Michael smirked after reading the Tower master like a book.

  Thinking about how to teach the Tower master intuitively, he knew he needed some hands-on experimentation. He drew a few simple symbols on the ground.

  Nelius’ explanation of lightning wasn’t too far off, given that he came up with it by himself. The storm clouds above held enormous energy. The earth below was the emptier vessel. Nature was simply trying to balance the difference as quickly as possible.

  And metal was the easiest highway the energy could find.

  “Knights,” Michael said, “are walking paths for your lighting to reach the earth.”

  Nelius went silent.

  Then the experiments began.

  They set up two tomatoes in the training yard. They were identical, except for one, which had a thin iron wire protruding from its top. Michael folded his arms while Nelius raised his staff.

  The first bolt, aimed between them, curved toward the wired one and exploded it.

  The wired tomato burst apart in a wet explosion, pieces spraying across the dirt. The unwired one sat untouched.

  Nelius didn’t move.

  For several breaths, he simply stared at the remains, then at the thin iron wire in the dirt, and last at his own staff, as if seeing it for the first time.

  Slowly, almost reverently, he whispered:

  “…I spent forty years forcing lightning to obey me, shaping it, correcting it. Wrestling it into the path, I demanded.” His eyes narrowed, equal parts awe and indignation. “All this time… it was merely choosing the easier path.”

  “Arcanist…” he said quietly, “your world defies mine. And yet every explanation makes the impossible feel… obvious.”

  He ran a hand through his white beard. “This is not magic. This is the truth.”

  Michael put his hand through a portal, took out a metal wire, and started to fold it in circular motions into a small coil.

  “Here, this is a copper wire with a coating on it, similar to wax, which electricity does not like to go through,” he said, offering the wire to Nelius. “Take it as a teaser for our next lesson.”

  Nelius took it, brow raised.

  “When you pass lightning into one of the ends of the wire,” Michael said, tapping the wire, “bring it close to another small piece of metal.”

  Nelius frowned. “And what will happen?”

  Michael smirked.

  “Tell me after you try it. But not tonight,” he added, glancing up at the moonlit sky. “It’s past midnight. And the next topic is… a little more complicated.”

  Nelius looked between the wire, the nail, and Michael with the expression of a man glimpsing the edge of a doorway into an entirely new discipline.

  “Lightning…” he murmured, voice hushed with revelation. “And metal… interact?”

  “You’ll see,” Michael said. “Let’s just say lightning has… side effects.” After a few seconds, Michael added, “Start with a lower power of lightning, as you have probably experienced things burn or melt when too much passes through it.”

  Nelius clutched the wire as if it were a sacred artifact.

  “Arcanist Michael,” he whispered, “this makes lightning even more of a deep field than I thought possible.”

  He lifted his eyes, burning with excitement.

  “This could lead to entirely new fields of arcane magic.”

  Michael just smiled.

  “That’s the idea,” he said as he walked into a portal, landing him in front of his bed for some long-needed rest.

  Early in the morning, Michael was preparing for the day.

  I still need to practice that Intent Speech… The Tower Master made it sound like step one for not blowing myself up with my own mana. Mana, intent, control, knowledge.

  Michael straightened his shirt and grabbed the featureless mask he had asked the king for to hide his identity. He opened a clean portal and stepped through. The only ones who had seen his face were the King, the Marshal, the Tower Master, the Guard Captain, Elion, and some of the guards by the entrance of the castle gates, and he wanted to keep his face a secret, not to have to hide when he tried to roam around the streets unnoticed.

  ◇◇◇

  He stepped out into the castle courtyard, startling two young female servants sweeping the flagstones nearby. Both froze, eyes widening at the sudden appearance of a man emerging from a black portal. The mask he wore showed no eyes at all-only smooth, lightless hollows. When he fed a trickle of mana into it, the holes for the eyes swallowed all light, turning into pitch-black voids, as though there was nothing behind the mask but emptiness. Despite the darkness, his vision remained perfectly clear. The moment the mana flow ceased, the illusion collapsed, and his eyes would be visible once more. King Roland prepared this faster than I thought.

  The servants were noticeably attractive in that soft, well-kept servant way. Pretty enough to draw attention, although years of social media had dulled Michael’s instinct to react strongly.

  One servant gasped and nearly lost her grip on the broom, then hurried off toward the hall.

  Moments later, she returned with an older butler in crisp attire, carrying a softly glowing translation crystal in his palm.

  “Arcanist Michael,” the butler said with a respectful bow, “His Majesty instructed us to receive you as soon as you arrived. My name is Marven Dallin. If you would allow it, I will guide you to your new estate.”

  Michael nodded. “Lead the way,” commanding in English while practicing his Intent speech.

  The house was practically a mansion by Michael’s standards. Five bedrooms on the second floor, a vast dining room, and a separate kitchen room with a servant already preparing the lunch meal, he presumed. The training grounds, the size of a basketball court, still had the printer and power supply on them.

  Thank God it didn’t rain last night.

  “Have someone move the white artifact to my room,” Michael said, referring to the printer. “And send two people to carry the black one as well.” He already knew the battery pack weighed far more than the printer despite being a little smaller.

  I should buy a solar panel for that thing.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  He needed the printer to stay functional and, more importantly, untraceable. At worst, if anyone tracked it, the trail would lead back to Elom Nusk rather than him.

  Keeping a small portal open for talking, though it had crossed his mind, the risks were too high. Someone might try to reach through it-or shove something dangerous into his world.

  Better to keep this printer running. It was safer.

  Turning toward the small barracks, Michael was pleasantly surprised that the king had remembered his request to house willing recruits for training. If he intended to build anything long-term, he needed people he could rely on, and giving children a better future was the best way to earn genuine loyalty. He wasn’t naive enough to think everyone would stay out of gratitude, but those who grew into their roles with his guidance and opportunities would have little reason to betray him. And if he could improve lives in the process, all the better.

  Michael heard faint noises of metal clanking as he saw a knight stop running from the house.

  “This is Sir Brennar, the knight his Majesty has assigned to you as your guard. He is a Tier 3 aura user.” Marven pointed at the middle-aged knight with short black hair and some stubble, who was just as tall as Michael.

  “Nice to meet you,” Michael said, still practicing his Intent Speech.

  “At your service, Arcanist Michael,” the knight replied with a respectful nod.

  “Why do knights only use Intent Speech when speaking to me and not to everyone?” Michael asked.

  “Aura users and mages both can,” the knight answered. “It doesn’t require prior training, though mages use it constantly to refine their spellwork. We aura users use it only when it’s necessary.”

  Michael thought back. The Marshal certainly didn’t look like a mage, and he could do it… so “why would the King need a translation cube?”

  He realized too late that he had muttered the last part aloud.

  “He has… unique circumstances,” Brennar replied carefully. “It would be best if you didn’t speak of it to others.”

  The gentle warning made Michael acutely aware that he needed to keep his thoughts to himself, especially now that the magical translation he did not yet fully control.

  “Well, let’s get going to recruit,” Michael said as he opened a portal that led just outside the capital. “Follow me.”

  After a second, the knight followed his head and eyes, moving quickly to take in his new surroundings.

  “These arcane gates are more amazing than I was told.” He said as he saw the slums of the kingdom on the other side of a clearing, as they were by the trees, where Michael had come from earlier with Elion.

  Michael seemed more serious than before the moment his eyes fell on the area.

  Michael stepped forward, Brennar like a quiet shadow at his side, and began walking deeper into the slums. Each turn revealed another angle of hardship-patched roofs sagging under their own weight, doors that barely clung to their hinges, faces worn down long before their time.

  He’d never gone a day without food unless he chose to. Never wondered whether rain would come through the ceiling. Never felt his ribs as a constant reminder of hunger.

  I really am privileged… even before portals, even before all this. Mom, Dad… I’ve never thanked you enough.

  He tightened his jaw and kept moving.

  A tight intersection opened just ahead, little more than two leaning shacks with a gap between them. From the side alley burst a group of children, laughing wildly as they swung wooden sticks at each other in pretend swordplay.

  They weren’t looking.

  Before he could react, one slammed into his leg, another bumped into his hip, and a third skidded to a halt with a gasp.

  The laughter cut instantly.

  Three pairs of wide eyes stared up at him-dirty cheeks, scraped knees, sticks clutched tight. One child dropped his makeshift sword entirely.

  Brennar stepped forward instinctively, but Michael raised a calming hand.

  “It’s alright,” he murmured, lowering himself to eye level.

  The children stood frozen, half expecting punishment simply because they’d learned to expect it.

  Michael brushed dust off the shoulder of the smallest one’s shirt and offered a gentle smile that was not seen.

  “Are you all okay?”

  They nodded, but none spoke. Terrified of the masked man.

  Michael stood slowly, heart heavier than before.

  I came here to recruit… but these are real lives. I need to do this right.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” Michael assured them gently. “Actually… I need your help.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out three gold coins. More money than these kids likely saw in their lives. The children’s eyes nearly doubled in size.

  “I’ll pay each of you one of these,” he said, holding the coins between his fingers so they gleamed in the sun. “All I need is for you to gather every orphan you know. Anyone with no parents, or anyone whose family can’t take care of them.”

  The oldest boy, skinny, sunburned, maybe twelve, swallowed hard.

  “Y–you want us to bring… the other orphans?” he asked, voice cracking.

  “Yes,” Michael nodded. “All of them. I have food waiting for them. Delicious warm food.” He saw the way their eyes flicked toward the promise of something they rarely had. “Bring them to the clearing just outside where Brennar will be waiting.”

  The children hesitated, glancing between him and Brennar-whose armor and conduct marked him unmistakably as a knight.

  Brennar stepped forward, lowering his helm so they could see his eyes.

  “Children,” he said firmly but kindly, “Arcanist Michael acts with His Majesty’s permission. No harm will come to you. You have the king’s protection in this.”

  That settled it.

  The three kids bolted in different directions, calling out to others as they ran, ducking into alleys and vanishing behind crooked doors.

  “I will be back, you can’t follow this time,” said Michael as he went through a portal.

  Thirty minutes later, Michael returned with five large boxes of meat-lover’s pizza that he had scheduled for pickup.

  He saw a group of around a dozen children gathered in the clearing. Boys and girls ranging from small and timid to near-adolescent, all thin, all cautious, all hoping he wasn’t lying.

  After tasting the food himself and the knight reassuring them, the three kids who were promised a gold coin tried the weird food that came in strange containers with even stranger symbols.

  After a single slice, they devoured it, and the rest of the kids followed, devouring the pizza like a pack of hungry piranhas until they could not eat more.

  A few kids tried-and failed-to savor each bite. Most simply stuffed their cheeks full as if the food might vanish.

  Michael watched quietly.

  This isn’t just charity. This is a foundation, a chance.

  If I’m going to build anything meaningful here, it starts with them.

  When the last box was nearly empty, he stood and dusted off his hands.

  “Alright,” he began gently, projecting his voice through Intent Speech, “I have an offer for all of you.”

  The children looked up mid-chew, eyes wary but hopeful.

  “You came here because you’re alone,” Michael continued. “No parents. No support. No safety. But I’m offering you something better. A home. Food every day. Warm beds. Clothes. And a future.”

  A ripple moved through the group-interest, fear, disbelief.

  He pointed to Brennar beside him, who stood like a statue of iron and discipline.

  “For the boys who want it, I’ll train you to become strong-strong like Sir Brennar here. Aura users, knights, fighters who can protect themselves and others.”

  Some of the younger boys stared at Brennar with the same awe they had shown earlier when they swung their wooden sticks at each other.

  “But if fighting isn’t what you want,” Michael added, “there will be other paths. Skills. Crafts. Roles that keep you safe and valuable.”

  Then he turned to the girls.

  “You’re welcome too,” he said, voice softening. “If you don’t want to fight, you can learn to read and write Common. Then English. You can train as attendants, accountants, healers, organizers-whatever future you choose. And if you do want to train physically, that option is open as well.”

  A few girls straightened, surprised to be included at all.

  “You’ll all have free time,” Michael went on. “And you’ll be given a small allowance. Your money. To save or spend how you want.”

  The group murmured shock, excitement, and hesitation in their words.

  Michael lifted a hand to Brennar again.

  “And since everything I do is reported to the king,” he said, “Sir Brennar will ask His Majesty to approve a second dormitory, one for the girls, on the opposite side of the training grounds from the boys.”

  Brennar nodded once.

  “This shall be done.”

  Michael continued.

  “I can only take those under eighteen. That’s how I define adulthood. But if you are younger… and willing to work hard… I want to give you a chance at a better life than this.” Giving them a second to take in the news, he continued, “I will return tomorrow for those of you who wish to follow me at midday. You can keep the remaining food,” he said as a portal appeared behind him.

  “Let’s go back, Sir Brennar. I was told before we left that the common instructor would be there when we returned,” he said as the knight followed and they disappeared, leaving the kids astonished as they mistook Michael for a high-tier mage.

  Behind the trees, a figure in the shadows that had been observing suddenly blurred out from the branch it had been hidden on in a flash.

  ◇◇◇

  Far from the capital, in a throne room lit only by the violet glow of enchanted flames, a shadow knelt on the cold stone floor.

  A voice drifted from the throne.

  “So… the arcanist was spotted in Valoria, huh?”

  A pause. Quiet breathing. The faint rustle of fabric.

  “And one capable of humiliating mages and knights alike. Must be the same mage. What could he offer for Roland to risk letting this outsider build a private force inside Valoria’s borders?”

  A low, humorless chuckle echoed through the dark.

  “We cannot allow that… can we?”