31 New Recipe

"Well said." My Grandfathers words broke the still silence that ensued once I said my piece.

Backpedaling to my seat, I passed Grandpa Lich rising from his throne to approach the edge of the stage and lean over the crowd. "It would be wise for you all to remember this day well." He growled. Then threw his paw of a hand aside a moment later, as if to dismiss the matter entirely. "Now, head to your classes. Those of you who are injured, head to the infirmary immediately. The rest of you are released."

The students bowed in unison before converging into various groups or cliques and filing out the door. Immediately filling both the dojo and the expansive corridors beyond with a cacophony of chatty noise.

"That includes you three," Grandpa growled at those behind me. And with a bow, they too rose from their seats and filed out the door behind the mob of students, idly chatting to themselves.

Leaving me and the undead old man by our lonesome.

"I assume you'd like a tour of the school?" He turned to me only after the still silence had returned.

"I've already explored most of the place." I sighed. "But, I am interested in what you can tell me about it."

The corner of his lip curled up in a soft sneer or scowl before he grunted, surged his body with shadow mana, and released it into the room.

Just as fast as a torch or light would come to life and illuminate one's surroundings, the magical darkness Grandpa Lich produced spread across the room in a fraction of a second; coating the expansive space in the drab gray-on-gray tones I'd long since grown familiar with. At the center of the umbral cloud was the ghostly visage of my grandfather, floating but a meter off the ground in a body that seemed to be made of semi-solid air; or an airy substance that appeared to dissipate and aggregate in an endless cycle as he drifted upwards towards the ceiling.

I heard his voice echoing out to me the moment I assumed the Wraith Form and emerged on the upper floor. "All students have classes eight out of ten days per week." He pointed from our little pocket of shadow in the corner to highlight the indoor field that was the 51st floor, filled with parks and college dorm or apartment complex-like structures arranged neatly throughout the space. "There are 556 of them in the sixth year. This floor, the two above, and the two below are all a part of their domain. This place, outside, and in my office, is where you'll be spending the majority of your time, Amun."

I quickly shifted my gaze from the environment to his ethereal body, curiously grinning at me. "Doing what?"

"That's up to you, for the most part." He shrugged, then took on his physical form to step towards the elevator.

A moment later, I stepped through the entrance of his office and saw him at the far end of the grayed-out interior, settling himself behind his desk.

"Care to help me?" He leaned over in his seat to open a drawer and hoist a large chest onto the already cluttered surface. Shocking the peaceful environment with a loud grunt and a louder bang that rang my ears a bit. Then, he dumped the chest's contents with an all too familiar sigh.

I tried not to scramble after seeing the loot for what it was, but all in vain; as I snapped my hand outwards to grasp one of the radiant gems in my hand as soon as the stony mass had settled across the desk.

The particular one in my hand was a finely cut gem no larger than a bottlecap. Like a translucent diamond that had the same color and radiance as the ambient mana around us; or a fashion gem that'd been carved with indecipherable runes in a way similar to the numbers on a clock face.

The runes themselves seemed to be an amalgamation of various tribal, native, and aboriginal symbols or hieroglyphs from ancient Earth and; I presumed, from the Mortal Plane as well. All arranged or merged with each other to form a single character on the 'clock face' of the gem.

"All we have to do is prime them with shadow mana." Grandpa gestured to the larger pile on his right. Followed by the smaller one on his left. "And death mana."

I pulled up a seat and studied the gem in my hand while I pulled mana from my well, then out of my affinity core once the attribute had been changed. At which time the enchantment stone seemed to soak up the required amount of energy like a sponge, tinting the entire rock an abyssal black while the runes radiated a blue-white light.

"How do these work exactly?" I gasped, replacing the primed enchantment for another.

"If I'm not mistaken, the runes indicate specific conditions for a spell. But that's all I know." Grandpa sighed as he threw down a completed stone. "Artificers are the most secretive of them all."

"I see." I nodded, set down yet another completed stone, and picked up another to closely study the runes, logging them in my Eternal Eye.

After becoming familiar with the priming process, it was evident that each enchantment required a different amount of mana to become activated, thus the pile before us couldn't be charged all at once. And after comparing the runes to the shade elevators within the towers and every other enchantment I'd seen thus far, I inferred that the six conditions most likely comprised of activation type, duration, the three spatial dimensions, and power output.

Even if I could memorize the runes, however, I had no way deciphering them without testing each enchantment as I charged it. As they were usually at the center of a piece of architecture like the frames around the shade elevators, I figured that'd be an unwise course of action and decided to make do with memorizing the foreign symbols as I primed them.

We spent the next few moments in companionable silence, fueling enchantments and otherwise enjoying the peaceful environment of the expansive office around us. Relatively short those moments may have been, they allowed me to gain a newfound perspective or appreciation for my great-grandfather, Everandus Cole. Before, I only knew him as an aloof old man who was unable to hold an intelligent conversation for more than a few minutes at a time.

Looking at him now, however, I only saw the pinnacle of wisdom and power that everyone else in the Empire saw when they looked at him. Or close to it. Here was a man who had spread his influence over entire continents, many times throughout history. A Magus, who created and upheld the prosperous Empire we were a part of for nearly half a millennia and counting.

It was natural, I assumed. That I'd be eager; if not desperate, to learn as much as I could from the great Necro King of Odissi.

And for once, he seemed willing to teach me.

"As I was saying on our way here." He eventually broke the silence with a strained grunt. "The sixth-year students and above have completed their formal lessons and are able to take apprenticeships in whatever profession they so please. Which brings me to why I brought you here."

He set down a completed stone as if to punctuate his words, then leaned forward, squinting at me intently.

"Your father and I had a discussion. We came to an agreement." He growled low in his grizzled voice. "If you're truly serious about breaching the barrier and taking back Ulai, you and your vassals will need to be as strong as possible before you attend the awakening ceremony. As such, we decided to increase the difficulty of training that was already in store for you. If you affirm your goals to me, Amun; your training will be far more grueling than both your father's and his father before."

"My goal hasn't changed." I quickly stated. "I will form a guild and take back Ulai, then explore the Mortal Plane in its entirety."

"Hmm," Grandfather grunted. Nodded to himself slowly before he curtly tilted his head like a curious dog. "And what will your guild be called?"

"I haven't decided yet." I shrugged.

"Well, let me know when you do." He chuckled softly, fell back into a recline, and plucked another uncharged gem from the diminished pile. "As you may have guessed, you'll be taking a few classes and training during your stay at the Tower. For now, I have you assigned to take classes in recovery and healing magic. Otherwise, you can choose whatever classes you like."

"Alchemy and artificing," I said without a second thought.

"Artificing can only be learned at the magic academy." He laughed. "On the other hand, I can arrange for you to attend an alchemy class after lunch. They're doing a practical exercise today, coincidentally. Though you'll be more of a spectator, rather than a full participant." He added with a pointed finger. "You won't be required to attend the classes you've chosen on a regular basis and can drop in whenever you so please. Though your other lessons are mandatory." He warningly growled.

"Understood." I curtly nodded. Then leaned forward in my seat a bit. "If possible, I'd like my vassals to receive certain classes as well."

"They already have schedules set in place for them." Grandpa huffed out a laugh through his nose. "But I'm open to amending them, given a suitable justification."

"All this time, Toril has been training with a one-handed axe," I explained without pause. "I want him to receive professional lessons with his weapon and learn to use a shield as well. Additionally, I need Toril to receive personal lessons from you on military discipline, tactics, and leadership. And I want him to take a smithing course."

A single brow shifted on my Grandfather's brow. "A smithing course?" He surprisingly asked.

"It'll give him a better connection to his chosen weapon," I explained. "Like an appreciation or a new perspective on the inner workings of his armament. Plus, it'll give him the ability to forge his own one day."

"Uh-huh." Grandpa nodded slowly, stroking his beard. "Go on."

"Jaimess needs to continue learning of finance, business, and politics; preferably by you. But I need him to learn to properly fight with a mace and shield and to take a few art classes as well. Whether it's drawing, painting or writing doesn't really matter. He simply needs to expand his imagination beyond mere numbers and equations so that he can unlock the full potential of his paper magic."

"It is agreed." He quickly nodded, surprisingly with no debate. "And for Jonet?"

"I need her to take proper lessons in espionage and covert or clandestine operations. On top of that are two things." I held up two fingers. "First, is that she receives theater classes. By learning to act, dance and sing, she'll learn to not only blend into any environment but she'll have the ability to gain an advantageous position to gather information from. Second, is that she receives the same lessons in finances and politics as Jaimess."

"Hmm. Your terms are agreeable." He nodded after a few long moments. "I shall amend their schedules by tomorrow. As for you." He pointed a thick finger towards me, coincidentally concealing most of a sadistic smile spread across his face. "Your combat training and necromantic education will begin tonight, and will continue for every night after until I say otherwise. During the day, you may take whatever lessons or classes or otherwise do as you please. But come nightfall, you are to report to me."

"Understood." I bowed in my seat. Grabbed another gem and fell into another silent rhythm of fueling and replacing enchantments with my forefather.

Sooner rather than later, we worked through the entirety of the pile of enchantments. At which time my grandfather shoved them off the edge of his desk into a shadow-infused filing cabinet before regally clasping his hands atop the desk. "It is nearly an hour before noon, the bell for lunch is soon to ring. The alchemy class begins at 1 pm. With all your exploring, I'm sure you know where to find it. So…" He gestured to the door with hand and a subtle smirk.

Fighting back the impulse to roll my eyes, I nodded my goodbyes and rose from my seat to lounge about in the parks of the guest floor for a bit. Then emerged on a floor dozens of layers lower once the bell rang.

With the vast majority of the students on the 50th level, two floors below; presumably scattered about in their groups and spaces where they were most likely gossiping about the events that transpired this morning, a peaceful silence was left in the campus-like interior of the 52nd floor. Giving me a particularly peaceful atmosphere to survey the environment in.

As I essentially expected at this point, each structure within this level was dedicated to a specific field of study. Entire warehouses sat next to massive labs, workshops, factories, storefronts, and pieces of enchanted machinery that dwarfed the clusters of traditional schoolhouse units in the center.

After a bit of meandering; of enjoying being away from the prying eyes of citizens and students, I arrived at a large complex near the far left corner of the floor. A towering, modulated building of blackwood and white marble that; like many other buildings, had been built with large vents, tubes, and conduits that connected them to the walls behind them.

Inside were the complexes of classrooms, offices, and labs that one would expect to see in a school within a city or town. Albeit scaled up to ridiculously high measurements, allowing for only a few rooms in the expansive interior.

Beyond the great door was a vibrant, bonsai-like tree that sat at the center of our family crest etched onto the floor, reaching upwards to the vaulted ceiling and casting a bit of shade on the sample cases that lined the four-way intersection. To my left was the administration hub while the labs sat off to my right. Continuing forward brought me through a set of great doors and into a lecture hall that had one-person lab desks coupled with what I assumed were alchemical sets set at regular intervals on the terraced floors.

Standing at the bottom, near the center was an animated skeleton scribbling furiously on the board with his bare finger. The bone of its body was bleach-white and adorned with a black and gilded robe that covered all but his forearms and lower legs.

I'd made it halfway down the steps when a sudden shock came to him. The skeleton's posture straightened immediately and he immediately turned on his heels to fold himself in a bow. "Forgive me, Mast- oh?" He spasmed again, then looked up at me through the empty sockets of his eyes. His lipless, gold-riddled mouth agape as he studied me intently. "You are the young master." He finally gasped in a sort of mental voice. Like a telephone call heard through ear implants or straight-up telepathy.

'Don't call me that.' I immediately spat back in my mind. But he only continued staring, somehow with visible confusion. So, I audibly repeated myself in the same tone. "My name is Amun."

"Forgive me." He bowed again. "However, you are royalty. So, I shall refer to Your Grace by your title."

"So be it." I subtly nodded. "I assume you're the alchemy teacher? I'm here to spectate your class."

"That I am, Your Grace." He bowed. "My name is, Urda the Mixer. I've been the Necro King's alchemist since long before the Empire existed. As such, I'd be honored for you to bless my class with your presence." He bowed again before erecting himself.

"I'm honored to receive instruction from one such as experienced as you." I bowed in turn. "I've been told that there'll be a practical exercise?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Urda nodded while gesturing to the many stations scattered throughout the space. Each of them was topped with simmering pots of a mushy red liquid that filled the air with a soft earthy smell. "We're making common healing potions today."

My ears perked up at once and I snapped my eyes back to him, nearly frothing at the mouth.

"Regretfully, the hard work is already done." Urda sighed. "Though, I can give you the recipe. If you like."

"By all means." I nodded. "Explain."

"Common healing potions are made from Amanita mushrooms, of all things," Urda explained in a more lecturing tone, complete with pacing, drawn-up diagrams, and punctuated gestures. "The recipe calls for one to grind the mushrooms in a mortar and pestle before mixing the resulting paste into an even ratio of distilled water. The resulting mixture is then to be brought up to a boil and simmered for six hours until it's been reduced to the consistency of a watery syrup." He paused to gesture at the many stations around us. "Once filtered and cooled to room temperature, the result is an incomplete potion that is a slight pink color. Completing the process requires one to add a drop of their blood. Giving it the trademark crimson color healing potions are known for.

"Because of the process, however," Urda added. "Each potion is only consumable by the blood donor and has a shelf life of thirty days after activation. Conversely, the incomplete forms last a full year, and are what is commonly sold in the markets."

"I see." I nodded. In other words, alchemy was simply this world's version of chemistry; only mixed with a bit of the culinary arts and perhaps a bit of phytotherapy. Yet the process was still the same as chemistry: different materials were added or subtracted and put under any number of atmospheric or thermal conditions to produce a reaction that formed something else entirely. Only in this case, the concoctions produced by alchemy yielded magical effects.

But like many things in this new life, however, new knowledge only yielded more questions.

"What happens if someone who's not the blood donor ingests a healing potion?" I asked.

To which Urda solemnly shook his head. "Absolutely nothing, Your Grace. It's an utter waste of product and materials."