Chapter 50: The Magical Beast Companion

The loss of the Nether Scroll was no trivial matter. Over the past forty years, the upper echelons of Nether had dispatched numerous agents to search for it, yet not a single piece of news emerged. This made the leadership even more vigilant; fearing further theft, they began storing the remaining scrolls separately.

Thus, only ninety-eight golden Nether Scrolls remained. Under the influence of some mysterious, unknown force, Bowen knew that, in time, these scrolls too would gradually be lost or destroyed. Yet the specifics of how this would occur were lost to him—his memory could recall nothing of the details. It was imperative, then, that he read the remaining Nether Scrolls as swiftly as possible and store their contents within his chip.

Ever since becoming a spellcaster, the enhancement of his mental faculties had granted him a near-photographic memory. But such memory was relative, not absolute as depicted in films—one could not recall everything forever after a single reading. For most, a passage might linger in the mind for three days before certain sentences faded; Bowen, however, could retain it for a month before the details began to blur.

The chip, however, could store information indefinitely and allow him to review it at will, deepening his recollection.

The “Domain Mechanics” series among the Nether Scrolls covered vast knowledge of space and planes. Before Bowen, few had ever managed to read this entire series in one sitting; even high-ranking spellcasters, lacking exceptional spatial aptitude, could not achieve this. Perhaps it was, as in those tales of transmigrated souls, the merging of his soul with spatial attributes, or perhaps simply a benefit of being a transmigrant.

Whatever the reason, Bowen could feel an extraordinary talent in himself for spatial magic. With the assistance of his chip, he managed to read through the entire series in one go.

Upon completing the series, Bowen gained insight into a new arcane spell uniquely his own, though he did not cast it immediately—there was little point in accumulating elementary arcana any longer. Instead, he intended to optimize this newly discovered spell, to elevate it.

He had attempted such methods before, and knew it was entirely feasible. The “Eye of the Arcane,” for instance, had been conceived in just this way. It was thanks to the “Eye of the Arcane” that Bowen had become the youngest intermediate arcanist in history.

This time, however, it was a conjuration spell of the spatial school—a much trickier endeavor. Spells of this era were not as numerous as those of later ages, and methods for the systematic improvement of arcane arts scarcely existed. Even magical formulae were rare, and most were only of the elementary variety; spatial spells were rarer still.

Creating something from nothing was exceedingly difficult, but to improve and combine existing spells into a wholly new formula was much more achievable. Take, for example, the classic cantrip “Mage Hand”—there were dozens of versions. With so many templates, it was far easier to optimize and advance them. With the chip’s aid, Bowen’s “Giant’s Hand” had come about in just this way.

Junior arcanists might “sell” their own spells to the academy in exchange for points, but those of intermediate or higher rank rarely did so. Their numbers were few, and from the intermediate level onward, the power of spells changed dramatically, especially arcane spells—they became formidable trump cards. An arcanist who had attained such a level would scarcely lack for points.

This resulted in a dire scarcity of intermediate and advanced formulae within the academy, especially those involving spatial runes and spells—and the points required to borrow such were staggeringly high.

Research into spatial runes and formulas was almost exclusively the domain of senior arcanists. Bowen’s grandfather, Count Iolam, had only mastered the “Teleportation Circle” after advancing to that level.

Bowen stood before the alchemy table, his hands weaving ceaseless patterns in the air. To an observer, his gestures might seem strange, but in truth, his chip was projecting information onto his retinas. In his mind, Bowen issued a constant stream of commands to the chip—analyzing, calculating, simulating.

The orange Ironstone chip at the nape of his neck, under the strain of high-intensity computation, grew faintly red and hot. As his hands moved, fragments of parameters swiftly assembled. Soon, a massive spherical spell model slowly took shape before his eyes.

“System, check data parameters, initiate simulation,” Bowen commanded the chip mentally.

“Beep! Verification initiated… Attempting simulation…” The familiar mechanical voice sounded in his ear.

“Beep! Calibrating parameters…”

“Simulation commencing…”

The huge spell model before his eyes began to shift and change. Bowen could feel the Ironstone chip at his neck growing hotter still. The Ironstone could move within a foot of his brain; Bowen directed the chip to drift before his eyes. Watching the gem, once orange, now glowing red-hot, his brows knitted in concern.

“A chip made of ordinary materials can only manage calculations up to the elementary level. Even with divine enhancement, it can only just handle the intermediate,” he mused.

When crafting the Ironstone chip, Bowen had followed standardized procedures to maximize the success rate, using materials as dictated by the process. The chip’s greatest function, apart from information storage, was computation.

He had not anticipated that intermediate spell calculations would be so intensive; even a divinely enhanced chip struggled to endure. And this was only at the intermediate level. The thought of the computational demands for senior arcana and legendary spells made Bowen’s scalp tingle. Having a chip was a blessing, but how did others cope with the sheer volume of calculations required by advanced spells? He could only marvel at the genius of his predecessors.

Just then, a falcon swooped in through the basement’s ventilation shaft, landing directly on Bowen’s alchemy table. Few knew about this particular vent; Raymond was one, and this falcon was his magical companion.

Magical companions were typically linked to their masters by a bond of arcane power.

In a sense, master and companion were one. The companion began as an ordinary animal, but once summoned by a warlock or mage, it gained new abilities and became a magical beast. At times, certain spells not suited for use on oneself could be cast upon the companion, with the master sharing in the effects. Companions themselves could also cast spells, depending on their master.

“Sir, Raymond has urgent business with you!” the falcon announced.

“What is it? Why the rush?” Bowen asked.

“It’s something unexpected, apparently involving two children.”

“Children?” Bowen was puzzled. Raymond was a commoner himself; had it not been for the recommendation of a benevolent scholar, his talent alone would not have gained him entry to Giles Academy. Bowen also knew Raymond was an orphan, and though he had a minor vice for money, he was known to help the homeless and other orphans whenever he could.

“All right, I’ll come at once.” Bowen reached out and conjured a fresh piece of meat with a wave, placing it beside the falcon.

“Thank you, sir!” The falcon gulped down the meat, gave two flaps of its wings, and disappeared back through the vent.

Watching the falcon depart, Bowen couldn’t help but feel envious. Spellcasters could all summon a magical companion, which served as an extension of themselves—and, if killed, could be revived. Companions could even cast certain specialized spells, and their masters could acquire some of their traits.

For example, Raymond’s eyes had a permanent “Eagle Sight” ability, allowing him to see great distances. Of course, there were drawbacks: a companion’s intelligence came from sharing a portion of its master’s memories, and if it died, the master suffered as well. The very act of sharing memories was enough for Bowen to refuse the practice; his mind harbored too many secrets—secrets that would make even the gods covetous.

There were, of course, those who did not use companions. The reason master and companion were considered one was that summoning required separating a fragment of one’s own soul and infusing it into the animal, and the entire ritual lasted twenty-four hours.

…

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