Fallen Mage Regressor

For the next several hours, Cassandra seemed to jump from topic to topic almost at random. One second, they were talking about the basics of creating an infusion—which was, as the textbook said, made by steeping leaves and roots and other herbs in water for several minutes. The next, Cassandra would rattle off facts about Sleepleaf, such as where it grew, how to harvest it, and even how to grow it.

Cassandra had noted infusions were the weakest method of creating a brew, but stated that it was also the easiest. Disappointingly, they didn’t learn how to brew anything dangerous or particularly interesting. Instead, it was a basic infusion for rest and fullness, crafted from Sleepleaf.

It was as they were waiting for the infusion to steep that Mal decided it would be a good opportunity to ask some questions about the textbook and what it had left unmentioned. The large bowl full of water and Sleepleaf sat in front of him.

”Professor, I have a few questions,” Mal said.

Cassandra glanced over at him. She took a drag from her pipe and breathed out. ”What is it?”

”Well, I was reading the textbook, and I noticed a lot of… contradictions? Things that just didn’t really make sense?”

Cassandra didn’t physically respond. ”Name a contradiction. What do you mean?”

Mal thought back to his late-night studying the herbalism textbook.

”At one point,” the words came out slow as Mal attempted to piece together his thoughts. ”The book mentions aligned magic and claims that witches manipulated aligned magic using their cores.”

”And?”

The other students weren’t paying attention, instead either engaged in conversation or looking over their brews.

”But... that doesn’t make any sense, because a few pages later, they said that the foundation of all witchcraft is external. The only way anything internal can be involved in aligned magic is if you’re a magical beast of some sort.”

Cassandra listened to this with a sharp focus that Mal hadn’t seen at any point throughout the lesson. When he was finished, she grimaced.

”The herbalism textbook…” She clicked her tongue. ”I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t approve that textbook.”

”What textbook would you have preferred, then?” Mal asked.

”There’s a manuscript from about 200 years ago by a cottage witch who was seeking to systematize witchcraft. She failed, of course, witchcraft isn’t something that can be systematized. That’s the whole point.” She sucked in a breath. ”But that’s irrelevant. The point is, with herbalism in particular, she succeeded to a slight degree. Just as potions is considered the most witch-like of the wizardly disciplines, herbalism is considered the most wizardly of the witches’ arts. As such, there’s a case to be made for writing down and disseminating ideas.”

Mal scratched his head. ”Why can’t you systematize witchcraft?”

”Witchcraft—” Cassandra took her pipe out of her mouth. ”We’re getting off-topic. You’re not gonna be a witch, you don’t need to know all this. The point is that the textbook was written by a wizard, from a wizard’s perspective. He had to provide appropriate background and talk on aligned magic when, at the end of the day, he simply doesn’t have the right perspective or lens to talk about those things.”

Maybe those rumors of Cassandra being raised by a cottage witch had some validity.

Mal decided it might be worth poking at her a little bit more to see what he could find out.

”So when Igna talks about unaligned magic always being better—” Mal lowered his voice. ”Is it safe to say that she might be exaggerating the truth?”

A smirk flashed across Cassandra’s face so fast that it almost looked like a trick of the light. ”Truth is a bit of a funny thing. I don’t think I’m qualified to speak on it. But I can say that there are some places where aligned magic can do things that have wizards baffled.”

The smell of the infusion wafted up to Mal’s nose. ”Like what? Give me an example.”

”Core modification.” Cassandra cackled. ”The only type of force that has the courage or stupidity to modify a core is inferno-type mana. Either that or a Herald, but that’s not relevant. Inferno mana seeks to corrupt and warp anything it touches. Normally that’s a bad thing, but if you can harness it and control it, you can do some miraculous things. Not that it’s very plausible, I doubt you’re going to be able to get the drop on a demon, and that’s the only way you would ever be able to get a hold of inferno mana.”

She glanced over at the other students, then frowned. ”Now then, if I’ve indulged your curiosity, I really ought to check over these idiots and make sure that they didn’t somehow create a heartstopper infusion.”

”Just one more question, Professor,” Mal said.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ”You really are curious, aren’t you?”

”Like I said, just one more question, professor.”

Her hand rubbed across her cheek and she looked back down at Mal.

”What is it?” she asked.

”If witches don’t use cores, and if they’re not like draconids or elves in that they simply have aligned magic potential built into them, how do they manipulate mana?”

Her jaw locked and a crooked smile appeared on her face. ”You are aware that this has nothing to do with herbalism, right?”

”I am.”

Her left eye twitched.

”For your information,” she said. ”You’re already starting from the wrong assumption. Manipulate.” She scoffed. ”What a word. Witches don’t manipulate anything. They cooperate. A wizard manipulates. The world is their oyster, everything in their eyes nothing more than a set of tools. A witch finds such a view laughable. To a witch, a core is a hindrance.”

A core? Being a hindrance?

”So how do they cooperate, then?” Mal pressed. ”What’s the exact mechanism that’s being used?”

”Mechanism. You really are full of it, aren’t you?” She scoffed. ”I don’t even know why I’m indulging you. This isn’t a part of my duties as a professor.”

”Does it have anything to do with the idea of resonance?”

She paused.

The seconds ticked by as she remained ramrod still.

”Did you just say—” her eyes narrowed and she looked at him. ”Describe what you mean by resonance.”

Mal cupped his chin. Her sudden interest was a bit odd, but Mal didn’t see any harm in answering her questions.

”It’s like… an authentication key?” Mal clicked his tongue. ”No, that’s not quite right.”

”Describe to me exactly where you learned about this concept.”

”It’s not really a concept. It just sort of happened? I asked Vigil about it, but the way he described it didn’t seem to match my experience.”

”What was your experience?” Her words were pointed like daggers.

”There was this plant…” Mal trailed off. ”A Bramblevine. I managed to get it off of me by—this is going to sound ridiculous, but it almost feels like I asked it to.”

She remained looking at him for a few seconds longer before she stood up abruptly.

”Class is dismissed. Everybody out.”

A few of the other students looked at her in confusion. Philo glanced over at Mal and tilted his head. Rolam suddenly jolted awake, having fallen asleep at some point prior. Nima was looking around frantically.

”Didn’t you hear me?” Cassandra’s tone became harder. ”Get out.”

The students stood up from their seats on the floor and speed-walked over to the exit. Mal was about to follow them when Cassandra gripped the back of his robes.

”Not you, buddy,” she said. ”We have a lot to talk about.”

Mal wondered if perhaps he’d given a bit too much information.

”I want you to do it in front of me.”

Mal raised an eyebrow. ”That sounds horrible out of context. I hope you’re aware of that.”

They were standing in the middle of the central hallway of the greenhouse, Cassandra with her arms crossed and Mal standing in front of her. At his response, she growled.

”What do you need, Bramblevine? I have some—”

”Don’t worry, I took some and put it in my satchel.”

Mal reached into his satchel, and the Bramblevine wrapped around his fingers. As soon as he touched it, he pulled his hand back out of the satchel and looked at the brown spiky vine.

Cassandra tapped her foot. The motion was clear: she wanted him to hurry up and get it over with.

Mal shut his eyes and channeled mana to the tips of his fingers. This was the tricky part. He, for lack of a better word, vibrated the mana to the same frequency as that of the Bramblevine. It unwrapped and shrunk to its more normal state.

Mal opened his eyes. ”That’s pretty much what I did. There was another incident with steel-type mana, but it was more or less the same principle, just in reverse and by accident.”

Silence.

He looked up and nearly jumped away. Cassandra was right in front of him, perhaps only an inch of air between the two of them.

He took a step back. ”Professor Cassandra, what was that about—”

She marched forward like an ox. ”Was your mother a witch?”

Mal walked backward. ”No?”

”What about your grandmother? Great-grandmother? Or maybe even an aunt?”

”I mean, it’s possible, but not as far as I know.”

”Were you taught by a witch? Maybe you had one where you grew up?”

Mal took another step back. ”No? Professor, you’re acting very strangely.”

”Well, somebody had to have taught you something, because the idea that you could figure that out on your own—”

Mal bumped up against the glass door and Cassandra stopped. She rubbed her temples. ”You’re not joking, are you?”

”Joking about what?”

Cassandra groaned and stepped backward. She gave a sharp, crooked smile, and her tone lightened superficially. ”Congratulations, Mal,” she said. ”You’ve just accidentally performed extraordinarily basic witchcraft. You. A man. Not only that, but a privileged brat.”

I mean, technically all of the things she’s saying are true, Mal thought.

”So, you’re a witch,” Mal said.

”Yes, yes. The rumors are true.” She took a vial from one of her belts and sprinkled it onto her still-smoking pipe. There were a few sparks from where the oil-like substance hit the inside. She took a long drag and breathed out slowly. ”That hits the spot.”

Mal raised an eyebrow but chose not to comment. So what he’d done was… witchcraft? How strange. And he’d done it completely by accident, too.

”So, what I call resonance, it’s in actuality you—”

”Nothing in particular. It’s not a part of any field or technique. But the fact that you figured it out more or less on your own is quite… interesting.”

”I don’t suppose you’d be willing to teach me a thing or two?”

”Absolutely not.”

Mal was disappointed, but unsurprised. ”Why’s that?”

”Two things,” Cassandra said. ”First, I don’t know you. The things that I do know about you, I don’t like. You were involved in a fight, and you have talent for wizardry, considering you placed second on the exam.”

”How did you know that—”

”I look over every single one of my students before they enter. It’s part of my job.” She took her pipe out of her mouth and rolled it between her fingers. ”Besides, tradition says that I’m only supposed to pass down my knowledge to my daughter—or at least a fellow woman. I’m not about to make an exception for a total stranger.”

”Reaaly?” He furled his eyebrows together. ”Then who would you make an exception for?”

”A Shattercore, maybe?” She shrugged. ”But anyway, my curiosity has been indulged. Get out of here.”

Mal’s left eye twitched. ”You make me stay here, and you don’t even have the decency to give me anything interesting?”

Cassandra snorted. She pointed with her thumb at one of the plants to her side. ”Pick one, then get out of here.”

Unfortunately, Mal didn’t know enough about herbs to make an informed decision. He would just be more or less guessing. With that in mind, he shrugged and ripped off the leaves from a particularly nasty-looking tree—all gnarled roots and ash-gray bark.

”Interesting choice. Does that satisfy you?”

Mal doubted he would be able to get anything else. ”It’s fine. Have a good day, Professor.”

”Yeah, I hope your day is awful,” she responded without skipping a beat.

Mal rolled his eyes and walked for the exit. The whole time, the term that she’d spoken of—Shattercore—echoed in his head.

Mal skipped lunch and headed for the library. It was a grandiose building, second only to the central hall. Tall marble pillars lined the entrance while the whole thing was raised above the ground by a brick platform. Mal marched up the stairs and entered to be greeted by row after row after row of books. He marched right up to the librarian’s desk, where a bored-looking fourth-year was reading a book.

She looked over at him and sighed. ”Great, another rambunctious first-year,” she muttered. She raised her voice. ”How can I help you?”

”Hello,” Mal ignored the rude comment. ”I would like to execute a basic search. Keyword: Shattercore.”