Chapter 74: Discount Yaren

Alan was standing outside in the center of a training area. He was in the middle of practicing fusion magic, trying to combine wind and vito to create lightning. The surrounding air crackled with energy as he carefully channeled his aether. He was determined to create this new pseudo-element and control it. Sweat formed on his brow from effort, as he waved his hands around with precision, leaving a trail of wispy energy as he did so.

He then brought his hands close together, focusing intently. In the space between his palms, that wispy bluish energy that resembled smoke began to gather and compress into a single point. It floated there, slowly accumulating more aether, until arcs of blue electricity started to leap from it into the air. Sweat dripped from Alan's face as he concentrated.

The wispy energy gradually began to solidify, on the verge of transforming into a ball of lightning. Suddenly, some of the arcs of electricity coming off it turned a yellowish-orange. The ball of energy, no longer stable, started to move erratically between his hands, slowly expanding in size and threatening to break free.

Alan: “Damn it, Alan! Don’t lose control!” he screamed at himself.

Unfortunately, his self-demands didn’t help, and the ball of wispy energy continued to expand.

Suddenly, a pillar of stone burst out of the ground up between Alan's feet, striking the unstable ball of energy and sending it soaring high above his head. Alan looked up in surprise at the ball of energy suspended in the air. Before he could react, the ground beneath him shifted, and he was abruptly pulled down, disappearing into the earth.

The ball of wispy electrical energy floated in place for a brief moment, drawing in the air with a sharp hiss. There was a split second of eerie silence before it violently exploded, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Arcs of blue and yellowish electricity shot out along with bursts of that wispy energy, damaging the nearby surroundings. The chaotic discharge left scorch marks and debris in its wake near and where Alan was previously standing.

Once the area seemed safe, the earth began to shift again. Slowly but steadily, Alan was pushed upward until he was protruding from the ground from his waist.

Alan: “Plugh. Got dirt in my mouth,” he said as he spat up some dirt.

He took a moment to catch his breath, glancing around at the scorched and damaged surroundings. The aftermath of the explosion was evident, with debris scattered and electrical scorch marks etched into the ground. Alan's expression was a mix of relief and frustration as he examined the destruction caused by his unstable spell.

Footsteps echoed from behind Alan, prompting him to turn around. He saw Mitra approaching, her arms crossed and her expression stoic and serious. The intensity in her eyes reflected her concern and disapproval as she surveyed the effects of Alan’s failed spell. Alan knew he was in for a stern lecture, recognizing the familiar look on Mitra's face that always preceded her constructive, if sometimes harsh, feedback.

Mitra: “Another failure. And a particularly dangerous one that I had to save you from.”

Alan: “Yeah,” he said while lowering his head and avoiding Mitra’s gaze.

This had been Alan’s third attempt today to use lightning magic. He had failed the previous two times, which had not been particularly hazardous. However, this third attempt was different. The closer Alan came to successfully fusing Vito and Wind elements, the more dangerous the process became. Lightning magic, being particularly volatile, posed a significant danger if it slipped from his control—and that’s precisely what had just occurred. The consequences of his lack of control were painfully evident. If not for Mitra sending the unstable energy flying up into the air and pulling Alan underground, he could have been badly hurt.

Mitra: “I think we should call an end to these training sessions for now.”

Alan: “Huh?”

Mitra: “I had hoped that the extreme conditions I put you through would cause your talent to blossom. For many mages, true abilities often awaken under such pressure. But, this seems about as far as you can go.”

Alan: “N-No! I can still do this. I ca—” he began, but halted abruptly as Mithra raised her hand, signaling him to be silent.

Mitra: “This is not me giving up on you. We’re just going to go through the normal procedures of learning fusion magic now. You were able to successfully create lightning at this stage, and is the fastest I have ever seen someone learn this. But unfortunately, you have no control. Which makes this less than useless. As you could easily injure yourself with this kind of magic, or worse.”

Alan lowered his head, feeling disappointed in himself.

Mitra: “So we’ll meet up bi-weekly now instead of every day. Unfortunately, I have a lot on my plate with the Sleuth-Hawks and can’t give you as much time as I would like. I will provide you with a training manual on how to use combat Vito. I want you to practice using only Vito alone for now. Once you start getting the hang of using that element, we’ll attempt lightning magic again. And, like I said previously, you are forbidden from using lightning magic when I’m not around.”

Alan: “OK… Um, what about Jafar?”

Both Alan and Mithra turned their attention to the grassy area of the training ground, where they saw Jafar sprawled face down in the grass. His body was bruised and battered, his clothes torn and dirt-streaked. He was pretending to be unconscious, an attempt to escape Mithra's rigorous and relentless training regimen.

Mitra: “I may have pelted him a little too hard with some aether bolts. I’ll take him to the medical building by myself in a little bit.”

Alan: “Um, I meant about the training session?”

Mitra: “Oh, he’ll be meeting me bi-weekly along with you. I got some combat training manuals for him as well. You’ll both be doing self-learning, but feel free to help each other out. I’m sure he would benefit from your help.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Mithra walked over to Alan, stopping right beside him, and extended her hand toward him. Alan hesitated for a moment, studying her outstretched hand before clasping it firmly in his own. Mithra swiftly yanked him out of the ground in one fluid motion while kicking up a bunch of dust. She effortlessly hoisted him back onto his feet with one hand. The ease with which she did this spoke volumes about her own physical strength and enhancement magic.

Now no longer half buried, he looked at Mitra appreciatively.

Alan: “Thank you.”

Mitra nodded, before reaching into her jacket and handing Alan an envelope.

Mitra: “Would you take this to Rell for me? It is something we want your team to look into.”

Alan: “Is this related to Sorin?”

Mitra: “Yes. It’s something that Dakka wanted us to look into.”

Alan: “Who?” he said, unfamiliar with who Dakka was.

Mitra: “The Archmage of the Grayscale College. Remember? Did that lightning fry your memory?”

Alan: “Oh, right.”

Alan wasn't particularly familiar with all the heads of the colleges, aside from Lazarus Vaal of the Arcane Eye and Marlyn Koa of Lionheart. So he didn’t consider that this request was coming from an archmage.

Hearing that it was the headmaster of Grayscale who was asking his team to do something made him feel weird. He was strangely uneasy about it.

Mitra: “Unfortunately, all the other teams are too busy. So, I have to get your team on it. We need you guys to check out something in the Arcanium Archives. The details are in that envelope. Rell should be somewhere in the enforcer building. Make sure it gets to him.”

Alan nodded as he accepted the paper from Mithra. Without hesitation, he turned and walked off to carry out her orders. His footsteps faded quickly as he disappeared from view, leaving Mitra and Jafar alone in the training area. Once Alan was out of sight, Mithra directed her attention toward Jafar. She walked across the training ground to where he lay sprawled on the grass. She approached him with an unchanged expression.

Once Mithra reached Jafar, she positioned herself beside him. Without a word, she lifted her foot high and brought it down forcefully onto his back. The impact was deliberate and painful, sending a clear message that she wasn’t fooled by his feigned unconsciousness.

Jafar: “Oof,” he grunted as Mitra stomped on Jafar.

Mitra: “I know you’re faking it. Get up,” she said with a sinister smile.

Jafar: “Ugh.”

Mithra lifted her foot from Jafar's back, watching as he hesitantly began to push himself up from the ground. With a groan, he gradually rose to his feet, standing up straight. His eyes were wide with a mix of fear and alertness.

Jafar’s clothing was dirty and torn, stained with sweat and grime from the relentless training he received. His body was marked by numerous bruises, scattered about in dark patches on his skin. The poor former Ember Gears student looked as though he had been beaten with a meat tenderizer. Which, in a weird way, he was.

For the past hour, the "green-haired demon," as she was notoriously known, had been relentlessly launching earth-infused aether bolts at Jafar. These bolts, essentially big chunks of rock hurtling through the air, required Jafar to conjure a ward to block them. Each aether bolt hit with a force that, if unblocked, would strike Jafar directly, leaving a bruise. He managed to deflect only half of them; the other half smashed through his shield like a stone through a window. When that happened, the rocks pummeled Jafar, battering him like a piece of meat. However, even as his shield broke, Mithra gave him no respite. He had to hastily create another ward, knowing that Mithra would launch the next aether bolt almost immediately, leaving him in a brutal cycle of defense and punishment. This grueling exercise pushed Jafar to his limits, testing his resilience and forcing him to improve his magical defenses under extreme pressure.

Jafar: “P-Please. I can’t take it anymore.”

Mitra: “You should have heard what I said to Alan. This is your last daily training session with me. It’s Bi-weekly now. So make sure you practice this warding magic for our next session,” she said while ignoring his pleas.

Jafar: “Y-you mean we’re done for the day?”

Mitra: “Yup.”

Jafar looked like he was about to cry. Mithra had been particularly harsh today, driving the two students through an exceptionally grueling session. As this was to be the last of the daily training, she seemed determined to push them beyond their limits.

Jafar: “In that case, I’ll take my leave,” he said while bowing politely and preparing to leave.

Mitra: “Wait,” she called out to Jafar before he could leave.

Jafar stopped and started to sweat slightly, worried that Mitra was going to start flinging more rocks at him again.

Mitra: “Before you go. I want to ask you some questions about what happened that night with Sorin.”

Throughout her time training Alan and Jafar, Mithra came to a realization: neither of them would have stood a chance against Sorin. Despite being only an A-class mage, Sorin was highly competent and formidable, presenting a challenge even for Mithra herself. The tale of their victory over him—relying on distracting him long enough to cause a chandelier to fall on top of his head—seemed like more dumb luck than anything else. Yet, Mithra's instincts suggested there was more to the story. Something deeper had played a role—an unexplored aspect of their encounter with Sorin.

Mitra: “Other than you three, along with Sorin and his undead, was anyone else there that night?”

Jafar's nervous sweating seemed to intensify at the question, and Mitra took notice. Her curiosity was piqued by his evident discomfort.

Jafar: “N-No. It was just me, my friends, and Sorin.”

Mitra: “No one else? Like, was Jixi there?”

Jafar shook his head.

Jafar: “There wasn't anybody else. At least, none that I saw.”

Mitra: “So there could have been someone else, and you just didn’t notice, or they were hidden.”

Jafar was getting even more nervous. Each question Mitra asked posed a risk of him inadvertently slipping up and divulging information about Cid. The weight of the situation bore down on him, as he realized the consequences of revealing too much. Cid's threat of revealing information about him echoed relentlessly in his mind.

Jafar: “U-Um, N-no. There wasn't anyone else there. Um, Sorin had his undead search the whole area, a-and didn’t find anything.”

Mitra: “Hmm, why are you hiding something from me?”

Jafar's eyes widened in shock, his pulse quickening as a cold wave of fear washed over him. The possibility that Mitra had already pieced together his connection to Cid filled him with dread.

Jafar: “N-no! I'm not hiding anything!”

Mitra: “Is this an example of repressed memory from trauma, or something else?” she verbally expressed her thoughts aloud.

Jafar: “Huh?”

Mitra: “Look, I don’t know why you’re hiding something about Sorin, but you can trust me. I’ve taken you and Alan under my wing and will do everything to protect you two. I’d hope that you’d let me take you both as proper disciples eventually.”

Jafar: “You want us as your disciples?”

Mitra: “Yup, you two still have a lot of untapped potential, and I want to help you two. I’m sure I could turn you two from C-class to A-class mages in a few years. I might even be able to turn one of you into an S-class mage with a bit of luck. And as a mage with disciples, it will be my responsibility to take care of your well-being. But, I won’t be taking you two on until this thing with Jixi is done,” she said, followed by a deep sigh. “I won’t force you to tell me anything. But, I hope one day you’ll learn to trust me enough to tell me on your own,” she said as she walked away, leaving Jafar by himself.

Jafar: “It’s not about trust…” he mumbled to himself.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Mitra walked casually along one of the corridors in the training building. She had just left the area where she had been training Alan and Jafar. The hallway was lined with portraits of past mages and lit by ambient light from nearby windows.

As she advanced down the corridor, she spotted another professor in the red robes of the Lionheart, leaning casually against the wall. His posture was relaxed, but his expression was anything but friendly. He had a smarmy smile, and his eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief. He seemed to be waiting for her.

Lionheart Professor: “Well, well. If it isn't old Mitra.”

Mitra: “Jeff…”

Jeff was a senior combat instructor with tenure at the Lionheart College here at the university. Mitra and him were not on friendly terms. He was jealous of her for reaching the rank of S-class mage and being close to Lazarus.

Jeff: “Still wasting your time with those students you’ve taken under you? The one that lucked into the Arcane Eye.”

Mitra: “Hmm, I wouldn’t call nurturing the future generation a waste of time.”

Jeff: “It is, if you’re cultivating weeds.”

As a tenured professor, Jeff carried an air of entitlement that made him believe he could harass Mitra without consequence. His tenure, while meant to protect academic freedom, seemed to encourage his arrogance. Jeff's condescending attitude toward her was a thinly veiled attempt to mask his own inadequacies.

Mitra: “To call any student simply a weed, I guess I expected too much from a tenured professor. Especially one that has such a hard time seeing talent,” she said while acting like she was disappointed in Jeff’s comment.

Jeff: “Pft, as if a discount Yaren knows anything,” he said, annoyed.

Mitra, who normally hides her feelings well, gritted her teeth and clenched her fist. There were very few insults you could throw at her to get a reaction, but “discount Yaren” was one of them.

It was well-known among the faculty that Mitra had been struggling for a long time to master mycomancy, a notoriously complex and demanding type of magic. Despite her considerable skills as an S-class mage, this rare arcane discipline remained beyond her grasp,

To add to her frustration, some colleagues would purposely compare her to Archmage Yaren Zuzanna, headmistress of the Shroom Pact College and the sole mage on campus proficient in mycomancy. These comparisons were not casual observations; they were intentional jabs meant to wound her pride, with many professors knowing how much she despised being compared with the Archmage

This comparison became a weapon wielded by those who sought to erode Mitra's confidence and insult her. It led to the creation of the derogatory nickname "discount Yaren," implying she was merely a lesser version of Archmage Yaren. seaʀᴄh thё NôvelFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Not wanting to cause a scene, Mitra walked right past Jeff without uttering another word. Her usual stoic expression had a flicker of annoyance and anger, a rare slip in her usual unreadable demeanor. She refused to give him the satisfaction of any more of a reaction than she’d already given and quickly left.

Jeff smiled as she walked away. Pleased with himself that he managed to upset Mitra.