Chapter Thirty: Elemental Resonance

In the eerie darkness of the primeval jungle, Gong Hao stood alone in silence. He was meditating, attuning himself to the world of magic. This was a world governed by magic—magic was its fundamental force. From that day onward, he began to truly devote himself to the study of magic.

Contrary to what Gong Hao had once thought, magic was not an inscrutable mystery. In fact, it permeated every corner of this world, omnipresent and ever-flowing. The birth of magic stemmed from a unique element of this world—the magic element.

What exactly was the nature of magic elements? On the continent of Windhowl, opinions varied widely. Most ordinary people believed that magic elements were the creations of the gods, a gift from the heavens, and that humans should not probe their mysteries. Magicians, on the other hand, regarded magic elements as the greatest and most wondrous form of life, the primal force that formed the bedrock of this world. Warriors believed that magic elements were lifeforms that had existed since the dawn of the continent, the true progenitors, and that they had endured to this day. Thus, they saw the magic elements as the true masters of the land, even suggesting that battle energy was simply another expression of magic elements.

Alchemists, for their part, did not see magic elements as life itself, but rather as a transitional form that existed before the emergence of true life. Like other material elements—iron, magnesium, carbon—they were fundamental to the composition of the world, though unlike these, magic elements straddled the boundary between matter and life. They resembled entries in the periodic table, yet stood apart from it, possessing both elemental and biological properties: the ability to combine with matter and to receive consciousness.

Magic elements could bond with any other element to form material things—ordinary objects or magical artifacts. They could also exist independently to form life, such as magical beasts or elemental spirits. They were everywhere: in the air, the earth, the sea, the flames—pervasive and all-encompassing.

In terms of understanding, it must be said that the alchemists possessed the greatest capacity for exploring the origin of power, and their knowledge was the most comprehensive. Magic elements, though not intelligent themselves, could receive commands through special frequencies and instinctively carry them out. This was the true origin of magic.

All magic was accomplished by gathering and combining magic elements. For this reason, in the language of Windhowl, "magic" did not originally mean "magic" as such, but rather "communication and transformation," while "mana" was not simply "magical power" but the "force of guidance." The true role of mana was to channel the power of the magic elements and to issue commands in various ways, thus achieving wondrous effects.

Unlike battle energy, which was generated by the body—a product of the body's own limits—mana was borrowed from the world itself, which meant no one was born with mana. Everyone had to meditate in order to communicate with the surrounding magic elements. As this communication deepened, affinity with the elements would grow. The greater the affinity, the stronger one's ability to draw in magic elements. As affinity increased, magic elements would respond, gathering within the mage’s body to form mana.

When a mage wished to cast a spell, he would use his internal mana to call to the outside world, establishing resonance, and thus bringing about magical effects. Spells, in truth, were merely the tools used to facilitate this communication, like secret signals between partners: I say "red," you ignite a fire; I say "green," you add more fuel. Thus, in the early days, spells varied from person to person—even for the same spell, the incantation might not be the same. The means differed, but the end was the same.

However, as the years passed, people discovered that magic elements responded differently to different incantations—some were more efficient than others. Over time, practice led to the integration of a comprehensive system of incantations tailored to various spells. Eventually, people forgot the original intent of magic, coming to believe that spells were indispensable for casting, a grave mistake. In truth, it was simply that a well-tested incantation was more efficient.

Magic elements did not exist in a single form, but rather as wind, fire, water, wood, and so forth. Their core was the same, but their manifestations differed. Most mages, when drawing elemental power as mana, would specialize in a single form, for different elemental energies did not blend; within the body, they would form separate currents. Multiple magical currents would not merge, but instead churn about, easily forming a magic vortex. At best, this would cause feedback, dissipating one's power; at worst, it could cause the mana to surge uncontrollably, triggering an explosion at the source and turning the mage into a living bomb.

This was why multi-element mages were so rare; not only was it difficult, it was extremely perilous. At this moment, what Gong Hao was attempting was to attune himself to the element of wind, striving to achieve resonance with it.

A gentle breeze stirred through the dense forest, swaying the tall, sturdy trees, producing a rustling sound. The ceaseless rustling merged into a surging wave, the leaves forming a "tidal" crash against the "reefs" of branches. Standing quietly, Gong Hao felt as though he could hear sounds from far, far away, messages carried to him by the wind.

The sensation was exquisite.

He had experienced something similar the first time he ventured into the forbidden valley, but this time was altogether different.

Back then, he was still at the stage of borrowing power, struggling just to sense the movement of wind elements and catch the faintest murmur they brought. This time, he was using the mage’s method of meditation to actively communicate with the wind.

He still did not understand what these special substances or beings truly were, but meditation had taught him that to calmly attune oneself to nature was far more effective than shutting oneself in a room, motionless. A mage could meditate anywhere, but the effect varied greatly depending on place, time, and state of mind.

On this Inferno Island, in the primeval forest, the atmosphere was thick with magic, especially the elements of wind, earth, and nature—ubiquitous and omnipresent. Through meditation, Gong Hao could hear the breath of the wind, the groaning of the earth, and the distant roars of magical beasts. He could feel the flowers blooming, the grass growing, life teeming all around him. He sensed the tiny magical insects flitting and crawling, tirelessly searching for food. He could even hear the pounding of his own heart and the flow of blood in his veins.

This was the power of magic.

Gong Hao smiled faintly.

Around him, a small whirlwind began to form, swirling about him as if he were the eye of a hollow tornado. His resonance with the wind element seemed to raise a chorus throughout the forest, as mists above Inferno Island gradually dispersed under a blood-red sun.

Heinz’s brow suddenly furrowed.

“Who has stirred such a vast resonance among the wind elements?”

Andrew hurried in. “Master, someone is meditating in the forest.”

“Could it be Pierre?” Heinz asked.

Andrew shook his head. “He has not left the Alchemy Tower.”

Heinz was taken aback. He drew out a crystal ball and slowly manipulated its surface until the image settled on a golden-haired youth encircled by a tornado in the forest.

Him? Hugh Eagle?

Heinz and Andrew gaped, speechless.

After a long moment, Heinz finally spoke: “This lad has been in the Alchemy Tower for nearly half a year, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, precisely four and a half months.”

“He began to truly focus on meditation only a month and a half ago, correct?”

“Yes, Master.”

“A month and a half…” Heinz sighed. “To achieve such vast resonance with the wind element in just a month and a half… This child is truly gifted for the study of magic.”

Andrew managed a wry smile.

It was perhaps the greatest irony—that an alchemy apprentice should possess the talent for magic. Every alchemist, in fact, had turned to alchemy only after failing to become a mage, yet unable to relinquish their love for magic. Even in the golden age of alchemy, when alchemists were stronger than any mage, mages still called them “failed products of magicians,” referring to their inability to become mages and thus turning to another path. Alchemy, for all its power, was a craft open to ordinary people, which led many mages to disdain its study—for magicians prized rarity above all.

The nobility and pride of magicians were such that even the mightiest alchemist could only envy them. Though alchemists could forge invincible armies and concoct coveted potions and artifacts, they could never freely commune with the elements as mages did, never channel elemental power directly, but could only achieve their ends by material means.

Yet who could have imagined that a lowly servant would, by a twist of fate, become an apprentice alchemist and only now reveal a talent for magic? Hugh Eagle had never undergone any test for magical aptitude; no one had expected, nor even imagined, that a servant-turned-apprentice could also possess the ability to learn magic.

It was… astonishing beyond words.

In only a month and a half, he had caused a vast resonance among the wind elements—this meant that, in cultivating wind magic, Hugh Eagle would progress as smoothly as any true mage, and his talent, even among magicians, was exceptional. Though such resonance spoke only to affinity and potential, and Hugh Eagle’s actual ability was not even on par with Andrew’s—he did not yet know a single basic spell—given time, he might well become a true master of wind, wielding the power to summon storms.

The problem remained: he was still a servant. Though now an apprentice, in essence, he was still a servant.

No apprentice bore a soul-seed of death within his body.

“What should we do?” Andrew asked his master uncertainly.

Heinz reflected for a moment, then spoke slowly: “The Empire of Lance has no shortage of wind mages; the loss of one future mage is inconsequential. Even if, by his talent, he might one day ascend to the highest ranks, it changes nothing. Even the strongest magic plant cannot thrive without nourishment—talent alone, without a master’s guidance, is a pearl lost in the dust. Let us treat this as if it never happened and let him fade into obscurity.”

Andrew sighed with regret, but knew it could only be so. “Then, Master, will his wind affinity aid our experiment…?”

“Yes, it will be of great help. In recent days, he has mastered all aspects of alchemy quickly—it is time for him to study that material.”

Heinz turned to leave.

Andrew called after him: “Master, do you truly believe that, without a mage’s guidance, he will never amount to anything?”

Heinz paused, then said gravely, “At the very least, he will never grow into a threat to us.”

“And if he does?”

“Then… eliminate him.”

“Yes, Master.” On this, Andrew dared not equivocate.

Gong Hao had no idea that his unwitting breakthrough had already caught Heinz’s attention—bringing both opportunity and greater danger. He was still immersed in the resonance he had just achieved with the wind element. This was his first profound contact with the element of wind. Never before had he imagined he could resonate on such a scale, and he could not even say whether this was good or bad.

Indeed, neither he nor Heinz truly understood. Heinz only knew that every wind mage possessed some degree of resonance, and that the greater the talent, the wider the range. As strength grew, so did the range of resonance. This determined the range at which a mage could cast spells: the greater your influence, the farther you could reach. The ability to resonate with half a forest of wind, as Gong Hao had done, was something Heinz had seen before—every grand wind mage could do that, and more. After all, wind spells were famed for their area of effect, and broad resonance was only natural. This blinded Heinz to one crucial fact: Gong Hao was still but a novice.

At this moment, Gong Hao clearly sensed wisps of wind element, the most compatible with him, transforming into mana within his body. If he wished, he might be able to cast a wind spell right now.

Alas, he could not.

He had learned to gather mana and deepen his attunement, but not how to use magic. He did not know how to issue the commands to the elements that would realize his desires. These commands were like a special language, whose purpose was to make the elements understand and swiftly obey. If the omnipresent magic elements were a mighty army, the mage would be the general, and mana the messenger. Sadly, this general had soldiers and messengers, but no command tokens; he did not know the signals, nor how to give the orders.

He could only watch as his mana went unused, and fret over his impotence.

Unfortunately, there was not a single true mage on Inferno Island. Even Heinz, whose knowledge of magic was limited, knew little of wind spells—his specialty was the magic of nature, and even then, his skill paled before a true nature mage.

Alas, it seemed all he could do was continue cultivating his mana and building resonance. He could do nothing else.

Gong Hao thought this with a touch of sorrow.

When he returned to the Alchemy Tower, Andrew beckoned to him.

“Hugh Eagle, come here,” Andrew said.

“What is it, sir?”

Andrew smiled and handed him a scroll. “Take this and study it well.”

“What is it?” Gong Hao asked, curiosity piqued, as he opened the manual. Inside were strange symbols and intricate illustrations, depicting various puppet-like figures.

Andrew’s deep voice sounded at his ear: “This is the alchemical notebook of the most renowned master, Electra, from three hundred years ago. It contains his insights into the creation of magical automata. Our flesh golems and undead puppets are all derived from this very notebook.”

Electra?

The name thundered in Gong Hao’s ears like a clap of doom.