Waver finished speaking, reached into his drawer, and produced a small notepad, scribbling a few lines with a fountain pen.
"This is your authorization. You can go to the fourth floor of the Modern Magecraft library and borrow Fundamental Theory of Modern Runic Magecraft."
"Thank you, Professor!" Wayland took the note and gave a deep, respectful bow.
In the Clock Tower, lecturers like Waver who possessed the ability to teach students according to their individual talents were nearly non-existent. Most lecturers didn't take teaching seriously; they merely dangled bait to attract talented students, only to use them as auxiliary assistants for their own research.
Because of this, Waver was frequently invited to guest-lecture in other departments and possessed a staggering level of popularity among the students.
'If it weren't for the Holy Grail War, just being a normal student at the Clock Tower, graduating, and then becoming a lecturer... that would be the best way to live a safe and quiet life.'
With a sigh of realization, Wayland left the study. After bidding farewell to Gray at the door, he headed straight for the library and borrowed the book as instructed.
The text had been provided by Touko Aozaki, though the primary author was listed as the Bureau of Enforcement for Sealing Designations.
Wayland flipped through the pages. The book detailed the process by which Touko had reconstructed the Runic system for the modern era. It contained several Level 1 and Level 2 Runes, but anything beyond that was omitted.
Similar to the Age of Gods Runic system, modern Runes were based on the twenty-four characters of the Futhark alphabet.
'Fortunately, I have Waver as my teacher. Otherwise, it would have taken me a year or two just to even get eyes on this book.'
Wayland closed the volume. For the time being, he didn't intend to learn any more spells. He paused for a moment and then asked, "Irigal, when can I be promoted to the Fledgling rank?"
["Hmm, soon. Given your current prana capacity and the number of spells you've mastered, you're already very close to the Fledgling rank by Clock Tower standards."]
Then, Irigal gave a mischievous giggle. ["You're only a single step away, Master. Care to take a guess as to what it is?"]
"What am I missing?" Wayland ignored her playful question.
["You're missing a task,"] Irigal said with a playful huff.
"?"
Wayland felt like he was being teased. He ground his teeth and snapped, "Then give me the task!"
["Your lovely Irigal is going to take a beauty nap. Master, you can find the task yourself on the streets tomorrow."]
"Irigal!"
There was no response.
Wayland felt a surge of annoyance. 'You dog of a system, come back here! Don't you dare hide in there and stay quiet! If you've got the guts to play with me, you'd better have the guts to show your face!'
He shouted for a few more minutes, but Irigal ignored him completely.
Carrying his frustration with him, Wayland entered the Land of Shadows for another round of training.
The more he trained, the more he was beaten; the more he was beaten, the angrier he became.
It was not a pleasant night for Wayland.
Friday.
The festive atmosphere of the recruitment week had reached its peak. Not only were there decorations everywhere, but various colored lanterns had been strung up, and a massive, large-scale bounded field was currently being constructed.
Wayland asked around and learned that the field was intended to encompass the entire Clock Tower, preventing any accidental leaks of magical energy from the club performances over the next two days from alerting the mundane world.
Usually, each department's district had its own localized concealment spells.
However, a serious incident several years prior involving a magic cabal whose spell had exceeded the capacity of the local field had caused a massive leak of prana.
To handle the situation at the time, the Department of Policies had persuaded the London government to announce the event as a "once-in-a-century" fog. Simultaneously, several Color-rank magi had cooperated to cast a weather spell, shrouding several square miles in a fog so thick one couldn't see their own hand in front of their face. It had lasted for several days.
Since then, the Clock Tower always constructed a large-scale bounded field before the club performances.
Wayland scanned his surroundings, his mind still on Irigal's words from the previous night.
The task was on the street.
But where?
Suddenly, his gaze froze.
He'd spotted the insignia of the Department of Policies.
Something had happened!
In an alleyway only five meters away, Policies had staged their iconic cordon tape.
"Louis?"
Wayland walked over, a familiar silhouette coming into view.
Louis Gordon was on his phone, seemingly in the middle of a call. He turned as he heard Wayland's voice.
"Wayland, you're here too."
"Is someone dead?"
Wayland looked past him at the body lying on the ground. He ducked under the tape and stepped into the alley, his eyes widening in shock. "Flyn Leigh?"
"You know him?"
Wayland frowned, his gaze fixed on the horrific network of bloody fissures covering Flyn's face. "Flyn was a student in General Fundamentals. I... I took a few classes with him. What happened?"
"Magecraft out of control," Louis sighed. "Mediocre magi are always trying to learn spells beyond their level. One mistake, and it leads to a catastrophic loss of control."
"Do you mind if I conduct an examination?"
Wayland's relationship with Flyn had been nothing more than that of casual acquaintances, but that didn't mean he was indifferent to his death.
"What's the point? It's clearly a case of lost control. Magi who overestimate their own abilities turn up dead every year." Louis shrugged dismissively. "If you want to look, go ahead. The enforcement squad hasn't arrived to collect the body yet, anyway."
Wayland glanced at him but didn't say anything. It was the typical mindset of a magus; to them, death was a common occurrence, and whether it was suicide or murder, it was ultimately irrelevant.
He knelt down to begin his examination.
The skin on Flyn's arms was torn and bloody, identical to the pattern on his face. It was the classic sign of a spell gone wrong; a lack of mastery leading to a loss of control, with prana surging through the Magic Circuits like a rampaging flood.
If he wasn't mistaken, Flyn's entire body was likely covered in similar wounds.
The only reason Flyn had even left a corpse behind was because of his low rank.
"I told you, there's nothing to find."
Seeing Wayland lost in thought, Louis spoke up once more.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]