The Lich Without a Soul Vessel

Across the continent, mages who'd gotten their hands on the journal ran the experiment themselves, summoning every strange creature they could imagine. Without realizing it, most of them were quietly chipping away at a piece of elemental theory as they went — few of them ever noticed.

At the Creationist Church's seat in Holy Eaton, Pope Clement VIII — the two hundred and thirty-fourth pope of the Creationist faith — sat with his usual mild, grandfatherly bearing, hair gone white, eyes carrying an unplaceable depth of blue-green, like an endless sky. Look closer, and one could almost make out tiny planes flickering into being and fading away within them.

He was reading a copy of Magic, open to Evan's article. "Interesting. He's seen through the true nature of fantasy-born creatures — and in doing so, he's trespassing into the domain of the divine. Classical magical theory is already sound, already complete. Another soul foolish enough to reach for divine knowledge no mortal mind was ever meant to hold."

He murmured this to himself, then said after a moment, "Find out who this Evan Wang is."

His attending official acknowledged the order and returned shortly. "Your Holiness, noble voice of the Creator upon this earth, we have your answer. Evan Wang hasn't been active for long. Raphael suspects he may be the lich Nicholas, walking the world under a false name."

Pope Clement's eyes flashed cold. "The lich Nicholas was no minor figure. Can this be confirmed?"

"Your Holiness, it remains only suspicion."

"Hmph. Gone off to Hollingburton, has he. First academy of magic in Norse, first in all of Tyrenese as well. These heretics sit beyond easy reach." His voice carried its own natural weight of authority. "Enough. Go. Learn everything there is to know about him."

Evan had no idea his paper had drawn the Pope's own attention. Had he known, he'd have thought twice before doing anything at all — he'd become a lich in the first place purely out of fear of death.

The same paper had also caught Ortlando's interest — a different sort of interest than the headmaster had shown him before.

After a lecture one day, Evan returned to his office to find the message book on his desk stirring, several lines appearing across its surface, summoning him to the school's council chamber. Unsure what it concerned, he set down his books and hurried over.

Ortlando was already there when he arrived. "Good day, Professor Wang. Sit. We're waiting for the others to arrive."

Evan gave a slight bow. "Good day. Please, don't let me interrupt your work. I'll wait here." He took a seat, picked up a journal lying nearby, and began to read. The chamber was modest — a single table at its center, curving into a half-circle at either end, potted plants on the surface twisting restlessly without pause. Bookshelves lined the walls, stacked with copies of Magic, Knighthood, and a handful of other journals. Chairs ringed the table, and the whole room reminded Evan, oddly, of a conference room from his old life.

People trickled in one by one. Evan didn't recognize most of them, though he knew a few — Heathermere among them. Even the unfamiliar faces gave off magical presences he could feel clearly, and the weakest of them matched his own strength. It dawned on him then — many of these had to be legendary mages operating within the school's half-plane. He felt a private jolt of surprise. What was happening today, that so many legendary mages, along with several Arcanists, had been called together?

Once the room had mostly filled, Ortlando spoke. "Ladies, gentlemen, good day to you all. I've called you here today to discuss a project we intend to undertake. Before anything else, let's look east — to the distant Dragon-Xia Empire, at the Kunlun Academy of Magic. Drawing on old legend, they've built themselves a floating city."

He gestured, and a projection of the sky city bloomed in the air before them all — an entire city suspended in flight, magic towers rising in ranks, buildings arranged in orderly clusters, streets laid out clean and green with trees, walls rising high around the perimeter, cannon towers mounted with enormous magical guns pointed in every direction, the whole structure hanging like an inverted mountain, spiritual light flickering steadily beneath it as it hovered in open sky.

Evan drew in a sharp breath. The floating city was the size of a small town in its own right — nothing like it existed anywhere in his old life on Earth. He couldn't help but marvel at what this world's magical civilization had achieved.

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Murmurs spread through the room. Ortlando raised a hand, and the noise settled. "Ladies, gentlemen, you've all seen the image now. This is nothing short of a miracle. The Desert Mirage Academy of the Newmontsey Empire has already begun construction on a floating city of their own design. We at Hollingburton have the means to build one too — but a floating city is an enormous undertaking. Only by working together can we bring off something that amounts to a genuine miracle of engineering."

Heathermere spoke up. "The core of a floating city has to be the levitation array, obviously. But how would the power be supplied? Are we simply meant to keep feeding mana into the array without end?"

A sharp question, one that cut straight to the heart of it. Every eye turned to Ortlando, waiting on his answer. "A good question," he said. "This is the real difficulty, and I've considered several approaches — none of them a permanent solution. The best plan I've found would need a legendary mage to charge the array in a single infusion of mana, sustaining it for roughly a month before it needs to be renewed — drawing enough energy from the Fire Plane in the meantime to keep every dependent array running."

Workable, but it demanded a legendary mage standing by indefinitely. Something flickered through Evan's mind — back on Earth, there had been nuclear power. A reactor at the core might sustain something like this far longer. Or, he thought, if the city could simply fly high enough to reach geosynchronous orbit, it could hover without any propulsion at all — though would there even be air up there?

While Evan turned the thought over, an Arcanist spoke up. "This is a hard problem, certainly. But how did Kunlun solve it?"

Good question — every eye shifted to Ortlando again. He gave a rueful look. "I don't know how Kunlun managed it. That's their secret to keep. From what I've heard, Kunlun cultivates through something called meridian-chakras — an entirely different system from ours."

"And Newmontsey's Desert Mirage — how are they handling it?" someone asked.

"They've only just begun construction. We don't know their approach either. There is one method that could work — a God's Heart — but something like that is vanishingly rare in this world," Ortlando said.

"Desert Mirage's flying carpet technique is remarkable in its own right. Could they be drawing inspiration from that?"

"Unlikely. We've imported flying carpets ourselves — they're essentially the same principle as the old witches' flying brooms, nothing more than a cluster of levitation arrays," another mage said.

Ideas kept coming, the room settling into a discussion of technical particulars. Evan listened from the side. Everything they raised concerned specific magical techniques — nothing about the project's overall planning or structure. He found himself shaking his head.

Ortlando, watching the discussion unfold, caught the gesture and felt something click into place. "Professor Wang. You have thoughts? I noticed you shaking your head."

Evan had only lived eighteen years in his past life, but his father had been a property developer, and a successful one at that — well acquainted with the demands of large construction projects. Growing up around it, Evan had picked up a fair working knowledge of the subject himself, almost by osmosis. At Ortlando's question, he gave a small smile. "I've been listening to everyone discuss the technical details, and I do have a thought. Building a floating city is an enormous undertaking — technical know-how alone won't carry it. Has anyone considered what the actual goal of the construction is? What the overall blueprint and each individual component's plans should look like? What materials are needed, and in what quantities? What needs to happen and by when? Everyone here has their own specialty — who's responsible for what, and how do those pieces coordinate with each other? Who oversees the whole operation and keeps it moving in sync? We're building a floating city, not a single house. The groundwork alone — feasibility studies, technical justification, engineering viability — isn't something one meeting can settle."

Silence followed. The room turned the words over, and no one could argue the point. They'd been too focused on details — technical details above all — and had overlooked just how difficult the undertaking itself would be to manage.

Everyone present was sharp enough in their own right — none of them had reached Arcanist or legendary rank by accident — and though none of them specialized in engineering, Evan's words landed clearly enough the moment he said them.

"Professor Wang's point is well taken," Ortlando said. "A project this size, and we've been far too casual about it. Professor Wang, tell us more about your thinking. What would you call this approach of yours? Is there a name for it?"

"Systems engineering," Evan said. He didn't really understand the term himself — only that he'd overheard his father discussing it with his engineers back in his old life.

"Systems engineering. I like that. Go on — tell us your thoughts," Ortlando encouraged.

"Ladies, gentlemen, I'll speak plainly. What I can offer are only rough, unpolished ideas. First, we need a feasibility study for a project of this scale — approached from several angles: technical feasibility, preliminary design options, choosing the best approach among them for everything downstream. From there, task analysis, functional analysis, design synthesis and verification..." Evan spoke at length, drawing entirely on half-remembered fragments from his old life. Plenty of it was likely wrong, or incomplete, in one way or another — but it hardly mattered. The room quietly filled in the gaps themselves, and once they did, the enormous undertaking in front of them suddenly seemed far more manageable.

"That's the shape of my thinking — most of it still rough. None of you have run a project quite like this before, I imagine, but across your long lives, I'd guess you've each got experience close enough to it. I'll leave it there." Evan gave a small bow and sat back down.

Applause broke out, scattered at first, then spreading through the whole room.