“Are you certain, Miss Veronica?” Leopold leaned from the carriage window. Claire sat beside him, hands folded small in her lap. “I can have a room made ready at the mansion. No trouble at all.”
Veronica stood on the street, arms crossed. “I’m grateful, Lord Leopold. But no. If I rely on your household now, I’ll never learn the city on my own.”
His face tightened for a moment, then softened with a nod. “Very well. Independence is admirable. If you need anything, come to my mansion—or city hall. Say you’re my guest from Greystone. You’ll be admitted.”
“That’s plenty,” she said. “Thank you.”
Claire leaned over the armrest, waving with a shy flick. “Goodbye, Miss Veronica.”
Veronica’s lips bent into a small smile as she raised her hand. “Goodbye, Claire. Take care of him.”
The convoy clattered forward, wheels biting against cobblestone. Nolhan gave her a curt nod. Marceline tossed her a quick wink. One that seemed a bit more than “friendly.”
Veronica let out a half-laugh and waved them on.
At the tail of the line, a guard dropped from his saddle. He offered a folded sheet. “Map of the city, Miss Veronica. Courtesy of the viscount. On the back is the viscount’s seal. You can show that to any city logistics department, and they’ll recognize you as a guest.”
She took it with a nod. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy Ronswick,” he said, before swinging back into the saddle and riding off.
She walked as she unfurled the map.
Ronswick spread wider than Greystone—paved roads, taller buildings, whole districts cut broad and neat. Not on Annesheim’s scale, but still richer in every way.
Here in the city rose an adventurers’ guild and a mage tower. Both gateways to the resources she’d need for ascension. Smithies and armories worked along the avenues. Apothecaries lined stalls with finer wares than Greystone’s bare mining stores. Whole streets carried trinkets, artifacts, and food, scents drifting into the air.
She would have to stop at one. Boar meat had grown flat.
She lowered the map in front of an inn. The sign read:
1 day/night stay with meals: 200 vix.
Her mouth pressed thin. Ronswick would be her base until she reached Annesheim. Which meant she needed coin.
She exhaled. “Well… there’s probably no better place to get quick money than there,” she murmured. “But I’m going to have to make a quick little detour…”
A few minutes later, Veronica stopped in front of a large, pointed building.
The tower loomed in a slow spiral, five stories tall. It was respectable. Modest beside Annesheim’s sixteen-floor spire that split the clouds like a needle, but for a viscount’s city, it was more than enough.
Veronica stepped through the arched entryway. Ink and parchment thickened the air, layered with herbs and sharp alchemical tangs. Robed mages hurried across the foyer, arms stacked with books and clinking glassware. A tower alive, just as she remembered.
Seemed like mages were the same no matter the location or time.
At the front counter, two wooden puppets stood like waiting clerks. Constructs—built for simple tasks. Their eyes glowed faintly, joints stiff as clockwork.
“Welcome to the Ronswick Branch Mage Tower.” One spoke flat, voice caught and creaking, between metal and wood. “What is your business here today?”
“I’d like to register as an association mage.”
The puppet’s eyes flickered. Gears whirred low in its chest. “I see. Do you have identification?”
Her mouth opened, but then she froze.
The irritation was surprising.
Of course she didn’t. Her old card had been useless for years; at the 9th-Tier, people had known her by name alone, even in other Kingdoms or Empires.
With her regression, she had woken naked in the Greystone woods, clothed now only by Greystone's fabrics and nothing else to her name. She hadn’t realized how much she’d grown used to open doors when she knocked. Now she had to be questioned on everything.
She sighed with annoyance. “I… no,” she admitted.
The gears clicked louder. Eyes burned red. “Without proper identification, we cannot process your registration. Return with an ID card.”
Veronica exhaled, shoulders sinking. Perfect. Several years free of the thing, and now she needed it.
She turned for the door—
“Is something the matter?”
A man descended from the stairwell, books stacked in his arms. He wore cropped robes of purple and black, surrounded by silver thread. A tower head’s assistant, if she remembered the distinction correctly.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Setting the pile on the counter, he eyed the puppet’s red gaze, then back to Veronica.
“These clerks are overdue for maintenance,” he said, smile easy. “They misjudge more often than not.”
Veronica inclined her head slightly, downtrodden. “I was just trying to register as a mage.”
“Ah.” His brow lifted. “That much I can help with.”
He brushed dust from his sleeve, leaned against the counter, and reached for a quill and ledger. “We’ll get you set up. Just a few questions.”
She perked up. That was lucky. She’d come at the right time.
The nib scratched as he worked. “Your full name?”
“Veronica Everwells.”
“Age?”
“Nineteen.”
“Current tier?”
“Tier Three.”
“And your Paths?”
“Ruin and Tempests.”
The quill stalled. His gaze flicked up, holding hers a moment too long. “A strong pairing,” he said, even. Then he bent back to the page.
“Criminal history?”
“None.”
“Letters of recommendation?”
“No.”
He checked the final boxes in quick strokes, then set the quill aside. “That covers preliminaries. Now—your ID?”
Veronica’s lips pulled tight. “That’s the problem. I don’t have one.”
Comprehension crossed his face as he leaned back. “Ah. So that’s what the clerks flagged.” His tone eased. “You’ve lost it—or…?”
“I came as a guest of Lord Leopold,” Veronica said evenly. “I’ve traveled from very far away; I haven’t had the chance to receive an official card in any city yet.”
At the name, the man only nodded, unshaken. “A guest of Lord Leopold. Understood. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll process the registration now, and once you secure your card, we’ll finalize it. Until then, it stays pending. Fair?”
Veronica dipped her chin. “Fair.”
He stacked the sheets, tapped them flat, then waved at the puppets. “Keep these books safe under the desk. I’ll return for them.”
“Krkk. Yes, sir,” one droned.
Satisfied, he turned back. “This way. Preliminary testing first. I’m Armand Sorell, by the way.”
“Veronica,” she said, with the faintest smile tugging at her mouth. “Though you already know that.”
A short chuckle escaped him. “I suppose I do.”
Their steps echoed along stone halls. Shelves loomed heavy around them, filled with scrolls, tomes, and small trinkets. Pedestals were placed apart every few meters; plaques were settled on their bases, describing some sort of magical or alchemical discovery. Prototypes, vanity elements to boast or serve as a degree of aspiring achievement to new mages.
At last, they came to a door. Armand pushed it open.
Inside, a small chamber waited. At its center stood a stone pedestal, a crystal sphere resting on top—its glow faint, pulsing slow. Along the wall, a man in gray robes muttered over ledgers, flipping through until Armand cleared his throat.
“Hugh. Candidate for registration. Veronica Everwells. Handle the test? I need to finish my delivery.”
The older mage shut the ledger with a soft thump. His lined face lifted, polite and ready. “Of course. Leave her to me.” He smoothed his robes and stepped over.
“Thank you,” Armand said. He turned to Veronica and offered a nod of reassurance. “The process is simple,” Armand had said, already walking out through the door. “Just follow Hugh’s instructions and we’ll get you settled as quick as possible. Best of luck, Miss Everwells.” The door clicked shut behind him.
Hugh stepped forward, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you. My name is Hugh Larren, head of study here at the Ronswick mage tower. You can call me Hugh or Mr. Hugh—whichever you like. I’m not particularly concerned with titles.”
Veronica reciprocated, shaking his hand. “Very well. I’m Veronica Everwells.”
This was the second time she introduced herself to people who had already just heard her name.
He gave a satisfied hum. “Well then. Shall we begin?” He gestured at the orb. “Place your hand on the crystal. Circulate your mana evenly. This will help me assess your mana core.”
Veronica pressed her palm against the surface, cool light seeping into her skin.
Hugh pulled a clipboard free from under the desk, pen poised. “Alright. Sorry if you already told Armand, but I’ll need it again—your age, your tier, and the Paths you follow?”
“I’m nineteen. Tier Three. Path of Ruin and Tempests.”
Hugh hummed, jotting her words. “A war mage, then. Fine path. Invaluable during war. Less so in peace—but peace never lasts forever, does it?”
You’ve no idea, Mr. Hugh.
He pointed at the crystal. “That device is a mana visualizer. It lets us gauge your progression without live casting. We’ll measure capacity, destructive scale, and your reach for both paths.”
Veronica nodded. She already knew. The orb built a mental plane where imagination linked straight to her cores. Whatever she could do in reality, she could reflect inside without limit. It was the perfect training device in the future, when every cast cost not only mana, but her life.
Hugh set his clipboard aside and placed his palm on the orb. “I’ll activate it. Don’t be startled by what you see.”
Veronica closed her eyes. The orb’s cool weight vanished.
When she opened them again—
She stood in a broad clearing high in the mountains. Jagged peaks cut the horizon, white-capped and sharp. Beneath her feet stretched a slab of concrete. Ahead, a long range opened, white lines painted every ten meters. At its end, a wooden dummy waited a hundred meters away.
Hugh shimmered into form behind her, gaze lifting skyward. “This is the visualizer’s construct. It ties directly to your core.”
Veronica followed his eyes. Overhead, a vast blue orb blazed where the sun should hang. Two shimmering rings circled slow, pulsing with life.
“I see two mana rings,” Hugh said, voice tightening to formality. “Well done. Just a bit more until your third.” His eyes dropped back to her. “Now, Miss Everwells, do you know what the Paths of Ruin and Tempests represent?”
Her gaze cut back to the range. “Destruction refined. Large-scale devastation. Controlled chaos.”
“Correct.” His approval flickered in his tone. “Ruin and Tempest mages are judged on raw output. With that in mind—show me your strongest spell. And, if possible, your most complex. Don’t hold back. I need a proper measure of where you stand among peers.”
Veronica stepped to the zero mark. Her lips curved faintly. “It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these. No consequences this time. I can finally go all out.”
Her arm lifted, fingers loose. Mana surged through her body like a storm breaking its banks. Violet light sparked in her eyes; strands of hair rose in the current.
Overhead, the sky-core shuddered. A crack split across its surface. The two rings spun wildly, grinding against their orbit.
Hugh’s voice came sharply. “Wait—are you trying to fracture your core? That technique would cripple any mage. Cores aren’t built for the strain under that quick of rotation. Even if you survive it here, it proves nothing. I can’t allow this.”
Veronica half-turned. Her gaze caught him, bright and steady. “Mr. Hugh. You didn’t notice my mana core, did you?”
His brow furrowed. “I saw it. A tier-3 core—two rings. Promising, but not unique. It doesn’t change—”
“Not that one.”
A smile touched her lips as she faced forward again. The floor trembled. Her mana roared like a storm untethered.
“Not… that one?” Hugh muttered. The ground quaked harder. His head jerked up.
No… if not that, then where—
His instinct’s flared up. He spun—then froze.
High behind him was a tall mountain. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t seen it. But now that he was staring at it, he noticed the giant blemish peeking through from behind.
A second mana core blazed in the sky near its peak. Another vast sphere, two rings rotating at increasing speed. Just as immense as the first.
“Impossible,” he whispered.
When he turned back, Veronica burned with power. Hair lifted in the torrent of her aura. Her hand hung raised high, not like one seeking permission, but like one delivering judgment.
She called to the light above her.
And the light began to answer.
Path of Ascension and Path of Longevity
Path of Ascension and the Path of Longevity specialize in sustained empowerment. These mages tend to focus on empowering themselves almost exclusively, ensuring their body is always at peak performance. This means they reaction speed, durability, strength, speed--all of it is always active, heightened like that of a seasoned warrior, much similar to aura-users. These mages tend to be exclusively melee fighters, preferring to use their bodies as weapons, or weapons, and are often referred to as Spellblades. These mages can branch into several paths, such as agility for assassination and scouting, or strength for frontlined fighters. These mages can also alter their body over time by continuously applying magic, evolving from basic humans, into something greater.
To what largest extent, do you think an uncursed, at her peak-power, Exalted-Form, Veronica could destroy?
