Scroll 50: Power and Prospects
Alaster's mind spun around a peculiar concept. He recalled his days as a gamer, specifically playing MMORPGs with raid bosses that boasted absurd health pools—monsters requiring full platoons of players to defeat. He thought about those raid strategies, but with the logic inverted.
If he had minions at his disposal and possessed acceptable defenses, a head-on clash wasn't the right move. Attrition was. Stay safe, wear the opponent down, and essentially act as the final boss of the dungeon.
Sitting at the table, he observed Denderatrix, who was lazily flipping through a grimoire. Alaster surfaced from his calculations and locked eyes with her. Detrix radiated a commanding femininity. Her long, soft-flowing skirt hinted at the contours of shapely legs ending in neat, strapped sandals.
Since she sat in a separate chair to give him space, the table offered an unobstructed view. The elf's gaze traveled up her crossed legs, lingered briefly on her chest, and reached her face. She was watching him with a mischievous smirk.
"Handsome elf," Detrix said softly, crossing her arms without losing her smile. "If you keep staring at me like that, I'm going to start getting ideas."
Alaster looked away instantly.
"Sorry," he excused himself. "I just wanted to ask again: what passive ability do summoners get when unlocking that advanced class?"
Denderatrix tilted her head.
"Al, don't even think about becoming a summoner. It's not worth it. It only grants a slight mana pool boost—around seventy percent—and a two hundred percent health passive. It's useless. Plenty of spells boost health passively or temporarily, but the base mana reserves and intelligence granted by other classes are irreplaceable. That's why nobody chooses Summoner. Even those who rely on summoned beasts prefer Arcanist for the massive mana pool, or Archmage for the mental clarity complex spells require."
Detrix turned her chair to face him directly.
"Truth be told, you don't seem to have any trouble understanding grimoires. You have good world knowledge. Idealy, you should become an Arcanist like me. You'll have enough mana for devastating spells. A mage's power is measured by their mana pool; if you can't comprehend spells, it's useless, but for most, mana capacity is their greatest asset. Everything else depends on catalysts or weapons."
Alaster nodded in silence. A level eighty mage likely knew what she was talking about.
"Is that all regarding advanced classes?" he asked.
Denderatrix stood up and stepped over to the table to retrieve another volume.
"Yes. And if you see strange class options during your ascension, ignore them. When I finished my trial, I felt the world freeze and appeared in a void of total darkness. Five transparent windows floated before me. The standard ones were there: Archmage, Arcanist, and Summoner. But there were two others. I remember one in particular: Mana Queen. It offered chaos immunity and a modest twenty percent mana increase, but claimed to allow the use of primordial chaos mana."
Alaster raised an eyebrow.
"That doesn't exist here," she chuckled. "Not even elves know what that is. That's why they're considered useless classes; if you pick one, you'll end up looking for a way to reset it."
"Can you change classes later?" the elf asked, surprised.
"Yes," the mage replied, picking up the book. "Bit it's an arduous process. You have to impress a deity, earn their favor, and convince them to grant you another chance."
Alaster frowned. As someone from another world, keeping his distance from local deities felt like the wisest choice—assuming they truly existed and weren't merely part of the magic system's underlying mechanics. He brushed the thoughts aside; information on classes was invaluable. Sticking to standard norms and choosing a common class at level fifty was the safest path, unless something irresistible surfaced.
Detrix closed her book and handed it over.
"Here, Al. This grimoire covers advanced magic theory. It's required reading for any serious mage. It was written by one of my ancestors, Lobregon Desserth—my great-grandfather."
Alaster let out a low whistle as he took the tome.
"Your family has quite a legacy."
The mage smiled proudly, though her expression softened a moment later.
"I haven't made much progress myself," she murmured under her breath.
"And what is it about?" Alaster asked to cheer her up. "Does it teach spell construction?"
"Exactly," Detrix replied, sinking back into her chair. "It teaches you to comprehend magic and gives you the foundation to create your own spells, though it takes immense effort."
The elf examined the cover with interest. Although a manual for creating original magic was priceless, mastering the magic shield had to come first. He stood up
"I'll study it once this trip is over. Right now, I need to focus on defensive spells."
"Wise choice," the mage agreed. "Your safety comes first, handsome Al... Are you leaving already?"
"I want to visit the smithy," he explained. "I'd like to pick up a sword for my right hand. It could be useful if anything gets too close."
"True, as an elf, your physical strength isn't negligible," Detrix acknowledged. "Do you want me to...?"
"I also have some personal errands to run," Alaster interrupted with a smile, holding up a hand. "I don't want to waste your time."
The mage narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"Fine. Honestly, I need to buy some undergarments and..." he improvised.
"I get it," she laughed. "You want privacy. I'll go with the girls to find some local sweets."
Shortly after, Alaster was walking down the dirt path wearing his long leather coat with structured pauldrons and dark gloves. He carried the commanding presence of an experienced mage, a fact confirmed by the glances of the locals.
Near the road, three women chatted on the doorstep of a house: the homeowner, her daughter, and a neighbor. The homeowner, a slender woman with dark hair, commented idly:
"Well, the goblins fled in fear, so my husband came back. Ever since he arrived, he's done nothing but sleep, and it's only been a few hours."
"Naturally," the neighbor chuckled. "He probably went days without proper rest."
"Nonsense, he's always like that," the daughter chimed in with a laugh.
The young woman cut herself off mid-sentence. Her expression shifted as her eyes locked onto the path. The other two women followed her gaze. Walking down the road was a tall, elegant man with black hair and striking violet eyes.
"Who is that?" the neighbor whispered.
"That's the new neighbor," the mother answered, recognizing him. "Word is he's a powerful mage."
The young woman, an avid novel reader, recognized his traits immediately.
"He's an elf..." she gasped in awe. "My neighbor is an elf."
"This girl never stops dreaming," the mother sighed. "That elf doesn't even know you exist."
Noticing their stares from twenty feet away, Alaster raised a hand in a polite greeting. The young woman responded immediately, waving her hand with frantic enthusiasm. Alaster offered a subtle smile and kept walking, amused by the townsfolk's energy.
"Now he knows I exist," the girl said, lowering her hand.
Her mother and the neighbor burst into laughter.
After asking for directions, Alaster reached the smithy. Inside the workshop, a burly man was hammering a glowing piece of metal over an anvil. The shop was packed with shelves, tables, and barrels containing weapons and armor parts.
"Excuse me," Alaster said as he stepped inside. "Do you have a moment?"
The blacksmith paused his hammer, looked at the newcomer, and widened his eyes in surprise.
"Ah! You're Lord Alaster, the mage!"
Setting the metal near the forge, he dropped his hammer and approached, wiping his hands on his overalls before extending a hand in simple courtesy. Alaster shook it firmly, unbothered by the light layer of sweat.
"Hello. I'm looking for a sword," the elf said. "Your shop was recommended to me."
"It's an honor. Eyrin!" the smith called out with a booming voice.
Alaster flinched slightly at the sudden shout. From behind the shelves emerged a six-year-old girl with brown pigtails and clear blue eyes, skipping forward.
The smith crouched down affectionately.
"Sweetheart, go find your mother and ask her to bring tea for Lord Alaster and me."
The little girl looked at the visitor, her eyes widening.
"Daddy, look at his ears!"
The man glanced at the elf with a silent apology, but Alaster simply knelt down to the girl's eye level with a soft smile.
"That's because I'm an elf," he said gently.
"This is my daughter, Eyrin," the father introduced proudly. "She already knows how to read and count past a thousand. Though her health is a bit delicate..." he added in a low voice, his expression darkening for a fraction of a second before regaining his composure.
"Mr. Alaster, why are your ears like that?" the girl asked with innocent curiosity.
"That's just how ears are for my people. And they're very sensitive," he answered. "And you're Eyrin?"
"Are you a mage like the ones in storybooks?" she pressed, swaying on her feet.
"I am."
"Come on, Eyrin, go get your mother," the smith intervened.
The girl sprinted toward the back shouting at the top of her lungs, "Mommy!"
The smith turned toward the shelves.
"I'm not sure why a mage would need a sword, but what kind of blade are you looking for?"
"One that cuts," Alaster said with a shrug.
The man smiled.
"In that case, I'd suggest a shortsword. Ideal for pairing with a shield."
"I need to keep my left hand free," the elf clarified. "By the way, you haven't told me your name."
The smith slapped his forehead.
"Right, forgive my lack of manners. I'm Elroin."
"You can call me Al. Let's skip the formalities," the mage offered.
"Alright, Mr. Al. If you aren't using a shield, something with more reach would suit you better."
At that moment, Elroin's wife entered carrying a tray of tea, followed closely by little Eyrin. The woman greeted him politely, set down the tray, and retired with the child, who took the opportunity to beg for cookies as they walked down the hallway.
Elroin poured the tea and handed a cup to Alaster. He then pulled a longsword of polished steel from a shelf. It was simple in design, but sturdy.
"This is a longsword. Normally it requires two hands, but for an elf above level ten, your natural strength will allow you to wield it one-handed without issue. It offers good reach and defensive coverage."
He handed the weapon over, holding it by the blade. Alaster took the hilt with his right hand, feeling the balanced weight of the steel.
To check its compatibility with magic, he began channeling mana into the ring on his left hand. He transferred forty mana points without experiencing any interference. The test was a success.
"It feels right," Alaster declared.
"That'll be twenty-two silver coins," Elroin indicated.
The smith knew the sword's actual value was eight silver coins, but he inflated the price with his daughter's medicine costs in mind, assuming the finely dressed elf wouldn't mind. To Alaster, who stood to earn over two gold coins from the sandstone golem quest, the price felt modest for a well-crafted steel weapon.
"I have a practice area in the backyard," Elroin offered. "You can test the edge if you'd like."
They walked out to the yard—a fifteen-square-meter dirt enclosure bounded by fences, featuring several straw dummies mounted on wooden posts.
Alaster approached one of the targets. Gripping the sword with his right hand, he delivered a swift slash. He felt almost no resistance as his arm moved through the arc. For a second, he thought he had missed or merely grazed the straw.
He glanced at the clean blade and turned to the smith with a sheepish look, expecting to have made a fool of himself. However, Elroin was staring at the target with wide eyes.
"Woah..." the smith stammered, stepping closer. "I thought you were a beginner, but I didn't even see the swing."
Elroin lightly tapped the upper section of the straw dummy. The bundle of straw and old cloth slid sideways, tumbling to the ground with a clean, horizontal cut.
Alaster looked at the severed section of the wooden post. The edge had sheared straight through both wood and straw without slowing his arm's momentum.
«That edge is formidable,» the elf thought, hiding his own astonishment.
"Excellent steelwork, Elroin," Alaster commented calmly.
"It's your technique that makes the difference," the smith replied, still impressed by the impact's power.
Alaster paid the twenty-two silver coins and added two more for a reinforced leather scabbard that attached to his belt. He stepped out of the smithy just as the sun began dipping behind the hills.
With the sword secured at his side, Alaster adjusted his grip on the hilt. He still had time before the evening gathering—the perfect opportunity to test his magic on the outskirts of town.