Valen sat at the dining table, watching the three Iris constructs move through the kitchen with synchronized efficiency.
He'd spent the afternoon absorbing everything he could about the Force Rune—Aelindra's lecture, supplementary texts from the library, personal accounts from mages describing the feeling of successful casting. Theory was one thing. Execution was another entirely.
Time to test understanding versus memorization.
Valen extended his hand toward the salt shaker, palm open. He visualized the process clearly: mana flowing through his spiritual channels, gathering at the focal point, shaping into the complex three-dimensional structure that was the Force Rune—not a drawing, but a conceptual reality given temporary form.
He poured mana into his palm and willed the rune into existence.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—a gentle wave of air pressure rippled forward, disturbing dust motes but leaving the salt shaker standing exactly where it was.
"Master, finally there's an effect after thirty-seven attempts," Iris announced cheerfully.
"You don't need to mention the count," Valen replied, though he was smiling. He examined the sensation carefully—the way the mana had structured itself, the brief resistance before the rune stabilized, the discharge that created the air pressure wave. "My first time casting a spell I actually learned myself."
"Fufu! This is a great achievement!" The Iris construct nearest to him practically bounced with excitement. "Also, I've recorded the entire neural process and run simulations. You can now practice the spell via Dream Learning with perfect feedback."
Valen blinked. "We can do that?"
"Yes! Just close your eyes and relax. By the time dinner is ready, you'll have mastered the Force Rune."
The advantage Iris provides keeps expanding, Valen thought as he settled back in his chair. Not just knowledge storage—active skill training accelerated beyond what any mage has access to.
He closed his eyes.
The dream-space felt different this time.
Valen found himself standing in an endless white void, his hand extended, the familiar sensation of mana circulation already present. Cast. Analyze. Adjust. Cast again. Iris's voice guided him through micro-corrections—angle of intent, density of mana flow, timing of the structural collapse that created the force wave.
Time lost meaning. Minutes stretched into hours, hours into days. Each iteration refined his muscle memory, both mental and spiritual. The rune formed faster, cleaner, with less wasted energy.
By the ten thousandth repetition, it felt as natural as breathing.
When Valen finally opened his eyes, an hour had passed in the real world.
A full meal waited on the table—Rock Crab gravy gleaming red-brown, sautéed vegetables still steaming, roasted chicken with crispy skin, fluffy rice, and what looked like cake for dessert. All three Iris constructs sat around the table like attentive dinner companions.
"Master, try the Rock Crab gravy first. It has been cooked for almost two hours."
Valen picked up his spoon, tasting the gravy. Rich, slightly sweet, with the distinctive mineral flavor of Rock Crab meat. "The gravy is very smooth. And the vegetables are perfectly seasoned."
He worked through the meal with genuine appreciation—Iris had been studying cooking techniques with the same methodical intensity he applied to magic. By the time he reached dessert, his earlier tension had faded completely.
One bite of cake revealed cinnamon and apple, balanced sweetness with warm spice.
"Is it good?" Iris asked, all three constructs watching him expectantly.
"It's delicious." Valen finished the slice quickly, accepting the cup of black tea she poured. The familiar ritual felt grounding. "We should acquire some musical instruments."
"Good idea, Master! The three of us could play string, percussion, and flute. If we find a keyboard-like instrument, you could join us with your skills from your previous life."
A peaceful domestic scene, Valen thought, sipping his tea. Almost makes me forget I'm in a magical academy filled with the extraordinary and—
CRASH.
The sound of splintering wood erupted from beneath them.
Valen was on his feet instantly, tea forgotten. "The basement?"
"Let me check." One of the Iris constructs dissolved her physical form, phasing through the floor like mist.
Through their soul-channel connection, her voice echoed in his mind. "Master, there are roots here—they've broken through the foundation. This doesn't look natural."
"Plant control magic?"
"Possibly, but there's no caster present. The roots are just... moving on their own."
Without warning, a thick root erupted through the floor.
Valen jumped backward as wooden tendrils burst upward like striking serpents, scattering dishes and furniture. Splinters rained down. The root writhed with unnatural animation, clearly searching—
It oriented on him.
Targeted, Valen realized, adrenaline sharpening his focus. Not random destruction. It's hunting.
He raised his hand, mana flooding into the barrier construct he'd been working on—a modification of the Air Bullet spell, but denser, more uniform than the standard hexagonal patterns. The translucent shield materialized just as the root lashed forward like a coiled viper striking.
The impact rang like a hammer on stone.
The root recoiled, then wrapped around the barrier, probing for weak points with disturbing intelligence.
Plant manipulation this sophisticated requires either a caster within range or pre-programmed behavior, Valen analyzed even as he adapted his defense. No visible caster. So either they're hidden, or this is formation magic.
With Iris's assistance, he shifted the barrier's shape—condensing it into a massive hand construct that grabbed the root mid-strike. The wooden tendril thrashed violently, but Valen's endless mana supply meant he could simply hold it, reinforcing the construct faster than the root could damage it.
He shoved the root backward, forcing it down through the hole it had created.
Then he extended his other hand and cast the Force Rune.
The invisible hammer of compressed air slammed into the root with devastating effect. Wood splintered. The root convulsed, fractures spreading along its length like lightning through a dying tree.
Valen kept the spell active and kept cating. Each strike pulverized another section, turning aggressive plant matter into kindling. He didn't stop until the basement opening was filled with shattered wood fragments, and no more movement came from below.
The original Force Rune doesn't contain this level of destructive power, Valen noted. It's Iris's modifications—using practical physics as the foundation—that brings forth such damage.
Breathing hard—not from mana exhaustion but from pure adrenaline—Valen approached the hole cautiously.
"Iris, armor."
One of the constructs flowed around him like liquid metal, solidifying into full-body coverage using the same barrier material. The mana expenditure climbed to astronomical levels—sustaining this would drain a normal mage in seconds.
For Valen, it was merely inconvenient.
The other two Iris constructs began glowing with soft blue light—an inherent ability of spirits that provided illumination while making them visible to the naked eye.
Valen dropped through the hole into the basement.
The space was larger than he'd expected—stone walls, wooden support beams, storage shelves lined with sacks of flour, rice, root vegetables, preserved meats hanging from hooks, barrels of what smelled like pickled goods. A well-maintained supply room that Rock and previous residents had clearly kept stocked.
And everywhere: shredded roots. Hundreds of them, torn apart by his bombardment, now just dead wood scattered across the floor.
No caster. No ongoing magic signature I can detect.
"If the attacker isn't here," Valen said quietly, "we should check outside."
He climbed back up, dismissed the armor construct with a thought, and headed through the kitchen to the back door.
The night air hit him—cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and forest decay. Stars visible through breaks in the cloud cover. The backyard stretched into shadow, ancient trees looming like silent witnesses.
Valen scanned the darkness, looking for anything unusual.
Movement. Heat. Magical residue. But the forest was still, and the only sounds were wind and distant nocturnal animals.
They're gone. Or watching from beyond my detection range.
Tens of meters from Dorm Mansion 701, at the base of a massive oak tree, a figure emerged from the trunk itself—bark peeling away like skin, revealing spectacles and that same wooden construct Valen had glimpsed once before.
The doppelganger adjusted its stolen eyeglasses, staring at the distant mansion with eyes that shouldn't exist on a wooden face.
"Strong for a Rank 1 new mage," it muttered, voice like wind through dead leaves. "But there was no trace of Chaos Energy. None at all."
Its expression—if the carved features could convey such—shifted to confusion mixed with frustration.
"I will need to probe more carefully. Determine which student carries the Chaos Heir's bloodline."
The figure sank back into the tree, dissolving into the root system like it had never existed at all.
Valen slumped onto his bed in the attic, exhaustion finally catching up.
Suddenly, he felt his mind clear and a wisp of enlightment. The Force Rune has been engraved in his core. After relinquishing the moment till it lasted, Valen opened his eyes.
"I couldn't find anyone," he spoke aloud, voice flat. "Either they left immediately, or they're operating from beyond my sensory range."
"It will be difficult for roots to penetrate up here," Iris offered. "The attic is the furthest point from ground contact."
"Tomorrow we report this to the Tower." Valen closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. "I'm not the main character who handles every situation through sheer protagonist power. This is Academy security's problem, not mine."
I'm tired. Actually tired—not physically, but mentally. The first real attack on my life in this world.
"Don't worry, Master. I'll keep guard all night."
"Thank you."
The rest of the night passed without further incident, though sleep came reluctantly. Every creak of wood, every rustle of wind set Valen's nerves on edge. Eventually, he asked Iris to help shut his mind down—a gentle dream-space meditation that finally granted unconsciousness.
The next morning arrived grey and overcast.
Valen ate a light breakfast—simple rice porridge, nothing elaborate—and headed directly to the Tower. According to the schedule, today's classes covered Potioncraft, Enchanting, and Formation Theory. All important subjects.
But his safety took priority.
The Tower's administrative hall buzzed with early morning activity—students collecting materials, instructors filing paperwork, automated message crystals chiming with notifications. Valen made his way to the security desk, where a tired-looking administrator sat surrounded by stacks of incident reports.
"Pardon me. I need to report an attack on my dormitory."
The administrator looked up, suddenly more alert. "Attack? Explain."
Valen kept his report clinical and precise: timeline, description of the root-based assault, the lack of visible caster, his defensive response, the aftermath. He didn't mention Iris's constructs—just attributed his survival to "barrier magic and basic force spells."
The administrator's expression darkened as he listened. When Valen finished, the man activated the main communication crystal and spoke rapidly into it.
"Dorm 701, plant-based attack spell, no visible caster... yes, the western district. Student reporting defensive success but requesting investigation... understood."
He looked back at Valen. "The Mission Board will issue an emergency security quest." The administrator paused. "You're in Mansion 701? That's... that dorm has no senior residents currently, correct?"
"Correct. My housemates are at other campuses."
"That makes you vulnerable to precisely this kind of targeting." The administrator made a note. "The recommendation is temporary relocation until we've secured the area and identified the threat. You'd share quarters with other students, but with senior students present, you'll be safe."
"Where would I be relocated?"
"Several options." The administrator pulled up a list. "Let's see. Since you're from the Ashford family, you can move to Dorm Mansion 11, where other nobles are staying."
"Is staying in my current dorm an option if I accept increased risk?"
The administrator frowned. "Yes, but I wouldn't suggest it. If whoever attacked you tries again with greater force..."
"I understand. Let me think about it."
Valen nodded, mind already racing through implications. I won't be able to learn spells the way I do now with others around.