9. Mastered Abilities

9. Mastered Abilities

"Mastered?" Vesper asked. "What?"

"We talked about about skill proficiencies." In that discussion, Vesper had explained to her that certain abilities had an inherent progression to them, which could be raised the more a person practiced. They began at 'Clumsy', moved into 'Novice', and kept progressing up to the rank of 'Expert.' Or so she'd thought. "I thought it peaked at expert."

"It does."

Morgana pursed her lips. "I see," she said. Mastered must be above expert, and rare enough Vesper hadn't heard of it. "I successfully modified the design, as I hoped I could. The proficiency changed from 'clumsy' to 'mastered.' I'm going to test it, now."

For a few moments, Vesper gaped at her. "Okay?" she finally said, bewildered.

Without ceremony, Morgana pulled [Magic Missile]'s design to the forefront of her mind. It imprinted on the air in front of her as she invoked it. Morgana spared a brief moment to be outraged at how easy the process was, compared to proper spellcasting.

A [Magic Missile] streaked forward from her outstretched hand. The brilliant dart of white-blue light launched itself through the air, hitting the ground a dozen feet away with a loud zzzppp, sending rocks, soil, and grass showering away in a small—but much, much larger than before, easily ten times stronger—explosion.

Her internal mana reserves barely dipped. The spell's improved design was less about raw increased firepower as a massive reduction in cost. The most glaring flaws in the system's designs had been inefficiencies which wasted mana.

Interested, Morgana summoned several more [Magic Missile]s in rapid succession, sending them streaming out from her hand. Magical energy collided with the earth in a dramatic display, fountains of soil erupting and leaving behind blackened miniature craters.

When she turned to Vesper and Flint, the two were staring at her wide-eyed.

"The hell?" Vesper finally said. "That's a [Magic Missile]?"

"The improved version, at least," Morgana commented, amused and, admittedly, slightly smug—though only slightly, since the spell's design wasn't even her own. Though she could have come up with something at least similarly effective, given time.

She sent off another of the arcane projectiles, nodding once to herself when it scorched an appropriate radius of earth. Yes, the spell would certainly serve in a combat situation, even if she could do much better with access to proper war magic. Her mind briefly wandered to how much stronger a [Fireball] or such would be, if she could get her hands on fire mana, before she shook her head to clear it.

"I wonder how much I can vary the spell," she commented, more to herself than anything—since Vesper obviously didn't know what she was talking about. When she'd put in the new design for [Magic Missile], she'd gotten a message that it had been 'recognized as a variation of [Magic Missile]'. How much could she push a design before it wasn't recognized as such?

Specifically, could she create something heavier? Her new spell was many times as deadly and cheaper than the default magic missile, but it was still no true artillery of a spell.

Could a few tweaks make it such, while staying defined as a [Magic Missile]?

Now was the time to experiment, so Morgana did just that.

To her disappointment, though, after quickly balancing a rough formula geared toward firepower rather than mana efficiency, she was met with the message:

***

Spell design not recognized as a variation of [Magic Missile].

***

The lines of blue energy Morgana had drawn in her mind fizzled, then reverted to her previous, now-default design—the perfected one she had stolen from her peers.

"Who makes it?"

"Who makes it?" Vesper echoed. "Uh, the dungeon, I guess?"

"Really," Morgana said. "The dungeon is capable of fabricating enchanted items from nothingness?" She paused. "It does create monsters and underground complexes, so I shouldn't be surprised." She shook her head. "It's just so strange."

"Yeah. I guess." Vesper obviously didn't share the same fascination. To her, this was simply how the world worked. "Anyway, yeah. Some solid boots, leather armor, and maybe some better daggers for both of us. Also a torchlight. Some rations. Waterskins. Backpack. That's the most important, right?"

"For a quick delve," Flint said. "Longer ones we'd need more."

"You won't need like, a wand or anything, right?" Vesper asked Morgana.

"A wand?"

"You were casting fine without it, but would it help?"

Morgana raised her eyebrows. "No."

Vesper laughed. "Okay, Miss Archmage. No need to sound insulted. We're not doubting your supreme magical talents."

Morgana blushed.

Flint said, "It'd still be smart to give her something. A staff to smack things with. Going unarmed into the dungeon is idiotic. Even if she'll be hanging back."

"Dunno," Vesper said. "She can pelt off [Magic Missiles] like three times per second. And they're way stronger than they should be. She wouldn't want to waste any time swinging a staff around."

"I won't," Morgana agreed. "Spend your money on outfitting yourselves."

"Assuming we don't die, we'll make back everything we spent," Vesper said. "And we'll be in a more stable situation. There's not loads of money in low level delving, but it definitely beats picking pockets...or even regular jobs."

"Risk for reward," Flint grunted in agreement.

"We're going to head in today, then?" Morgana asked. "Right after we buy our supplies?"

Vesper and Flint shared a look.

"It's not like we're waiting for anything," Vesper said, shrugging. "Ain't getting any help from guild higher-ups, either, seeing how we're the only ones here."

"I'd prefer privacy, regardless," Morgana said. "Us three alone is ideal."

Vesper nodded. She didn't need an explicit explanation. It was rather obvious why Morgana wanted to keep her situation private, especially to paranoid individuals like Vesper and Flint, who had grown up on the streets.

"Let's grab some breakfast and get to it, then," Vesper said. She sniffed the air. "I smell bacon. Think Rune's any good at cooking?"

"That ditz?" Flint grumbled. "I'd be surprised if the kitchen isn't on fire."