Arcane Academy: The Divine Extraction Legacy Chapter 1212: Foolish Boy

The fourth floor's chamber hung in utter silence, devoid of any other Arcanists engaged in their training...

Should any others attempt to enter, they would swiftly be redirected elsewhere to avoid any disruptions during the Trial.

Right then, Armin faced off against his own flawless duplicate, an illusion that commanded the identical Dark Arts under his command.

Such confrontations were a staple within the Arcane Arts Tower. It appeared to serve as their hallmark examination, designed to push the Arcanist beyond their current limits.

"Heh~"

The illusory Armin grinned mockingly, his tone echoing the original's cadence.

"You cannot defeat yourself. Every weakness you hide, I will use it."

Armin let out a light laugh upon hearing those words. "Idiot... You have the same weakness then."

The fight ignited without delay. Dark Hands burst forth from the ground, slamming into matching Dark Chains. Shadow spears materialized too, slicing through the atmosphere. Yet, each was met and nullified by precise replicas. Whatever action Armin took was perfectly echoed, and every strategy or assault direction was foreseen in advance.

Armin clenched his jaw, acknowledging just how formidable his counterpart truly was.

The duplicate pressed on with greater ferocity, its assaults sharpening and accelerating as the skirmish dragged out.

Evidently, fatigue eluded the illusion, in stark contrast to Armin, who labored over his subsequent strategies while pushing his frame to unleash Spells at a frantic pace.

This setup felt utterly unjust.

Before long, Armin sensed the tide turning against him, his barriers beginning to crumble under the onslaught. But precisely when the mirror's blow neared his torso, the entities lurking in his shadow awakened.

A rush of vitality flooded his veins. It stemmed not from within him, but from them. His Dark Energy warped and reformed into Mystic Energy.

In an instant, the illusion faltered, thrown off by the abrupt transformation in his prowess...

Nevertheless, Armin pressed onward without pause, as shadows morphed into shadowy strands that ensnared his mirrored self, shattering it back to its core essence.

Moments later, the chamber faded into vapor, leaving Armin dropping to one knee, gasping for breath.

"I... didn’t win alone. It was them.... But that’s still a win." He sensed the spirits murmuring softly, affirming their role in his destiny.

"Alright... Alright... Thanks for saving me. Help me from now on." He whispered, realizing these Spirits merely sought acknowledgment.

With that, the ascent to the higher level unlocked.

The fifth floor diverged sharply from its predecessors. It unfolded as an expansive library...

Its walls bore Formation Arrays safeguarding the tomes, which shifted positions in an endless cycle.

It became clear that this challenge veered away from battle, centering instead on understanding.

Shortly after, a voice resonated across the space:

"To ascend, you must answer the paradoxes of the Mystic Arts. Knowledge is the key."

Armin advanced, his gaze sweeping over the array of volumes encircling the area...

Quickly, he spotted puzzles tied to Spell Models, enigmas of Mystic Arts, and even elements of Mystical Alchemy.

Every puzzle demanded grasp of diverse logics or arcane principles.

Naturally, Armin scowled at the display.

’

He examined the flawed Spell Models awaiting completion. Regrettably, such a task lay beyond his capabilities.

He would have undoubtedly flunked this segment before. Even so, he explored other sections and encountered the riddles or queries on Mystic Arts.

He attempted to decipher the initial riddle...

"What is both illusion and truth, both shadow and light, yet neither exists without the other?"

Armin wavered. This was precisely the sort he couldn't unravel.

His training in Dark Arts had bypassed such paradoxical conundrums... Despite his familiarity with Mystic Arts, he found himself utterly stymied.

At that moment, the spirits in his shadow stirred once more.

Within mere seconds, their murmurs reached him...

In truth, they inundated his thoughts, as though bestowing insights from the Spirit Realm. Visions appeared... illusions blending into the tangible, shadows intertwining with radiance, until the solution crystallized in his consciousness.

"Perception," he murmured. "The way we see defines both illusion and truth."

With those words, the riddle vanished...

He proceeded to the subsequent one.

"What binds energy yet cannot be touched, what guides spells yet has no form?"

Armin balled his hands into fists.

’

Yet the spirits murmured anew, revealing the resolution...

"Intent," he declared resolutely. "The will of the caster."

Once more, his response proved accurate, and the riddle faded away.

Riddle after riddle succumbed, not through his personal expertise, but via the spirits' direction. They shared slivers of their sagacity, revelations from the Spirit Realm inaccessible to any mortal Arcanist.

Ere long, even the challenges involving Spell Models and Mystical Alchemy yielded to the spirits' aid!

At last, the portal to the following floor shifted...

A mouth materialized upon it and inquired, "What is fate to the Tower? Choice or inevitability?"

Armin went rigid. His pulse raced.

’

The spirits surged with fervor, their voices harmonizing in counsel. He absorbed their insight and inclined his head...

"It is both," Armin uttered gently. "Choice defines the path, but inevitability defines the destination."

Upon this declaration, the chamber quaked. The runes disintegrated entirely, unveiling the upward route.

Armin released a heavy breath, perspiration tracing paths down his features. "Without them... I would have failed."

He paused to recover for a spell, though it proved brief... Once composed, he ascended to the sixth floor.

"I’m finally here..." Armin breathed.

The space loomed darker, exuding a heavier pressure.

Within, he discovered the chamber brimming with mirrors, each capturing not his physical form, but his very soul. Every image portrayed an alternate facet of his being...

"This is interesting..." Armin halted, taking in the sight...

He beheld multiple depictions of himself—some victorious, others shattered, a few twisted...

Then, the Tower's voice boomed forth...

"To ascend, you must confront the truth of your essence. The Mystic Arts demand clarity of self."

Armin ventured closer, fixing his eyes on the mirrors. One depicted him as Tower Master, glorious and mighty. Another portrayed him defeated, forsaken and ruined.

A third revealed him twisted, devoured by his Dark Arts, reigning as a despot.

The longer he lingered on each, a sudden constriction gripped his chest.

’

Doubt took root in his psyche without warning...

Before long, the mirrors themselves began to vocalize, their tones deriding him.

"You are not worthy."

"You are nothing without Vale."

"You will be consumed by your own madness."

Armin reeled, grasping his skull. The barbs invaded his thoughts, on the verge of crumbling his will to endure.

Yet again, the spirits roused.

Their ethereal murmurs from the Spirit overpowered the jeers, instilling serenity within him...

Abruptly, they unveiled glimpses of his odyssey, his conflicts, his allies, his devotion to Vale. They underscored his solitude's falsehood.

Armin lifted his gaze.

"I am Armin. I am Vale’s disciple. I may not be the best disciple, but I have proven myself."

The mirrors quivered. They fractured sequentially, melting into haze.

Thus, the chamber purified, and the path above revealed itself.

Armin sank to his knees, drained.

"Seriously... I only succeeded because of the spirits."

He couldn't resist ridiculing his predicament. Nonetheless, triumph was his, and progress evident. Acceptance by the Tower loomed near.

Should rejection come, rewards would surely follow.

As he rose once more, Armin deemed himself prepared...

He had also discerned that the Mystic Arts Tower probed not solely his command of Mystic Arts. It evidently assessed his openness to aid, his flexibility, his willingness to welcome destiny.

Absent the spirits, defeat would have claimed every ordeal. Perhaps these accompanying Spirits formed the destiny he was destined to embrace...

After all, though the spirits offered overt assistance, the Tower had not barred him. It permitted his rise...

"I can do this..."

***

Buried deep in Vale’s Immortal Tower, the Spirit Queen reclined on her bed of obsidian crystal.

Her presence throbbed subtly as she sensed her invoked Spirits growing uneasy.

Whenever she strained, her wound would reopen, sapping her vitality even more.

Still, repose eluded her. Her eyes shimmered dimly while she poured her intent into the ten spirits concealed in Armin’s shadow. Via them, she steered him, offered solutions in whispers, and bolstered his vigor.

Yet the toll proved staggering.

Each instance Armin teetered on failure during the examination, she compelled greater effort, thrusting her core through the tenuous bond.

Her hands shook, her respiration grew faint, and her form seemed to diminish in strength.

"Foolish boy... What an idiot!" she hissed beneath her breath. Her tone rang clear despite her debilitation.

"So weak... You cannot even solve the simplest riddles without me. You cannot even face yourself without collapsing. Ugh! Why did Vale even consider this useless person as a disciple?!"