Magma Dragon Cultivation

60th of Season of Air, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

“Greetings, honorable guildmaster,” Dandelion bowed, absolutely nonplussed by the accusation.

Halfway through his words and gesture, a short twig of a man entered the lobby.

“Don’t you ‘greetings’ me, you ingrate. Whose kid is this? Who are you trying to coddle now? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger ass-kisser than you.”

“Do you want another spar, Old Man?” Dandelion’s voice suddenly grew dangerous, and the guildmaster shuddered.

“Very well, I will handle the examination test personally, and throw out the sobbing kid with incinerated hopes and dreams.”

“Newstar,” Dandelion ignored the eccentric guildmaster, “have fun taking the test and remember the way he is acting now. You have someone who appreciates you as a person, willing to teach you right here, even though he might offer you greater monetary benefits. Such as paying you.”

With that, the former sect master left one confused boy, one angry old man, and one infatuated woman in the lavish lobby.

The room, which seemed empty save for Dandelion’s presence mere moments ago, suddenly revealed its charm to Newt. The wooden floors were ancient and sparkled, both from wax with which it was polished, and with spiritual energy, which flowed through it in a deliberate pattern.

The street was loud, full of hustle, sounds of dinosaurs drawing carts and wagons, but none of those could be heard inside. Even the overly hot air was at the temperature of a pleasant spring morning.

Barbadon harrumphed, staring at the departing figure.

“Ingrate,” he muttered, then focused on Newt. “Well, follow me, boy.”

He strode away just as Newt started appreciating the various paintings hanging from the walls, depicting men and women with multi-colored flags and elements bending to their will.

Newt tore his eyes away from the impressive paintings and hurried to catch up.

“What’s your name, boy?” The guildmaster’s high-pitched voice was haughty and comical at the same time, yet Newt did not even think of smirking. The spiritual energy flowing through his body was a step thicker and stronger than his.

“Newstar Blazing Salamander,” he gave his name, but the mention of his illustrious clan had a much different effect than he had expected.

“A descendant of an ancient slayer? Never heard of the clan, though. Your family must have declined a long time ago.” Unlike Dandelion, who spoke smoothly, Barbadon lived up to his name and lashed out with his tongue.

The remark stung, but it was kinder than what Newt had told his teacher when leaving home.

“Yes, sir. We have grown weak over the millennia.”

“It happens,” Barbadon remained oblivious of Newt’s tone. “Other than the imperials and ten great clans even the great sects change from time to time. Our history is full of strife and conflict. All it takes is one foolish leader to doom thousands of years of heritage.”

Newt nodded, thinking of his uncle.

“What about the guilds?”

“What about them?” Barbadon opened a blocky building’s door and motioned Newt into a dark hallway. The young man stepped in, and light flooded the passage, revealing ten doors on either side.

“Well, do they decline?”

Barbadon had just overtaken Newt when he stopped and looked up. “I guess some do. When a similar, but easier or more powerful discipline emerges or when the imperial era changes. The Woodshaper Guild used to be much more prominent than they are today, but that was before the imperial family abandoned the project of expanding into the Savage Wood. Too much blood, and their losses were extremely heavy.”

The man looked back down and headed to the second door to the left. “But major guilds remain major and that’s how it will always be. Alchemy, formations, mining, weapons, and artifacts are key to cultivation. Without those supplementary disciplines, cultivators are just slightly stronger mortals, stuck at the second or third realm because it is next to impossible to advance further without assistance.”

Newt followed Barbadon into the room, not even knowing what to expect, but he certainly did not imagine a narrow room, barely wider than the corridor, with a maze-like relief covering an entire wall, while the opposite one was hidden behind shelves lined with books and rocks.

“What’s your realm and layer?”

“Second layer of the third realm,” Newt said, and the guildmaster gave him another look-over.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

The guildmaster nodded, staring into the maze.

“Right.” He snapped out of his daze and picked three sparkly marbles off the shelf. The shiny gems were in three colors, red, green, and yellow, roughly half the size of a pinky nail.

The man approached the maze and embedded the gems into seemingly random slots.

“To pass the exam, you need to hold this handle and run your spiritual energy through this three-dimensional maze. Simply flooding it will not work, you have to shape your energy into fine threads and search for the correct path. Luck plays a certain part, but it is negligible. You will pass regardless of how long you take, if you can properly manipulate and withdraw the energy you invest into searching the proper path. If you can’t, the maze will devour your spiritual energy.

“Your goal is to light the gems by passing any amount of spiritual energy through them. To pass the test as an initiate, you need to light the yellow gem. If you light yellow and red you will join as an apprentice, and if you light all three, you will be eligible for a journeyman test. Dandelion seems certain you will light all three, so I am here for the second test, if there is a need for it.

“You may begin.” Guildmaster Barbadon turned around and went towards the shelf.

“Wait, how do I fill the holes in the wall?” Newt asked, and Barbadon sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Didn’t he explain anything? The relief is just an ornament, the real maze is embedded into a wall, a mesh of hyper-conductive electrum mined from areas with dense spiritual energy. If you are good at manipulating your spiritual energy, you should have more than enough to reach the yellow gem. You may begin,” the guildmaster repeated as he waved his hand and went to pick up a book from the shelf.

Newt turned around and faced the polished greenish-yellow lever. The shiny metal rod seemed perfectly mundane, but Newt still grasped it with care. He was ready to back away, but nothing happened.

Newt focused, pushing a thread of spiritual energy into the metal. The resistance which he felt when extending spiritual energy from his person was not there. He pushed further, but the metal felt like an extension of his spiritual body.

Newt’s spiritual energy swam, free as a fish, slowly filling the handle, but he soon realized the handle seemed to be able to hold infinite spiritual energy and that even if he spent his entire reserve, it might not be enough.

‘Simply flooding it will not work, you have to shape your energy into fine threads and search for the correct path.’ He recalled Guildmaster Barbadon’s words, and cut the flow into the handle, shaping the energy he had already invested and sending it deeper into the rod, towards the wall.

The rod turned into a funnel until it grew thinner than a needle. The infinite expanse from a few moments ago seemed to have a wall on either side. Newt closed his eyes, trying to better visualize what he was doing. He became a tendril of energy, searching for a path forward. Touching the edges would not extinguish him, but it would waste some of the precious energy, so he stayed at the center, going deeper and deeper into the wall.

Suddenly, the tunnel split into two, one leading up, the other right. Newt chose the right path, then the path split into two, then into three until finally Newt reached the end of his path.

Dead end.

He withdrew the tendril, losing the bit of energy which had struck the edge of the pathway while searching for a way forward. The experience was nauseating at first, then Newt slowed down. Minute by minute, his mind wandered the metallic hallways until it came upon something which was not metal.

Newt smiled, and the yellow gem shone before he continued searching for the next one.

“This is a really unpleasant test,” Newt muttered, lighting the red light.

“You are painfully slow, but if you can talk while threading your spiritual energy, there might still be hope for you. Keep working.”

Guildmaster Barbadon no longer sounded angry, in fact Newt was certain the guildmaster was watching him, even though he had picked up a book to read. But Newt could not afford to turn around and open his eyes, most of his attention occupied by the slithering strand of energy just waiting to escape his control.

Finally, Newt found the third different structure. Green light shone for a moment, but went out the moment Newt opened his eyes, just like the other two.

“Four hours, twenty minutes.” Guildmaster Barbadon grumbled, but did not sound honest about it. “Your luck is either terrible, or you are extremely meticulous. For your information, Dandelion lit all three in under fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes? Newt wiped the sweat off his brows.

“He did this in fifteen minutes?”

“Less, but yes. Now, the second part of the test is rune recognition. You need to recognize sixteen out of eighteen basic runes, and three out of ten randomly selected advanced runes. Even if you fail this test, I am willing to take you in as a personal apprentice.”

Guildmaster Barbadon tried to sound casual, but it was obvious he was interested in Newt’s talent.