Lost in thought, Kael hardly noticed how his steps carried him to the massive gates of the Academy of Spirit Mages.

  The building rose before him—not majestic, but solid, built with the clear intent of lasting for centuries. Its fa?ade was divided into several sections: to the side stood the library with its tall, narrow windows; nearby stretched the lecture halls; further still lay the square for physical training, enclosed by stone walls. At the center loomed the three-story core of the academy, hewn from gray stone.

  Children bustled noisily through the doors, chatting, laughing—some dragging their books lazily, others already debating lessons or the latest rumors with animated fervor.

  Kael paused for a moment at the entrance. His gaze swept over the walls, over the familiar lines of the architecture, over the iron-wrought doors.

  “Damn…” the thought flickered. “My body’s trembling…”

  He clenched his fists, feeling his muscles tense in betrayal.

  “No surprise. I used to hate this place.”

  Memories surfaced unbidden: the jeers of his peers, the apathy of teachers, the whispered slurs of “talentless.” For him, only the lectures held worth—where scraps of knowledge could be seized—and the library, whose silence sheltered him from the world.

  But the building itself…

  Kael drew a deep breath, straightened his back, and stepped inside.

  He strode quickly down the familiar corridors, careful not to linger on the walls or the faces around him.

  Inside, chaos reigned as always. The din was enough to set his ears ringing: someone ran past, a bag crashing to the floor; someone else yawned, dragging his feet, still half-asleep; further on, a group of boys argued heatedly over whose father was stronger. Laughter, whispers, horseplay—it all merged into a colorful, living roar.

  For most, this was nothing more than an ordinary start to the day.

  Kael, however, narrowed his eyes in faint distaste.

  “So lively. I never noticed before…” he thought. “A pity… this academy has its darker side.”

  He remembered well—those unable to absorb mana, or cursed with a poor “body talent,” found these corridors to be pure hell. Humiliation, mockery, the mark of failure… and scarcely a single teacher ever cared to intervene.

  Kael’s eyes narrowed further, his thoughts cold:

  “When I break through to Core Mage and can wield mana freely, I’ll ‘decipher’ the knowledge of the Soul Definition Talisman…”

  The memory of its description rose in his mind, vivid as though he’d just held it in his hands.

  “If Lasthold finally realizes that ‘body talent’ doesn’t exist… that the problem lies only in the incompatibility between canons of magic and Forms of Soul… then perhaps these humiliations will lessen.”

  At that moment, Kael entered the classroom.

  As always, no one paid him any heed. The hum of voices, the laughter, the lively chatter—all continued as though he did not exist at all.

  He only tugged the corner of his lips in a restrained half-smile, playing along with his familiar image, and quietly walked to the very last row, by the window. The place he had always sat.

  With a creak of the chair, he lowered himself into the seat and let his gaze drift across the classroom. Children clustered in groups, chattering—some already arguing over theory, others boasting about their training successes.

  Kael glanced to the side, and a thought flickered through his mind:

  “Good thing Roselle’s in another class… It would be awkward to see her every day, especially after driving her to tears.”

  But he didn’t have time to finish the thought.

  “Oh!” a loud voice rang out in the hallway, feigned-friendly but dripping with venom. “Our little failure is early today!”

  Kael turned slowly.

  Three boys stood in the doorway. One with blue hair and a smug grin plastered across his face, and his two ever-present lackeys. They were impossible to mistake—Draxion and his gang, the same bastards who, in his past life, had done everything to turn Kael’s schooling into torture.

  “Hm…” He was about to turn away and ignore them, but the next instant his body betrayed him—fear clamped down like chains. His heart dropped, muscles refusing to obey.

  Kael frowned, whispering through clenched teeth:

  “What the hell…”

  Draxion burst into loud laughter, swaggered inside, and without hesitation strode straight to the back row.

  “Did you say something, trash?” he drawled mockingly, plopping into the seat beside Kael and throwing an arm across his shoulder without asking. “Speak up, I didn’t quite catch that!”

  His lackeys immediately cackled, leaning over the desk from both sides. One shoved Kael’s shoulder with a fist, the other spat deliberately toward the window.

  Something jerked inside Kael. His mind and body clashed once more. His soul—tempered by centuries of pain and humiliation—looked on these boys with weary disdain. But his fifteen-year-old body, still chained to old fears, trembled, on the verge of sinking back into despair.

  “Pull yourself together, pathetic coward…” Kael snarled inwardly at himself. “Compared to the God of Knowledge and Madness, compared to His tortures and mockery—this brat is nothing. A worthless worm!”

  And then—something inside him ignited.

  The meager threads of mana he had absorbed that very morning during practice suddenly stirred. A wave of power coursed through his veins, sparking across his nerves like lightning. The paralysis shattered.

  “That’s better…” he muttered inwardly.

  Fingers that had been frozen now curled slowly into a fist.

  In that moment, Kael’s gaze changed.

  Where before there had been only the dull weight of fatigue and submission, now something else flared to life—a dreadful, almost insane gleam. His amber eyes darkened, boiling with hatred. Hatred for every humiliation, every mocking word, every moment of the past where this bastard had been one of the architects of his suffering.

  He knew with perfect clarity: he couldn’t afford open conflict now. It would be irrational.

  But neither would he continue enduring.

  With a sharp movement, Kael shoved Draxion’s arm off his shoulder. The chair groaned as he slowly rose to his feet.

  “Take your hands off me,” Kael said coldly, his voice stripped of all weakness. “I’m sick of you, and I won’t tolerate this nonsense any longer.”

  The words cut the air like a blade.

  Silence fell instantly across the classroom.

  Laughter and chatter were sliced short, as though severed with a knife. Dozens of eyes fixed on Kael, mouths hanging open in stunned disbelief.

  No one. Never. Had seen him like this.

  Draxion froze for a heartbeat, as if unable to believe what he’d heard.

  Then he burst into raucous laughter, bending double, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

  “Did you actually start believing in yourself, you slug?” he howled. “What a joke!”

  But the very next second, his face shifted. The grin vanished, and cold malice flashed in his eyes. In a sudden motion he lunged to his feet, grabbed Kael by the collar, and easily lifted him clear off the ground.

  It was clear he’d forced mana into his muscles—his strength surged instantly, his grip turning to iron.

  “Looks like you need a reminder of your place, trash,” Draxion sneered, grinning.

  The entire class froze, waiting for the usual scene—Kael shrinking back, dodging a blow, or meekly begging forgiveness.

  But something else happened.

  Kael didn’t retreat. He smiled defiantly, almost madly, as if he had just heard the funniest joke of his life.

  “I’ve known pain you couldn’t dream of, boy,” he said calmly, looking Draxion straight in the eyes. “Do you really think I still fear your punches?”

  A stunned silence fell over the class. Some faces even went slack—this wasn’t the beaten-down failure they all knew. Even the way he spoke seemed different.

  Kael chuckled, tilting his head slightly, and added:

  “So, are you going to hit me or not?”

  At that instant, Draxion’s hand twitched.

  “Know your place, loser!”

  He snapped, unable to bear the challenge, and struck Kael full in the face.

  Slap!

  A sharp, splitting sound rang out, like dry wood snapping. Kael’s head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his lips to streak his chin and drip onto his clothes.

  The class froze. A few girls screamed at once; some clapped hands over their mouths, others turned away, unwilling to watch. From a corner came a frightened murmur:

  “This has gone too far…”

  And immediately another angry voice followed:

  “What the hell is he doing?! This isn’t cool at all!”

  But on the faces of some boys gleamed something else—excitement, cruel curiosity, as though this was a spectacle they couldn’t look away from.

  Everyone expected the same thing. That Kael would cry out, curl up, beg, or, as in past years, huddle down and swallow the humiliation. But instead, something entirely different happened.

  Slowly, as if savoring every second, Kael turned his head back toward Draxion. His amber eyes gleamed with a strange light—not fear, not despair, but a cold, unsettling calm. A grin tugged at his lips, and in that smile was a challenge that sent chills down the spines of those watching.

  Kael bared teeth stained with fresh blood, and with a rasping chuckle said:

  “Ooh… Looks like your punch really did help me remember my place…”

  But Draxion felt no relief in those words.

  His heart gave an odd jolt, and the thought leapt unbidden into his mind:

  “What the hell is wrong with this slug?”

  Never before had he seen Kael like this. This wasn’t the beaten-down mute he could break at will for his own amusement. Usually the victim obeyed, trembled, turned his gaze away—and that submission brought a sweet rush of power. But now, instead of triumph, Draxion felt like he was being made a fool of. As though the entire class wasn’t looking at the “failure” anymore, but at him.

  He clenched his teeth, but had no chance to speak.

  “My place,” Kael’s voice was flat and hard, without a trace of hesitation, “is as a student of the Academy of Spirit Mages. And even if I’m a failure—I have the right to finish this year. So get the hell off me and let me study in peace!”

  With a sudden motion, Kael struck down on his arm, breaking the grip. Fabric tore against Draxion’s fingers, and Kael ripped his collar free.

  Draxion froze in mute shock, his hand still hanging in the air as if clutching emptiness. His face twisted—a mix of rage and disbelief.

  Kael, unhurried, straightened his clothes, brushed dust from his sleeve, and as if nothing had happened, sank back into his chair by the window. Calm, almost detached, ignoring the trio looming over him.

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  The classroom remained silent, thick with tension. On the children’s faces flashed a spectrum of emotions—from stunned disbelief to barely concealed excitement.

  “Is that really Kael?”

  “Maybe he just got tired of putting up with it…”

  Draxion blinked a few times, completely at a loss.

  Normally the script played out the same: he bullied, Kael broke, the class laughed. But now the script was broken—and for the first time, Draxion didn’t know how to continue.

  “Slug…” he hissed, trying to claw back his usual swagger. “Have you gone insane, or what?”

  Kael slowly turned his head toward him. His eyes, cold and strangely assured, locked onto Draxion’s with such intensity that it made the boy uneasy.

  “Do you want to hit me again?” he said flatly. “Do you really believe the result will change?”

  Silence hung in the air, each word ringing in their ears. Draxion’s lackeys exchanged nervous glances, unsure how to react. For the first time, their leader didn’t look in control, and that unsettled them more than Kael’s response itself.

  A tall, lanky boy with silvery hair gave a nervous snort, masking confusion with mockery.

  “He’s just a psycho.”

  The second, bulkier and louder, suddenly laughed and added more boldly, as if to encourage himself and the others:

  “Haha! Draxion, your toy broke! Guess you’ll need a new one!”

  The class buzzed softly—someone snorted, someone whispered to a neighbor. The tension shifted, and now it was Draxion who seemed to be the butt of the joke.

  He grimaced, but hearing his friends, he forced a loud, exaggerated laugh, trying to drown out his irritation.

  “Guess you’re right… This piece of trash doesn’t amuse me anymore.”

  And at that moment, a stern female voice rang out at the classroom door:

  “What’s going on here?”

  Draxion jerked around. A teacher stood at the threshold—a tall woman in her thirties, with thick, curling green hair cascading over her shoulders, and sharp green eyes that swept the class, making many avert their gaze.

  “It’s fine!” Draxion blurted hastily, flashing a strained, casual smile. “We were just playing around. Don’t worry, Miss Cilia!”

  “That’s right!” his lackeys chimed in at once, eager to back their leader.

  Cilia narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. Her gaze lingered on Kael, then slid back to Draxion. But instead of pressing the matter, she exhaled heavily and said:

  “Very well. Everyone take your seats. We’ll begin the lesson on Theory of Magical Spirits.”

  The children shuffled quickly, chairs scraping, voices buzzing.

  As he passed Kael, Draxion shot him a sidelong glance and muttered with a scornful smirk:

  “Damn psycho…”

  Then he sat down with his friends closer to the center, making no effort to hide his irritation.

  Other students stole glances at Kael, but none spoke aloud. Only a few girls whispered to each other behind their notebooks:

  “Did you see? Kael’s changed so much over the summer…”

  “Even his eyes look different… and just the way he carries himself.”

  Kael sat calmly, eyes fixed on Teacher Cilia. His gaze narrowed slightly, and a cold thought flickered through his mind:

  “She knew perfectly well what was happening. But pretended not to notice. All because Draxion is the heir of one of Lasthold’s three strongest families…”

  A faint, contemptuous smile touched his lips.

  “Such are the laws of this world.”

  The teacher didn’t linger. She strode down the aisle toward her lectern, the tap of her heels echoing faintly on the stone floor. With each step, the classroom’s chatter faded of its own accord. Cilia set a thick, leather-bound book on the desk, opened it, skimmed the pages, then lifted her eyes to the students.

  “Since it’s only the beginning of the year,” she said in an even, stern voice, “I want to review the basics.”

  She paused, scanning the rows, before continuing:

  “Can anyone tell me what spirit beasts and spirit mages have in common?”

  The room grew quiet. Some avoided her eyes, others fidgeted with their quills just to avoid being called on. Then a loud chuckle broke the silence.

  “Let our little bookworm answer!” Draxion called out mockingly, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. His grin made it clear—he was trying to needle Kael again.

  A few students smirked, expecting the usual scene.

  But things didn’t go that way.

  Kael slowly turned his head toward him. His face was calm, almost indifferent. He shook his head and said evenly:

  “I have no interest in answering such simple questions.”

  A restrained gasp of surprise rippled through the class. Several students exchanged glances, as if unable to believe their ears. Just last spring, Kael had always—albeit timidly—answered every question, hoping to earn at least a shred of recognition.

  Now he had rejected it himself—calmly and coldly.

  The teacher’s lips curved ever so slightly, and her green eyes glimmered with quiet interest.

  “Very well,” Cilia said softly. “Lili, perhaps you’ll answer?”

  From one of the front rows rose a petite girl with neatly trimmed bangs and long pink hair woven into a braid. Lili nodded with confidence, as if she had been waiting for this moment, and her voice rang out clear and firm:

  “Both people and beasts can learn to absorb mana, though their methods differ somewhat. When we—or beasts—reach the Steel Level, we gain the ability to form a contract with a spirit. Such a contract increases our strength and allows us to use the spirit’s abilities for our own purposes.”

  She straightened her shoulders slightly, proud of every word.

  “Those who form contracts can be called true spirit mages. And beasts who also form contracts become spirit beasts.”

  A murmur swept the classroom—muted exclamations, nods of agreement, quills scratching as some pretended to take notes. Draxion, meanwhile, lounged in his chair and rolled his eyes with lazy disdain.

  Kael only narrowed his gaze slightly, looking out the window. His thoughts were cold and mocking:

  “A contract with a spirit… In their mouths it sounds like a sacred rite. But in truth, it’s nothing more than a mutually beneficial deal. Spirits are more than happy to use mages and beasts as conduits themselves…”

  The teacher clapped her hands, and a sharp ring echoed through the room.

  “Excellent answer, Lili!” Cilia said with a smile, her green eyes shining warmly.

  Lili blushed faintly but nodded with pride, hiding her pleased smile behind an air of practiced seriousness.

  “And now another question,” Cilia continued, pausing just long enough to hold the room’s attention, “where do spirits come from?”

  Within seconds, Lili was on her feet again. Her voice carried the same confidence, though now with a spark of eagerness—it was clear she relished showing her knowledge.

  “All spirits live in a special place—the Spirit Dimension. It’s a world that living beings of flesh, like us or beasts, cannot enter.”

  Several students began whispering; some raised their brows in admiration, others snorted as if the answer was too obvious.

  Cilia nodded, letting her continue, before asking the next question:

  “Good. Then why do they come to our world and agree to form contracts?”

  This time, Lili didn’t even let the pause settle.

  “There is too little mana in the Spirit Dimension,” she answered quickly, lifting her chin with confidence. “They lack the energy to develop. So they bind themselves to us, using our world to grow alongside a mage or beast.”

  She took a breath and finished a little more softly, though her eyes sparkled:

  “After the mage dies—or if the contract is broken—the spirit returns to the Spirit Dimension… but far stronger than before.”

  The teacher smiled again, her voice gentle in praise.

  “Excellent, Lili. You’ve prepared well.”

  She paused for a moment, then narrowed her eyes slightly, her tone turning sly:

  “But then, here’s my next question… How do beasts form contracts with spirits if they cannot perform the Summoning Ritual?”

  The words struck the class like a blow. The children froze, silence spreading through the room, followed by a wave of uneasy murmurs. Some frowned in confusion, others repeated the question to their neighbors—but none had an answer. Lili stood helplessly, her confidence melting for the first time, and she could only shake her head.

  Cilia’s gaze swept the room. She let the pause stretch long, then suddenly laughed, easing the tension.

  “Don’t worry. Even our Kael, with his books and his library, couldn’t answer that. Because, in truth, no one knows. It’s a mystery—one that perhaps some of you will discover.”

  Her voice carried encouragement, and a portion of the class exhaled in relief.

  But at that very moment, something happened that no one expected.

  Kael slowly raised his hand. His face remained calm, but in the amber depths of his eyes flickered a barely perceptible spark.

  “Excuse me, Miss Cilia,” he said evenly, though his tone silenced the entire class, “but I recently read a text that hinted at this very question. Perhaps it isn’t such a mystery after all. The answer may simply have been lost among a thousand books.”

  As if on command, every head turned toward him. Faces showed open curiosity and disbelief. No one had expected Kael of all people to interrupt.

  Even Cilia parted her lips. She had known him for years and was certain of one thing: however weak a mage he might be, the boy’s knowledge far outstripped his peers. At times it even seemed he rivaled some of the teachers in theory. He spent all his free hours in the library, and if he had chosen to raise his hand, it meant he truly had something to say.

  The teacher narrowed her eyes slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile, but her voice carried clear skepticism, along with a desire to soften the moment.

  “That can’t be… The academy’s library has long since been studied from cover to cover.”

  A ripple of whispers spread through the class. Someone snorted, already expecting Kael to blush and sit back down. But he calmly met Cilia’s gaze and replied:

  “Yes, but there are books with sections or notes written in ancient tongues.”

  The room fell instantly silent. Even Draxion and his lackeys exchanged glances, trying to gauge if this was a joke.

  Cilia leaned forward slightly, her eyes glinting with unexpected interest.

  “Don’t tell me you…”

  Kael gave the smallest nod. His voice remained steady, but beneath it lay a quiet confidence.

  “I’ve never spoken of it, but I’ve long been interested in studying ancient languages. And in one particular book, I managed to find clues… clues that may well be tied to this very mystery.”

  The books stored in the academy’s library were, for the most part, of little value—copies, student manuals, editions whose originals had been lost. Even when some contained untranslated fragments or cryptic notes, they were still kept in the academy. The reasoning was simple: if the book itself had no worth, then scraps in ancient languages likely had none either.

  Kael knew this perfectly well. And it was precisely this he now sought to turn to his advantage. Cold calculation flashed in his eyes.

  “This is my chance,” he thought, staring straight at the teacher. “I need to lay the groundwork for a legend—that I’m deeply interested in ancient texts. If I later manage to enter the Hall of Ancient Research, there will be fewer questions. Let everyone grow used to the idea that I’m just a bookworm digging through old scrolls.”

  The teacher’s lips parted, and for the first time that lesson, her eyes showed genuine intrigue. Her voice no longer held cold authority—only vivid curiosity.

  “And what exactly did you discover, Kael?”

  Every gaze in the room locked on him. Even those who had been bored moments ago now craned their necks, hanging on every word.

  Kael feigned thought, furrowed his brow slightly, and spoke slowly, as if weighing each phrase:

  “The text was vague, so I can’t promise I understood it all correctly…”

  He paused, then continued more gravely:

  “In Lasthold, it’s believed that compatibility with a spirit depends on your chosen Canon of Magic and the talent of your body. For example, if you cultivate thunder magic, then a thunder spirit should suit you. But the book claimed it was the soul that mattered.”

  “The soul?” Cilia repeated, raising a brow.

  Kael nodded, his eyes glinting with a cold spark.

  “Souls have form. It is the foundation of any mage’s development. And the thing is… human souls are far more complex than the souls of beasts.”

  Unable to contain himself, Draxion shouted over the silence of the class:

  “What nonsense are you spouting?! What does that have to do with the question?”

  But Kael didn’t even turn his head. He ignored the outburst completely and continued, speaking only to the teacher:

  “As I understood from the text, spirits themselves differ. Vastly differ—just like beings of flesh. Some spirits have their own traditions. They do not respond to Summoning Rituals, but use something else—something akin to a Reverse Ritual. With it, they enter our world on their own… seeking vessels.”

  He paused briefly, letting the words sink in, before finishing:

  “But because of the incredible complexity of human souls, finding a suitable vessel among us is nearly impossible. And so, such spirits prefer beasts. Their souls are simpler… more diffuse in form, if you can put it that way…”

  At that moment a short laugh cut through the silence. Someone from the middle rows couldn’t hold it in and shouted:

  “Well, aren’t you the storyteller, Kael! Looks like today you decided to shock us all. First with your behavior, and now with fairy tales! Haha!”

  His words triggered a chain reaction. Several students laughed, someone slapped their desk, and Draxion outright roared, pounding his fist on the table as though he’d just heard the best joke of the day.

  But the laughter died instantly when Cilia raised her hands.

  “Enough,” she said sternly, her green eyes flashing so sharply that the class fell quiet at once.

  She paused, sweeping them with a heavy gaze, then continued more evenly, but firmly:

  “Don’t mock such things. There’s far more we don’t know. After the fall of the ancient civilizations of spiritual mages, most knowledge was lost to us.”

  The children froze, exchanging uneasy glances. In her words was something rarely admitted by teachers: an acknowledgment that the world was far from fully understood.

  Cilia turned back to Kael and added more gently, as though shielding him from the class:

  “A very interesting theory, Kael. Of course, it may just be speculation—notes left in the margins of some book long ago. Still, I’ll pass this along to the headmistress. She does enjoy collecting unusual theories.”

  Kael only gave a slight nod, his expression composed, and replied evenly:

  “Of course, Teacher. I never meant to present it as truth. Just thought I’d share since the moment fit.”

  But almost immediately, as though terrified the attention would slip away, Draxion shouted loudly:

  “He’s just looking for excuses for why he’s a failure! Haha! Don’t listen to him, Teacher!”

  The class stirred again—some snickered, some turned aside—but not with the same certainty as before.

  Cilia hesitated, a flicker of sadness crossing her eyes. She knew well the place Kael occupied in his peers’ minds, how easy it was for them to laugh at the quiet boy who never fought back. But this time was different. She noticed: Draxion’s words hadn’t touched him at all. Kael sat calmly, almost detached, as though the mockery slid right past him.

  Cilia narrowed her eyes, then smiled slightly and leaned closer, speaking softly so only he could hear:

  “You’ve grown up, Kael. Keep studying the texts. Even if you can’t absorb mana… I believe you’ll achieve great things.”

  There was warmth in her tone that Kael had never heard from her before.

  At those words, warmth unexpectedly spread in his chest. He realized at once—it wasn’t his mind’s reaction, but his body’s. The teenage heart, once desperate for recognition and a scrap of approval, responded with joy. Memories of his old self flared so brightly that for a moment Kael felt a strange split within.

  His mature mind, however, noted something else. He caught the faint scent wafting from Cilia and thought with cold irony:

  “She’s gorgeous… I’d even say she’s my type…”

  But Kael didn’t fight the body’s feelings. Instead, he let them be, as if embracing this side of his new life as well.

  He only nodded, kept his composure, and said evenly:

  “Thank you, Teacher.”

  When the class finally settled, the lesson went on. Cilia continued laying out the basics, turning pages of her thick tome, explaining with the same clarity and rigor as always. Students scribbled notes, exchanged glances; some already began to drift, but her sharp gaze quickly drew them back to task.

  Kael, sitting by the window, hardly listened. His gaze slid outside, where beyond the rooftops loomed a gray stone building with narrow windows and severe spires. The Hall of Ancient Research.

  His eyes narrowed, and the corners of his lips twitched into a faint, predatory smile.

  “Straight there after class…” he thought coldly. “I need money. Money to speed up my progress.”

  His fingers tapped idly against the desk, his thoughts moving further:

  “If I become a Core Mage… that wretch Draxion will curb his childish fervor…”

  Kael’s eyes glimmered faintly, reflecting the fire within, and he leaned back against his chair again, feigning that he was merely listening to the lecture. But in truth, he was already laying out plans.

  ? Author’s Note ?

  Thanks for reading! I’m sharing this story on RoyalRoad in my spare time, while most of my focus goes to Book 3 of The Greatest Heretic. Unfortunately, only a few chapters of that series are on RR — the full story is on Amazon.

  This story about Kael is different: I don’t plan to publish it on Amazon and will be slowly developing it here. If you enjoy it, your ratings and reviews will let me know the story is connecting with readers, and I’ll do my best to put in more time and release chapters more regularly!

  So yeah… drop those stars, reviews and comments — it’s basically the SPAM2WIN code to spawn extra chapters and keep this author-NPC grinding at the keyboard. ?????