If Celia’s and Manta’s offices were both trophy rooms, Manta had no achievements to speak of. It was bare—deathly bare. There was nothing but a desk, writing equipment, and a thick stack of folders. It seemed to convey: I’m way too busy for even the slightest distraction. His stressed expression declared the same thing.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said.

  “Likewise,” he said in a deep voice. “I think…” He paused and sighed. “I'll be blunt, kid. My business partner is making all sorts of crazy decisions, and she can’t tell me why. And that’s a problem.”

  I nodded and turned to Celia. She put her palms together in a prayer gesture. “I know I said it was just us, but this is the man you need as your sponsor,” she said. “If you don’t convince him—you can’t become a Requia. So… can you make the same pact with him?”

  I didn’t like being asked to make another pact mere hours after I made the first; that sounded like a slippery slope. It also proved that Manta could just beg me to make a soul pact with someone else, and then that person could beg and beg and beg, and suddenly the existence of my soul pact would be so big that it screamed for attention. The request made me fume.

  “Kalas,” Celia said, studying my expression. “We’re trying to get you legal protections. If you get in, your secrets wouldn’t even matter—politicians can’t ask you about them.”

  I closed my eyes, cooling off. Just remembering what was at stake helped to put things into perspective.

  “If it’s just you,” I said pointedly. “And you add, ‘and I won’t ask Kalas to pact with someone else’ to the pact. It’s good for you because you can just say: I can’t do that. It’s good for me because… you get it. Is that acceptable?”

  Manta didn’t look pleased. Celia shifted her prayer gesture to him.

  He sighed. “Fine. Let’s make the pact.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Manta was staring at me as if he had stumbled upon a torture chamber. He laughed, rubbing his forehead. “Sleya? The most destructive mage in… history?”

  Celia looked at her heels. It seemed that she was thinking idealistically; he was thinking practically. This seemed to be their relationship.

  Manta groaned and looked at Celia. “Look… I get why you wanna do it. I’m okay with it. It’s not like anyone will blame us for it. But… you get that we’re shouldering the weight of this, right?”

  Celia pursed her lips. Then, she turned to me to explain the problem. “Like I said, it’s not easy to get in. It’s costly and causes political turmoil. That’s why we usually draw up twenty-year contracts to get a cut of your wages. We also make deals with the Governor to have the Requia stay with Amia for a set period of time.”

  “But that defeats the purpose,” I said.

  “Yes, that’s what he’s getting at. We’re doing a lot for no gain. Thankfully, your purification stunt transformed you from ‘dangerous liability’ to ‘valuable asset.’ Everyone wants to be your friend. Since you already planned to draw a purification array, the leverage works.”

  I nodded. “It does, but… that’s not all, right? I planned to do that already.”

  Celia chose her words carefully. “No. That’s not all. You’re a special candidate, meaning the other countries have to agree. To get support, the Governor suggested that your master could’ve been a Great Mage. Purification magic was lost during the Migration—you have it—therefore…”

  Sleya’s words blasted into my head. It’s not like we took all the magic. We left the good stuff: water creation, healing magic—purification.

  I must’ve made a dark expression because Manta’s eyes snapped on me. “It’s the logical conclusion, kid. Mysterious foreigner shows up with no paperwork, purifies the fountain, and—”

  “No,” I interrupted. “If my face is flustered, it’s because Sleya didn’t take purification magic. If it’s gone—someone else took it.”

  A cool chill passed through the room.

  “As for the speculation, it’s fine. I figured it’d happen; the fact that it’s working out in my favor is ideal. So thank you.”

  I really was grateful. It was clear from day one that hiding would be impossible. First off, Sleya’s endless slew of “fuck ‘em”-themed rants had rubbed off on me, and—more importantly—her commitment to justice over “political games” had been ingrained into my bones. So, to me, if people wanted to fight me over purifying a fountain—I’d fight ‘em.

  Second of all, I had three hundred years' worth of spells, recipes, arrays, and other magical concepts in my repertoire, and even the small ones were apparently eye-catching. I doubted I’d last three months before I performed “original,” “lost,” or “ancient” magic to do something insignificant. Hell, Celia’s mind was blown from my sigil—and I refused to stop using them. That moved on to problem number three:

  I refused to spend the next thirty years of my life letting other people dictate what I could and couldn’t do. Sure, I was okay with exercising prudence on big spells, but I wouldn’t run around like a paranoid rodent.

  So, yeah, fuck ‘em. The fact that I was gaining legal protections because of that mindset was equal parts ironic, convenient, and poetic. I loved it.

  “Don’t go thankin’ us,” Manta said, bringing me back to focus. “You may have earned Celia’s favor, but the guild’s finances don’t agree. That’s the ultimate problem here.”

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  (I can solve that.)

  (No, I shouldn't.)

  I immediately thought about dumping a twenty-seven-pound delivery bar of gold onto his desk, but then I'd have to explain where I hid the thing. Also, who the hell walks around with a brick of gold? Someone who robbed a treasury, that's who. It was better to provide value with my skills.

  “Oh… well… I can make a five-layer ward for your gym’s stages,” I suggested. “Invisible, of course. It’d reconnect shredded matter, including human tissue, weapons, and equipment.” I paused. “Well… within limitations.”

  Manta stopped staring at his desk and looked up with bloodshot eyes. “What?”

  “Reconstruction wards are a fundamental necessity at my level,” I explained. “If we didn’t use them, we’d’ve wiped out the forests.”

  He laughed, turned to Celia, and then back at me. “No!”

  I blinked a few times. “Why not? Isn’t that your money maker?”

  “It is. And it’s doin’ good enough. The last thing we need is cults breakin’ in trying to dismantle the fuckin’ thing.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Obsidian… scarlet… garnet…” He laughed sharply. “Is there anything you can do that won’t scream ‘I’m a Requia candidate’?”

  I thought about it and nodded. “If you’re worried about me being flashy, I have an idea that might interest you.”

  I stood in the gym two days later, facing down a decent-sized group of adventurers. The flyer at Emilia’s desk read, “Free Lesson From Platinum Adventurer!” without explanation; I thought it wouldn’t work, but lo and behold, fourteen people showed up. None of them seemed thrilled to see a “pretty boy” on the stage—but that'd change soon enough.

  “Thank you for joining the first lesson of my series,” I said. “Today, I’ll be fighting my students with nothing but the Wind Dance spell. That’s it. I want you to use your greatest weapons and spells and strategies to attack me; I’ll only use the Wind Dance spell.”

  “I don’t get how this is a lesson,” a woman said, taking out her earrings.

  “I’m teaching you that mastering a mid-tier spell is superior to any combination of stronger, unmastered spells. To do that, I'll be showcasing the extent of a single spell—one that anyone here can purchase at a reasonable price.”

  One man cracked his neck. “Well, it’s your funeral.”

  Not an hour later, Manta burst into the gym and scanned the dozens of emotionally bruised adventurers lying on the gym floor. He snapped his eyes on me. “Do you have any idea how many mana crystals you’ve eaten through by healin’ everyone?”

  (Crystals)

  (Plural?)

  Wards siphoned mana reservoirs every time they activated. That’s why the guild charged adventurers to train on healing wards. I knew that—but my scale was far off. I used wards that covered forests; surely a couple dozen triggers of this dinky thing wouldn’t cost much, right? Wrong, apparently. One glance with [astral gaze] showed the problem: the mana crystals they had were dimmer than fireflies. It was a sorry sight. I wanted to just hand the poor schmuck a ward crystal that would power his wards for life, but that was even worse than pulling out a block of adamantine. At least with adamantine, I could claim I stole it. Ward crystals grew in geographically fixed mana veins. The second people saw one, they’d want to know where the mine was—and that’s when the trouble would begin. So instead of sparking that discussion, I scratched my cheek and improvised.

  “Yeah… it's a lot,” I said, “but if they didn’t know how powerful the spell was, who would want to learn it?”

  “Everyone—if you just whooped the strongest,” Manta said. “Now think before you act. You’re here to make me money—don’t spend it!”

  I saluted him, but as soon as he left, my awkward smile disappeared. I turned to the students. “Seriously? One of you tattled to the guild master? It’s almost like none of you wanted to learn the Wind Dance spell. I guess I won’t be teaching it tomorrow.”

  That changed their tune. People begged, but I turned up my nose. “Sorry. It was gonna be free, but now the guild master is demanding money. So if you want to learn it, bring twenty-five hawks and a better attitude.”

  I thought that was a ton of money, given the hundred-hawk reward for a platinum quest, but the students’ eyes widened with glee. The next day, over twenty adventurers flooded the gym for my class. The following day, forty. Only one came on the third day: Manta—and he was pissed.

  “I canceled your class,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked. “What’d I do wrong?”

  “You’re not sellin’ the spell—that’s what you did wrong. You’re handing people a two hundred hawk spell for twenty-five gold. Now, they’re all travelin’ here for your class instead of questin'. Get it? It’s not just unprofitable: it’s bad for business.”

  “Yeah, but ten hawks is rent,” I said. “The class already costs a fortune.”

  “Not when people make a killin’ off magic. The class is 150 hawks for the first lesson. That’s final.” Manta marched away.

  Sure enough, come that afternoon, adventurers were grumbling that they missed out on a “free” spell—and that hurt my pride. It also hurt my finances. I received a five-percent cut from classes and while I had received a nice cut already, I needed money for a nice suit and travel expenses. Travel would get costly—and now I was destined to make pocket change compared to what I was making.

  So I explored Amia City, thinking about how to drum up more business. That’s when I happened upon the “circus.” A traveling group had built a gigantic pop-up tent in the city’s main park, and over a thousand people gravitated around it, eating roasted peanuts while their children rode beasts or played games. I was naturally curious, so I paid a “clown” thirty silver doves for the entrance fee and meandered into the tent.

  What I found inside changed my life. It wasn’t just the show; that was an experience in its own right. I saw people soar through the air without wings; fire displays without a lick of magic. There were freakish humans, clowns, and exotic beasts. It was inspiring, but my eyes were only fixed on one person: the ringmaster.

  That man gave me the answer to my dilemma: showmanship.

  The second I returned from the circus, I ran into my bedroom. Twenty minutes later, I came out with a poster. Without hesitation, I pinned it to the corkboard. It read:

  Challenge the Wind Dance!

  -

  Come one, come all! The Marvelous Mister Valayan invites you to his revered Wind Dance class! For 10 hawks, you can challenge him with any and all magic at your disposal. Wind! Fire! Bombs, blades, and black magic! And he will only use one spell: Wind Dance.

  If you land a single hit on him or make him use another spell, he will teach you a periwinkle spell of your choice. Many to choose from!

  Challenge Fee: 10 hawks

  Class Fee: 25 hawks (15 for challengers)

  Spectators are welcome for the challenging section of every class!

  That should do it, I thought, grinning.

  Calling myself the Marvelous Mister Valayan had a nice ring to it. It was pretentious; it screamed: pay ten hawks just to shut this kid up. That’s what I wanted. That was what I (desperately) wanted.