135 – Poor Luck

Mal's boots clicked against the stone to the rhythm of a run. His cloak trailed behind him, buffeted by the wind. His heart slammed in his chest. One beat after another, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.

He didn't even know where to look.

There's no point in this. I'm not gonna be able to find her.

He forced himself to keep running. His eyes scanned the air for any sign of illusion-type mana. He sniffed, hoping to catch a whiff of that familiar smell—like that of a glass blower's factory.

Nothing.

He took a hard right turn and ran into an alley. The only thing he could smell was the hard, earthy smell of fresh cut stone.

Mal felt his knees go limp.

Savaly was, in the future, going to be one of the most powerful allies he had access to. Without her, the odds of defeating the cult had gone down drastically.

They won't kill her.They'll want to try to turn her first. It's not going to work. She's too stubborn and hard at it. But by the time we get to her…

Savaly was made of stern stuff, but not even she was immune to isolation and all the other psychological tricks the cult would likely use.

Mal rested his side against the building wall. How had Nima gotten past the academy guards? And Savaly was, in the second place, guarded by the king's finest, even though Mal had never seen them in person.

Nima's abilities must have advanced prodigiously… Then again, most people weren't prepared for illusion magic. Mal didn't even know of any illusion spells that weren't inherited through blood.

They won't be able to get out of the country. Or if they do, they won't be able to get that far. Our neighbors also don't want an S-grade core converted to the side of the cult.

Though that raised other issues. If, for example, they were trapped to the north, the draconids had good reason to kill Savaly instead of saving her. After all, Chama already had Puck. Savaly threatened the balance of power.

Mal pushed himself off the wall. He took another deep breath through his nostrils. Still no sign. He broke off into a run once more, though he knew in his heart that he wouldn't be able to find her.

Mal rolled out of bed and looked out his window. A cold winter breeze rolled in and chilled his bones through his skin. He shut the window, then rubbed his arms through his cloak.

He cast an eye to his plants. Already, they'd begun to wither from the cold weather. Well, come except for the withering type plants. Those were already looking withered. Mal knew that he would have to do something about them. He wasn't just supposed to let his plants die from the cold weather, was he?

At the current moment, he had nothing to do. It was winter break, so classes were out. He'd already sent out feelers using money from the war chest. Hemp had been annoyed, but when he'd explained what it was for, she'd understood.

Mal walked over to his desk and looked over the books. There were his textbooks, obviously, and also his witchcraft journal.

And there was Ekron's journal as well.

He cast a small frown at it, then picked up another one of the books. It was some sort of treatise by a gardener describing the basics of gardening. He read over the instructions with a careful eye.

He was supposed to bring his outdoor plants inside? After he went to all the effort of putting them in the raised garden bed?

Mal then read a little bit further and noted that this was only for certain "tender" plants. Whether or not the plants he had outdoors counted as tender was something he was still figuring out.

Mel shrugged. It was probably fine.

Even so, he would get started on purchasing a frost blanket.

He looked back outside and noted the lack of snow. It was usually colder at this time of year, but they'd had an unusually warm winter.

Mal was honestly thankful for that. He didn't think he could handle one more crisis on top of Savaly being missing.

He walked back over to the withering-type plant. He brushed his hands, his fingertips over the leaves. A sharp stinging pain pricked them like needles. He drew back his hand and looked at it. At the points where he touched the withering-type plant, the skin had grayed and dried.

Dangerous. Downright deadly.

He took out his dagger and thinly sliced along one of the shoots. The leaf fell into the soil of the pot. He scooped his dagger under the leaf and set it on the table.

There were a few things he could think of doing with this plant just as it was. But the first test, for him, was to see what would happen in by chain trying to transfer its properties to a liquid.

He poured out from a pitcher he'd prepared beforehand into the cup of the Winter Witch.

She would probably be rolling in her grave if she knew I was using her artifacts like this.

He set the leaf and side of the water. The inky black spread through under the surface of the liquid as soon as the leaf touched the top. Mal took out a wooden spoon and spun it around in a circle. There was a sharp fizzing sound. He drew back the stirrer to see that it had been completely disintegrated.

He looked back at the liquid. The cup itself was unaffected—likely because of the winter witch's many enchantments.

So in liquid form it becomes more potent.

This raised an entirely different problem. How was Mal supposed to store the stuff?

I can't, not as a drink, anyway, it'll just burn through my glass vials. I might be able to store the leaves themselves, though.

Mal picked another batch of leaves, then pressed them against his leather satchel.

The leaf failed to burn through the satchel. It didn't do anything, really.

Mal looked back at his cup of liquid death.

While he had no doubt there was plenty that he would be able to do with such a device, he was hoping for something a little bit more reliable than just splashing liquid against an enemy.

After thinking about it for a bit, Mal tipped the cup and let a single drop fall onto the wood. The blackened liquid seared straight through the wood, the smell of smoke filling the air.

An idea struck Mel. He pulled out his Nettleleaf dagger, and poured a single drop onto the edge. It rested there, unaffecting it.

It was biological matter. That was the trick. Anything that had some semblance of life would get seared by the blackened liquid, while inorganic materials were immune.

Mal looked back at the drop resting on his knife.

He looked back at his open hand. There was likely a small amount of withering-type mana left in his body. And it hadn't caused any significan problems with the blood-type mana that already existed there. Which meant, in theory, that Mel would be able to layer the properties on top of each other. Sure the elven doctor had said that they were contradictory types. But Mal hadn't noticed anything bad happened to him.

So far.

The more Mal thought about it, the less of a good idea it seemed. When Mal tried fighting those creatures full of withering type mana, he had slashed them and his Nettleleaf dagger had literally been drained of color.

I should put it into a separate item. Mal thought. Perhaps a second knife?

After thinking about it for a bit, he made his decision. He would perform an infusion on a second knife. Something short and with a single edge, unlike his dagger, more useful for utility.

He stepped out of his room and glanced around. His circlemates were out. Probably.

He opened up Philo's room and spotted immediately what he was looking for. A small utility knife. Perfect for the intended usage.

Mal picked it up. Stepped back to his room, then set it on his table. He took out some ink, and a brush, then drew a sigil on the blade. He surrounded it with three black withering-type leaves.

This wasn't necessarily the best time, he could've waited until night, but he would be able to perform the ritual again if he wasn't satisfied with the effects.

Streams of energy shot out and wrapped around the knife. They were blackened, with withering type, mana, circling it in droves. They poured into the knife, then vanished.

The knife clattered against the wooden table. Mal picked it up and spun it in his hands. He pressed it against his wood table, and with the acrid smell of smoke—

The knife went cleanly through.

Mal was just about to congratulate himself when he heard a knock at the front door.

He set the knife on the table. He then walked over, when he pulled it open.

He stumbled back from surprise.