The next morning, Aiden managed to scrounge "a little" Mithril from his uncle.
"What do you need so much Mithril for?" Arthur asked, his curiosity piqued. "You're not planning to sell it, are you? You shouldn't be short of money."
"Hehe," Aiden grinned. "I want to reforge my staff." He stretched out his hand, and with a flash of silver light, the delicate staff appeared.
"Cool! A staff," Arthur said, intrigued. "Won't that affect your combat style?"
"It's meant to be used with a different system of magic," Aiden explained mysteriously. "I'll teach you once I've found a way to make it more accessible."
"Say no more." Arthur promptly handed over a surprisingly large piece of the precious metal.
Aiden took it and vanished in a blur. "Uncle, I'm borrowing your laboratory!" he called over his shoulder.
"Young people are so impetuous," Arthur, who was himself the definition of impetuous, commented with a chuckle.
Down in the laboratory, Aiden went straight to the smelting platform. He activated the alchemy matrix, carefully removed the magic gem from the top of his staff, and tossed both the staff's body and the Mithril into the furnace. The two metals melted and merged into a single, shimmering liquid. With practiced ease, Aiden retrieved the molten alloy, and soon the rhythmic sound of a hammer striking metal echoed through the basement.
When the reforging was complete, he took out a fine carving knife and meticulously engraved four new runes onto the staff's surface: Dagaz (ᛞ), Algiz (ᛉ), Eihwaz (ᛇ), and Perthro (ᛈ).
[Ding. Hope, protection, death and rebirth, and inner strength. Attempting to balance healing and damage?]
'Of course,' Aiden replied proudly to the system. 'A support who can't deal damage isn't a good support.'
As he finished the final stroke, he could feel the staff humming with power, having reached the absolute limit of what it could bear. Outwardly, it looked no different, but it was fundamentally changed. The Perthro rune granted it a connection to the collective unconscious, and the infusion of Mithril meant that the longsword it could transform into would now carry the power to slice through magic itself.
"Hehehe... hahaha! I've finally created a piece of equipment that can connect to the Distorted Illusion!" Aiden laughed, his voice echoing in the basement.
[Ding. Host has been detected displaying villainous tendencies. This system will now be renamed: Dark Lord Nurturing System.]
"You're talking nonsense! You can't do that!" Aiden yelled, pretending to flip a table.
[Ding. Tsk.]
[Ding. So, what does the host intend to do?]
"System," Aiden began, his tone turning serious. "When the Duelling Association is established, we'll be entering the Distorted Illusion frequently, won't we?"
[Ding. Correct.]
"There's a loophole there," Aiden continued, stretching in his chair. "Time is accelerated inside the Illusion. More accurately, all our actions are carried out at the speed of thought." He sat up, his eyes gleaming. "So, what would happen if we used the Illusion to perform complex spell calculations, construct the formula in high-speed thought, and then activate it in reality?"
[Ding. It would burn out your pig brain.]
"Exactly!" Aiden said, before pausing. "Hey! You're the pig brain."
[Ding. So, you plan to have the staff handle this process?]
Aiden didn't answer. He simply raised the staff, and the Perthro (ᛈ) rune began to glow. "Perthro," he explained. "The rune of fate, mystery, and inner power. It can bear the pressure of accelerated thought."
[Ding. But Mithril is not something everyone can afford.]
"Tsk, tsk. System, you are still too young," Aiden said, wagging a finger. "The popular version of the staff will only need a single channel, sacrificing other functions. I added Mithril because I wanted the anti-magic properties. After all, what kind of wizard would I be without a Flash spell and a greatsword?"
[Ding. A heretic.]
"You're just jealous."
[Ding. No.]
"Aww, you're being tsundere. So cute."
[...]
Putting his new staff away, Aiden made his way out to the reed field behind The Burrow. He passed the site of the former Gnome Kingdom, which had perished in a bitter civil war between its forty inhabitants. The last victor had proudly sat upon his throne of mud and twigs for all of five minutes before being unceremoniously evicted by Molly.
"Hmph," Aiden mused, imagining the gnome's dramatic monologue. "I, once a king, am now an exile! But the fire of revenge burns in my heart! The throne I lost, I will retake! My flag will fly again!"
"Oh, how fun," Molly's voice echoed in his memory. "This one can build furniture out of mud. Now, shoo!"
[Ding. Alright, stop it. The readers will accuse you of padding the word count.]
Aiden shook his head, clearing his thoughts. In the center of the field, he took out the staff and pointed it toward an empty patch of ground.
"System," he said with a smirk. "Watch carefully."
He injected his magic into the staff, and his consciousness was instantly plunged into the swirling chaos of the Distorted Illusion. Drawing on his experience fighting the Deep Realm King, he began to construct a spell.
"It is possible," he thought, feeling the world bend to his will. "What I need is penetration and destruction. I'll mix my mental energy with my magic."
A complex geometric magic circle materialized before him, interwoven with lines and floating runes.
"Construction complete."
Though it felt like an eternity had passed in the Illusion, it was only a blink of an eye in reality. The magic circle he had designed manifested in the physical world, channeled through his staff.
"Of all the arts of war, this is the fundamental magic of offense. ZOLTRAAK!"
An impossibly bright light gathered at the tip of his staff and then erupted outwards—a pillar of pure energy, white-hot with crackling black edges. The beam slammed into the ground, and the world dissolved into a violent explosion of dirt and concussive force.
"Hahahaha—cough, cough, cough."
Aiden laughed triumphantly in the billowing smoke, only to choke on a cloud of dust. The massive boom had not gone unnoticed. In an instant, Molly and Arthur appeared behind him.
"Aiden Prewett."
Molly's hand shot out like an iron claw. Aiden didn't dare dodge as she grabbed him firmly by the ear.
Arthur stared at the massive, smoldering crater in the field, his mouth suddenly dry. "Is this what you were talking about the other day?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.
"Hehe, yes, Uncle," Aiden said, rubbing his smarting ear with a grin. "This is magic."
As the smoke began to clear, a young man stood quietly in its midst, his figure as elegant as an elf from an ancient legend. A light breeze stirred his hair, but his eyes were clear and firm, their sharpness undiminished by the haze.
The great storm that was destined to shake the wizarding world had just begun, and its catalyst was the staff held firmly in his hand.
***********
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