Light-gray, almost white mana was sitting in Reynard’s Inner Athanor, waiting to be separated.
Focusing more intently, Reynard could see the tiny parts the liquid was made of: tiny motes of black and white, with bits of red here and there.
The black motes had an earthen feel to them, the white motes were cool and tasteless, like water, and the red motes were spicy and tingled.
The Manual of Threefold Transformation didn’t say how much mana Reynard should expunge in the process of separation. The teachers told that this part could be skipped entirely, and gave vague advice like "follow your instincts" and "try to achieve a balance".
And Reynard himself never had gathered enough mana to reach this Operation at all.
’No wonder so many people got stuck at this part... Even those who completed countless separations can’t explain how the hell it should be done. MY instincts tell that throwing out refined mana is a waste! It cost money! These Saturnian Ivy flowers don’t grow on trees—they grow on ivies!’
However, he felt that the balance in his mana was missing. The red bits—ones that Reynard didn’t rember sensing in his mana before—stood out like drops of oil in water.
’They must co from the Saturnian Ivy flowers,’ Reynard thought. ’This plant is quite volatile... No wonder their unique mana doesn’t want to play well with the rest of it. At least with the white mana, black mana seems to be doing better.’
After thinking a bit longer, Reynard realized that he had to throw out either the white mana or the red mana. Otherwise, the mix will stay too volatile to expect a good refinent later on.
’The red mana is potent and venomous, but its volu is tiny compared to that of the white mana. The white mana is very neutral... From what I was taught, the quality of mana in the Inner Athanor will affect the entire body and aura. The red mana should give so of the Saturnian Ivy qualities, but the white mana will give more of the steady power.’
After a mont, Reynard reached out with his mind and plucked out a white mote, then exhaled it out of his mouth.
’Mana of ivies is more expensive, I’m going to keep it! Maybe it will turn my blood into venom, that would be pretty cool.’
Reynard focused on expunging more and more white motes. Ti passed by without his notice, but they left his body one by one, until there was only black and red mana.
As Reynard predicted, it mixed well together—so well that the liquid mana beca a uniform dark red, and it was impossible to see individual motes anymore.
’This ans... I have succeeded! But... Damn, now I have almost nothing left!’
His Athanor, previously full, was now filled only to a tenth. The amount of wasted mana was saddening.
Reynard opened his eyes and saw the sky that was only starting to darken—just like when he first started his ditation. It seed that the separation process, despite feeling like hours, took almost no ti at all.
’Huh, I did this quickly! Although my muscles are tired from sitting anyway. But... sothing feels wrong.’
Reynard stood up and looked around, trying to put his finger on it. Was it his body? He felt parched, hungry, and exhausted, but still a bit invigorated—despite the loss of mana, advancing to the next operation improved his aura.
’Shit! The sun—the sun is in the west! This isn’t evening, this is early morning! I sat there an entire night! And I actually have to sit in class in—’
GONNNNNG!
Reynard jolted at the sound of a wake-up bell.
’—in an hour.’
***
The practical class was held in one of the school’s training grounds. It was a simple area of ground, surrounded by an enhanced fence. Inside were several straw dummies—they were cheap to replace when they inevitably ended up broken.
A gaggle of black-robed children from seven to fourteen years old was standing in several rows. Next to them, Reynard, who was a head taller than everybody else, stood out like a sore thumb.
Of course, after sixteen years of being stuck at the lowest level of the Blue Bismut School, Reynard had learned everything he could from his teachers, but he was still forced to attend at least practice classes.
The teacher stood to the side. He was a middle-aged man in white robes, which ant he passed the Final Cycle of Nigredo and reached the next minor stage, Albedo.
The teacher made a pass with a hand, and a small bolt of fire flew from the air, precisely striking a dummy on the head. The bolt singed a fist-sized hole straight through the straw, setting the rest of the dummy on fire.
With a second spell, the teacher created a bucketful of water over the dummy, extinguishing it.
The youngest kids stared in awe. The rest saw the sa lesson enough ti to be bored and stare at the clouds, the birds, and the boogers picked from their noses.
Reynard tried to sleep with his eyes open.
"I hope you have seen this well enough! So of you still can’t perform a simple Firebolt spell! I know you have eyes on your refinent, but even if you advance up a Cycle, it will be useless if you don’t know spells to use in a fight!"
The students hunched their shoulders and refocused on the teacher. He glared at them.
"To successfully cast a spell, you must not rely repeat every gesture and word by rote. You must adapt the spell to your unique aura, and this requires understanding of both yourself and the spell. It requires practice of minute spell variations until you understand which is right for you and only for you! And now, soone will demonstrate this principle..."
The teacher’s eyes ran over the group of students. He wondered whom to call forth when his eyes fell on Reynard.
The older magus noticed that Reynard’s aura had changed slightly. And also, he was sleeping with his eyes open!
"Reynard Artemy! Don’t you dare to sleep during practice—step forward and demonstrate the Firebolt spell for the rest of the class!"
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