The old man let out the ghost of a snicker and then quickly dissipated from sight, his image fading like a mirage in close proximity to an observer.
Maels’s face contorted the moment that the energy projection disappeared, annoyed that Vestach had attempted to spy on him right before their conversation. Thankfully he hadn’t activated the mechanism at the back of the bookcase that hugged the room’s left wall, else he would have surely lost his greatest asset.
After remaining still for a moment, he decided to activate an advanced detection spell to make sure that he was truly unseen by prying eyes. After confirming that he was the only one even remotely near his rooms, he strode across the study to face the centuries-old bookcase, which stretched from floor to ceiling and wall to wall.
He’d run into his guards in the dining hall and had given them a much-appreciated evening off, both of their auras still idling around the same table that they had been at earlier on. Since they were likely deep into their cups by this point, he could rest assured that nobody would bother him for the rest of the night.
Before anything else, Maels cast several types of barriers around the room in order to assure that nobody could enter it while he was immersed in study. Not only would the door not budge if someone tried to open it, but he would detect any attempt to do so the moment that it occurred. He had also concealed these spells so that nobody within the palace would be able to detect the fact that there was high-level magic at play within his private quarters.
Finally…
Suppressing a shiver, Maels stared at the vast collection of rare works from ages past, the contents of a single shelf worth their weight in gold. After anticipating this moment to the point of agitation, he finally had the opportunity to feast his eyes on the priceless, life-changing knowledge that he had recently happened upon.
After double-checking to make sure that he had complete privacy, Maels imitated the magical discharge that had taken place after he’d botched the alteration of a compound spell involving the element of fire and the properties of light. The expulsion of raw energy resulted in a gust of hot air that appeared wavy in how it refracted the light of the ceiling-embedded crystals, the artificial wind wafting over a certain area of the bookshelf behind which even a sixth-tier magus like Maels couldn’t sense a thing. The hot air dissipated within a matter of moments and the surrounding temperature quickly returned to its former cool, which left him standing there with an unbound grin that was full of expectation.
As had been the case the previous times that he had replicated this process, there was no grand reaction or eruption of light as some enchantments tended to release upon contact or activation. Very quietly, a sizeable section of wood on the bookshelf’s backing suddenly began to shimmer like the disturbed surface of a calm lake, before the old, polished wood retreated in all directions to reveal a modest compartment that had been carved into the stone behind this particular shelving unit. Maels had already confirmed that this compartment would only remain open for a single minute before returning to its original, ordinary state, so he quickly set about removing the books that rested within.
A moment later and he was staring down at the pair of books in his hands with bubbling anticipation. Even if I miss out on some sleep, I’ll have to be sure to read as much as possible. As the wooden backing of the shelf returned to its previous appearance, Maels found a spot at his desk and inspected both of the books in question. The larger was an ancient grimoire that was bound in odd, scaly leather the colour of charcoal, the second a journal stuffed to the brim with external pieces of parchment. If the original owner of the nameless grimoire was whom he suspected, then it was likely around a thousand years old. The second one, encased in the familiar rich browns of Karolenian leather, seemed about half that age.
Thinking of Vestach’s new assignment and the backwater count that he now had to keep an eye on, Maels decided to ignore the task for the time being. Running his fingers over the well-preserved works with a trembling hand, he retracted his arm and drew an oval over his chest in order to express his deep and unending gratitude to Lucian for granting him such good luck, as well as such an imperative mission.
To think that I’ve actually obtained that monster’s grimoire. Although the magics within were forbidden—and for good reason, for they were highly sinister in nature—history had proven them to be the most powerful spells in existence, by far. The one who had invented and catalogued the spells within was the subject of an age-old tale that now held the same mysterious air as the myths that had birthed many famous proverbs in centuries past.
Neiro the Necromancer, a terror to all. This was a man that had almost single-handedly destroyed all life on Mais when its population had far exceeded that of the present day. According to the legends, Neiro had supposedly been a youth with unheard of talent for the evil arts that had once been very common throughout the continent. Lucianism hadn’t existed at the time, but nonetheless the boy had been persecuted and hunted down for nearly all of his life due to the dark and disgusting nature of his abilities, at least according to the stories that had been passed down since that era. Nothing about his personal life was known, but supposedly the constant torment and disdain that Neiro had attracted due to his remarkable yet damning gifts had resulted in a great resentment that he’d harboured toward the rest of the world until his final days. There was a great deal more to the tale, though in the end Neiro had been defeated in a decisive confrontation against the combined forces of both man and demon, both of whom had suffered greatly at his hands.
Had he lived here in his younger days?
Maels couldn’t help but wonder if Neiro had once been a noble of the pre-Lucian Providence Region, which at the time had comprised of a number of powerful kingdoms. There also existed the possibility that a former resident of the White Palace had somehow obtained the grimoire and hidden it here in this study long after its previous master had faded away into history. That, or the one that had left the journal behind had also discovered the secret compartment behind the bookshelf and had simply left the ancient grimoire in its original hiding place. Of one thing he was certain, that the author of the journal had been an incredibly talented and intelligent individual, for Maels had read about thirty pages of the secondary work thus far and had been immensely impressed with the magus’s commentary on Neiro’s grimoire. Whoever the mysterious person had been, they had even gone so far as to offer potential enhancements to certain spells that were later labelled with further notes on the apparent successes or failures of experimenting with such theories.
Even more so than Neiro’s life’s work, Maels was curious after the identity of the one who’d written the journal, which was dated on its first page at 2 N.E. This was just two years after the conclusion of the Inverted Wars and the transition from the Old Era to the New Era, meaning that whoever had left these notes had likely been the first resident of the White Palace following the establishment of the Holy Lucian Empire.
That’s strange…if I recall correctly, this palace had been abandoned during the war after this region was attacked by the demons. Nobody should have lived here until 8 N.E. and that would have been a eunuch in service to Saint Limnin.
While Maels wasn’t a fan of history, he’d made it a point to memorize as much of what was known as possible. Even so, he couldn’t think of anyone that might have lived at the White Palace in the six years leading up to its inhabitation following the date that was recorded on the first page of the journal.
No matter, he thought. The contents are what’s important, not the creator. At the end of the day, the same went for Neiro’s grimoire.
“Let’s see,” he thought aloud, opening the older book to the first page and then doing the same with the journal. “I’ll read five pages of you, then five of you—”he pulled a recently-made, untouched notebook from a drawer of the desk—“and then I’ll write five of my own in you.”
The first page of the grimoire detailed the nature of dark energies and the evil magics that they fueled. Such spells required the most intense feelings of negativity in order to operate, not to mention that they left long-lasting traces of their use in the places where such spells were cast. These traces could only be erased by certain spells of light magic, which thankfully Maels was very proficient in.
If I can learn these spells, then I can use them in Lucian’s name to carry out my Lord’s will.
As he had already been given God’s blessing by the act of stumbling upon the compartment behind the bookshelf, he knew in his heart that the fact that he had been given this chance was not a simple coincidence, not when he was likely one of the only members of the Collegia of Clergymen that harboured a growing disgust and disillusionment toward the church and an unshakable will to remedy the disease which had sickened the once-glorious faith.
Staring down at the two books with more emotion on his face than he had ever shown to another person, Maels hardened his resolve for the difficult, tragedy-ridden road that lay ahead of him, for he had been chosen by Lucian to cure this world of its sicknesses even if he had to become a sickness himself in order to accomplish this heavenly goal.
The old man let out the ghost of a snicker and then quickly dissipated from sight, his image fading like a mirage in close proximity to an observer.
Maels’s face contorted the moment that the energy projection disappeared, annoyed that Vestach had attempted to spy on him right before their conversation. Thankfully he hadn’t activated the mechanism at the back of the bookcase that hugged the room’s left wall, else he would have surely lost his greatest asset.
After remaining still for a moment, he decided to activate an advanced detection spell to make sure that he was truly unseen by prying eyes. After confirming that he was the only one even remotely near his rooms, he strode across the study to face the centuries-old bookcase, which stretched from floor to ceiling and wall to wall.
He’d run into his guards in the dining hall and had given them a much-appreciated evening off, both of their auras still idling around the same table that they had been at earlier on. Since they were likely deep into their cups by this point, he could rest assured that nobody would bother him for the rest of the night.
Before anything else, Maels cast several types of barriers around the room in order to assure that nobody could enter it while he was immersed in study. Not only would the door not budge if someone tried to open it, but he would detect any attempt to do so the moment that it occurred. He had also concealed these spells so that nobody within the palace would be able to detect the fact that there was high-level magic at play within his private quarters.
Finally…
Suppressing a shiver, Maels stared at the vast collection of rare works from ages past, the contents of a single shelf worth their weight in gold. After anticipating this moment to the point of agitation, he finally had the opportunity to feast his eyes on the priceless, life-changing knowledge that he had recently happened upon.
After double-checking to make sure that he had complete privacy, Maels imitated the magical discharge that had taken place after he’d botched the alteration of a compound spell involving the element of fire and the properties of light. The expulsion of raw energy resulted in a gust of hot air that appeared wavy in how it refracted the light of the ceiling-embedded crystals, the artificial wind wafting over a certain area of the bookshelf behind which even a sixth-tier magus like Maels couldn’t sense a thing. The hot air dissipated within a matter of moments and the surrounding temperature quickly returned to its former cool, which left him standing there with an unbound grin that was full of expectation.
As had been the case the previous times that he had replicated this process, there was no grand reaction or eruption of light as some enchantments tended to release upon contact or activation. Very quietly, a sizeable section of wood on the bookshelf’s backing suddenly began to shimmer like the disturbed surface of a calm lake, before the old, polished wood retreated in all directions to reveal a modest compartment that had been carved into the stone behind this particular shelving unit. Maels had already confirmed that this compartment would only remain open for a single minute before returning to its original, ordinary state, so he quickly set about removing the books that rested within.
A moment later and he was staring down at the pair of books in his hands with bubbling anticipation. Even if I miss out on some sleep, I’ll have to be sure to read as much as possible. As the wooden backing of the shelf returned to its previous appearance, Maels found a spot at his desk and inspected both of the books in question. The larger was an ancient grimoire that was bound in odd, scaly leather the colour of charcoal, the second a journal stuffed to the brim with external pieces of parchment. If the original owner of the nameless grimoire was whom he suspected, then it was likely around a thousand years old. The second one, encased in the familiar rich browns of Karolenian leather, seemed about half that age.
Thinking of Vestach’s new assignment and the backwater count that he now had to keep an eye on, Maels decided to ignore the task for the time being. Running his fingers over the well-preserved works with a trembling hand, he retracted his arm and drew an oval over his chest in order to express his deep and unending gratitude to Lucian for granting him such good luck, as well as such an imperative mission.
To think that I’ve actually obtained that monster’s grimoire. Although the magics within were forbidden—and for good reason, for they were highly sinister in nature—history had proven them to be the most powerful spells in existence, by far. The one who had invented and catalogued the spells within was the subject of an age-old tale that now held the same mysterious air as the myths that had birthed many famous proverbs in centuries past.
Neiro the Necromancer, a terror to all. This was a man that had almost single-handedly destroyed all life on Mais when its population had far exceeded that of the present day. According to the legends, Neiro had supposedly been a youth with unheard of talent for the evil arts that had once been very common throughout the continent. Lucianism hadn’t existed at the time, but nonetheless the boy had been persecuted and hunted down for nearly all of his life due to the dark and disgusting nature of his abilities, at least according to the stories that had been passed down since that era. Nothing about his personal life was known, but supposedly the constant torment and disdain that Neiro had attracted due to his remarkable yet damning gifts had resulted in a great resentment that he’d harboured toward the rest of the world until his final days. There was a great deal more to the tale, though in the end Neiro had been defeated in a decisive confrontation against the combined forces of both man and demon, both of whom had suffered greatly at his hands.
Had he lived here in his younger days?
Maels couldn’t help but wonder if Neiro had once been a noble of the pre-Lucian Providence Region, which at the time had comprised of a number of powerful kingdoms. There also existed the possibility that a former resident of the White Palace had somehow obtained the grimoire and hidden it here in this study long after its previous master had faded away into history. That, or the one that had left the journal behind had also discovered the secret compartment behind the bookshelf and had simply left the ancient grimoire in its original hiding place. Of one thing he was certain, that the author of the journal had been an incredibly talented and intelligent individual, for Maels had read about thirty pages of the secondary work thus far and had been immensely impressed with the magus’s commentary on Neiro’s grimoire. Whoever the mysterious person had been, they had even gone so far as to offer potential enhancements to certain spells that were later labelled with further notes on the apparent successes or failures of experimenting with such theories.
Even more so than Neiro’s life’s work, Maels was curious after the identity of the one who’d written the journal, which was dated on its first page at 2 N.E. This was just two years after the conclusion of the Inverted Wars and the transition from the Old Era to the New Era, meaning that whoever had left these notes had likely been the first resident of the White Palace following the establishment of the Holy Lucian Empire.
That’s strange…if I recall correctly, this palace had been abandoned during the war after this region was attacked by the demons. Nobody should have lived here until 8 N.E. and that would have been a eunuch in service to Saint Limnin.
While Maels wasn’t a fan of history, he’d made it a point to memorize as much of what was known as possible. Even so, he couldn’t think of anyone that might have lived at the White Palace in the six years leading up to its inhabitation following the date that was recorded on the first page of the journal.
No matter, he thought. The contents are what’s important, not the creator. At the end of the day, the same went for Neiro’s grimoire.
“Let’s see,” he thought aloud, opening the older book to the first page and then doing the same with the journal. “I’ll read five pages of you, then five of you—”he pulled a recently-made, untouched notebook from a drawer of the desk—“and then I’ll write five of my own in you.”
The first page of the grimoire detailed the nature of dark energies and the evil magics that they fueled. Such spells required the most intense feelings of negativity in order to operate, not to mention that they left long-lasting traces of their use in the places where such spells were cast. These traces could only be erased by certain spells of light magic, which thankfully Maels was very proficient in.
If I can learn these spells, then I can use them in Lucian’s name to carry out my Lord’s will.
As he had already been given God’s blessing by the act of stumbling upon the compartment behind the bookshelf, he knew in his heart that the fact that he had been given this chance was not a simple coincidence, not when he was likely one of the only members of the Collegia of Clergymen that harboured a growing disgust and disillusionment toward the church and an unshakable will to remedy the disease which had sickened the once-glorious faith.
Staring down at the two books with more emotion on his face than he had ever shown to another person, Maels hardened his resolve for the difficult, tragedy-ridden road that lay ahead of him, for he had been chosen by Lucian to cure this world of its sicknesses even if he had to become a sickness himself in order to accomplish this heavenly goal.
