CHAPTER 71: SECOND YEAR BODY ENCHANTMENT

The classroom wasn’t anything special.

It was the same four walls, smooth floor, soft hum of mana buried beneath the surface, and for some reason, no chairs or desks, only open space.

Logan stood alone for a few minutes before Mr. Joe walked in.

The man didn’t greet him. He closed the door and looked around like he was checking for traps.

Logan crossed his arms. "We’re still not using chairs?"

"You think you’ll be sitting a lot during body enchantment?" Mr. Joe asked, walking past him.

"...Guess not."

’What happened? He seems too cold and distant.’ Logan pondered for an instant.

Taking a pause, Logan didn’t know where to start.

His legs had been acting strangely for a while now.

It wasn’t painful, but the fact that his legs seemed to have a greater sense of danger than the rest of his body was odd.

Then there was the bird incident.

"I think there’s a problem," Logan finally said. "With the enchantment."

Mr. Joe didn’t react; instead, he knelt near the wall and started tracing something onto the floor.

"My legs," Logan continued. "They keep reacting to things on their own. I don’t control it. I just moved. Like they see danger before I do."

Mr. Joe grunted. "That’s called instinct."

"It is very strange and dehumanizing."

"You’ll get used to it."

"I almost kicked someone. Unintentionally."

Mr. Joe turned to face him.

Logan shrugged. "The person came too close."

For a moment, Mr. Joe looked like he might actually laugh, but didn’t; rather, he just went back to drawing.

"Instinctive reactions are normal," he said still drawing.

"Especially when you fuse with beast essence. It’s part of the tradeoff. You gain power, but you also inherit patterns. Reflexes. Movement memory. You didn’t just take the beast’s strength, you took pieces of its behavior."

"So I’m part panther now?"

"No. But your legs might be."

Logan stared at him.

Mr. Joe dropped the chalk and stood up.

"It’s better than the alternative. You could’ve come out of the ritual with nothing but pain and twitching. You’re lucky you synced properly." He spoke looking at the chalk circle he had drawn.

"I didn’t feel lucky," Logan muttered.

"You were alive. That’s lucky enough."

There was a moment of silence.

Logan let his muscles relax a bit.

"Something else happened." He barely whispered but it was heard.

Mr. Joe gave him a look.

"...The cores shattered."

Silence.

"The world cores," Logan said, clarifying.

"In my legs. They shattered after a battle."

Mr. Joe didn’t say anything.

"They reformed later," Logan added, quickly.

"Like hours later. I didn’t do anything. They just... put themselves back together."

Mr. Joe blinked once. His jaw clenched, then loosened again. Still silent.

Logan scratched the back of his neck. "Didn’t know it was a big deal. I thought you should know."

Mr. Joe looked at the wall for a second. Then at Logan.

"...You should’ve told me earlier."

"I wasn’t able to."

"You weren’t sure if your world cores shattered?"

"I didn’t feel it until afterward."

Mr. Joe took a step closer, and Logan instinctively stepped back.

"You shouldn’t be walking," he said, voice low.

"If your world cores shattered post-battle, you should either be paralyzed or dead. Do you understand how serious that is?"

Logan frowned. "But they reformed."

"That’s not normal."

"I didn’t try to make them reform. It just happened."

"That’s worse."

Mr. Joe ran both hands over his face, then paced the room twice before stopping in front of Logan again.

"There are only three outcomes when a world core breaks inside a body," he said, clearly trying to stay calm.

"One—you die. Your body collapses under the pressure. Two, you survive, but the enchantment becomes unstable, useless, and dangerous, or three, the enchantment ejects itself, leaving you back where you started."

Logan said nothing.

"There’s no fourth option. No reforming. That doesn’t happen. Unless you’re lying."

"I’m not," Logan snapped.

Mr. Joe narrowed his eyes. "Then you’re either a walking paradox... or something changed in you after the ritual that neither of us understands."

He didn’t sound pleased or amazed, just tired.

"Look," Logan said, tone softer, "I didn’t plan for it. It just broke. And then it came back. I didn’t even notice at first."

Mr. Joe stared at him. "Did it hurt?"

"...Yeah."

"More than the ritual?"

"No."

Mr. Joe went quiet again. He was clearly thinking.

"Did you use magic during the break?"

"Yes. I was trying to practice my old spells."

"Did you try to channel mana into the world cores?"

"No."

"Interesting."

"..."

Mr. Joe shook his head and sat down against the wall. He didn’t speak for a long time.

Logan stayed standing, unsure if he was supposed to leave or apologize. Neither felt right.

"You shouldn’t be alive," Mr. Joe finally muttered.

"Not like this. Not with functioning enchantments. And definitely not with reformed world cores."

Logan frowned. "You said the beast I synced with was weird. Light affinity, shadow control. What if the enchantment itself is mutating?"

"It’s possible," Mr. Joe said. "Or it’s adapting to your body. Which is still dangerous, by the way. You’re not following the rules anymore. You’re winging it."

"Then teach me the rules."

Mr. Joe looked up.

"I’m not trying to break anything else," Logan added. "I just want to understand how this works. Properly."

There was a pause.

"...Alright. I was meant to teach you anyway."

Mr. Joe stood up again and dusted his hands off.

"You’re about to learn how to make body enchantments. That means understanding runic anchors, mana flow, and essence syncing. No improvising. No solo experiments. From now on, you don’t touch anything without me."

"Fine."

"And if your legs twitch oddly, tell me immediately." His tone was serious.

"I’ll remember that."

Mr. Joe moved to the center of the room.

"The first lesson of this year is about foundation anchors. Everybody’s enchantment has at least one. In your case, it’s the legs. We carved runes into the muscle directly. That’s your anchor point."

Logan nodded.

"If you want to create a new enchantment, you need three things. One, physical access to the body part. Two, a compatible magical circuit. And three, world energy."

Logan frowned. "You mean I have to cut into myself again?"

"No," Mr. Joe said flatly. "Not yet. But when you’re ready, yes. Surface-level at first. Ink or burn. Carving comes later."

"Lovely." Logan’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mr. Joe stepped back and tapped his chest. "Let’s say you want to enchant your arms next. What would you need?"

"...a beast that uses its arms a lot?"

"Exactly. Martial essence. Feral strength. Climbing instinct. Then you create a rune path that guides that essence and channels it through your muscles. Too much, and you snap tendons. Too little, and the enchantment doesn’t activate."

"What about failure?"

"You lose use of that limb for days. Sometimes forever."

"Okay."

Mr. Joe gave him a look. "This isn’t flashy spellwork, Logan. This is body engineering. Every failure costs you something."

"I get it."

"No. You don’t. Not yet."

He turned around and opened a wooden crate near the wall. Inside were dozens of thin metal plates etched with runes. Most looked unfinished or broken.

"These are failed circuits. From former students. Some who graduated. Some who didn’t."

"Did they die?"

"Some."

Logan’s eyes flicked to the crate again.

Mr. Joe pulled one of the plates out and placed it on the floor.

"This is a baseline enchantment pattern for reflex enhancement. Same branch you already have, just lower grade. Study it."

Logan knelt beside it and looked closely. The lines were thin, sharp, almost organic. Like veins made of light etched in steel. He couldn’t read all the runes, but a few looked familiar.

"This feels... wrong," Logan said.

"It is. That one failed. The pattern was too tight. Mana flow reverses under stress."

"Is mine like this?"

"No," Mr. Joe said. "Yours is worse. Yours is alive."

"...That’s comforting."

Mr. Joe stood. "Next week, we’ll break down your rune structure and see what’s mutating. If it’s stable, we’ll proceed. If not..."

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Logan didn’t ask him to, he understood. It meant removal or death.