บท 17: Prophet
After thinking a little bit more, Beatrice took another look at the destroyed iron plate before exiting the room, but as she was about to exit it, a few words then appeared on the door of the room alongside a hatch.
'Deposit one elemental stone'
Looking at the text for a few moments, Beatrice gritted her teeth before taking out an elemental stone and throwing it into the hatch.
As she did that, the door to the room suddenly opened, allowing Beatrice to go back to her own room, but at the same time, a piece of paper appeared in front of Beatrice.
'Spell: Dark Bolt, Damage Index 2.7'
After taking a look at the paper, an annoyed look appeared on Beatrice's face, but even so, she still carefully put the piece of paper into her robe before walking out of the door.
But as she was walking back to her room, Beatrice did not waste any time, still being deep in thought even now.
"Two seconds and 5.7 points of mana, that's really bad," mumbled Beatrice knowing that no enemy would wait two seconds for her.
At the same time Beatrice was not too negative, feeling relieved that she did not fail in casting the spell, as such, she at least gained some experience.
"One elemental stone for one spell, that's way too expensive," thought Beatrice as she realized why although this place was extremely useful in training your mastery of spells, it was so deserted.
As she thought about elemental stones, even Beatrice couldn't help but be somewhat distraught, as even though she was extremely stingy with her experiments, only using three subjects, a large dent was still put in her elemental stone reserve.
Alongside some other expenses like the spell testing room and saving forty elemental stones in case of an emergency, Beatrice now only had thirty elemental stones.
"I'm not doing missions right now," mumbled Beatrice as she marked off that option, knowing that although her combat power had increased a lot since coming to the school, she was nowhere near the level of a senior apprentice.
After raking her brains a little bit, and thinking as much as she could, Beatrice found no way to safely earn elemental stones at this moment, causing a sigh to exit her mouth.
"I need to take it a little slower," mumbled Beatrice as she silently brooded in her room.
As Beatrice was going through her financial depression, a hidden meeting took place on this dark and gloomy Thursday.
...
"From what I have seen, nothing important will happen in the next decade, It seems that we are safe for now," said a middle-aged man as he looked at the old man sitting opposite of him.
"Then I need to go back to the school, I haven't gone back in the past fifty years, the vice-principal is probably shaking in anger right now," said the old man as he let out a laugh, feeling much better now that the Prophet had good news.
As their dialogue implied, although this old man looked harmless, he was in fact the principal of the most powerful Mage School on the continent, The Wizard's hand, Archmage Arif, the oldest among all of the members of the Magic Council.
The magic council can be considered the supreme authority on the continent, being comprised of extremely powerful mages coming from both Dark and Light mage schools
Even though the Wizard's hand, which was named after an ancient magic spell was a Light Mage school, Archmage Ariv is usually the one to serve as a neutral third party, mostly because of his ancient age.
"Good, make sure to take good care of the school while you are there, the moment I sense any sort of trouble I'm calling you back here," said the prophet, but before he could finish her sentence Archmage Ariv suddenly looked at his hair.
"You should really stop trying to protect everything, you know how much trouble there would be if we lost you," said Ariv as he looked at the gray hair on the Prophet's head.
"You know I did that intentionally, I have full control of my body," said the Prophet, trying to deflect things.
Hearing that, Archmage Ariv took a deep breath before ignoring what the Prophet said, knowing the latter's soul had already been somewhat affected by conducting so many prophesies, doing at least one every ten years.
"You of all people should know, Innate Talents can have many hidden consequences even if they seem small, you shouldn't ignore them, especially for a talent like yours," said Ariv before getting up from the table and exiting the room.
A silence ensued as the prophet stood alone in the empty room, seemingly staring at the gray hair on his head.
"It's all worth it," mumbled the prophet as he thought about how many lives hhe had saved, in a deep silence.
Sometimes the prophet had the urge to throw those dark mages out of the Magic Council, of course, even when she had learned of the council's existence, the prophet knew how catastrophic doing something like that would be.
At the same time, in the headquarters of the Magic Council.
...
Looking at the sticklike old man in front of him, Archmage Ariv couldn't help but shake his head.
"So nothing bad has been prophesied again I suppose?" asked the sticklike old man, even though he looked like a lamp that had run out of fuel or a thin stick, this old man still inspired terror through all living beings, of course, other than the other Archmages.
"That has been very much the case," said Ariv as he looked at the old man, rather, at Archmage Withered Soul, the principal of the Shadow Monastery.
After a few moments, Ariv looked at Withered Soul for a moment before walking away.
"Young people these days have no patience these days," mumbled Withered Soul, ignoring the fact that he was speaking about the second oldest Archmage at the Magic Council, second only to an ancient fossil like him.
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