Grand Mage

“You must be Lucian Grey.”

The voice was tired, pulling Lucian from his thoughts. He lowered the newspaper. An old man stood before him, dressed in a traditional grey Mage robe. His head was a crown of silver, as was his beard. In fact, he looked much like Lucian had before his own breakthrough—all but for the tremendous mana pressure radiating from him.

So all old mages have a dislike for rules, Lucian mused, having noticed the Grand Mage the moment he appeared in the lounge.

Lucian stood and replied with a gentle smile, “Yes. You must be the examiner.”

“Let’s hope you’re a genuine Grand Mage,” the old man sighed, already turning away. “Follow me.”

Lucian didn’t dwell on the man’s attitude, following him at a distance.

A brief walk led them to an indoor arena. They stood at the top of the stands, looking down into a vast pit that looked as if it had been carved straight from the earth.

“There was no need for this charade in the old days,” the examiner grumbled. “Whenever a new Grand Mage was born, the mana pressure alone was enough to let the whole city know.”

It was clear the old Mage was displeased with the Guild’s new procedures. He gestured toward the arena floor.

“Go down there. Cast any Grand Spell you know.”

“Very well.” Lucian walked to the edge of the stands. With a light push of his toes, he stepped off the edge. He fell not with speed, but with a deliberate, controlled grace, his descent slowing until his feet touched the ground without raising a speck of dust.

He took a moment to survey his surroundings. The arena was modeled after a war zone, littered with weapon fragments, large boulders, deep trenches, and training dummies. For a moment, the sight threatened to stir memories from his first, brutal years in this world. But he pushed them down, his expression settling into a familiar, indifferent smile.

“A Grand Spell,” he murmured to himself. Grand Spells differed from Formal spells in one key aspect: control. While Formal spells could have an area of effect, a Grand Spell was defined by its precisely controlled nature.

Lucian stood tall, hands in his pockets.

He shifted his right foot slightly and uttered in a soft voice, “[Infernal Dominion: Ember Crown].”

The words had barely left his mouth when a glowing, infernal ring with a fifty-meter radius blazed into existence around him, the geometric runes within it shimmering a pure, incandescent white.

Within five seconds, flames erupted from the ground, turning the circle into a land of fire. But the flames seemed to possess a will of their own, leaving the surrounding arena largely untouched. Only the training dummies, placed haphazardly within the circle, spontaneously burst into fire, turning to ash in an instant.

Up on the stands, the old examiner had been watching with a look of disinterest. “Today’s Grand Mages command no respect,” he muttered.

Then he heard Lucian’s voice from below.

[Infernal Dominion: Ember Crown].

Hoh. He’s attempting an Infernal Dominion spell. One of the most difficult series of Grand Spells.

Then he saw the land turn into a fiery hell. The examiner’s eyes widened. How long did that take? Ten seconds? No, it was closer to five… This mage…

As the last dummy disintegrated, Lucian canceled the spell. With another light jump, he floated back up to the stands, landing softly beside the old Mage.

The examiner turned his head slowly. “Sigh. Here’s your new Grand Mage license.” He pulled two cards from his robes. “The Mages Guild will confiscate your old Formal Mage License.”

Then, something caught his eye. “This card design… you’re over a century old?” The surprise in his voice was noticeable.

Lucian ignored the comment, simply taking the new card. “Thank you.”

He made his way back to the service counter, where he presented his new license and requested access to the Formal Mage library. The bright-eyed receptionist, recognizing the new license, was all too eager to help. “Right this way, sir.”

After paying another fee in Mana Crystals for five hours of unfettered access, Lucian climbed the spiral staircase to the first level of the library.

The first and second levels of the tower contained books of the Formal Mage and Grand Mage level.

Of course, the Grand Mage and Arch Mage levels are not publicly available. You have to join the Mages Guild and make sufficient contributions to access that knowledge.

In fact, for the larger part of history, mages have kept their knowledge to themselves. Noble families, guilds, secret organizations—everybody wanted to keep an edge over others by hoarding knowledge and spells. It was only imparted down from masters to their disciples.

It all changed with the last continental war. After the war, world leaders signed several pacts and decided to establish academies to find talented young mage candidates and train more magical prodigies—more heroes like Magnus.

The first academy was established here in Highspire, where these pacts were signed. Hence, it was called Magnus Academy.

After that, several other national-level academies were established in the kingdoms. But Magnus Academy has remained the world’s best.

These academies were allowed to teach and spread Formal-level spells freely among the students.

This caused a ripple effect. Now, Formal-level spells had become a commodity that could be bought and sold in the market freely.

The first floor was a hive of activity, busy with young mages moving between shelves, whispering to one another with animated expressions. Grey-cloaked Guild members maintained order. One of them approached Lucian.

“I wish to review some books on the basics,” Lucian explained.

The Guild Mage pointed him toward a large, crowded section.

Lucian glanced at the sea of students, then back at the attendant. He discreetly passed a few Mana Crystals into the man’s hand. “Could you bring the books to that reading corner?” he asked, indicating a secluded alcove.

The attendant’s professionalism brightened into genuine enthusiasm. “Of course, sir. Anything you need.”

It was clear that any mage who could spend Mana Crystals so extravagantly was someone of high standing.

“Thank you. I want books on these subjects.” Lucian provided a list, then went to the corner and sat down.

Minutes later, the attendant returned, a large stack of books floating behind him using a Telekinesis Spell. He placed them on the table with a respectful bow. “Just let me know if you need anything else, sir.”

“I will keep you in mind,” Lucian said, dismissing him.

Lucian had never studied magic formally. His journey began with a single lecture from Magnus to a group of war orphans—a desperate attempt to give them a means to protect themselves. He had survived on scraps of game knowledge, building a practical, battle-hardened trove of magic over decades of wandering.

But in the century since, that practical, chaotic knowledge had been systematized. Raw experience had been distilled into formulas and equations. To pass the Academy’s written exam, he couldn’t just know magic; he had to speak its new, academic language.

He glanced at the towering stack of books—thirty volumes on the fundamentals of modern magic theory. He picked one from the top, its crisp pages a stark contrast to the blood-and-dirt grimoire of his memory.

He had one day.