Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 398

The Amphitheater on the thirtieth floor was usually reserved for ceremonies, but it could also be used by teachers for specific lectures that needed more space than a typical classroom.

Students from several years were packed into the tiered stone benches like sardines, sitting in the aisles and leaning against the pillars at the back. A general sense of anticipation and curiosity seemed to grip everyone, and Nick even spotted some older mages in the back.

It showed just how rare it was for the Vice Tower Master to take on the role of a teacher, and how much value people placed on learning from him, even if the lecture's topic would normally generate very little interest.

"I’ve heard he hasn't given a lecture in years," Eona whispered, leaning over Bellamy’s shoulder to speak to Nick. "Not since there was that whole accident with the Night Hunger.”

Nick raised an eyebrow in surprise. That was the accident that had caused Osmod’s career to plummet, so it wasn’t shocking that it had prompted Politod to act, but he hadn’t heard of it outside Tholm’s chambers until now.

“It’s even weirder than that,” Tim said, shifting in his seat in excitement. “Politod has never taken a personal apprentice, and he only ever bothers with holding lectures if he needs to handle a thorny matter. For him to open a seminar to the general student body…"

“It’s probably just an excuse to gather all the active mages, at least those who leave the Tower at all,” Bellamy said lazily, though his eyes were sharp as he tracked another group of new arrivals.

Nick followed his gaze and saw that the seats in the front row were full. Master Shoe, Master Battera, and about a dozen other professors sat there, seemingly as focused as first-year students.

“So this is more of a general gathering disguised as a lecture,” Nick murmured. There were several reasons why Politod might have chosen this approach, but none of them seemed promising.

Then again, I already knew that outside interests have been meddling in the Tower’s affairs. From the negative ones like the priests looking for whoever helped the Circle of Pure Souls, to the Shadows making sure I wouldn’t be forced to explain what happened in the dungeon, I doubt someone as dedicated to the Tower’s independence as Politod would take it lying down.

The lights in the amphitheater dimmed, except for a single spotlight on the central podium.

There was no grand entrance. No flash of light or puff of smoke. One moment, the podium was empty; the next, Archmage Ebenezer Politod was leaning against it, peeling an orange.

Nick didn’t even bother to be surprised. The Tower’s spatial magic had long since become something he resigned himself to never fully understanding, and even his recent power-ups only made that clearer.

The hall fell silent, watching with bated breath. Politod finished peeling his fruit, popped a slice into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. His heavy-lidded eyes swept over the hundreds of students, lingering for a fraction of a second on a few people before moving on.

"Why are we here?" Politod asked. His voice wasn't loud, but it had a resonant quality that made it sound as if he were speaking directly into each student's ear. “Why was an independent institution such as the Tower, one capable of wielding influence and magical power enough to subjugate provinces, allowed to form and grow in the capital of a Duchy?”

"We are here because the Kingdom allows us to be," Politod answered himself. "Have you ever wondered why? Why does the Crown permit a collection of dangerous, reality-warping individuals to gather in the center of Alluria? Why grant us autonomy? Why let us create our own code of laws, let us handle our own diplomacy?”

The orange peel dissolved in his hand without a hint of mana, showing a level of control that was impressive even for Nick.

"Some say it is for war. To produce battle-mages to fight the other races or the monsters of the Wilds." Politod shook his head. "If that were true, we would be a barracks, not a university. We would teach you formation casting, not theoretical metaphysics. No, the Royal Mage Corps already existed centuries ago. The Tower is something different.”

Politod leaned forward, his expression hardening. “It might surprise you to know that Towers predate the Kingdom of Berea. They existed in more primitive forms long before humans dared to rise above tribal congregations, as the sole expression of what our species could one day grow to be.”

He paused for a moment, allowing them to absorb the information. Strangely enough, Nick wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t known that, but something about the Tower had always felt impossibly old. He would have been genuinely surprised to learn that it was only a few centuries ago that it was raised.

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“So we know that Towers have existed before the Kingdom itself, but why are we tolerated? Despite the great powers we mages wield, the King could surely decide to bring us to heel if he wanted to,” Politod continued, and though there was no inflection to his tone, Nick couldn’t help but sense a hint of mockery.

It was the first time someone had spoken of the King in anything but full and complete respect, but it would be very hard to prove, since he had just said the Royal forces could destroy every Tower if they decided to.

“We are spatial anchors. The Towers scattered across the Kingdom form a web of stability that keeps the fabric of our nation tight. Without us, long-range teleportation would be deadly. Without us, the boundaries between the physical and the spiritual would weaken, and undesirable things... unpleasant things... would slip through.”

Nick leaned forward, suddenly much more interested. He doubted this would be a major part of the lecture, but even snippets of extraplanar knowledge from a mage of Politod’s caliber would be worth more than any gold.

"But there is another reason," Politod continued, resuming his pacing. "A political reason. We exist because nature abhors a vacuum. And where there is a need for miracles, someone will always step in to sell them.”

He waved his hand, forming an illusion in the air, a shimmering image of a white-robed priest healing a beggar, with faceless people watching in admiration.

"Where there is no Tower to offer practical solutions, people tend to turn to higher powers. If a child falls ill, they pray. If their crops are dying, they pray. And the Temples answer, often without asking for gold. No, all they want is faith; it is obedience.”

The illusion shifted, revealing the priest standing tall beside a frail king.

"If we did not exist," Politod rumbled, "every healer would wear a stole, and every rain-caller would demand a tithe. The Towers are the Crown's answer to the Gods. We provide magic that is transactional, understandable, and secular. We are the wall that separates the State from the Faith.”

Normally, such a lecture would have been up for historical debate, but given the current situation in Alluria, no one dared to voice a complaint. They all knew exactly how powerful the temples could be when they chose to be, how easy it was for them to gain the people's favor, and how they could gradually overshadow the other powers.

“But such balance," Politod warned, his voice dropping an octave, "is not peace. It still exists in tension. And when that tension snaps…"

The illusion shifted once more. It revealed a city of black stone in the frozen north, engulfed in green fire.

"Gottenburg," Politod said. “A hundred fifty years ago, the local Tower grew arrogant. They delved too deep into demonic pacts to prove their superiority over the local Faith of the Hearth, wanting to show that they could tame the abominations. They tipped the scales in their favor for a little while, yet the result was an incursion that required the sacrifice of three Archmages to contain.”

The image changed to a city with golden spires by the coast.

"Ismal," Politod continued, "Seventy years ago, the Temple of the Sun became too powerful within the city, leading to the banning of arcane magic. Within a year, a Superior Spirit of Drought appeared, caused by the zealots’ prayers distorting reality, which led to a catastrophe that claimed tens of thousands of lives in just days. Only recently has excavation begun, but extensive time will be needed before resettlement is possible.”

Politod let the illusion fade, gazing out at the sea of students. "Magic requires structure. It demands rules, lawyering, and constant research, as its principles are almost infinitely complex. Yet it is an understandable force, despite being so alien to the natural order.”

"But Faith..." Politod smiled, and it wasn't a friendly smile. "Faith requires none of the dedication. Priests borrow authority and power from a being greater than themselves. They impose a foreign will upon the World, rather than their own, acting as a conduit for such entities to manifest.”

Subconsciously, Nick found himself nodding along. He had seen as much with his own eyes recently, and even before that, he had studied the priests of Sashara. He knew that beyond a decent fire affinity, they were not impressive compared to the Tower’s mages, yet they still could perform significant feats when needed, despite spending only a tenth of the time on research and developing their abilities.

"Faith is powerful. It surpasses the limits of affinities, enabling a priest of the Sea to drown a fire mage in a desert, all because tens of thousands of years ago, a river flowed through that area, and his God claimed its waters. But it is also strict. A priest cannot perform what his God forbids. He is a conduit, not a creator."

Leaning back against the podium, he muttered dryly, "We are entering a time of enthusiastic piety in Alluria. The Temples might seem to offer safety and certainty. But remember, Ismal. Remember that when you hand over the reins of reality to a power that demands submission, you rarely get them back.”

"Do not mistake their benevolence for weakness. And do not let them claim the monopoly on miracles,” Politod said as he wiped his hands on a napkin.

“Class dismissed.”

The student lounge was buzzing louder than a hornet's nest.

"He basically just told us to go to war with the priests," Tim whispered, glancing around nervously, as if expecting an Inquisitor to jump out from behind a pillar.

"Not war," Bellamy corrected, looking thoughtful. “But he does seem to want competition. He’s saying that if we let the Temples become the only source of stability in the city, the Tower might become obsolete. And if the Tower becomes obsolete…"

“The balance with the Royal Court will also shift,” Eona finished for him.

The entire lecture had been interesting, yes, but also surprisingly blunt. It made Nick wonder if things were really that bad, or if it was just another move by a man so much more powerful than he was that he couldn’t fully see the shape he was drawing.

"Excuse me.”

Nick looked up and was surprised to see Drusilla come to a stop in front of him. It had been a while since he last saw her, but she seemed to have done well for herself in the meantime.

She wore the blue uniform of the Tower, but the cut was custom-made, and the silk was finer than what most other students, even noble ones, used. Behind her stood two girls, clearly followers of some kind, if the Boer crest on their clothes was any indication.

That was quite the statement. Mages didn’t necessarily mind working for the nobles, especially if paid enough, but to bear a crest meant they were servants. That didn’t happen often.

Drusilla smiled, a carefully practiced expression that was haughty yet not unkind. "You always cause a stir whenever I see you, Crowley. Even my father was impressed.”

She reached into her bag and took out a cream-colored envelope sealed with the orchard of House Boer.

"My father is hosting a dinner this Friday. A small gathering of like-minded families. He would be pleased if you and your brother could attend, plus ones included.”

Ah. So it begins.