Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 175 A Fifteen-Pound Cat (First Update!)

Salomon was extremely careful when constructing the spell model. He followed the instructions on the spellbook floating beside him exactly. He had not yet fully memorized the spell, so he needed to be extra careful, otherwise the backlash from the magic would be enough to give him a hard time.

This spell was invented by a sorcerer from the Greyhawk world. This sorcerer's main profession was an information broker. Another spell named after him was called the Aivar All-Seeing Worm, and its effects were very characteristic of an information broker. As for the Aivar Black Tentacle, also known as the DM Madness Spell that the arcane mage is currently learning, it is this sorcerer's best invention, without exception.

The tentacle, made of shadow, rose shakily from the ground. The shadows around it were like boiling mud, and countless tiny, hair-like black tentacles stretched and sank, eventually converging into a second tentacle. However, this tentacle was clearly much weaker than the first. The shadow that should have covered 40 feet of ground did not reach the expected size, not to mention the short, cat-hair-like tentacles—these tentacles couldn't even catch an ant; at most, they could only scratch the soles of his feet.

Salomon had no idea what his problem was.

A spell is like an internal combustion engine; magic power is the fuel, the spell's structure is the engine and other miscellaneous transmission components, and the incantation is the key and accelerator. The power of this spell is far less than he anticipated. Perhaps his incantation wasn't quite right, or perhaps the visible spell's structure was imprecise. The engine-like spell flickered a few times before inexplicably shutting down. All these factors combined led to the current result. The spell was cast, but it was riddled with problems. Salomon's next task, like repairing a car, was to check everything one by one, identify the issues, and fix them.

Correcting spells is much more troublesome than fixing a car. Whether it's spark plugs or bearings, the caster has to tinker with them personally. Even so, he could only patiently continue making the corrections. Otherwise, this spell would be called "Salomon's Backscratcher" in the future, and he couldn't bear the embarrassment.

Salomon sat down on the spot, took out his pen, and began to scribble and draw in his spellbook. He didn't have much time; class was about to start, and he didn't have time to analyze the spell's structure. He could only correct any potential errors he anticipated—that's what the mages he remembered did as well. Aside from those of magical lineage, most mages didn't receive as much magical education as Salomon. Early magical training wasn't common, and while Salomon could use his experience to find mistakes, they couldn't.

Moreover, most apprentices are essentially automatic copying machines under their mentors. Unless they're lucky enough to encounter a kind and responsible mentor and fulfill the contracts assigned by their mentors (similar to student loans that need to be repaid in the future), very few apprentices can truly stand out. Most mentors simply tell their apprentices to find the textbooks on the bookshelf themselves; the mentors don't provide explanations. Being a mage is an intellectually demanding profession; if you can't even understand the basic theoretical textbooks, you shouldn't be learning magic. Becoming a farmer would be a more promising career path.

Even the more responsible instructors would simply annotate their past teaching materials and throw them to their apprentices. It was extremely difficult for apprentices to access advanced spells and understand their mysteries. If they could learn them, they would learn them; if they couldn't, the instructors wouldn't care.

That's why Salomon felt incredibly lucky. His teacher was the Sorcerer Supreme, the most powerful arcane sorcerer in the universe. His fragmented memories alone couldn't provide enough foundational knowledge to fill the gaps. Only under the Sorcerer Supreme's tutelage, having learned a vast amount of fundamental knowledge and spellcasting experience, could Salomon progress smoothly on the path of arcane magic—at least in the area of ​​planar geometry, Kamar-Taj possessed a wealth of experience.

When Salomon smuggled into the classroom, patting his classmate's backside, anyone could tell he wasn't in good shape. This was because he had forced himself to cast the Eva Black Tentacle again, to test whether he could reach the threshold of fourth-circle magic—his progress was astonishingly fast, but still far from enough. For now, he still needed to rely on his melee abilities to fight—who cares? Even Elminster would pick up a longsword and start a fight; it wasn't unusual for a mere spellcaster like him to do so.

The mystics of Kamar-Taj store the magic they receive from the Vishanti within their bodies. After casting spells, excess magic remains in their bodies and is absorbed, causing their magical potential and physical constitution to gradually increase. This is why His Holiness requires mystics to learn martial arts. Of course, another reason is that the Book of Vishanti is so inadequate that mystics can only use defensive spells on people's faces. Compared to other mystics, Salomon was infused with magic from birth, giving him a much higher starting point than those who have been mystics for decades. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to cast an incomplete fourth-circle spell using his own magic and spirit.

"Hey." The classmate sitting behind Salomon quietly nudged his back. "You don't look too good, bro."

"Don't worry, I've already taken my medication." Salomon leaned back slightly. He was closest to these classmates in his Advanced Mathematics class. Next semester, he would be choosing his A-level courses, and they had been urging him to choose science subjects, at least Advanced Mathematics. Salomon lowered his voice and replied, "I need a perfect afternoon nap."

"I'm worried you won't even make it through the morning classes." The student shrugged, glanced at the teacher scribbling furiously on the blackboard, then leaned forward and whispered to Salomon, "Anyway, would you be interested in coming to my house? It's an informal meeting next weekend. I heard Princess Louise Windsor will be there too—my father's going to talk to the Earl of Essex about the TV series. You should come; I've been talking about you a lot. And if you don't mind, you could try my cranberry jelly."

"That's really bad, Brown (Bradshaw). I remember your father was the Secretary of State for Culture, right?"

"I'm glad you remember this. You look like a Conservative." Bradshaw's tone seemed somewhat gloating. He winked. "I'll let you in on a little secret: the Labour Party has lost half the votes in local councils, and my father probably won't be in office for long. I actually hope he steps down from that position. He knows absolutely nothing about film and television. To him, making a TV series is exactly the same as hammering a nail. It's a damn thing, this position used to be called the 'Minister of National Heritage.' If he's allowed to continue like this, the British film and television industry will really become a heritage. Look at what 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix' turned out like. I think the Minister for Culture bears some responsibility. You know, I've always believed in magic."

"Me too, Brown, magic definitely exists."

Salomon naturally didn't attend the gathering at the Minister of Culture's house, nor did he bother with the Windsor royal family. By claim, he also held a strong claim to Great Britain (excluding Ireland). If the Sorcerer Supreme ever wanted to restore the monarchy for fun, he'd have to take Buckingham Palace, so it was best to avoid any connections for now, lest he run into acquaintances and find it difficult to act. Moreover, by convention, his fiefdom was present-day London; if the Sorcerer Supreme didn't cause trouble, things would be fine, but if he did, the situation would become extremely awkward.

His title will then become Earl of Lentinion.

Of course, he did get to eat Bradshaw's cranberry jelly. The guy had brought it over in a container on Monday, and while Salomon was enjoying it, he kept muttering to himself, seemingly regretting that the arcane mage hadn't been able to visit him—until he learned that Salomon was also taking care of an orphanage. Only then did Bradshaw stop rambling and have his driver bring more jelly before the weekend.

Salomon thought little Lorna might be interested in these jellies. Ever since the little girl punched him last time, she hadn't even sent him text messages. Now he could apologize properly.

Young girls who have just entered puberty are so sensitive.

For the next two weeks, he worked on the challenge of the Avatar tentacles, aiming to complete the spell's structure before the incantation was finished. Building a spell's structure is similar to programming, but Salomon currently only had the framework of a fourth-circle conjuration spell, without any packages to call upon; these were all copied from spellbooks, and he had to fill them in himself.

His final achievement was merely the summoning of a shadowy swamp, teeming with countless tiny black tentacles that writhed and spread throughout, like small, black snakes reflecting a faint light. Salomon thought he hadn't found all the errors until one night, while he was practicing spells in Kamar-Taj, the foolish Cheshire Cat tried to leap across the shadows, and the black tentacles swiftly seized the silly cat. Only then did Salomon realize he had succeeded—the spell's effect was exactly as described in the book.

He promptly withdrew the spell, picked up the Cheshire Cat, which was whimpering pitifully, and rubbed it against his face.

"Fourth Ring Spell!" Salomon kissed the cat's round forehead again. "I'll reward you with a can of beef jerky tonight, my little cutie."

"Meow~ (Not enough!)"

"Okay, two cans, that's the most I can give you. You weigh at least 15 pounds now."

The Cheshire Cat is furious.

"Meow! (This is filth!)"

P.S.: It's a new week, please vote for me!

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(End of this chapter)