Leaning back on the leather sofa with a sigh, Nick tried to gather his thoughts.

The past three weeks at the Tower had been extremely intense, what with the numerous lessons he'd enrolled in, private sessions Tholm held for the most promising apprentices, and his own eagerness to learn every scrap of magical knowledge he could find.

After a life of scarcity and another lived away from any major learning hub, he had been unprepared for what it really meant to have that much knowledge at his fingertips.

To say he'd burned the midnight oil would have been an understatement. During his first week at the Tower, he'd attend all his lessons, mainly aimed at bringing everyone to the same theoretical level, and then plunge into the Archmage's library with a fury, reading everything from the most obscure compendiums containing scraps of reports from distant lands to the basic books considered essential for any mage.

Tholm had been very surprised to learn he had no formal education whatsoever, but that only seemed to increase his interest in Nick, and it allowed him to go to town on the man's library, as long as he agreed not to let it interfere with his duties.

And Nick had. Using his sudden access to nearly every school of magic he could think of, he began furiously experimenting with new concepts, mixing and matching them with his old world's knowledge, until he developed something that would allow him to stay awake as long as he needed.

"The Thousand-Hour Watch is working as I thought, but now I can't seem to fall asleep even when I want to," he muttered, tapping his fountain pen on the blank journal he had picked up from the stationery store just outside the Tower, which he had learned was where the wonderful vellum used for the acceptance letters came from.

His current problem wasn't yet out of control, but after the giddy rush of having free rein was over, he could admit that maybe he'd gone a bit too far.

It took him a week to come up with and develop the recipe, so he had only been awake for a third of the promised hours, yet he was starting to notice his attention slipping at crucial moments, and he knew the Archmage had noticed too.

"I might need to reduce the dosage of Hypnorchid. Going for a full month and a half now seems almost too risky, especially since I'm already feeling the consequences."

He didn't regret it. Those extra eight hours a day had allowed him to finish most of the foundational texts that every other mage in the Tower was expected to know, and he even had some free time to continue preparing for the Grand Auction, which would take place next week.

Still, this called for a quick solution. "Perhaps Dream Spider Venom? I don't have any left from what Ogden sold me, but if he could get his hands on it in Floria, surely I should be able to find it here, right?" He muttered. And that was another consequence of the Thousand-Hour Watch potion. He was muttering all the time now, and it was starting to irritate him.

"Young Nicholas," he heard, and he snapped to attention, giving Archmage Tholm his full regard.

"Yes, sir?"

The old man watched him for a moment, a mix of amusement and worry flickering in his subdued expression, before he sighed. "Come walk with me," he eventually said, heading for the balcony.

Nick hesitated, knowing the Archmage probably didn't want to just chat, but he had no choice but to follow.

The seventy-seventh floor of the Tower was so high that the winds should have felt like a tangible force. Not that Nick was worried about being pulled down, but his elemental affinity told him this was the perfect place for strong gales to roar.

Yet, barely a breeze ruffled his hair, and he knew it was because of the wards, which monitored everything inside the Tower to make sure everything stayed pleasant and safe.

Honestly, their modularity is even more remarkable than their raw power. If someone could fully tap into a leyline, they might replicate the Tower's output briefly before being burned from the inside out, but the variety of spells and effects it can produce at any time? No, that is entirely unique.

The view was so breathtaking that it drew him out of that tangent, and for a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the sight of the city spreading all around them, with the great Valis River shimmering under the sunlight, and beyond it, the grassland stretching as far as he could see.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"You know, most Archmages come from wealthy families," Tholm began, and Nick started. The fact that such a powerful man could fade into the background, despite being so close, still baffled him and was the focus of constant experiments with his senses to see if he could finally fine-tune them enough. Unfortunately, he'd yet to succeed.

"Not necessarily noble ones. Some are sons and daughters of wealthy merchants, others come from minor nobility, but all share early access to magic tutors."

Nick turned away from the beautiful scenery, noticing Tholm with his eyes closed and an amused, wry smile on his lips. "I didn't. I was born in a fishing village in extreme poverty, south of Alluria, where the people relied heavily on the bounty of the Valis River. The most powerful person there was the alderman, a fisherman at level forty. Magic was simply not something we worried about, especially when we didn't know if the next catch would be enough to feed everyone."

A beat passed, and Tholm opened his eyes, filled with nostalgia. "It was a simple life, and I was expected to follow it too. Yet, during my Class Ceremony, I awoke as a Mage, and my life was never the same. I was lucky that the alderman had a contact with an adventurer team, who agreed to take me to Alluria to test for the Tower's exam."

Nick tilted his head. He doubted a complete novice, with no teacher or resources, could pass the exam he'd just aced, but he couldn't reconcile that with the immensely powerful man standing before him.

In the past three weeks, he had come to see Tholm as a thoughtful man, one prone to deep introspection and long stretches of reclusion during his experiments. He had never appeared to be anything but completely in control, a master of his craft so skilled that people from all over the kingdom came to seek his products.

"I failed, of course. There was never a chance in hell I would pass, when all I could do was a spell to wash dishes. But I couldn't go back to my village. Not when everyone had pooled their money to help me," Tholm explained, smile widening as he saw Nick's surprise.

He chuckled, shaking his head, "Yes, I was a stupid child, and a foolhardy one at that. It is a miracle I wasn't snapped up by some gang, given how bad their presence had gotten during those days. But I managed to survive, first by plying my craft as a fisherman at the docks, then, as I began absorbing the knowledge of magic that was taken for granted even among the commoners, as a repairman, able to seal broken nets for a few coppers rather than the silvers a shop would take."

Imagining a much younger version of his teacher, inexperienced and naive, trying to sell his emerging skills as an artificer along the docks to make a living was quite strange, but he could see that it turned out well, given the man's current position.

"A year after my first try, I tested again," Tholm said in that low, gravelly voice of his, staring out into the distance. "I failed again. Back then, artificing wasn't even seen as a unique magical practice. Just a lesser form of enchanting, so all my accumulated experience resulted in a barely passable theory, and a total failure in practice," he revealed, once again surprising Nick.

"It took me two more tries to finally get accepted. At seventeen, I wasn't the oldest, but it was clear to the masters that I wouldn't be anything special. Yet, someone saw something in me. My old teacher, Master Burleaum, who held masteries in Runic Enchantment and Spellforging, saw my grit, my determination, and gave me a chance."

It was a very interesting story, one that Nick couldn't have guessed without being told, yet he knew that Tholm hadn't brought him here, away from the prying eyes of the other apprentices, just to reminisce.

"You might wonder why I'm going on such a long rant about my past. Well, what I've shared should be enough to show that my path wasn't as easy as some others'. It took decades of sweat and blood, hard work in the forge, countless sleepless nights studying runic circles and the best thaumaturgic affinities, to become who I am. And while I pushed my body many times, there is one thing my Master told me that I will never forget. Whatever goal you might have, whatever disaster you might be desperate to prevent, you won't be more prepared by pushing yourself into an early grave. Any spell you learn by working yourself to exhaustion will never be as effective as one you have mastered while in full health. So, Nicholas, I say this as someone who has gone through exactly what you are experiencing. Sleep, and rest."

Nick sensed a subtle shift, almost like a gentle knocking on his skin, and knew he wouldn't even need to use [Blasphemy] to break the sleep spell aimed at him.

Yet he didn't, allowing it past his defenses, and slept.

"Welcome, students, to your first practical lesson in Battle Magic," the teacher, a portly man with a bowler's hat and a tweed suit, exclaimed excitedly.

"As you already know, there is more to dueling with magic than most think. We spent the past three weeks discussing exactly this, so I will not bore you again about the difference between slinging spells at each other and actual magical combat. No, today is your actual introduction into the world of formal dueling! All taught by me, Lasazar Imperius, Master of Battle Magics!"

With his nose in the air and his double chin wobbling, Nick was tempted to dismiss the man entirely, but his senses told him a different story.

Master Lasazar was a Prestige-tier mage, one who somehow managed to retain a form that wasn't exactly pleasing to the eyes, yet not any less respectable for it.

During the previous six lessons, he introduced them to the true world of magical combat, explaining that it was completely different from what most people thought and even stating that none of them would be able to last a minute against any mage he trained, even if they were at the same level and had the same mana.

That claim had caused an uproar, but Lasazar used the antagonism to fuel their ambition, telling them that if they could get through the introductory part of his course, he'd arrange for them to face a group of second-year students who had, on average, the same power they did, at least for the top scorers.

And more importantly, that if they managed to win, he'd teach each and every one of them whatever spell they wanted, whether it was a Prestige-tier war magic or something simpler.

Obviously, that had sparked a fire in everyone. Even those who had scored low in the practical seemed determined to participate in the upcoming duels, and Master Lasazar seemed to know it, as he clapped his hands eagerly.

"Now then, follow me, children! It's time for the seventeenth annual Battle Magic tournament to start!"

Nick ambled behind him, staying at the back of the excited crowd. He wasn't any less enthusiastic than they were but was well aware of the image everyone had of him and fully intended to maintain it.

After all, the auction was only a week away, and the more his name was known, the better his chances of leaving with his orichalcum untouched would be.

I just need to mop the floors with a few more mages. That shouldn't be too hard.