After blessing a few of his retainers, Lucian dismissed them without further duties, letting each return to their work.
He then instructed Elyssa to guide Selyra around Stormveil and help her grow accustomed to the place. With that settled, he made his way toward Master Thops' humble quarters.
From the Converted Tower, Lucian had acquired a fair number of spells and incantations—along with the insights of the strange sorcerer who had converted to the Golden Order. That sorcerer had written extensively on the connections between sorcery and incantation. Perhaps such material might spark inspiration for Thops.
Inside, Thops was hunched over his desk, scribbling furiously on parchment. Yet each time he finished a draft, he would scowl, crumple it up, and toss it into the wastebasket before starting anew.
At last, he buried his face in his hands with a long sigh.
"So close," he muttered to himself. "I can feel it, I'm right at the edge of proving the theory. But what am I missing? Where is the flaw?"
A knock broke his reverie. Thops stood at once and opened the door, only to find his supposed "student" standing there.
Lucian had indeed studied sorcery under him, but only briefly—until Thops ran out of material to teach. Ever since, Thops had never truly thought of himself as Lucian's teacher. Fortunately, Lucian had found his way to the gifted witch Sellen, so Thops no longer feared for the young lord's magical path.
Still, Lucian always spoke of him as "teacher", and took his research seriously. That simple respect touched Thops deeply.
Lucian greeted him with a smile and a nod. "Master, I've recently come across something that may help your work."
Thops blinked. "Oh? You mean… despite always saying you would aid my research, Stormveil's library hasn't offered much in the way of real magical texts. You've nothing to apologize for."
He waved his hands quickly, embarrassed. "Truly, you've already helped me greatly! The paper, ink, and other materials I've used have all been provided by Stormveil. Without them, I could never have written so freely."
Lucian chuckled and produced several thick tomes.
Thops' eyes widened. Even from the bindings alone, he could sense the value of the books. These were not works a low-ranking mage like him had any right to see, let alone understand.
Could such things really assist his theory?
Casting a curious glance at Lucian, Thops opened the first volume, and froze.
At once he knew: these notes and annotations had been written by a true master of the art. Their insight was dazzling, their clarity astonishing. Even an apprentice could be enlightened by reading just a few passages. Compared to these notes, the lessons of most Academy tutors seemed clumsy and shallow.
Though many of the spells themselves were far beyond him, their annotations alone brimmed with inspiration.
Thops hurriedly opened another book—a prayerbook, of all things. He frowned, puzzled. Why would Lucian bring him an incantation text? But after reading a few pages, the reason struck him.
The handwriting was identical. The same mage had written in both tomes.
And within the prayerbook, too, lay meticulous commentary, especially on the connections between sorcery and faith.
Thops' hands trembled. "Incantations…?"
Abandoning all decorum, he dashed back to his desk and seized his quill. His thoughts were racing, luminous, as pieces long missing from his theory suddenly slotted into place.
The ink flew as he wrote in a frenzy, desperate to capture the fleeting spark before it vanished.
This time, when he finished, he did not crumple the page. He hesitated, then carefully cut out a section with his knife, preserving it. His heart pounded. At last, at long last, there was something worth keeping.
Not yet a complete proof, but the gaps were smaller than ever before. This was a true breakthrough.
And with both sorcery and prayerbooks at hand, he was certain that deeper study would lead to greater revelations still.
He turned back to Lucian, eyes shining. "Marvelous! It's thanks to you, truly, I feel as though I've grasped a glimmer at last!"
Lucian nodded, pleased. If his old master gained insight, then the trip was worthwhile. All credit, of course, went to the hermit of the Converted Tower. Without him, Thops would never have glimpsed the common ground between prayer and sorcery.
Of course, Lucian could not simply tell Thops that the two were of the same essence. Some truths had to be reached by the seeker's own hand.
Before leaving, Lucian also offered Thops a blessing, to strengthen his frail body. Thops, after a moment's thought, agreed. Having glimpsed the Golden Order's view of incantations, he found himself intrigued. Why not see what the Erdtree's light looked like?
With Thops left in high spirits, Lucian moved on.
Next was his visit to Sellen.
During his dealings with Ranni, she had entrusted him with the remaining Carian scrolls. And from Sellia Town, he had acquired a scroll of Ancient Darkness. Altogether, he now had quite the collection. But before learning, he needed Sellen's guidance to interpret them.
The study of new sorceries demanded both time and intellect. He remembered well how long it had taken him to master Comet Glintstone: two to three days of ceaseless casting, draining flask after flask of cerulean tears, resting only at grace before resuming again.
With the Festival of Combat fast approaching, he knew he had no time for such study now.
He traveled by grace to Sellen's subterranean chamber.
The witch greeted him warmly. "Well, if it isn't my fine pupil, Lucian. What's this? You remember to visit your master after all this time?"
Lucian coughed, looking a little guilty. "I've been rather busy… no, truthfully, I still am."
Sellen laughed softly. "And what brings the esteemed Stormlord to my den of exile? Ah, another spell, I suspect?"
Lucian managed a sheepish nod.
Sellen waved it off, giving him an easy way out. "Very well then. Show me."
Relieved, Lucian produced the Carian scrolls and the scroll of Ancient Darkness.
The Carian magic no longer surprised her. She had heard whispers of his connection to a certain Lunar Princess. But when she unfurled the Sellian scroll, her eyes widened.
"...This sorcery…"
She studied it intently, her usual composure shaken.
At last, she looked up, voice calm but firm. "Very well. Leave these with me. Give me a few days to unravel this. The stars are nearly in alignment. After the Festival, return to me. I will teach you."
Lucian readily agreed. That had been his plan.
Then Sellen added, almost offhand. "Oh, and when you return, I'll begin teaching you proper combat casting. What you've learned so far has been the easy part. Now that you have some experience, it is time to master the true art of battle. Sorcery is not merely a contest of power."
Lucian's eyes lit up. He bowed gratefully.
He also offered her a blessing, but Sellen refused. "My pursuit lies with the stars. I will not bind myself beneath the Erdtree's yoke."
Lucian respected her choice.
After they spoke a little longer, he took his leave.
When he was gone, Sellen rested her head in thought. She had felt it, a faint glintstone aura clinging to him. An old, familiar presence: Master Lusat's.
Faint, worn by time, but unmistakable.
So, he had not met Lusat himself. Likely he had only handled some of the master's relics. Still… once the constellations moved again, she would ask. She hoped he might share her vision.
She did, truly, see him as her cherished pupil.
Lucian knew of her originist creed and of her exile as a witch, and still he called her teacher. He showed no false respect, no hidden contempt. His earnest passion for sorcery, his aptitude, his respect—it all drew her to him.
Whether he chose to walk beside her or not, she would honor that choice.
For now, she only hoped he might stand with her under the turning stars.
Back in Stormveil, Lucian handed the Gold Sewing Needle to Boc. It was a reward, an acknowledgment of his tireless practice.
Boc's skills had grown leaps and bounds. He had mended garments for townsfolk, peasants, Tarnished, demi-humans, even hybrids learning to dress for the first time, and trolls who could only manage cloaks because of their sheer size.
Under Lucian's reforms, education had spread through Limgrave. Demi-humans who once wore rags now had proper clothing. Hybrids tried learning modesty. Even trolls, massive and wild, seemed pleased to drape themselves in cloaks.
In this, Boc had earned a quiet fame.
When Lucian presented the needle, Boc nearly collapsed in gratitude, trying to kneel before him. Lucian quickly pulled him up.
Boc babbled his thanks, but when Lucian offered him a blessing, the tailor shook his head firmly.
He insisted he was not worthy—not yet. His mother had taught him manners, and he clung to them dearly. To accept such a gift would be to presume too much.
The sewing needle was enough. With it, he would raise his craft to heights worthy of serving Lucian. When he could tailor his master's armor, then, and only then, would he accept a blessing.
Lucian respected his wish. Boc was safe in Stormveil; there was no rush.
With all his allies, students, and retainers prepared, Lucian set his sights eastward.
Redmane Castle awaited.
Before departing, he stopped by Stormveil's warehouse. There, piles of crystal cave moss were stored—the fruit of months of cultivation. Under Lucian's command, demi-humans had been planting it across Limgrave's caves.
It grew quickly, though the crystals took longer to mature. But the lesser glintstone crystals, useless for sorcery, could accelerate its growth. Even low-ranking sorcerers worked alongside demi-humans to perfect the method—a sight unthinkable anywhere else.
Now, vast quantities of cave moss lay ready. Enough, Lucian hoped, to brew cleansing incense capable of purging the scarlet rot that blighted Redmane Castle and the surrounding wastes.
Only one worry remained: would Caelid's toxic mushrooms be harvested in time to match the moss's yield?
With that thought, Lucian gathered his supplies, bid Stormveil farewell, and transported by grace to Redmane Castle.
When he emerged, he was startled to find the place far livelier than before…