Soul, Split and Bound

Lucian picked up the first book from the stack and quickly flipped through the pages to the end.

Then he sat back in a relaxed posture, lost in quiet contemplation.

Ten minutes later, he opened his eyes again and reached for the next book.

In those short ten minutes, Lucian had analyzed the contents of the book from every possible angle and memorized it entirely.

This was far beyond the capabilities of ordinary people. It was only possible thanks to his enhanced spell—[Parallel Thoughts].

[Parallel Thoughts] was an ancient spell that allowed mages to divide a portion of their soul, enabling it to think independently yet in perfect coordination with the main consciousness.

Lucian had taken this spell to its extreme by combining it with his original spell—[Atomic Soul].

He continued his study, moving from volume to volume, and by the end of three hours, he had completed fifteen thick tomes.

“The [Atomic Soul] spell was truly the best choice I ever made.”

It had taken him a hundred years of study and relentless experimentation to create that spell.

[Atomic Soul] was based on a much simpler and older spell known as [Soul Binding]. In ancient times, mages devised this spell to keep their valuables close—both in distance and spirit.

To cast [Soul Binding], a mage would tear off a tiny piece of their own soul and bind it to an object. Once linked, the object became an extension of the mage’s soul. They could sense its location at all times and even control it mentally, much like moving a limb.

But its most powerful feature was this: once the object was imbued with a soul fragment, it gained access to the Spirit World—a realm only accessible to soul-bound entities.

Ordinary creatures could enter the Spirit World as well, but only their souls would travel. Their physical bodies would be left behind, becoming empty husks. In contrast, inanimate objects bound with soul fragments didn’t face this limitation.

However, the spell had a devastating downside. If the bound object was destroyed, the linked piece of soul would also be lost. And souls do not regenerate.

So why would Lucian base his greatest invention on such a fragile spell?

Because he had discovered something miraculous—and a way to circumvent the fatal flaw.

Lucian had been born with abysmal magical talent. To call it “poor” was an understatement.

In this world, magical talent was measured by how quickly a mage could regenerate the mana they had spent. That regeneration speed dictated how often one could practice spells. Without frequent practice, spells couldn’t be etched into the soul. Without soul-etched spells, one’s progress would stagnate.

And if a mage didn’t become a Grand Mage before turning 150, they would succumb to old age and die.

So Lucian dedicated himself to uncovering the secrets behind mana regeneration.

One factor, he discovered, was the surface area of the soul.

This made sense when observed in nature. Large magical beasts required vast amounts of mana to operate. If mana regeneration speed was uniform across species, large beasts would take ages to recover. But Lucian found that their regeneration scaled with soul surface area.

That was the key.

He didn’t need to become a colossal beast to gain faster regeneration. He needed to increase the surface area of his soul—without increasing its volume.

The answer lay in a simple concept: grains of sand have far greater surface area relative to their volume. So, Lucian theorized that if he could fragment his soul into countless tiny pieces and bind each to a grain of sand, he could amplify his soul’s surface area exponentially.

This was his original concept. He named it [Sands of Soul].

But there was a fatal flaw: he had to sever significant chunks of his soul to bind to each grain. If anyone destroyed this pile of sand, he’d lose those soul fragments forever.

The solution was obvious—he needed something virtually indestructible.

Atoms.

During his ascension to Grand Mage, Lucian carved out a substantial portion of his soul, around one fourth of it, and bound it to individual Hydrogen atoms generated via electrolysis.

Now, this invisible cloud of soul-bound atoms hovered around him like an ethereal cloak.

Thus, the [Atomic Soul] spell was born.

Its primary advantage? With billions upon billions of microscopic soul fragments, Lucian’s mana regeneration rate was nearly infinite.

When combined with [Parallel Thoughts], his mind functioned like a magical supercomputer. The only bottleneck was his cognitive capacity to process the torrents of information.

Knowing this, Lucian took a break midway through his study to avoid overloading his mind. He walked down to the lounge and enjoyed a hearty lunch.

Afterward, he resumed studying and, by evening, had finished reading and analyzing all the material.

“The past questions are mostly grounded in fundamentals. I should be well-prepared now.”

As Lucian stepped outside, the town was coming alive with its evening bustle.

“I should probably buy some clothes that match this era.”

On the way back, he stopped at a boutique store.

“Welcome, Mr. Mage! Looking for clothing for yourself?” A polite, overly flattering old man bowed in greeting. It was clear from the faint magical presence that he, too, was a mage.

Lucian always kept his [Atomic Soul] spell active, and other mages could sense the faint trail of mana emanating from it.

He looked around and noticed the shop was unusually quiet compared to others.

Ah, one of those elite boutiques that cater only to high-ranking mages?

I really should save my mana crystals until I get paid.

Still, a little window shopping can’t hurt.

“Yes. Show me the latest collection of men’s suits.”

“Certainly, Mr. Mage. Please follow me.”

Just then, the doorbell chimed again. A young woman entered the store, accompanied by her attendant.