"Now, let's move on to the next type of magic."
The students straightened their posture, their eyes flickering with anticipation.
Alex took a slow step forward.
"Invented by the Grandmaster Naarlas, Magic Lachma is a method of inscribing patterns using specialized ink or carved inscriptions to cast spells."
He extended a single finger, releasing a controlled burst of mana. In the air before him, golden symbols began forming—an intricate web of runes pulsing faintly, restrained yet brimming with power.
"Magic Lachma activates at a predetermined strength when infused with mana. Because of this, it lacks flexibility but remains the fastest and simplest casting method."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the students. Some had read about it in books, but seeing it in action was another matter entirely.
Alex continued, his gaze sticking on the students.
"The size and complexity of the inscription depend on the spell. For greater potency, magicians layer multiple Magic Lachma symbols onto a single plane—stacking inscriptions to amplify a single spell."
He turned, facing the group directly.
"Long ago, this was the most widely used magic system. That changed when a certain magician discovered a way to shorten incantations. Now, it's mostly reserved for large-scale rituals, particularly in Summoning Magic, where efficiency is difficult to attain."
A student hesitantly raised a hand. "Teacher Alex, does Magic Lachma require a specific ink or material to work?"
Alex shook his head.
"No. As long as mana flows through it, any medium will do. The strength of the spell depends entirely on the amount of mana poured into it—more power, bigger effect. Simple as that."
He let his words settle before raising his voice slightly.
"But here's why it's rarely used in direct combat. While powerful, it isn't suited for head-to-head battles or duels. In war, however? When entire kingdoms clash? It's a necessity."
The students nodded, understanding now. Magic Lachma wasn't a duelist's tool—it was a war mage's weapon.
Alex gave a satisfied nod.
"Now, let's move on to the next type of magic."
"Mixed Magic, also known as Combined Magic, is exactly what the name suggests—a fusion of multiple elements into a single, enhanced spell."
Raising his hand, he conjured a small flame. It flickered lazily in his palm, an ordinary ember. Then, with a subtle shift in mana, a gust of wind swirled around it.
The flame twisted, elongated—growing into a raging spiral of fire. The heat intensified, forcing the nearest students to step back.
"This is Dry Steaming—Wind and Fire combined."
He clenched his fist, extinguishing the spell instantly.
"Other examples include Frost Litha—a fusion of Wind and Water or Ice. These spells are exclusive to offensive magic and can be constructed with a basic understanding of natural sciences."
A few students exchanged glances, whispering excitedly among themselves. The implications were clear—those who mastered Mixed Magic could outmatch ordinary spellcasters by fusing elements into deadlier, more unpredictable attacks.
Alex lowered his arms, his tone turning firm.
"That's enough theory for today. Study these forms of magic. Take books from the library, analyze the principles, and prepare yourselves. Tomorrow, you guys are going to train really tough."
He turned, his white robe billowing as he strode away.
"Oh, and one more thing," he added without stopping, his voice carrying over his shoulder, "Tomorrow, we'll also begin learning about Aura. Be ready."
With that, he left the training grounds.
As he walked through the academy halls, a quiet sigh escaped his lips.
A long day indeed.
Despite how easily he himself grasped these magical fundamentals, he couldn't quite understand why. All he had done was read books in the library after returning from the forest… and yet, the knowledge came to him as naturally as breathing.
But his work wasn't done yet.
The artifact—the erased path—was within his grasp. And still, he couldn't reach it.
The church…
His expression grew dark. The head bishop obviously knew about the location that was a simple conclusion but Alex hadn't wanted to involve them, but now there was no other way.
Setting his course, he walked through the streets, his pace steady.
Soon, the towering silhouette of the church loomed before him. Without hesitation, he stepped towards it.
At the entrance stood a familiar figure—the same bishop who had greeted him on his first day.
Alex's gaze met his.
And then, he spoke.