Quill climbed the stairs to the mezzanine directly above. He followed the rims of the bookshelves, walking past the others before arriving at the one he was looking for.

  In front of him, countless magic books lined the shelves. He tore one from the rest, and skipping past the pages, a smile broke through his lips. Most of the books he read earlier detailed the theory and application of magic, ones he had already committed to memory. There were only a few books written about White mana.

  That was what he was looking for.

  They were few and far between, owing to the fact that there were only a handful of people in the world with the White Aspect. Thankfully, he was lucky enough to find some of them. He scooped up the scrolls before running to the nearest table he could find.

  ‘Foundations of White’. That was the name of the first scroll. He unfurled it, the smell of old papyrus filling his nose before he passed the better part of an hour reading over the written texts.

  Mana was a long subject. The colors represented their Aspects, closely tied to the different natures and concepts in the world. The most common of them was Green mana, representing life and growth, while Blue was the color of flow and serenity. Black represented decay.

  There were eight known Aspects of Mana, and all of them stemmed from the same Aspect and were born from a single color.

  White mana.

  The scroll delved into great detail surrounding the innate nature and property of White. It didn't have the destructive capabilities of Red, the flexibility of Orange nor the complexity of Purple. What it did have was the capability to create supreme quality creations.

  The sharpest of swords. The strongest of shields. Most examples of White mages in the scroll were famous crafters and forgemasters, masterwork artisans that created legendary items such as the Twilight orb, currently in the hands of the Emerald mage Kael. Quill had fought him way back then.

  Quill was interested in the art of crafting, but there was something more to White magic than just creating weapons. Between the finer details of the scroll, there was also a mention of an unnamed summoner who used White magic for Golemancy.

  Golemancy was a subfield of Summoning, the same way Necromancy was. At its core, Golemancy was the art of creating golems and constructs that moved and obeyed the commands of its master, giving life to otherwise stone statues.

  That sparked Quill's interest. Creations didn't just mean immaterial things. They can be living beings too.

  Quill stared at his hand before pushing White mana to cast White Ball, the same thing he did the night before. He made the simple calculations in his head, applying a counter force to gravity, allowing the ball to float off his hand and into the air.

  He then stared at it. To turn this White Ball into something that would live and breathe as a creature, he needed to learn the unique language of White Scripting. Each Aspect had its own, and White wasn't exempt from that rule. That was why Quill brought the second book to get the feel for the basic grammar structure of White.

  It was either that, or he could do manual casting. There was a reason why all mages resorted to Scripting, and without it, you would need to spend thousands of hours studying. In Quill's specific case, he would have to learn biology, anatomy, and all the inner workings of a living being if he wanted to create a summon.

  Quill only groaned at the thought. Despite having read thousands of books, he wasn't willing to go through the process of learning entire fields of study completely separate from the field of magic if he could help it.

  That was why he needed to have a foundation in White Scripting.

  He reached for the second book. He turned over the cover, his fingers brushing over the title which was aptly named ‘Language of White’. This was going to take a while.

  “I don't think you're allowed to do that here.” A voice. It was Haref. He was right in front of the table, stroking his gray beard with a seeming interest in the simple spell.

  “I’m sorry for that.” Quill dismissed the spell with a wave of his hand. “I didn't mean to cause any alarm.”

  “No, it was fascinating.” Haref sat himself across the table, leaning his walking stick against it. “A gray elf that knows how to read and cast magic. Who taught you this?”

  Quill scratched his head. “I taught myself. It's a passion of mine.”

  Haref eyed the books piling on the table. “I can tell.”

  Quill nodded to the man, only to be met with an awkward silence after. He was just sitting there, staring at Quill as if he were some kind of dog that just learned how to talk.

  “Do you want something from me?” Quill sighed before closing the book. He didn't really like to be interrupted in the middle of a study.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “What’s your name?” Haref said.

  Quill opened his mouth before he stopped himself. A stutter escaped before he said, “Fenith.”

  “And where are you from?”

  Yereth flashed into his head. “A humble house in the outer city.”

  Haref hummed. It seemed that he had more questions to ask, but he somehow decided against it before picking up one of the books on the table. “I’m assuming you want to get into the academy.”

  Quill stopped himself from answering when a thought surfaced behind the question. Haref was referring to a magic academy, an institute where mages come to learn and study magic. Many of them were found all over the Westlands, though he hadn't thought of entering one in the past due to his practice of necromancy.

  But that wasn't necessarily the case now. As Haref said, there was an academy right here in Fen. Entering one might elevate his rate of learning by a tremendous pace, given the resources that were given. Quill had studied magic for centuries, but he wasn't arrogant enough to think that he could do without resources that could speed up his process.

  But then again, all of the magic academies are governed by The Circle. It wouldn't be wise to show himself to the very organization that hunted him down for centuries.

  “I don't know.” Quill ran his mouth with lies. “Because of my upbringing, it would be hard to find the money I need to pursue that path. I also have someone to look after.”

  “And yet here you are.” Haref spread his arms, gesturing to the entirety of the library. “You are selling yourself short, young mage. The passion for magic longs for you.”

  Quill furrowed his brows. “What are you trying to say?”

  Haref tapped the table. “How many spells do you have in your arsenal?”

  Quill was tempted to say that he had mastered a dozen Complex Spells and a dozen more Simple Spells in his entirety as a lich, but that wasn't exactly true now. “I only have this White Ball. I had just started practicing a few days ago.”

  “Not bad, and White magic isn't exactly easy to learn.” Haref brought a finger to his mouth before pushing off the table to stand. “I’ll give you two weeks to turn that White Ball into a usable spell. Do that, and I’ll provide your funding to the academy.”

  Quill's mouth was wide open. If Haref was telling him the truth, then it would easily open the gates for him to master White magic in record time. “What do you get from that?”

  Haref started back up the stairs. “I’m old, young mage. I don't have any children. The least I can do before kicking the bucket is help someone like you.”

  Haref walked back to his counter, making himself comfortable on the chair before picking up another book to read down on the ground floor.

  Kicking the bucket? Is that some kind of idiom? Quill didn't know what to make of Haref's offer. Whether or not what he said was genuine, it didn't really matter. For all intents and purposes, he wasn’t one to deny an opportunity presented before him, even if he had doubted the intent behind it.

  Quill returned to his studies before the setting of the two suns signalled evening. The light from the windows faded, and soon the lanterns and lamps of the library flickered to existence. He started his way back, nodding to Haref goodbye before walking his way down the road and back to Gren.

  It was surprising then that he didn't encounter the guards from earlier at the gates. They should've been at their posts, though it might've been possible their shifts didn't include the evening hours. That was better for Quill in the end, passing the gates with nothing but a look from one of the guards.

  And that was his mistake. In the darkness of his thoughts, he didn't realize the two figures trailing behind him until it was too late.

  A force shoved him to the back. It sent him tumbling over the bridge and over the wooden boards. To no surprise, it was the two guards from earlier.

  “It's the gray elf.” The man said.

  “Would you look at that–it's really him.” The woman said.

  They were clearly drunk. The man was as red as tomatoes, mumbling and spouting curses at Quill while the other threatened to kick him. Between the rain of words, they then dragged him under the bridge, far from the prying eyes of people. It started with a fist.

  Thud. The strike rattled Quill's head. The scuffling of boots followed after, heavy and hard as they swung into his chest. His ears rang static from the curses, his ribs ached with dull pain, and his lips were spilling red over the dirt below.

  Their pride was wounded. Quill understood that, but it was really strange how an event so insignificant in the grand scheme of things would make a man no less than a wild animal.

  And Quill was no better than them.

  He can only swallow so much humiliation up to a certain point, and getting beaten up by manaless pigs was the tipping point.

  He found the strength to grab onto the man’s ankle. He pulled Black mana from his Core, pooling it into his hands before then chanting the Scripts instead of writing them. Black Application flowed into his palm.

  At once, the leather boot disintegrated into smoke. Quill pushed every drop of Black onto the man’s leg, not leaving any spare mana left inside him. The man’s skin soon followed, melting to the ground like candle wax before his sharp scream pierced the rain of curses.

  “Mage!” The woman said, pulling the other in the middle of his cry before they then made a run for it. The man limped with the burn stamped to his ankle, and there was no doubt Quill would've killed him if he had any more Black mana to work with. Leaving them alive was going to be work for him down the line.

  Yereth isn't going to be happy seeing his brother like this. Quill pushed off the ground before casting Black Reversal on his wounds. It was going to take a while for the bruises to even heal, and one of his ribs was fractured and broken to begin with.

  Quill groaned under the dim moonlight. If he had a copper coin for every time he got beaten by elves, then he would have two now. One from Edith, and two from the guards. Two coppers weren't a lot, but it was strange that it happened twice in the span of two days.

  And if he were to be honest, it was starting to become annoying.