Mage? Magic Engineer!-Chapter 38 - 35: The First Class as a Student
Rorschach looked at his schedule. The next class was dark green, which meant he would be attending as a student.
"Art of Chanting class? What kind of fluff course is this?"
Rorschach’s double standard wasn’t without its own twisted logic:
Although he had been a tech geek in his previous life, he still quite liked and valued history. When it came to chanting, however, the Empire College’s philosophy was that it was an inefficient and easily interrupted method of Casting. For Low Tier magic, students were only permitted to use hand gestures. ’As for art... sorry, I’m too uncultured to appreciate it.’
Come to think of it, this was the first Magic class Rorschach had attended since arriving in this world. ’Sigh... for my first class, should I actually pay attention, or just slack off?’
Rorschach mulled this over in the back of the classroom. There was still some time before class started when a group of people came in, chattering loudly.
’So damn loud.’ Rorschach glanced over and saw they were familiar faces. At the center of the posse of troublemakers, being fawned over, was the same big guy who had been acting up in the previous class.
He was still showing off the noble attire underneath, especially a golden mantle and a fine, scarlet woolen shirt. The young men and women surrounding the big guy were all chiming in agreement with him.
Rorschach was looking at him, and he noticed Rorschach as well. "Well, well, if it isn’t our esteemed teacher. What are you doing attending a class?"
Rorschach nodded. "That’s right. I’m here to learn."
The big guy deliberately sat next to Rorschach and lowered his voice, "Northerner, don’t get so arrogant just because you’ve latched onto some fatso professor. You’re in unfamiliar territory, so you’d better watch out!"
’A direct threat, just like that? What kind of punk is this?’ Rorschach was a bit stunned. He asked the guy’s cronies, "Is this clown really part of the Nobility?"
Rorschach successfully provoked the big guy. "Are you questioning me?! Questioning the direct bloodline of Duke Melovinca! You are insulting my clan!" His roar drew the attention of the other students.
"For the honor of the Melovinca Clan, you have to duel that Empireist! Teach him a lesson!" The crowd of onlooking Apprentices was growing, and someone at the back of the group egged him on.
"That’s right! That’s right! My ancestor was a Master duelist! The Melovinca Clan earned its title and fiefdom by beating down Empireists!"
"Remember my name and my house: Philippe de Melovinca." As he spoke, Philippe pulled a pristine white silk glove from his breast pocket and threw it at Rorschach. Rorschach caught it. He tried to recall the dueling ritual he’d heard about, and then realized... ’I don’t think I have a glove.’
’Oh, wait, I do. I have those Alchemy Protection Gloves. I used them to carry hot stew pots back when I was escorting that merchant caravan. After I learned [Mage’s Hand], I never needed them again.’
He quickly dug them out of his Storage Ring and threw the thick, greasy Leather Gloves... SLAP! Right in the other guy’s face.
Everyone collectively held their breath for a second, before bursting into laughter.
"You’re doing this just to humiliate me!" Philippe snatched the glove off his face and wiped away the grease. Now his face was slick and shiny, red as a ripe tomato.
"Um... for a duel, you don’t throw a glove back. You’re just supposed to pick up the one the challenger threw..."
Philippe let out a roar and lunged forward. "Enough talk with this little barbarian!"
Although Rorschach was only sixteen, he had already faced Order Knights in battle. His eyes coldly tracked his opponent’s movements. Unlike the other Magic Tower Apprentices, he didn’t chant before Casting. Taking a step back and to the side, he silently unleashed his "Qilin Arm."
As the other Apprentices watched, an invisible force lifted Philippe into the air. His already red face flushed an even deeper crimson, then began to turn purple.
"In a Magic Tower, what good is being big? You want to be a Close Combat Mage, you moron? Then you should just learn the Light Technique and call it a day!"
As he was being choked, Philippe not only felt himself suffocating, but also a wave of heat blasting his face. Reflected in his blue irises was the glint of flames. Rings of fire outlined a massive hand, far larger than the youth himself, that was slowly closing in on him, like it was about to light the fuse of his very life.
Just as Philippe de Melovinca felt his temples were about to explode and the need to piss became overwhelming, both the force and the fire vanished.
He was dropped like a sack of wet mud between the desks and chairs.
’If only I’d had this kind of power back when I fought that Knight from the Holy Mother Order... Leopold, was it?’ At this thought, Rorschach couldn’t help but sigh.
He scanned the stunned crowd and said slowly,
"Even though this isn’t my class, there are many respectful titles you can use for me. For example, Master Mage, or Sir. Hmm... ’classmate’ is also acceptable."
"Yes, Sir..." a faint voice replied from the edge of the crowd.
Rorschach used [Mage’s Hand] to lift the boneless heap from the floor and place him in a seat. Philippe, failing to sit upright, immediately slid back onto the ground. Rorschach had no choice but to lift him up again.
He must have hit something on the way down. The bridge of his nose was crooked, and an iron-rich fluid was leaking from it.
Meanwhile, Rorschach sat down and straightened his own books. "You all saw it. Our classmate Philippe just took a little tumble on his own. Let’s all return to our seats for class, shall we?"
This time, all the Apprentices replied in unison: "Yes, Teacher Rorschach."
"I’m the teacher for this class, aren’t I?" The instructor, Sophie, a middle-aged woman, had just walked in. Her voluminous, wavy hair bounced as she entered, just in time to witness the scene.
For some reason, upon seeing the large, dazed student with a bloody nose, she automatically assumed he had fallen on his own. "Did Mr. Philippe have a fall?"
"Yes, ma’am."
"Everyone, please be careful." Then, Ms. Sophie proceeded to use a live demonstration as an excellent start to her lesson.
She tossed a small branch in Rorschach’s direction, which he recognized as mistletoe. At the same time, the woman began to chant:
"May abundance bless you with health."
Sophie’s Jabber Language was melodic and pleasant. As she chanted, the mistletoe absorbed her Ether. The energy gathered, causing ten plump, fresh berries to grow and swell on the branch.
"This is the [Divine Berry Skill], a useful little restorative Small Spell from the Natural System.
Mr. Rorschach, please pick three berries for Mr. Philippe. The remaining branch and berries can be passed among the students."
Rorschach did as he was told. He plucked three berries, stuffed them into Philippe’s mouth, and patted his cleft chin to get him to start chewing.
As the berries were crushed, juice spilled from the corners of Philippe’s mouth. He gradually regained some of his faculties, and the red liquid stopped trickling from his nose.
Seeing Philippe’s recovery, a bolder, more mischievous Apprentice plucked a berry and popped it in his mouth to taste.
"So sour!"
Sophie said cheerfully, "The sourness will help you stay awake in class." A lighthearted mood instantly filled the classroom.
"Good chanting should be precise and clear, as well as elegant and melodious.
It is widely believed that excellent chanting provides a significant boost to Magic involving elements such as ’Summoning’ and ’Spirit’.
The [Divine Berry Skill] I just performed is from the Natural System; it is a spell of the Druids of old. According to the Druid faith, it would be considered a Divine Art belonging to nature.
Although we Mages do not worship nature in this way, good chanting can still allow us to obtain plump berries with strong restorative properties."
Sophie noticed that the mischievous students had eaten every last berry. She couldn’t help but frown. "You didn’t leave a single one? What are the students at the front supposed to examine?"
She walked over to the students’ desks to retrieve the mistletoe branch, then took out another one. "Alright, let’s do one more demonstration. This time, I will adjust the Spell."
She began Casting again. The language of the incantation changed to a relatively obscure dialect of the Jabber Language, its tones melodic and varied. Fortunately, understanding it was a fundamental skill, so everyone present could make out the words: "Oh, Abundance! May you reap health and new life!"
