prosperity for their kith and kin.

“Where’s Ken and Dai?" Gwen changed the subject. "I’d thought they be back by now.”

“Sir Dai has gone to negotiate with the Yellow-River Trade Consortium, and Sir Ken is sending off reports at the CCP Tower,” Ruì informed her boss.

"Oh, good on them," Gwen acknowledged that the two weren’t slacking off, then resumed the final few pages of her quarterly report.

… Sun Kun - Bribery and Corruption.
Xiao Cheng - Bribery and Corruption.
Xiong Su - Embezzlement.
Zi Fung - Fraud.
Lang Fung - Bribery and Corruption, Insider Trading.
Meiling Fung - Bribery and Corruption, Insider Trading.

Three Fungs, Gwen paused, thinking of a Chinese idiom her Grandfather had muttered once.

'Men die for greed as birds die for feed.'

How keen the Confucians were, she pondered as she stowed the report, and how cynically astute. For some reason, she had a feeling that the first century of offenders was only the beginning. Between now and the next half-decade, the Front would receive a flood of volunteers.

“I’d keep an eye out at any rate,” Petra warned her.

“Agreed.” Richard took a pull from a longneck. Her cousin had already added his piece, praising Gwen's quick thinking. “Seriously, that's some slick work; I didn't think you had it in you.”

"Its payback for trying to malign my Master," Gwen explained. After a moment, she floated the Message Orb between them. “What should I do with this?”

“Keep blackmailing him,” Richard proposed without so much as a pause for breath. “He’s a Lightning Magister. Get him to spill all his spells in exchange for the safety of what remains of his reputation. I dare say there are a few hundred CCs of savings there.”

“I disagree.” Petra shook her head. “You don’t want to insult Magister Walken more than you have already, Gwen. First, it's not like you. What you're doing is more akin to what they do in Moscow: manipulating your enemies via Kompromat. But you don't have a Tower behind you. You have to remember that even a dog can scale a wall if they’re desperate enough, and Walken is an established Grey Faction Magister. If you keep pushing him, you'll both lose.”

“Hmm.” Gwen chewed her lip. “Should I give him the orb as a gesture of good faith?”

"Naw," Richard intervened. “He’s never going to be an ally we can trust; I don't mind treading on his toes.”

“Let me stop you there, Richard," Petra interjected before Gwen could respond to her Australian cousin. "Gwen, so long as Walken believes the gains outweigh the cost, he’ll genuinely try to help you. For you, the best thing to do is to cut him loose once your relationship is over. If you hold onto his Kompromat, he'll spend the entire time, now and later, scheming to get it back.”

“Petra has a point.” Gwen turned to Richard.

“I’d rather you Consume him if you at that point.” Richard smirked. “He’s got to be at least tier 8, right. We could use some high-tier magic in our matches.”

The two girls regarded their cousin, mildly alarmed.

“Imagine that,” Richard continued. “It'd be pretty funny if you could launch a strategic-class AoE at our opponents during the IIUC.”

“No time." Petra popped the Water Mage's bubble. "Gwen would have to finish third-year Spellcraft theory, take Advanced Mandala, complete Spell-Shaping 3004, then apply for a post-graduate position studying Strategic-Class Glyph Arrays in Europe. Unless Caliban gains the ability to 'consume' textbooks, we won’t be seeing anything beyond tier 6 at the IIUC. Not to mention Gwen needs Walken to take her through the contest, there are many nuances you and I cannot know."

“Ah, you're all logic, Pats,” Richard chided their Mineral Mage cousin. "You're no fun."

“We're not here to have 'fun',” Petra fired back. "But I don't want to argue with you, so let's change the subject. Gwen, what’s the deal with your Affinity predicament?”

“I have to grow into it,” Gwen sighed. “That or balance my Affinity.”

“Hey, you can trust us to watch your back.” Richard raised his hand. “Permission to restrain you if you turn half-dragon.”

“Granted.”

“I’ll keep looking,” Petra promised her cousin. “There’s bound to be something. You can't the first person with this problem.”

“Thanks.” Gwen hugged her two cousins close to her bosom. “As for the Walken front, I think I've got a good idea. Pats, do you know what a sponge cake is?"

The next day, Gwen finished her Divination and Economics tutorials, then joined Walken in the late afternoon at the Training Hall.

The duo began their conversation with great care, stepping around one another like a pair of paranoid-drakes. When after a while, Gwen slid forward a Message Orb, Walken raised his brow with genuine surprise.

"I appreciate the gesture." The Magister glanced at the Orb before pushing it back. "But allow me to make the same gesture. Why don't you keep it? It'll be a layer of insurance."

Gwen hesitated.

"It'll help the both of us focus, put our mind at ease," Walken remarked. His expression remained composed, his lips thin and pressed.

She stowed the Orb.

Now considerably unwound, the two laid out the minutes of their meeting, of which so far numbered three:

Her Affinity-trait dilemma.

Her Void-Affinity power-up.

And details regarding the IIUC.

After a few false-starts, Walken came into a well-worn groove, demonstrating why the Dean had chosen him for the job.

“Unique solutions service unique problems,” Walken continued from where they’d left off. “If you recall, Affinity-Traits vary from Mage to Mage: it's as much a product of nurture as it is a problem of nature. In most instances, elemental-sympathy is acquired over a long interval, giving an Elementalist plenty of time to figure out their quirks. To take myself as an example: despite our unfortunately hot-headed kerfuffle yesterday, I am habitually in control of my inclinations. As one aligned to Elemental Air, I am often aloof and distanced from my peers, seldom feeling attached, even to my children. When Aella matured, I had to also contend with the renowned pridefulness of Lightning, as well as a certain stubbornness associated with Dragon-kin. Unlike you, however, it has taken me five decades to exceed a natural affinity of 6. As for Aella, our two-decade history grants me a conditional and proportional Lightning of 8.”

“Goodness.” Gwen made a face. “How do you deal with it?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“A mental technique is one solution. A method that allows me to distance myself from my immediate impulses. It was tiring when I first began, but the human mind is surprisingly malleable. If you find me sometimes cold, or perhaps divorced and unfeeling, my parallel meditation is to blame.”

That explains Walken's charcoal-eyes, Gwen realised. Walken always hid behind a mask of observance, measuring the effectiveness of every word uttered from his mouth.

“I don’t think that’s possible for me.” Gwen shook her head. She'd rather not turn into Walken 2.0.

“Very well. If you had access to the School of Enchantment, you could also medicate with a Calm Emotion,” Walken suggested. “Or you can custom-order a Magic Item from our Faction’s Craftsmen which self-medicates when the need arises.”

“Let's keep stop-gap measures on the back-burner,” she parried Walken’s second suggestion.

“Does that mean no potions, Geas or Curses?”

“Curses?”

“Hexes,” Walken explained. “There are certain Cabals in Eastern Europe that still practice the old arts.”

“No thanks,” Gwen refuted the Magister’s advice. Pharmacological and quasi-magical solutions would have been acceptable, but not if they evolved into a dependency.

Across the table, Walken kept from commenting on her stubbornness, or the fact that after a dozen witches down Caliban's hatch, Gwen could potentially hex herself.

“Very well then.” Walken exhaled gently. “Temperance and willpower it is.”

“You mentioned something about my Familiars,” Gwen reminded the man. “You said my Master planned something around my future Familiars. Can’t I plug my leaks by doing something with Ariel and Caliban? Whatever happened to that?”

“You happened,” Walken grumbled, flexing his off-hand. “But I digress. If you want to know, then I shall tell you. However, you mustn’t deride or grow upset at what I am about to tell you."

“I won't.”

“We'll see. Let us begin with some theory. Earlier, I noticed you used the term ‘leak’ - an apt if incomplete metaphor. For Mages, our Astral Soul naturally ‘permeates’ mana into our physical body, where it then dissipates into the Material Realm. With Primary Elementalists, the 'trait' is prominent because the body of all living beings naturally consists of Primary and Positive elements. The traits we observe are derived from nurture and nature. Earthen Mages find their bodies hardened and fortified, but the phenomenon is equal-parts elemental-sympathy and best-practice body-training to maximise Affinity. Likewise, Fire Mages grow resistant to heat and cold physically and excessively prone to passion. But did you know that if Fire Mages continuously suppress their impulses, their Affinity decreases? It's quite the dilemma. As for Water Mages, they grow averse to dry environs and are said to be easy going - but really, they're emulating the stereotype, falling into a mould of expectation. If so, are Water Mages laid-back and easy going, or did they learn to behave like that? Now, as for Quasi-Elementalists like us, our metabolism becomes hastened. We grow thirsty and hungry quickly-" Walken wetted his lips. "Suffer from insomnia, and have a reputation for pride and possessiveness-”

“Speaking of hunger - I bought a sponge cake.” Blushing, Gwen materialised an enormous orange sponge-cake, an Australian staple, and a tea set for the table. As Walken had remarked, they had been at it for an hour, and their mutual Affinity had made them peckish. “I figured some nostalgic Aussie-fare would be a good ice breaker if things got awkward.”

Walken stared at the pink-orange cake, transfixed.

“It’s not poisoned,” Gwen assured him, cutting a slice, crumbling the hundreds and thousands. "That's icing sugar."

“Ah, well, thank you.” Walken took a slice, touched by the kindness of buttery dough. “I was not expecting… yes. Very good. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Gwen took a generous slice for herself, then dug into the sugary treat. It had taken Petra and her the better part of an evening to figure out the batter. In the end, it was Richard who baked the cake, folding the flour into the egg-froth with the deftness of a patissier. “You were saying?”

“Oh, yes.” Walken swallowed before he continued. “You and I, of course, are additionally blessed by Draconic-Essence, which adds another layer of complication. Yours is purer than mine: Aella’s blessing, alas, accounts for little more than a commanding presence and a few decades of healthy living. Since you’re capable of generating Dragon-fear, I’d imagine it simmering at your throat at the slightest provocation.”

“The Essence has got quite the kick, that’s for sure,” Gwen confessed.

“Now, having rejected conventional solutions - Excuse me - Heat!” Walken re-heated his tea, added a spot of milk, then took a satisfying sip. As an Englishman, cold tea was worse than no tea. “I propose an unconventional method involving both of your Familiars.”

“Oh?” Gwen cocked her head slightly. Had it taken a sponge cake for Walken to spill the beans? If so, she should get Richard onto Lamingtons next. "Go on."

“First, are you able to exchange mana with your Familiars?”

“I can give them mana,” Gwen replied. “It’s a one-way street though.”

“To empower and engage their innate abilities?”

“Yeah, Ariel transforms when fed,” Gwen explained. “It used to have a mongoose form, though these days it goes through ten shades of Kirin, pending on... how I feel, the time of day... and other things.”

“An enviable guise nonetheless,” Walken remarked. “And Caliban?”

“Caliban has many forms, the most powerful of which takes a quarter of my mana and virtually all of my vitality," Gwen answered, conscious of her evasion.

“Good. Now, can your Familiars feed their mana or Essence back into your Astral Body?”

“No.” Gwen shook her head.

"Can you usurp or command the return of unspent mana and Essence?"

"No. I had consulted with Magister Wen, Instructor Chen, and even Magister Birch as well. They said that it was impossible without higher Affinity with my Familiars."

“Oh? I am surprised Hufei Chen wasn't more specific.” Walken raised a brow. “But I suppose that’s no surprise. As an Instructor, he doesn't owe you an answer by any means, not to mention he lacks the necessary School of Magic to verify a potential solution. You see, Gwen, exchange of mana and Essence from a Familiar requires synergy with the School of Transmutation.”

Conjuration and Transmutation? She did a double-take. The only Conjurer-Transmuter Gwen knew of was Lulan, though the girl's Iron-Heart technique was far divorced from modern Spellcraft.

“The original spell, Familiar Transfusion, was a way to use one’s Familiar as additional mana-pool,” Walken explained. “Unfortunately, the original designer wasn’t a Creature Mage and merely employed his cuy as a means to squirrel away an emergency supply.”

“A cuy?” She cocked her head, imagining a monstrously mystical creature.

“It's er... a rodent,” Walken explained, making a shape with his hands like a man moving an invisible mouse. “Akin to a hamster.”

“Oo, cute!”

“Mmm, yes,” Walken cleared his throat, thinking he'd likely have given up Conjuration altogether if gerbils were the best he could manage. “BUT - his spell had a propensity to incapacitate his Familiar while in use.”

Gwen imagined a jiggly, puffed up, balloon-shaped cuy.

“For now, I propose that you could use Ariel to ‘stow’ your mana-leaks, allowing you to manage your Lightning-Affinity and Draconic-Essence.”

“But then Ariel would be stuck in its Kirin Form,” Gwen noted.

“Only in combat, while you balance Void and Lightning elements within your Astral Body,” Walken nodded. “You have tapped into tier 2 Divination, yes?”

“I have.”

“Good.” Walken nibbled on the sponge cake, then dabbed his lip with a pocket-hankie. “Use Perceive Self to set a gauge of your mana-mix, then adjust accordingly. Of course, the prototype Familiar Transfusion won’t do. I’ll have to redesign it so that its transfusion and storage capacities are diminished enough to service your combat needs. After that, in the heat of combat at least, your Affinities should achieve a temporary balance.”

"Question. Does learning Transfusion mean I can syphon vitality from Caliban?"

"I don't see why not."

“As simple as that?”

“Synergy is never that simple,” Walken answered blatantly. “It'll be a work in progress. Do you always count your cockatrices before they hatch? Remember, it’s all conjecture at this point. We’re breaking new ground.”

“I see.” Gwen sipped from her cup: as one brought up in an apartment like a peasant, she drank her tea cold. “One more thing, Eric, can you teach me Perceive Self?”

"No."

“But you know it.”

“I do.”

“Teach me!”

“It's not my spell to teach!” Walken growled. "Are you attempting to entrap me with intellectual-theft as well?"

“Ah...” Gwen blushed. She was too used to Magisters teaching her open-sourced spells or giving up their unique magic as favours. “Sorry.”

“Hmmph. On that front, I want to say something for your benefit, so you better keep your earlier promise. If you want a cost-effect end to your problems, buy some Demi-human fodder for Caliban. We can't find you Void-beings or creatures to Consume, but you can upgrade Caliban to a humanoid form. I believe that may have been Henry's intention,” Walken stated stoically. “Before you start your bleeding-heart complaints, note that these Demi-humans are chattel either way, they're meat for the scholarly inclined Magister whether you buy them or not: if so, why not you?"

Gwen stared.

"There. Think about it. That's the last and only time I will implore you.”

And with that, the congenial atmosphere turned frigid.

Walken's captive audience of one stabbed her next piece of cake. Her advisor wasn't illogical, but the man was morally bankrupt. Of course, she had to acknowledge the hypocrisy of having Consumed Merfolk when she had travelled with Jun, as well as a sapient Dragon-kin. In practice, her revulsion over Walken was no better than someone with a belly full of Kobe beef campaigning for PETA. But the act of purchasing Demi-human ‘stock’ to test a hypothesis? Even if she verified Caliban’s ascension would work wonders for her dilemma, could she consent to such senselessness? In a round-about way, Walken's logos was that trafficked children got abused anyhow: so it may as well be her having a spot of fun: after all, no greater evil had been accomplished this day! How the hell was that an acceptable code of conduct? Her Master would rise from Sufina's Grot to spank her black and blue! The Tower would accuse her of Necromancy!

They drank their drinks.

“I had a curious epiphany about your potential approach to the IIUC last night,” Walken suddenly changed the subject, a move Gwen gladly welcomed. “You and your Familiars are infamous up and down all the campuses in Shanghai. If so, why not abuse this fact? In my opinion, excess and arrogance should form the basis of your IIUC approach.”

“?” Her lips formed an 'O'.

“Yes, indeed,” Walken smirked. “Henry wanted you to be seen and recognised by the Tower, did he not? Easier said than done, I am afraid. Between you and me, Fudan's a second-rate Magical University compared to Cambridge or Oxford, my old haunt. Though few could compare to your number of ‘Schools’ and ‘Affinity’, I dare say their Spellcraft is leagues ahead. At Oxford, any spell worth a damn would be tuned and perfected to within a half-a-syllable by generations of Magisters.”

"Can't help that." She made a face. "Alas, I am a Frontier simpleton."

“Which makes your statistics all the more enterprising," Walken persisted.
“At any rate, someone with your ‘talent’ has nothing to hide. Instead, what we should do is advertise the fact that you’re an indomitable duelist whose very existence demands an inordinate commitment of resources.”

“How the hell is that a good thing?” Gwen furrowed her brow.

“Because your skills require hard counters. In which case, your team can pre-plan spell-lists. Let me give you an example: you are in control of Morden’s Hounds, yes? Together, you’ll summon ten-odd draconic-hounds-”

“Seven plus Blood Hound plus Ariel,” Gwen reminded the Magister.

“Only eight?” Walken raised a brow mockingly. “Well, we'll work on it. Across open ground, I doubt any team would want to face Lightning-Hounds capable of pack-tactics, not to-”

“They're Draconic Deer-hounds,” Gwen interjected, feeling insulted. “Resistant to elements, strong as tier 5 Magical Beasts, telepathically controlled by Ariel...”

“… Right.” The Magister paused with annoyance before continuing. “I stand corrected. Now, let’s say you were to Mass Haste, or boomerang D-D your Familiars behind enemy lines, to flank your enemies. Likewise, on open maps, Ariel plus your dogs would prevent any ambush, track targets, or make hunting down large prey trivial."

Gwen took to the advice with a greedy, eager ear.

"The point is - I would classify you as a specialist-class of Mage - a Soloist."

"What's that?"

"A contestant capable of besting any other Mage of an equivalent tier, using any School of Magic. There's usually a few in the competition, so one may as well be you; especially as Illusion and Mind Magic suffer from heavy restrictions."

Her eyes lit up.

"As a Soloist - your goal is to ‘eliminate’ designated targets from the competition. While your teammate's job is to 'peel away' targets for you to devour."

"Metaphorically speaking..."

"Right... Concurrently, you mustn't forget that having a team member going solo is a tactic. You by yourself won't be winning anything. The best teams possess synergy, and not just in Spellcraft."

Pouting, Gwen cut herself another slice of cake. In hindsight, the man was right in that her spells rarely possessed synergy, whether with her teammates or within her Spell-list. If anything, she should work out a comprehensive list of by-products from her salad-mix of elements and Essence.

“But let's return to our original topic. How to make your opponents wary of your histrionic talents and therefore offer your teammates an advantage in counter-spells.”

“I am sorry. Everything you're saying is abstract to me,” Gwen confessed. She was beginning to realise just how much more she had to learn in the next six months. “I don’t understand half of what you just said.”

“My fault, I am afraid. Public Spellcraft Education was underfunded because I vetoed Henry's package for state-schools.” Walken shook his head apologetically. “Let’s think about this pragmatically. In the instance that you face off against a team, they are bound to have ONE Abjurer. You’re not someone easily stopped without a hard-counter. Knowing you exist, opponents would have to include an Earthen, Dust, or Mineral Abjurer. In that case, let's resolve that problem-”

“One - I’ll teach you Thundering Shatter, terrible mana-efficacy, long chant-time, but it’ll do. Two - one of your peers can prepare a touch-based Shatter, Stone Shape, or Scattering Impact, pending on their schools. Three - for an open-field competition, you pick your teammates for mobility, using run-and-cast tactics to outpace their stationary defence.”

“What kind of opponents should we expect? Bloodline Mages? Noble Houses, Clanners, Cabals, that sort of thing? There’s bound to be specialisations, right?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Walken's voice rose an octave. “Spellcraft sanctioned under the Imperial Metric is a given. You can’t have random individuals throwing out long-lost mysticism with unknowable consequences. Other than that, regional competitors tend to represent geographic and historical microcosms. Asian-casters are obsessed with their secretive ‘Clan-Magic’; while European elites possess superior Spellcraft with ethnographic variations between England, Middle Europe, Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean. Across the Atlantic, Meso and South Americans utilise a unique class of Spirit-Magic. As for Africa - well, you'll see. The ones to watch out for tend to be North American Universities favouring Magitech. America's a young country, and when a nation builds itself via witch-burning and enslaving the previous inhabitants, it tends to favour Magic of its own making.”

“Magitech?" Gwen cooed. "The Yanks can use items?”

“Only items the contestants have constructed themselves, with a nominated teammate as an operator," Walken assuaged her dismay. "One year, they even had an NoM pilot. That had caused quite a hoot.”

“Fascinating!” Gwen tried to imagine the uproar of an NoM stepping out of a golem. “So, who’s favourited to win?”

"Who do you think?"

"Not us..." she moped.

“Very astute. I’ll start at the top. Oxford and Cambridge are finalist staples, as well as the Royal London Imperial College of Sorcery. LMU Munich is a strong contender, PSL Research and Sorbonne University in France came-close a dozen-times, won once. ETH Zurich, Utrecht U, Moscow State have all had a turn to shoot for the top. The Americans have also staked their place - Harvard, Stanford, Yale, Princeton, the illusive MIT, we should be so lucky that they cannibalise each other before being fielded onto the world stage.”

“Just how many do we have to face?” Gwen scowled. Just hearing those ground shaking names in her old world made her scalp crawl.

“Ha!” Walken amused himself at the sight of her chagrin. “Two teams per region: Africa, Asia, Europe, North America, Oceania, and Meso-South America. You have to remember; the IUCC is objective orientated. In total, the competition accounts for thirteen slots, twelve teams from six regions, plus a seeded slot: usually the previous year’s winner - in this case, Oxford. Assuming you clear the Asian Qualifier, there will be four additional locations. Europe is a given, likely the U.S as well, and two other locations. The fifth match will take place in China: it'll be your ‘home game’. Other than that, match-ups are the luck of the draw.”

“So, six matches?”

“Seven,” Walken corrected her speculation. “Two to qualify. Considering how soundly Fudan was thrashed, your biggest competitors are likely Japanese, meaning two matches abroad. After which, I’d expect five matches, four overseas, one defending your turf at home.”

“What determines the winner?”

“Match-points. In the 80s, finals involved group-duels. Those inevitably ended in bad-blood. The IIUC is a spectator sport: you have to remember. Having children kill each other makes for poor sponsorship, especially when favourites were ganged-up on and maimed. If you make it past Asia, maybe the CCP will finally broadcast the match, ha!”

"What if-"

‘Ding!’

Her Message bracelet chimed, displaying a previously unseen glyph.

‘Ding! Ding!’

“Sorry,” Gwen apologised, turning away. “Hello, who is this?”

“Greetings, may I ask if this Miss Gwen Song?” A female's voice enquired.

“Yes, this is she."

This woman better not offer me a better rate on my Message Device, Gwen grumbled internally. Or ramble on about a Nigerian Prince needing a crystal transfer.

“Oh, thank Mao! My name is Nurse Xie from Xiangming Municipal High School. It’s regarding your brother, Percy Song. He’s been injured in a duel and is currently on-route to the Second PLA Hospital. You were on his emergency contact list-”

“What?!” Gwen stood up so fast the chair shot out from under her like a Rock Shard. “HOW!”

The fucking hospital?! In a school with magical healing, her brother had to go to the fucking hospital?! Did babulya know? Did her grandfather? Somebody is going to get fucked something serious when Guo finds out!

“I’ve tried to contact Percy’s father, but the glyph is dead, do you know if…”

“Where is he now?” Gwen snapped. “Did you contact Secretary Song?”

“Secretary Song left us his department number so I’d thought I try you first," the nurse answered awkwardly. "The medical Mages left ten minutes ago, so-”

She slapped her forehead. Well, of course, a school nurse isn’t going to call the Chair of the bloody MSS to say that someone fucked up his grandson.

“Deep breath…” Walken appeared beside her. “Control your Essence.”

She inhaled and exhaled.

“Thank you; I'll go to the hospital now."

The Message glyph died.

“Can we reschedule?”

“Don’t lose your head.” The Magister studied her scarlet face, blushed from ear to ear. A vein throbbed just below her jaw, aristocratic and blue against her pale skin. “Think of this incident as training. People you love are going to get hurt, either by accident or by virtue of your talent and influence. That’s just how it is. What would happen if you lost your head each time?”

Gwen’s mouth moved to form a polite thank you, but her lips felt paralysed.

Abruptly, without a word, she was gone from the training hall, leaving Walken with a quarter of a sponge cake, still glistening with hundreds and thousands.


Xiangming Municipal High School had been famous since the yesteryears of Shanghai's founding as a Britannic Mageocracy Concession. Now, eighty years later, its towering multi-storey structure and generous, blue-lawn campus sat in the Goldilocks zone of Shanghai’s burgeoning centre, in the heart of the Jing-An District, flanked by some of the most expensive real estate in civilised Asia.

It was here that Percy Song, first-year senior and younger brother to the infamous Worm Handler, daydreamed from a nineteenth storey window, marvelling at the vista of Shanghai’s splendour and wealth.

In sharp contrast to the exterior, his homeroom's decor was clinical and austere, akin to a monastery, its atmosphere made insensate by polished concrete floors and pale chalk walls. The furniture, likewise, was ascetic and severe, industrial in its combination of steel and oak.

“Yo! Xiao-Song!” Percy tensed as a heavy, well-muscled arm clasped him by the shoulders. “What's on your mind, Brother?”

“Nothing in particular.” Percy pushed the far-too-friendly young man away. It wasn’t that he despised male intimacy, more so that in Australia, guy-friends were seldom so clingy. “Do you always have to be so close, Shun?”

“Ha!” Tang Shun, also a first-year senior, pulled up a chair, straddling the seat like a saddle.

“So, what’ll it be?” he implored his friend. “Are you going to take Captain Ma’s offer?”

“Of course.” Percy smirked, thinking of Kelvin Ma, a young man whose position he most certainly aspired to one day usurp. “Who would refuse an offer like that?”

“To think you were just a squirt six-months ago,” Shun tsked, tut-tutting with his lips. “How the hell did you get so good, so quickly?”

“I am training double shifts both here and at home,” Percy remarked defensively. “You know I train like a dog daily, and I spar every fortnight with Mages from grandfather's department. At this rate, I am going to become a hermit-Doushi.”

“Ah~, I wish I was a guan-er-dai,” Shun grumbled. “So much resource.”

“YOU ARE ONE!” Percy punched his friend in the chest, snorting with derision. “Your dad’s the Inspector-General of the Pu-Tou District!”

“Doesn’t count, he’s not a 'central' Official,” Shun snorted back.

“Pfft! What’re you missing that I don’t have? Crystals? Instructors?”

"You want to know?"

"Yes, Shun, I do."

“A SMOKING-HOT lamēi for a sister!” Shun’s lascivious grin grew from ear to ear. “Brother Song, I am telling you, I have never in my life seen a mēizi as pretty as Sister Gwen, want to watch that Lumen-cast again?”

“NO!!” Percy attempted to shut Shun down before the others could hear, glancing about nervously. "Nope. Nah. NAW. Shut up!"

"Come on! It's not like she's a secret anymore! Bring her to school! Don't be so selfish. You can't keep her to yourself."

“We’re not having this conversation!”

“Woa, what’s this about Percy’s sister?”
“Percy’s sister’s coming to school?”
“When?”
“I’ll pay admission, Brother Song!”

Burying his head in his arms, Percy groaned.

The boys in class had known since last year that Percy had a sister in Fudan, and Percy had made it no secret that she was indeed the infamous Worm Handler, famed around Gouding Road. It was a childish thing to do, he knew, one that gave his sister a world of trouble last year. At the same time, it also rewarded him eminence with the seniors, who refrained from bullying him or forcing him to take on chores, as was the culture in a school like Xiangming.

All in all, things had been chill until a few weeks ago, when one of the students returned with a lumen-cast of Gwen duelling a famous Mage from the Tei Clan, going toe to toe with the Abjurer while wearing nothing more protective than a liberal sundress.

"Wait, that's Percy's sister?"
"That's the Worm Handler?"
"Isn't that the Flower of Fudan next to her?"
"Percy's related to the BOTH of them?"

After the lumen-cast made public Gwen's beauty, his days of peace also came to an end. Upsettingly, even Instructor Chew, their popular Transmutation P.E. teacher, subtly enquired if his sister was single until Percy declared very loudly and carelessly that she was seventeen.

"S-SEVENTEEN?!"

Percy knew then that he had screwed the pooch.

The seniors exploded.
The third-years at Xiangming were only seventeen themselves!
How in Mao’s name was it that Percy's sister was seventeen and svelte, enrolled in Fudan, while they moped about, losing hairs over their National College Entrance Exam?

The crowd flew into a frenzy and refused to relent until he gave up every secret on his sister, starting with her Schools of Magic, her Elements, and her three-sizes.

In response, Percy turned deaf and dumb, tuning out all external stimuli until those that bothered him went away hungry. As a little brother, the worst thing in the world was hearing licentious compliments for one's sister. Ofttimes, the awkwardness was enough to make him want to slam his head against the school's concrete facade.

“Mao! You're always like this whenever your sister comes up.” Shun knew there was no talking to Percy while he was in his self-imposed catatonia. “Well don’t just sit there like a sha-bī, come on, Practicals are next.”

Practicals took place on the bottom oval.

As a young bloke, Percy struck a striking figure, positively dashing in all of his uniforms, be it summer or winter, sport or formal. Thanks to proper nutrition and ironically, the lack of training with his Salt talent from an early age, he was now just a few centimeters short of Gwen, sitting at a happy five-foot-eight as he arrived at the cusp of manhood.

Like his sister, he was long of limb, with a compact torso supporting a set of broad shoulders. His face took after Hai's, possessed of a well-chiselled jaw, a sharp chin, a straight nose, and dark eyes affecting a perpetual affability. The most evident difference between himself and Gwen was his honey-tanned complexion, owing to Surya’s Indonesian origins.

Though he'd only been in Xiangming for nine-odd months, Percy maintained a good reputation among both the seniors and juniors, far better managed than Gwen's ambivalent treatment by her old alumni at Blackwattle Bay.

Unlike most schools in China, the school's presiding Principal, Magister Nuì Renji, desired no quotas. Instead, he declared that Xiangming was a place of pure meritocracy, with an intake consisting of the top 0.2% of Shanghai's exam-takers.

The result was that with less than thirty per cent of the senior cohort consisting of girls, the majority of the male student body could only stare thirstily as their fairer counterparts entertained well-spoken days of courtship and bliss. As a direct result of this imbalance, the forever-alone students of Xiangming High took on a cursed moniker - the Thirsty Lonely Monks of Ruijin Road.

As for Percy, he was a certified lady-killer.

“Brother Percy!”
“Song gege~…”

Percy waved at the young women greeting him from across the training field. Due to unforeseen circumstances, he was closer to the fairer sex than his same-sex peers.

When he’d first arrived at the school, the local lads had been too snobbish to welcome a stranger into the midst of their well-established cliches - but not so the girls, who found great interest in the exotic Eurasian Salt Mage. When they later found out that he had a sister in Fudan, the university of their dreams, the girls' friendliness only grew.

“Brother, please open a path for us.” Shun saluted fist-to-palm in an archaic gesture for ‘please’, drawing giggles from the gaggle of girls.

“That's right, Percy! Don’t leave us behind!”

The fair-faced boy who intruded was one Percy preferred to punch in the face, but couldn’t find the gall to jeopardise his built-up position. He wasn't Gwen, after all - there are things she seemed to do without effort that would make his life impossible.

“Pei.” Percy kept his greeting short and austere.

“Senior Pei!” A few of the girls warily greeted the newcomer.
The Sword-Mage's skills were well known, though thanks to Percy's prowess at propaganda, the lasses now figured Pei a snake in the grass.

Against all expectation, Pei Li remained the most-likely heir of Huashan despite his catastrophic tussle with the House of Song. As for the boys' friendship, the incident had frayed what little goodwill the two had engendered when Percy began schools the previous year. In a way, it was no loss, as Percy's group of power-progeny friends held little regard for the Clanners. Like their parents, they saw Clanners as parasites sucking on the heart-blood of China’s great resurgence as a central power.

“Mei, Anling,” Percy greeted the girls, ranked by his heartfelt affection for each of them. “Leilei, Ming, Xiao-Jai. It's lovely to see you as always.”

The girls giggled; open compliments were rare. Ones delivered so naturally were rarer.

Of the five girls, it was Mei Yang who held the title of the ‘Flower of Xiangming’ and whose stature and fame towered over the others. She was a scion of the Yangs, a Clan of antiquity, possessing the rare gift of Lightning. As for her craft, she was a Transmuter combining Western Magic with her family's secret arts. To Percy's eyes, Mei was wonderful, for the girl combined a compact and agile dancer’s figure with a pleasing, girl-next-door appearance. A quality he preferred over the heart-stopping visage Gwen assumed; particularly when flushed with Draconic-Essence.

“Percy.” Mei slid closer. “So, are you taking Senior Ma’s offer?”

“Naturally,” Percy flashed a set of pearly teeth, glancing at Pei. “Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Senior Ma is an honour.”

Seeing that Percy was ignoring him, Pei left the group. Percy watched the boy go, knowing that Lulan and Kusu had taken up with his sister from their adventure together in Nantong. Furthermore, Percy had found out from one of the girls that Pei's faction were the ones behind the siblings' plight. If the rumour held weight, he would see Pei squirm sooner or later.

“Mei, you look p-pretty, as usual,” Shun spluttered. Percy knew his friend had a big crush on the girl, though Mei had told Percy that under no circumstances did she have any interest in the muscle-headed Earthen Evoker. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“I am…” Mei wanted to say she was occupied, but she didn’t want to miss out on Percy. “Percy, what are you doing on the weekend?”

“Training.” Percy wondered if Shun could take the hint. “It's sparring week.”

“Oh.” Mei twiddled her thumbs, glancing between Percy and Shun, blinking at him with her glimmering eyes.

“I am… free in the afternoon,” Percy relented, looking away guiltily from Shun. He couldn’t bring himself to disappoint a girl. Increasingly, Percy found pretty faces to be the bane of his existence. Already he had gotten into fights and duels a dozen times because some guy in school wanted to challenge him for Mei, or Anling, or some other girl with whom he was on the level - even though they were just friends.

When he boasted of his popularity to his sister, Gwen had this to say:

“Are you stupid or is your opponent slow? Mei belongs to herself, not to you or anyone. How the hell is duelling you going to get Mei to ‘go’ with them? The fact that you accepted the duel means you've gone down the Path of the Douche. Go and apologise to her on Monday, first thing, you bloody troglodyte.”

And so Percy did, relayed Gwen's message word-for-word to Mei.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Afterwards, the girl's eyes sparkled like anything.

Which was why for several weeks now, Mei had begged Percy for a date - to see his sister, arguably the coolest person Mei had ever seen in a Lumen-cast, a real-life Battle Mage, pretty as an idol, wise to boot, and most importantly, a Lightning Mage like herself!

Naturally, the students had taken the duo's newfound intimacy the wrong way. It was now common knowledge that Mei Yang, the unassailable goddess, had fallen. All in Xiangming suspected that the delicate flower had stuck itself onto a cowpat stamped with the name Percy Song.

“Woohoo! Wonderful!” Mei squealed, jumping for joy, taking Percy’s hands and swinging them back and forth.

Feeling the softness of her palms, Percy took a moment to enjoy his female company, fantasising just how awesome it would be if he had a younger sister instead of a quasi-draconian worrywart. “Thanks, Percy, I’ll buy you dinner after, okay?”

Meanwhile, Shun remained by the wayside, waiting for an answer that would never come. When finally Mei began to swing from Percy like a baby monkey, something shattered in his chest.

“YOU BASTARD! Hands off Mei!” A voice came from the wayside, more bark than human speech.

The speaker was the very devil Percy loathed to see.

“You refused my duel, and yet you dare approach Mei-mēimēi?!”

The crowd collectively cringed.

Alain Yang was Mei’s cousin, twice removed. A brash young man about six-foot tall with the face of an auroch and the constitution of one as well. The boisterous bloke was well known for his excessive passion, for he had inherited a bloodline variant of the Yang’s Fire talent, a fluke of nature that allowed his flames to burn hotter, stronger, and douchier, drawn from the 'heart' of the Plane of Fire. To Percy’s knowledge, Alain was the child of a side family, born in Hong Kong then brought over to Shanghai by the Clan. It was for this reason that Percy suspected his peer’s interest in Mei was two-fold. One, Mei was the catch of the school, and two, marrying Mei would legitimise his claim to the Clan of Yang.

“Mei, get away from him!” The boisterous Fire Mage commanded ‘his’ woman.

Mei rolled her eyes, but said nothing, leaving the bucks to joust.

Percy liked that about Mei. His sister acted shy in front of her elders, but she was as much of a hellion as that friend of hers, Yue, and her confidant, the Scarlet Sorceress Alesia De Botton. Despite having made up with Gwen, no amount of hugs and kisses was enough to gloss over the fact that she had coveted his Amulet.

But for now, the conflict was over Mei, a girl whose tolerance for the antics of people like Alain astounded him. If anything, Gwen had a lot to learn from her junior if she ever wanted a boyfriend.

“Hello, Alain.” Percy turned to face the young bloke with a forced grin. “What’s the matter?”

“The matter?! Stay away from Mei, you Gweilo bumpkin!”

“As you wish.” Percy stepped back -

“Good!” Alain grunted with approval. “If you know what’s good for you...”

\- then placed an arm around Mei's shoulders.

The girl took it without complaint, her liquid eyes fluttering mischievously.

“Sunday afternoon at Fudan, then dinner - your treat. Is that alright with you?”

It didn’t escape Mei that Percy had left out some very important details.

“Anything you say, Percy.” Mei bit her lower lip to prevent herself from giving the game away, incidentally multiplying her cuteness. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll show me.”

“I'll show you the largest worm you've ever seen. You can touch it, even.”

“Pfft! Hahaha…” Mei was in tears. She knew Percy was referring to his sister’s Familiar, infamous across the metropolitan schools. That was another thing she liked about Percy: he was a funny guy with a sense of humour, entirely unlike the other power-progeny she knew.

“Fire Bolt!” Alain had just about enough of his fiancèe's public flirting with another man.

“Shield!” Percy’s barrier had half a second to spare.

“INSTRUCTOR CHEW!” Percy cried out in mock panic, his voice projecting across the field with ease. “Alain’s gone crazy again!”

“Alain YANG! I SAW THAT!” A roaring voice poured over the bottom oval. “STAFF ROOM, NOW!”

“I am going to kill you!” Alain screeched at Percy even as two prefects dragged him away. "Just you wait!"

“Sure thing.” Percy wiggled his brows. “I’ll see you at the Duelling Club, reserve member number nine Alain Yang.”

Their audience, a collection of first-year seniors like themselves, burst into merriment. That Percy had previously bested Alain to gain Captain Ma’s favour was well known across the school. It was the reason why snitching to Instructor Chew was a gesture of hilarity, not cowardice.

Percy joined in with the laughter.

Though he had arrived as an ‘import’ student from overseas, aided by family connections, the Salt Mage's growth had turned heads all over campus. In June of last year, the Acolyte was only beginning to grasp his elemental talent, but when he returned to school in the new year, it was as though an Ancestral Spirit possessed him. Not only were his existing spells faster and stronger; he picked up Abjuration and even bits of Transmutation with the ease of a seasoned senior.

Teacher Lu had even joked to the faculty that the boy might have gone through a second Awakening. After a brief investigation, it was revealed that the boy’s sister was the genius girl Fudan had picked up mid-May last year - the Lightning-Void dual-elementalist. When another one of the Instructors pulled a few strings, the faculty was astounded by the fact that the girl had confirmed proficiency in FIVE schools of Magic.

"What are they feeding her?" The head of Spellcraft demanded. "Spirit pills?"

In the old days, elite Daoshi cultivators wielded Transmutation, Evocation and Conjuration concurrently; some had gone a step further and dabbled in Divination and Enchantment. It was only in this age of the Imperial Metric System that multi-school achievements became impracticable.

Conversely, however, none of the Instructors faulted the Westernisation of magic: in the days of yore, a Clan would burn offerings to the ancestor when they were fortuitous enough to produce a dozen combat ascetics. Now, over twenty-thousand Mages graduated from Shanghai’s two-hundred or so secondary institutions per year.

If so, with a sister capable of tapping into five Schools of Magic, why should one be astounded that the brother showed promise in three?

“Okay, now that the eyesore is gone,” Percy grinned at the girls. “Who wants to spar?”

“Please be gentle,” Mei cooed, evidently still in a playful mood.

Beside her, Shun drooled like a fool.

“Look, er... I’ll warm up with Shun first,” Percy decided to do the bro-thing and save his friend from playing the red-arsed monkey. “Come on Shun, show the girls what you got!”

At 3.15 PM, after the academic schedule, students shuffled off to mandatory club activity.

The most popular extra curriculum was the Duelling Club, a place not infrequently visited by headhunters from the top universities. Not long ago, Kelvin Ma, the Captain of Xiangming’s District Competition Team, had received scholarship invitations from Fudan, Tsinghua and Jiantong.

It was highly unusual, therefore, for Percy, who aimed for a scholarship himself, to be absent; enough at least to attract a comment from the captain.

“I’ll go look for him if you like,” the vice-captain, an affable-looking young man with a military-crop, steaming with sweat, offered to resolve his captain’s query.

“More importantly, where’s Mei?” Kelvin Ma scanned the crowd. The girl was a close family friend, and he had promised his uncle to look after the girl.

“Maybe they’re together?”

“He better not be doing what I think he’s doing.” Kelvin scratched his stubble. He trusted Percy, to a degree, but Percy’s father had a reputation. With Mei hanging close to Percy ever since the boy joined Xiangming DC, he got the jitters whenever the two snuck off on breaks. “You know what, Don, go find em.”

Don Li saluted.

“I’ll bring em back safe and sound, or in pieces, if Percy turns out to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Kelvin frowned unpleasantly.

"Hahaha, are you jealous, Brother?" His friend burst into merriment. "You could have any of the girls you want, you know."

“Just… bring them back.” The captain pinched his brows. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want a girlfriend, it was more so that he didn’t dare. His family’s secret arts made no sense in the parlance of Western Spellcraft: what the hell does being a virgin have to do the rigidity of his Mao-damned crystals?

“Ah-Bān, get em!” Alain urged his bodyguard. “A hundred HDMs if you pin him!”

“Alain! Don’t you dare! Ah-Bān, back off!” Mei snapped at her cousin and his henchmen.

“Ha! Hiding behind a woman!”

“Says the man hiding behind a brick-shithouse! Come at me yourself, you little bitch!” Percy spat. “Salt Shard!”

Ah-Bān parried the shard with an infused forearm.

“You dare attack the future heir of house Yang?!”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, what is wrong with you people?” Percy growled, rolling his eyes. “Gwen's right, maybe you are slow. You ambushed us! The hell are you expecting? Should I roll the fuck over?”

“Destroy him, Percy!” Mei’s face grew flushed with excitement. It was always thrilling to have men fight over oneself, more so when it was her self-proclaimed dog-faced fiancé taking a beating. “I’ll take full responsibility. Let’s see Uncle Yang try to squirm out of this one!”

“Master Yang is too precious to have to deal with the likes of you!” Ah-Bān's voice was loud enough to bounce off the walls.

“F- You know what? Suffer in ya jocks,” Percy couldn’t help but revert to a more comfortable slang. “Mei, you sure about this? We’re in public. We only have provisional licences.”

“Mom will take care of it, or one of my aunties will. Don’t you worry!” Mei assured her companion. “This is self-defence! I’ll be our witness. Who would take Alain’s words over mine?”

“Alain, you hearing this?” Percy held onto an half-incanted Shield. “You want to cut your losses, or you happy to play silly buggers? You are fucked either way, buddy, you're a slab of raw fish, mate!”

"Ahahaha, oh Mao," Mei rocked back and forth, shaking with mirth. "It's carp on the chopping board!"

“Caonima! Ah-Bān! I want this sha-bī to die!” The novice Fire Mage exploded.

“Mei, get back!”

Mei Yang skipped back a few steps, safe in the knowledge that whoever got hurt today, it wasn’t going to be her. The other reason she wasn’t worried was that Alain was stupid enough to accost them while she and Percy were getting bubble-tea. With a face full of peevish anger, her cousin had informed them that he needed to speak to Percy in private. When Mei said she would come along as well, Alain told her to go home, which resulted in her locking arms with Percy. Two blocks later, the dead-end alleyway they had arrived at was typical of the old hutongs around Shanghai - a small lot surrounded on three sides with residential apartments. With any luck, a city-guard or a police officer would be along shortly.

"Rock Armour!"

"Too slow, asshole!"

In front of Mei, Percy performed one of the most daring manoeuvres she had ever seen anyone execute. Using a combination of Spider-Climb and Enhance Dexterity, Percy flanked his opponent by stepping against a wall then launching himself into the air with 'Jump' so that his path of attack became diagonal and top-down, an angle difficult for anyone but Abjurers to defend with their Shield.

“Salt Shard!”

“Hammer Throw!”

Ah-Bān, Alain’s bodyguard, was a house servant with two decades of service to the Yang’s side branch. From what Mei knew, he wasn’t the brightest Lumen-orb in the Storage Ring. A Transmuter, the man was a good bodyguard for an abusive, impulsive little-emperor like Alain, but made for a terrible source of temperance if Alain’s parents had intended their son to stay out of trouble. To Mei's knowledge, the school forbade students bringing servants and bodyguards, so Alain would be doubly screwed when the matter went up for review. Furthermore, as they were still in schooling hours, the school was accountable for the students' safety, meaning a suspension was all but assured. If Mei herself had to do something as absurdly stupid as ambushing a fellow student, she would have waited until after club, on the way home, after luring them indoors.

'Crack!'

Ah-Bān’s slab of whirling stone grazed Percy’s shoulder, snapped away a chunk of pink-salt.

Meanwhile, Percy’s crystalline shard pierced Ah-Bān’s rock-armour, drawing first blood.

Mei felt a wave of impressionable worship firing off her teenage hormones. In the space it took for them to walk from the bubble-tea shop to the alleyway, Percy had secretly buffed himself! To her knowledge, only someone like Kelvin could have had the subtlety and skill to apply something like this, and Percy was almost two years his junior!

“Tough bastard!” Percy formed a Shield just beneath his feet, then used the layer of salt to launch himself away with another Jump. “Salt Smite!”

A blast of powder struck Ah-Bān, covering his defensive armour with blue-grey grains of desiccating residue.

“Don’t let him drain you!” Alain shouted from the side. “Fire Bolt!”

Percy Shielded himself.

“Hey!” Mei screeched from the sideline. “Don’t you dare, Alain Yang! That's unfair! I’ll fry you like a fish!”

Alain’s bolt clattered against Percy's Salt Shield harmlessly.

“Going soft?!” Percy laughed at the pathetic sight. “Good luck on your wedding night!”

“PERCY SONG!" Alain looked as though he was drunk. "Ah-Bān!”

“Come on, big guy,” Percy taunted the Earthen Mage. “First to Shield Break?”

“I'll die before you dishonour Master Yang!” Ah-Bān roared. “Hammer Throw!”

“This isn’t the fucking feudal era!” Percy dodged another blow, flinching as the concrete wall behind him cracked. “You serious, big-guy? You’re trying to kill me?”

Ah-Bān glanced at his Master.

“Get him!” Alain insisted.

“Mei, call the school! They're going too far.”

“Okay!” Mei raised a bracelet to her lips. "You are going to be in a world of trouble, Alain!"

“No, don't!” Alain reached for his cousin. “Magic Missile!”

“Shield!” Mei erected a Lightning Shield, but defensive magic wasn’t her forte. With a sizzling ‘ting!’, a missile found its mark, striking her wrist and snapping the bangle.

Mei stared at Alain in disbelief, clutching her wrist, her eyes watering.

“Cao…” Alain’s sunflower puckered. “S-sorry, I didn't…”

“Body of Lightning!” Mei rushed her cousin with a technique akin to Blink conjoined with Bull Rush.

“Mei, No!” Percy called out. If Mei succeeded in maiming Alain, they would all be in a world of shit. He needed her to be a helpless witness, not an accomplice!

“Master!” Ah-Bān likewise accelerated toward Alain.

“ARRRRRGH!” Alain wanted to flee, but three Transmuters were converging toward him, the intensity of which was preventing him from using his secondary Schools of Magic.

“Shield!”

Using his Salt-Shield as a springboard, Percy was the first to arrive. He was confident that Mei would stop as soon as she struck his Shield, and that his barrier was strong enough to hinder the Earthen Mage, at least enough for him to dodge -

Mei struck Percy square in the chest.

“Percy?!” Mei did her best to abort, but her Body of Lightning wasn’t the sort of half-assed technique that allowed for things like mercy. Despite her best efforts, the discharge from her invocation poured into Percy, paralysing her companion.

As for Percy, his mind was momentarily white-hot. Every nerve in his body convulsed as the electricity ate away his Salt-Skin.

What happened to his Shield? Percy baulked. What happened to his buffs? For several months now, he had activated his Abjuration with a thought, as effortless as breathing. Even Kelvin Ma, the Abjuration prodigy, had marvelled at the speed and accuracy of his manifestation, praising it as but a step behind chantless invocation. For Percy, the faultless nature of his secondary Schools was his trump card, his ‘signature move’, it was the means of his selection into the team as a first-year senior.

‘Wham!’

Next, Ah-Bān's body-slam connected, the man’s surprise equalled only by the force of his collision with Percy.

Like a carcass of cured pork, the Salt Mage rag-dolled through the air, limbs akimbo.

Mid-way, Percy struggled to find something with enough purchase to halt his trajectory. When he flew over Alain Yang, he willed his paralysed limbs to move, reaching out toward the young man so that he could at least anchor himself to something.

Seeing Percy flying overhead, Alain ducked.

FUCKING TYPICAL! Percy recalled himself thinking as he caught a fistful of Alain’s hair.

“ARRRRRGGGGGNNNN!” Alain screamed.

Percy's trajectory continued, now with twenty per cent more hair.

In the next moment, past a few stickybeaked faces at the entrance to the dead end alleyway, he landed in the middle of Ruijing 2nd Road, the main thoroughfare of Shanghai’s golden commercial district.

‘Screech!’

‘BEEEEEEP!’

‘THUNK!’

The last thing Percy recalled seeing was a two-ton cargo truck - that and the fact that for the first time in three months, he couldn’t erect a Shield.