Redemption Arc

Lucian held his arm out, recalling his instructor’s teachings.

Magic is almost a living, breathing thing, she’d said. It feels as a pulse inside your chest that isn’t your own heart. You should feel it quickening as you grow closer to it.

For a decent while Lucian couldn’t discern whether or not that was his own writhing anxiety or the sensation that his instructor had spoken of. In time, however, he felt it. There was a pulse distributing itself throughout his body in conduits that were far different from the routes that his veins and arteries delivered blood. As he became aware of it, it was far easier to draw upon it. And as his instructor promised, he felt it hastening.

When it felt as though this second heart in his chest was moving at its fastest, he said one word.

“Æshra.” His voice was deeper than normal and echoed in his ears, empowered by magic.

The moment the word was finished, butterflies as white as snow erupted from his hand as if suddenly freed from a pressurized chamber. They persisted for a few seconds, drifting daintily through the air before disappearing into nothingness. Solar Butterfly was a close-quarters spell that had a decent area, and dealt damage over time for those that refused to move. It was a good starting point.

“Excellent!” his instructor praised, giving polite little golf claps. “Now that you’ve learned how to use and demonstrated a holy magic spell of sufficient power, I can register you as a bronze rank. You’ll have access to bronze rank instructors and teachings. But… if I may, could I examine something? There’s a concern that I have which I’d like to verify. It pertains to you.”

“Why not?” Lucian said, shrugging.

He thought this lesson would take longer, actually. He had some time to spare.

***

Helen felt a little foolish, but she was lingering in the instruction room for holy magic long after her lesson for the day had finished. She had seen it for herself—Lucian casting Solar Butterfly, and the pure white magic that followed. That was indisputable proof that his affinity wasn’t something that had been falsified. He genuinely had a holy affinity of that quality.

She wanted to talk to Lucian. Whatever he’d done in the past, ensuring that she could raise the quality of her holy affinity was her utmost priority. If there was something he knew—whether that be in terms of behavior, or anything else—she had to know. It was almost impossible to believe that everything he had done to her and others could be chalked up to a misunderstanding, but…

Helen slowly made her way over to where he spoke with the instructor, intending to catch him once he’d finished. She got close enough she couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“…as I thought,” the instructor said with a deep sigh. “Do you recall any traumatic events from your childhood linked to magic or simple injury?”

“I forget,” Lucian answered.

“Well… you appear to have partial arcane paralysis,” the instructor said gingerly.

Helen’s breath caught, and she tried harder not to be seen.

“This young?” Lucian joked.

“Ah… it’s not an age thing, I’m afraid, it’s…” the instructor sighed once more. “The pathways in your body that allow magic to pass through are unusually subdued. It may… it will take a great deal more effort from you to advance on the path of magic. It’s an… unusually severe case, I’m afraid. If I were to estimate, I’d say that around 70-80% of your pathways are atrophied. It doesn’t necessarily block you from advancement, but things will be… quite difficult for you.”

Helen felt rather guilty overhearing something that she shouldn’t have. Where once she felt a choking feeling of unease at his staggering affinity, she could only feel sympathy now. If that had been her… it would be as if all her dreams had been stolen away from her. Even if she tried her utmost, nigh anyone off the street would be her superior.

“You had me worried it was something serious, like terminal illness,” Lucian said with a chuckle. “So it’s just that? Partial arcane paralysis?”

“Uhh… yes, you’re perfectly healthy otherwise,” the instructor said.

“I’ll probably be here tomorrow. For now, I have some other things to do.” Lucian stood up from where he’d been sitting and walked toward the exit.

Helen’s plan to talk to Lucian went out the window, and she stayed out of sight as he passed. She watched him once he had. It didn’t look as though he had just received a news of his crippling disability. Rather, he seemed just as unaffected as when he discovered his affinity. She had thought he would rage or lash out. Helen couldn’t guarantee she herself wouldn’t, were she in his shoes. That kind of exceptional poise was something that was expected of members of House Brumaire.

I don’t know a thing about him, do I? she realized.

***

Taking part in the tutorial battle alongside Rowan had revealed an uncomfortable truth. The enemies that he would be fighting were probably those in the hardcore difficulty of the game. If that was true, it meant that he had a dramatic amount of preparation to do for the battles that came ahead. Stat gains from monsters were greatly reduced, and the enemies themselves were a great deal more difficult to counter with their special abilities and widened repertoire of skills and spells.

A lot of the blessings haven’t actually spawned in yet, Lucian knew. If I were to go to them before the day that they appear, I would just walk away looking like a fool.

There were a few blessings that were around from the beginning. He had obtained one. The others in Verne, however, involved a fight to get them. War of Fourwasn’t a solo adventure game—it was a strategy RPG. Battles generally needed at least five participants. Taking them on solo was possible, but with such pathetic stats, Lucian didn’t have a chance yet.

Hence… Lucian went to the Crossing.

The Crossing was a grand bridge that connected each of the three residential cantons to one another. It was one of the busiest areas for gondolas, but Lucian wasn’t here to go boatwatching. He walked to a central fixture that had been in the War of Four: the quest bulletin. His eyes scanned the various missives that were on display, his smile widening all the while.

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Just as I remember, Lucian thought gratefully. One in particular caught his eye.

Wanted: Rare Butterfly Species

Traits: Ranging from gold to white, highly dangerous, only travel in swarms

Visit the Lowenthal estate to deliver. Payment upon delivery, to be negotiated based on the quality of the specimen. Inquire for more details in person at the estate if needed.

This was why he had learned the Solar Butterfly spell. Lucian looked toward where the Lowenthal estate was, then set off walking.

It was time to visit his favorite war criminal.

***

Lucian followed the butler of the Lowenthal estate up the stairs. The room had a very foul and pungent smell, not entirely dissimilar to the alchemy classroom that he had visited not long ago. The reason why was on abundant display when they arrived to the top chamber. The attic of the Lowenthal Estate had been repurposed into a greenhouse overflowing with plants of various stripes right alongside various alchemical tools. Light poured down from the glass ceiling—it seemed even brighter than it did outside.

“The master is right over there,” the butler directed him.

Lucian walked through the greenhouse, keeping his hands at attention lest they brush up against something unsavory. He studied the old man who was to become pivotal for his survival: Charlton Lowenthal. He was a very old man who looked as though he didn’t take care of himself overmuch—he had long hair despite his balding, an unkempt white beard, and bushy eyebrows. His face wore aging as gracefully as it could. He had a pair of square glasses rounded at the corners. Altogether, his features gave him something of an eccentric, sagely appearance.

He was a colleague of Florence Baile’s—meaning, he also worked on the plague that targeted the quasi-humans. She had directed the operation, but Charlton provided the cold, hard experiments.

“One moment,” Charlton said as Lucian neared.

Lucian waited patiently as Charlton snaked some scissors past thorny vines to cut at a flower within a bush. He pulled the flower away and admired it, and then put it underneath a rudimentary microscope. Then, Charlton turned his head to look at Lucian.

“Duke Cyril,” he said with contempt. “Why are you here?”

Lucian blinked a few times, but quickly placed what was happening. “I think you have me confused with someone. I’m Lucian. Cyril Villamar is my father,” he explained.

Charlton stared for a few moments, leaning in to get a better look. “Ah… hmm,” he eventually said, clearly disturbed by his mistake. “You’ll have to… hmm. Lucian, you said? Did you bring some message from your father?”

“I wasn’t aware that you two were acquainted,” Lucian said. “I came about the notice that you posted at the Crossing. About the rare butterfly species.”

“Really?” Charlton leaned back in his chair. “I certainly didn’t expect that.”

“I noticed your name quite a few times in the alchemy class I’ve started taking, I’ll admit,” Lucian explained. When Charlton’s face soured, he quickly added, “But I’m not insincere about my intention to help.”

“I see.” Charlton ran his hand down his beard. “I’ll give you whatever information I can about the specimen I’m looking for. The name of it eludes me. I recall several journeys wherein—”

“Forgive me for interrupting, but I think I already have it,” Lucian said quickly.

Charlton raised a brow while his lip curled in some disdain. “You think,” he said flatly.

Ordinarily this quest involved having a series of conversations with Charlton’s former allies to discover that he had mistaken the spell of Solar Butterfly for actual butterflies in his old age. Lucian took a few steps back so that his spell wouldn’t cause any damage. Then, he held his hand out as he had learned and said again what he’d said this morning.

“Æshra.”

Those same white butterflies he’d cast out once before appeared before him, obscuring Charlton entirely. Lucian could feel that second heartbeat of magic within his body pulsing, agitated now that it was activated. When, after a few moments, the butterflies faded away… Charlton sat there agape, tears flowing down his cheeks.

Lucian said nothing. Eventually, Charlton removed his glasses and wiped at his face, saying, “Forgive me. You appear to have caught me off guard. That spell… it simply brought back memories. It was… it was even more beautiful than I remember,” he said, his voice choked.

“So, I had it right?” Lucian asked.

Charlton exhaled to calm himself. “Yes. Yes, you most certainly did. And I’ve… embarrassed myself before the whole of Verne, sending men and women on quests for creatures that don’t exist.” He shook his head in seeming shame. “My memory… my faculties fail me. Yet…” Charlton paused, looking up at him. “Your holy affinity is beyond potent. Cyril Villamar is truly your father?”

“I wasn’t there for the conception, and I don’t remember the birth,” Lucian said dryly. “But that’s what they tell me.”

“And your holy affinity is…? Hmm. That, in and of itself, is fascinating,” Charlton reflected.

Lucian didn’t want to bring up claiming the blessing. Not the best idea to implicate himself in a crime.

“Well, regardless… thank you for bringing this to me. It’s unfortunate that I don’t have something new to study, but at least you’ve prevented me from wasting anyone else’s time. Heavens…” He put his glasses back on and faced Lucian squarely. “Well, I made a promise in that notice. Even if you’ve not provided a specimen, I’m inclined to pay you all the same. What would you like? Gold? Potions?”

“Instead of giving me some fish… why don’t you teach me how to fish?” Lucian proposed. “A potion recipe. One of your own. That’s what I’d like.”

“Excuse me?” Charlton stood up, looking at Lucian with some anger lining his face. “Did I hear you right? Did you say what I think you said?”

Lucian nodded. “I’d like one of your potion recipes.”

Charlton’s face tightened in anger. “A wise man once told me to always assume ignorance before malevolence. I’ll assume that you’re making that request from a place of ignorance, then, and explain something to you.” He stepped forward. “Asking an alchemist for their recipes is akin to asking a swordsman for their sword, or a banker all their money.”

Lucian took a deep breath. “People tell me you don’t write any of your recipes down.” He tapped his temple. “You keep them all in your head. Given what’s happened here today…”

“I see what this is. The… the abruptness of all this, it comes into focus. Like father, like son, hmm? I should’ve known your intent the moment I knew your last name. You had this all planned out, no?” Charlton shook his head. “You manipulate me with flashes from the past, expose my weakness, and now, try and use it against me? Get out. Leave.” When Lucian didn’t move, he shouted, “Leave!”

Lucian turned and walked away without another word. This reaction was precisely the one he expected—as a matter of fact, it went down more or less the same way in War of Four. Charlton became so angry only because he was frightened of that truth. Had Lucian accepted any other reward, the quest would’ve ended here. Now? He’d left a mark on one of the greatest alchemists in the world. A mark that should pay dividends. In the meantime, Lucian needed to actually learn alchemy.

Still… he knew Cyril Villamar, Lucian reflected. I hope that doesn’t interfere with things… but whatever the case, I did my best.

Tomorrow morning would be his first Student Ambassador meeting.