| WIL | 0.00% | F |

  Cal dismissed the display. The Primer's water-in-cupped-hands metaphor still scrolled through his mind. He had the capability to design the Spell, but without Willpower he lacked the grip strength to hold it. He was trying to carry water in a sieve.

  He pulled his coin pouch from his belt and tossed it in his palm. One hundred eighteen gold—simple math. Blue essence stones cost roughly ten gold, so he could push his Willpower to the F-tier soft cap in a single sitting.

  I could cast [Conjure Flame] by tomorrow.

  The temptation pulled at him. Magic. Real spellcasting. Right there, a transaction away.

  Cal's fingers tightened on the pouch as [Savant of the Mind] provided the rational counterargument.

  And if an emergency comes up the next day?

  He had no idea what expenses waited ahead, but he didn't expect alchemy to be cheap... and he did expect to be an alchemy apprentice soon, now that he had a path forward. Burning his entire bankroll chasing one attribute seemed like a foolish decision.

  There was a smarter path. Slower, but more sustainable.

  Cal opened his purse and pulled out the single blue spirit stone, holding the coarse rock up to the light. It gleamed with a faint azure luminescence.

  He popped the stone into his mouth and swallowed, the stone dissolving as the spiritual consequences hit him.

  A wave of liquid ice flooded his mind. The sensation was like plunging his skull into arctic waters, a rush of chilly sapphire energy that tasted of mint and mountain air. The potential began to pool in his Mana font, a calm power that nonetheless demanded direction.

  Cal clenched his jaw against the freezing current and reached for a specific memory from his Earth life: a gym in the evening, fluorescent lights buzzing. He'd been holding a plank position with his core on fire as a coach counted down. Every fiber of his being had wanted to collapse, but he persevered.

  He shoved the mental energy into that memory, forcing it to take on the quality of that moment—the aching pain, the refusal to yield.

  The blue power settled and merged with his mind. It was hard to describe how it made him feel. With his physical attributes, even a five percent attunement gave him noticeable feedback. But so far, the mental changes had been… underwhelming. His mind already operated at such a high level that Intelligence offered minimal improvement. If he had to describe it, Willpower might have slightly solidified his sense of self?

  Shrugging, Cal let out a slow breath as he reviewed his status.

  

  

  PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES

  | VIT | 94.06% | F |

  | STR | 94.06% | F |

  | AGI | 94.06% | F |

  | END | 94.06% | F |

  | INT | 5.00% | F |

  | WIL | 5.00% | F |

  | WIS | 0.00% | F |

  SPIRITUAL CONTAMINATION: 15.00%

  After noting the increase, he dismissed the screen excitedly. The faint "sandpaper" grit of Spiritual Contamination had thickened in his spirit; the cost was real, but so was the result.

  His eyes shifted to the small candle on the table, its flame dancing in the still air of the archive. He'd started bringing one weeks ago—the single rune light in the ceiling was dim and inadequate, barely sufficient for casual browsing.

  Now, the candle would serve a different purpose.

  Cal leaned forward and blew out the flame, a thin ribbon of smoke curling upward in the darkness.

  If I can cast [Conjure Flame] I won't need the flint and steel anymore.

  Lighting a candle through magic would be proof that he'd crossed the threshold from theory into practice. That he was no longer just memorizing Spells he couldn't perform.

  Cal drew a thread of raw Mana from his font and pushed the unstructured energy out through his fingertip, feeding it directly into the hostile currents of the room.

  This time, he consciously applied his Willpower.

  The Mana left his skin and hit the buffeting mystic headwind, but now he had something to resist with. His "grip strength" provided a portion of structural integrity. He managed to start tracing the first line of the [Control] rune in the air, creating a faint, flickering line of blue energy. The effort was like taking a step through deep mud, as each sliver of distance required tremendous exertion. His meager reinforcement was overwhelmed a quarter of the way through the first stroke, the external pressure buckling the nascent runic form.

  Cal stared at the empty air. A quarter of a rune. Not even close to the full symbol required for ignition.

  Further than I've ever gotten before.

  Trying again, he isolated a fresh stream of power and pushed the raw energy out, fighting to sculpt the line in real-time against the resistance. This time, he made it halfway through the first symbol before the structure collapsed.

  Again.

  Three-quarters of the rune. The Mana held for a full two seconds before the currents tore it apart.

  Again.

  He nearly managed to turn the final corner before the structure buckled.

  Cal couldn't stop. He continued this grueling practice; each attempt a conscious effort to keep the Mana dense and hold its shape against the dissolving atmosphere. With every try he improved and felt like he was making progress, but the full, stable [Control] rune remained frustratingly out of reach. His Mana pool drained rapidly. The well of mental energy in his lower abdomen grew shallower with each cast, the sensation of fullness replaced by a hollow emptiness. His skull began to throb, a headache building behind his eyes that likely signaled complete magical exhaustion.

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  Finally, he drew on his reserves and found nothing left. His core was dry.

  Cal slumped back in the chair, hands trembling slightly. The headache intensified into a sharp pain that made his vision blur, and he pressed his fingers against his temples, breathing slowly through his nose.

  He was still miles away from even writing the full Spell in the air, let alone casting it successfully. The gap between theory and execution was substantial, and he'd barely taken the first step… but he had finally taken a step.

  Opening his eyes, the headache settled into a dull throb as he looked at the candle on the table, the target of all his efforts whose wick remained unlit.

  He remembered the easy flame Selara had conjured for him hours ago, with a simple gesture he couldn't replicate. Yet. His focus shifted to the three leather-bound volumes Aurelian had loaned him. Alchemical cantrips, reagent extraction Spells, the basics of essence purification… each one a promise of power he couldn't yet claim.

  Not yet. But soon.

  Standing, he gathered the books into a careful stack and placed the completed Pangolin's Primer on Proper Wizardry on top of the trio of Basic Spells for the Alchemical Aspirant. The heft of them felt significant in his arms, a tacit representation of the first magical knowledge he'd absorbed in this world. He'd memorized every page through [Perfect Memory], internalized every principle with [Savant of the Mind]. The information was his now and permanently archived in his consciousness.

  Cal left the archive with the stack of volumes tucked under one arm. Beneath the joy of his burgeoning magical aptitude simmered the shock of Aurelian’s life-threatening negligence, a situation he was resolved to address. This confrontation was necessary to establish the fundamental terms of their relationship. His path through the laboratory maze of hissing glass and humming copper ended when he found the man he needed to confront.

  Aurelian looked up from his workbench, his eyes narrowing as he registered the books in Cal's hands. "What are you doing with those?"

  Cal finished crossing the lab floor and set the stack on the counter with a deliberate thud. "Returning them."

  "Returning—" The alchemist's voice climbed half an octave before he caught himself, rising from his stool to straighten to his full height. "Those treasures were loaned to you for study, not casual browsing. If you've decided magical theory is too challenging for your limited intellect—"

  "I've read them. Cover to cover. Twice."

  The alchemist's mouth snapped shut, the muscles in his neck standing out. "Reading and comprehension are two vastly different—"

  "The problem is application." Cal tapped the top book. "I can map the entire runic sequence for a [Purge Impurity] Spell in my spirit. I know the Law of Dissolution is what tears my Mana apart the moment it leaves my body, and I can even explain why every stable construct should have a [Control] rune as an anchor to prevent it from detonating or going off prematurely." He met Aurelian's stare. "What I can't do is cast anything."

  "Obviously." The word dripped with condescension. "External casting requires years of foundational training, proper spiritual perception development, and—"

  "And a Willpower attribute I don't have yet," Cal finished. "I know."

  Aurelian opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. "Then what, precisely, is the purpose of this melodramatic book return? If you understand the constraints—"

  "The problem isn't just my Willpower. It's that you handed me advanced texts without explaining the basics. Without warning me that forming Spells inside my channels could maim me if not worse."

  The alchemist's expression froze.

  "I spent a week practicing runic constructs in my meridians because your grimoires never mentioned it was dangerous. They assumed I already knew. The Primer was the first text that actually explained how external casting works." Cal tapped the stack of books. "These are masterworks, Aurelian. Brilliant, comprehensive theory. But they're written for students who already have a foundation that I didn't."

  Aurelian's jaw tightened. "The texts are—"

  "Incomplete for a novice," Cal cut in. "And you knew that. You gave them to me anyway."

  "I expected you to possess a modicum of common sense," Aurelian said coldly. "Any apprentice with basic survival instincts would know not to—"

  "I'm not an apprentice yet. I'm a street rat you loaned books to because it amused you." Cal met the man's stare without flinching. "And if I'd actually tried to cast one of those Spells internally, if I'd filled the construct with Mana and triggered it I'd have hurt myself. That's not a failure of common sense, Aurelian. That's a failure of instruction."

  Their conversation paused as Aurelian's knuckles whitened against the edge of the workbench.

  Cal picked up the top volume. "I'm returning these because I've memorized them. Every page. Every diagram. Every principle. But I can't use them yet and keeping them here serves no purpose." The book returned to the stack. "When I'm ready—when my Willpower can support external casting—I'll come back. I'll master those alchemical Spells. And you'll take me on as your apprentice."

  "Will I." Aurelian's tone was ice.

  "You will. Because I'll have proven I'm worth teaching." Cal dropped his voice, quiet but unyielding. "But when that happens I need you to do better. If you're going to train me, I need full context. I need warnings about the dangers I don't know to ask about. I can't afford to learn through injury because you assumed I understood something I didn't."

  "You dare—"

  "I'm not asking you to coddle me," Cal stressed. "I'm asking you to be responsible. You're brilliant, and your instruction is exactly what I need to thrive in this field. But if you can't give me complete information, if you're going to hand me a blade without mentioning it's poisoned, then this apprenticeship will kill me before it ever begins."

  The door from the showroom opened. Selara emerged, wiping her hands on a cloth, her eyes quickly taking in the scene. She stopped beside her brother, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

  Cal glanced at her, then back to Aurelian. "I respect your skill. I respect your standards. But I won't accept negligence disguised as testing my competence. Not when my life is the price of failure."

  Aurelian stared at him, something unidentifiable flashing behind his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "You believe I acted with negligence."

  "I think you acted without considering the consequences," Cal said. "Whether that was intentional or not doesn't change the fact that I could have seriously hurt myself."

  Selara made a soft sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. Both sets of eyes locked her.

  "What?" she said mildly, though her lips curved slightly. "He's not wrong."

  Aurelian turned on her. "You cannot possibly—"

  "You handed a complete beginner three advanced grimoires and assumed he'd figure out the gaps on his own," Selara said, her tone dry. "That's arrogance, brother. And it nearly backfired." She looked at Cal. "At least he had the sense to stop before he did permanent damage."

  Aurelian's jaw worked soundlessly.

  Selara softened her voice slightly. "He's asking you to teach, Aurelian. Not to test. Just to teach. You used to be good at that."

  The alchemist's shoulders stiffened. He looked at Cal, then at the stack of books, then at some point on the far wall. When he finally spoke, his voice was clipped. "Fine. When you return—if you prove yourself competent—I will ensure you have the necessary foundational context for any advanced material." He paused, the words clearly costing him. "I will not assume prior knowledge or set unrealistic expectations again."

  Cal nodded slowly. "That's all I'm asking." His gaze drifted to the Primer sitting atop the other volumes. "It does make me wonder, though. If you had a book that explained the fundamentals so clearly, why not lead with it?"

  Aurelian looked away. "The contents and distribution of my personal library are my concern alone."

  Selara let out an exasperated sigh. "He means it's his favorite," she supplied, ignoring her brother's withering glare. "Our mother gave him that copy when he was a boy. It was the first time he showed a real aptitude for mental pursuits, and it finally got him excused from sparring practice with the house guard."

  A faint flush crept up Aurelian’s neck. "It is a seminal work of foundational theory!" he spluttered. "Its sentimental value is entirely incidental!"

  Selara quirked her lips into a knowing smile.

  "Now get out of my shop," Aurelian said, his voice strained with indignation. "I have work to do."

  Cal turned toward the door, then paused and looked back at the alchemist. "Thank you. For the Primer, for the alchemical grimoires… for everything. I learned a lot, and I know this has been an incredible opportunity."

  He didn't wait for a response as he started out of the shop.

  Behind him, through the closing door, he heard Selara say, "He's growing on me."

  Aurelian grunted. "Of course he is. You like anyone who makes my life difficult."

  "No. I like anyone who makes you better."

  Cal allowed himself a small smile as he headed toward the inn. The world was bathed in the crimson light of second dusk, painting the shuttered storefronts in shades of red. His breath misted in the cooling air as he walked.

  Hatch's week of respite was done. Tomorrow, the training began again, and with it an introduction to the Legion as a Sovereign Aspirant. In spite of his damaged channels and inability to cast Spells, he had a path forward for both. Things were looking up.

  Skrajny edited his review yesterday and it was a sight for sore eyes. I'm honored that my story was their first web novel and that (at least for now) they feel like they chose well. Thanks a lot dude! I needed the pick me up! Some people are jerks, but this kind of stuff helps balance it all out.