Chapter 15: Giles Academy

“Giles Academy? Grandfather, do you mean… school?”
Upon receiving the Earl’s confirmation, Bourn’s eyes instantly lit up.
He had long known that the Earl was the Vice Principal of Giles Academy. He had always expected to attend sooner or later—he just hadn’t imagined the day would come so quickly.
As for trifling questions about age and the start of term, Bourn certainly wouldn’t ask.
Having a Vice Principal as a grandfather—was there really any problem?
“When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow!”
Bourn’s mouth twitched, but then he stretched out his hand.
“???”
“My new bag…”
The Earl: …
…
Giles Academy stood on the western outskirts of Sevanton.
The main road to the academy was bustling, surrounded by a lively trading market; crowds of people came and went each day in a ceaseless tide.
At dawn, the shops lining the street opened early, launching into a busy day. Clerks and owners nodded and smiled to their neighbors, sometimes trading jokes that were mischievous but never crude. On the roadway, carts and pedestrians wove past one another; every so often, a wagon laden with goods would pull up before a shop, the driver shouting for the workers to hurry and unload the cargo.
Bourn sat in the carriage, a brand-new magical satchel slung at his waist. Its lines and leather were an artful blend of style and beauty. In a discreet spot at the lower right, a special symbol was embroidered—any item bearing that mark fetched a high price in Sevanton.
Through the window, he watched the lively streets, the shops offering local delicacies and exotic curiosities.
The crest of House Eolum was unique in Sevanton; no fool would dare cause trouble. Even before the carriage drew near, passersby would step aside at a distance. Only now did Bourn realize that, for all the time he had spent in Sevanton, he had never truly taken a good look at this “renowned” city.
As he mused, the carriage rounded a corner, and from the window, Bourn caught sight of the grand white Mage Tower—the academy’s landmark!
The academy was built in the style of elven culture. The tallest structure was the Headmaster’s Mage Tower, surrounded by sprawling, orderly auxiliary buildings.
The resources invested in each Mage Tower were unimaginable; the rare magical materials used could not be measured in gold.
To call it an academy was almost a misnomer—it was more like a small town within the city, home to tens of thousands whose lives revolved around it.
The Earl sat with Bourn in the carriage, giving him a brief introduction to the academy, but made it clear he would have to discover much of it for himself.
“In your first year, you’ll receive a thousand gold coins per month for living expenses—more than enough for food, drink, and classes. In the second year, that sum will be halved. In the third year, you’ll cover your own tuition,” the Earl explained. “Learning resources are free the first year; after that, you may purchase them from the family at half price.”
Bourn could not help but click his tongue in awe.
This was the tradition of House Eolum—or, indeed, of all ancient noble families. The more venerable the lineage, the stricter the upbringing.
A grown tiger is driven from the pride to temper itself. Though Bourn was still young, he was already a professional—and an arcanist at that. Let’s not forget, he had first advanced as a martial adept; among the lower years, few could match him.
The academy was a microcosm of society, a circle of its own, and the knowledge he had accumulated over two years was ripe for practical application.
An arcanist was not only a skilled spellcaster, but also a shrewd merchant; otherwise, how could one afford the extravagant cost of magical research?
Early spell experiments could be conducted using materials “freely” available at the academy. A thousand gold coins per month was more than most students received. If, after more than two years, he still couldn’t support himself, the Earl would have to consider pressuring Gordon to produce another son—no matter how vast House Eolum’s fortune, it couldn’t be squandered indefinitely. The cost of magical experiments only grew with time…
Having explained all this, the Earl vanished from Bourn’s sight with a turn.
As he left, he tossed a pouch of coins into Bourn’s hands.

Bourn weighed it and was surprised by the heft of a thousand gold coins. He tucked this month’s “board money” into his magical satchel; to bring all his assets with him, he had even prevailed upon the Earl to craft a satchel with an enormous capacity.
“Such a blunt and simple upbringing. What a hassle… In a place so unfamiliar, this will be tricky…” Bourn sighed, standing before the academy gates.
Students were typically admitted between the ages of nine and twelve. Thanks to years of training and plentiful meals, Bourn was taller than most his age; no one would doubt he was nine.
Perhaps because he lingered too long—and wore the student’s robe—he soon attracted curious glances. Bourn raised his head helplessly and strode into the academy.
Looking at the carefully trimmed trees lining the path, Bourn began to wonder if he had agreed too soon—should he have waited another year or two to enroll?
Though he had become an arcanist, the only spell he truly mastered was “light.” All that magic, but little skill. As for his martial prowess… “average” at best. Though in the coming millennia, Netheril would become the safest land in Faerûn, that was only relative. What if some maniac or House Eolum’s enemies, unable to defeat his grandfather, decided to target him…
In this new environment, Bourn’s mind wandered, as always, conjuring the illusion that “there are always villains plotting against me.”
“What if I run into some brainless bully who enjoys humiliating others?”
“Or if I accidentally make an enemy, and they say, ‘Don’t underestimate the poor and young’?”
…
Watching Bourn enter, the Earl, observing from the shadows, finally relaxed. Sending him early was a carefully considered decision.
Though Bourn’s magical talent was modest, he was precocious, hardworking, patient, and gifted with remarkable insight. Modest and unassuming, he was a born arcanist.
The course was meant to last five or six years, but Bourn had nearly mastered it in less than three, and had independently cast his first spell—a feat the Earl had not anticipated.
And this was before he had learned incantations and runes; just from theory and diagrams, he had constructed a new magic circle and unleashed a primordial spell!
Even Principal Conchenio, in his youth, had not accomplished such a thing.
Such talent was on par with the pioneers of old!
The Earl immediately realized he should not nurture Bourn by conventional methods. True geniuses had their own ways of learning, their own ideas and logic; what suited others might not suit them—a lesson learned from decades at the academy.
So the Earl decided to throw Bourn into the academy. Not only did it offer abundant resources, but he could keep an eye on Bourn and provide guidance when necessary. And, of course, he was curious to see how far Bourn could go when left to his own devices…
…
Giles Academy was no minor institution.
As Netheril’s very first academy, it trained not only arcanists but all varieties of professionals.
In Bourn’s memory, its Principal, Bourn Conchenio Ian, was a legend!
He created the “Crystal of Conchenio,” which shaped Netheril’s history.
The name might be unfamiliar, but it was also known as the “Ian Stone”—Netheril’s first magical artifact, crafted from the knowledge in the Netheril Scrolls.
The magical stone floating above the Earl’s head was an Ian Stone, each endowed with unique powers.
They freed Netherese from dependence on elven magic, enabling the creation of their own magical artifacts.
What’s more, Conchenio fostered trade with the Denzorn dwarves, fundamentally altering the elves’ influence over Netheril.
He was the first to distinguish wizards from arcanists (though at present, elves refused to recognize the arcanist profession).
He overturned the old master-apprentice teaching model, founding the academy system and giving commoners access to extraordinary knowledge.
In Bourn’s lessons, his teachers often spoke of this legendary figure with reverence—as an idol!
He was truly a protagonist of his age. Bourn thought of a certain powerhouse named Liu Xiu.
Beyond the gate lay a lush forest. A white pathway wound through the trees, vanishing into the distance—the place was far larger than he’d imagined.

As Bourn ventured deeper, peering through the branches, he glimpsed a white obelisk shrouded in mist.
It was utterly unlike the Mage Tower he’d seen from outside—a trick of the eye!
Obviously, magic was at work.
The further he walked, the more intense the magical energy became!
No wonder every spellcaster was drawn to the Mage Tower; and this was only the outskirts. Within, the elements would be even more vibrant—a true “blessed land” for spellcraft.
As he advanced, the paths became more numerous; Bourn kept to the direction of the Mage Tower. After a few intersections, the avenue broadened and more students appeared.
Most wore robes like his, mostly white or gray, walking in groups, laughing and playing, discussing or reviewing. It reminded Bourn of university life in his past life.
He had arrived well after the start of term. Not wanting to draw attention as a latecomer, he wandered off on his own.
Soon, he reached a building resembling a library. People hurried by, some lost in thought, some visibly pleased, others disappointed.
Bourn climbed the stairs. Four marble pillars supported an arched entryway, intricately carved.
Inside, a vast reading hall spread out beneath a twelve-sided dome. Rows of shelves lined the walls, crammed with books. An air of ancient scholarship suffused the place, compelling him to lower his voice and slow his steps.
Bourn walked to a shelf and pulled out a random book. It was written in the script of the Kaidamir, a people extinct for over a decade. During his “enlightenment,” Bourn had been taught over ten languages, including Kaidamir.
But the book held little supernatural knowledge—more a religious text, extolling ancestral gods.
He browsed a few more volumes—some praised this or that figure, some were mere chronicles, even love letters. Some were in scripts even Bourn couldn’t recognize—all “useless” information.
Judging from their condition, these books had been gathered from across the continent—some copies, some originals. But the collection was haphazard, and much was unreadable. As the Vice Principal of Giles Academy, the Earl’s knowledge was unsurpassed. If even Bourn, his protégé, could not decipher these, few others could.
What Bourn did notice, though, was that these were all “public” books. Any tomes of magical lore must be rare, perhaps undiscovered or unreadable. The true magical texts must be stored elsewhere!
A magical academy without magical books—what a joke! The only explanation was that they were kept in a different location, perhaps with a price for access.
Bourn was in no hurry. In time, he would learn the truth. For now, the priority was familiarizing himself with the “map.”
Before long, in an inconspicuous corner, he spotted his “target”—a youth, plainly dressed, his manner and bearing marking him as a commoner, likely a veteran student, reserved and self-possessed, used to making himself inconspicuous.
Such people made the best guides. Nobles tended to gossip; those bullied or attention-seeking were equally noticeable—and prone to melodrama. Bourn had no interest in such “face-slapping” games; it was all well and good to best others, but to be humiliated himself would be a disaster. Even if the world’s hostility toward him had faded, one could never be too sure.
In stories, the “face-slapping” protagonist always targeted those with some backing—enough power to be a challenge, but not enough to be untouchable, so the hero could rise up in the end…
All this, of course, was Bourn’s imagination running wild.
The youth had carefully groomed brown hair and a faded gray robe—a man who cared about his appearance, if not his means.
The best way to learn about a new place was to find a local guide.
This one fit the bill: a commoner, an “upperclassman,” and a magic apprentice—if he tried anything untoward, Bourn could easily teach him a lesson.
Bourn approached quietly. Before he could even speak, the apprentice turned with wary eyes—he’d recognized Bourn as a noble at once.
Bourn did his best to smile warmly, sat across from him, and took ten gold coins from his pouch, laying them on the table. He spoke softly: “I need to borrow a little of your time. I want to know about the academy. As you can see, I’m also a student here—just a late arrival. I hope someone can help me get acquainted. This is just a retainer; if your information satisfies me, I’ll pay you double.”
The apprentice stared in bewilderment, then in shock.
…
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