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

The fourth floor's chamber remained utterly quiet, with no fellow Arcanists training in the vicinity...

Should any have been present, authorities would have relocated them elsewhere, guaranteeing zero disruptions throughout the Trial.

Right then, Armin faced off against his mirrored image, an impeccable illusion that commanded the identical Dark Arts under his command.

Such trials proved commonplace within the Arcane Arts Tower, appearing as their hallmark examination to confirm that the Arcanist could outdo their own limits.

"Heh~"

The reflected Armin grinned slyly, uttering words in a voice eerily akin to his own.

"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 likewise appeared and sliced through the atmosphere. Yet, they met counterattacks that were precisely the same. Each action Armin took got echoed perfectly, with every strategy or assault direction foreseen in advance.

Armin clenched his teeth, acknowledging the illusion's formidable strength.

The duplicate grew bolder in its assaults, and as the confrontation dragged on, its blows turned keener and swifter.

Clearly, fatigue eluded it, in stark contrast to Armin, who labored to devise his subsequent strategies and pushed his frame harder by unleashing Spells at a quicker pace.

This matchup felt utterly unjust.

Before long, Armin sensed impending defeat as his barriers began to crumble. Yet, right when the mirror's blow neared his torso, the entities lurking in his shadow awakened.

A rush of power flooded his veins. This force belonged not to him, but to them. His Dark Energy warped and reformed into Mystic Energy.

All at once, the illusion faltered, bewildered by the abrupt change in his aura...

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

In moments, the room faded into vapor, leaving Armin dropping to a single knee, gasping for breath.

"I... didn’t win alone. It was them.... But that’s still a win." He sensed the spirits murmuring softly, underscoring 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 route revealed itself.

The fifth level differed greatly from the previous ones. It resembled an expansive library...

Its walls featured Formation Arrays safeguarding the tomes, which shifted positions without cease.

This round, evidently, the test shifted away from battle toward understanding.

Shortly after, a voice resounded across the space:

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

Armin advanced, gazing upon the array of volumes scattered throughout the area...

Quickly, he spotted multiple challenges tied to Spell Models, enigmas of Mystic Arts, and items linked to Mystical Alchemy.

Every challenge demanded insight into diverse logical principles or arcane doctrines.

Naturally, Armin scowled upon witnessing this.

’

He examined the flawed Spell Models requiring completion. Regrettably, this lay beyond his capabilities.

In the past, he would have surely flunked this section. Nonetheless, he explored other areas and encountered the enigmas or queries concerning Mystic Arts.

He attempted to decipher the initial enigma...

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

Armin wavered. Truly, this eluded his grasp.

His training in Dark Arts had bypassed such paradoxical puzzles... Despite his familiarity with Mystic Arts, he remained utterly powerless.

At that point, the spirits concealed in his shadow activated once more.

Within mere instants, their murmurs reached him...

In truth, these filled his thoughts, akin to receiving wisdom straight from the Spirit Realm. Visions appeared before him... illusions blending into actuality, shadows fusing with radiance, until the solution crystallized in his consciousness.

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

Thus, the enigma vanished...

He proceeded to the following 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 solution...

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

Evidently, his response hit the mark yet again, causing the enigma to fade.

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

Ere long, the issues concerning Spell Models and Mystical Alchemy succumbed to resolution, courtesy of the Spirits' aid!

At last, the portal to the subsequent level shifted...

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

Armin stiffened. His pulse raced wildly.

’

The spirits churned fiercely, murmuring together. He absorbed their response and inclined his head...

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

Upon this reply, the space quaked. The runes melted away entirely, unveiling the upward passage.

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

He paused to recover afterward, though the break proved brief... Once composed, he ascended to the sixth level.

"I’m finally here..." Armin murmured.

The atmosphere grew dimmer and weighed heavier upon him.

Upon entry, he discovered the space brimming with mirrors, each capturing not his physical form, but his very soul. Each image displayed an alternate facet of his being...

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

He beheld numerous depictions of himself—some victorious, others shattered, yet more twisted...

Next, the Tower's voice reverberated...

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

Armin moved closer, fixating on the mirrors. One portrayed him as Tower Master, victorious and mighty. Another depicted him as a loser, ruined and overlooked.

A further one illustrated him twisted, devoured by his Dark Arts, reigning as a despot.

The longer he stared at them, a sudden constriction gripped his chest.

’

A kernel of uncertainty took root in his thoughts immediately...

Ere long, the mirrors themselves voiced mocking tones directed at him.

"You are not worthy."

"You are nothing without Vale."

"You will be consumed by your own madness."

Armin reeled, gripping his skull. The jeers invaded his psyche, on the verge of crumbling his will to endure.

However, the spirits roused themselves once more.

Their murmurs from the Spirit Realm overwhelmed the derisions, instilling serenity within him...

Abruptly, they unveiled glimpses of his travels, his skirmishes, his allies, his devotion to Vale. They affirmed his solitude was an illusion.

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, evaporating into haze.

In that instant, the area purified itself, and the route above appeared.

Armin sank to his knees, drained utterly.

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

He found himself ridiculing his plight. Yet, triumph was his, and progress evident. Acceptance from the Tower loomed near.

Should rejection come, rewards awaited him regardless.

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

He had come to understand that the Mystic Arts Tower evaluated more than mere command of Mystic Arts. It probed his readiness to welcome aid, to adjust, to welcome destiny.

Lacking the spirits, every ordeal would have bested him. Perhaps these Spirits accompanying him formed the destiny he needed to embrace...

Indeed, even with overt assistance from the Spirits, the Tower refrained from barring him. It permitted his rise onward...

"I can do this..."

***

Far inside Vale’s Immortal Tower, the Spirit Queen reclined on her couch of ebony crystal.

Her presence throbbed subtly as she detected her conjured Spirits growing uneasy.

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

Still, repose evaded her. Her gaze shimmered dimly while she persisted in directing her intent toward the ten spirits nestled in Armin’s shadow. Via them, she steered him, offered solutions in whispers, and bestowed vigor.

Yet the toll proved overwhelming.

Whenever Armin teetered on failure during the ordeal, she compelled greater effort, thrusting her core through the tenuous bond.

Her digits shook, her respiration grew faint, and her form seemed to diminish further.

"Foolish boy... What an idiot!" she grumbled softly. Her tone rang clear even amid her debility.

"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?!"