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Mage's Cultivation Journey 1
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 00:58:56 +0000 UTCThey say the best hiding places are the ones nobody in their right mind would enter willingly.
But, I wondered whether it was worth it as I stared out the viewport of the floating military magical fortress: an eight-mile-long slab of rock, every inch of it enchanted enough to purchase a small town, studded with mana cannons, defensive towers that hosted shield wards, and giant arcane cores that hummed constantly, vibrating like the breath of a sleeping titan as it traveled through the void of a primordial plane.
A plane that was currently a warzone, contested by several different civilizations, each sprawling across dimensions. The magical fortress, for all its might, was little more than a scouting element, a minuscule force compared to all the forces that invaded the primordial plane.
I could only curse my luck to be stuck here—
“Hey, you,” a mage wearing a purple robe shouted at me. A mage lord. A figure that would either rule a city in his lonesome, or hold a prestigious position in one of the premier academies. In this magical fortress, he merely qualified as an officer.
One that I needed to avoid as much as possible due to my unique circumstances. He shouldn’t have been on this floor. For a moment, I tensed, wondering if everything was ruined. Then, I realized he was filled with annoyance, and not excitement.
And, if I was reading his expression accurately, he wanted to find someone to make it their problem, and I volunteered. “Why are you lingering here? Anyone that doesn’t have a job has to stay in their rooms. We are still in a state of emergency after that last battle.”
“Just catching my breath, great master,” I responded as I raised the box. “Delivery of mana-sensitive regents collected from the last breach to the core —”
His expression shifted. “Then don’t waste time and move, you moron. The ambient mana density alone could ruin them! Then, report to the third floor for punishment.” He looked at my chest as he did so, memorizing the mana patterns on my sigil.
“Yes, my lord,” I responded and started running, but at the first corridor, took a sharp right, and took one of the magical gates that allowed travel between floors. The gate activated, painting everything blue, but before it could bring me to my destination, I drew a little rune in the air, adding a command.
And, it brought me to a floor that no ordinary soldier should be able to access.
The world faded around me, and when it reappeared, I was standing in a dark, depressing corridor, several wards greatly draining my ability to utilize mana. It was a place where no one looked, filled with broken artifacts and other scraps. Paradoxically, it was also one of the most valuable rooms. Even broken, some of the magical artifacts were expensive enough to purchase in multiple cities, and the ones that were acquired from the enemy were potentially revolutionary.
Unfortunately, none of them meant anything to me. Not when I needed to do everything I could to save my life.
“First, safety,” I said. I touched my face, slowly modifying the illusion on my face. Then, I ripped a sigil on my chest and replaced it with a spare one. The latter was supposed to be difficult, with several spells preventing manipulation.
But, I was the exception due to my previous role, before I turned into a rat trying to survive until we went back. Especially considering my previous role.
The mage-commander of the fortress.
I moved to a particularly dark corner of the warehouse floor, pushed several boxes to the side, and lay on my cot, trying not to think about the demented line of events that led me to this point, wanting to focus on practical concerns, like how to continue living as a stowaway in a flying military fortress without revealing my identity.
All because an idiotic scion of a dynastic mage house decided that my meteoric rise in the academy couldn’t be related to my genius, and I had to be in possession of an ancient relic guiding me. He asked me to relinquish it, or else…
Things would have been bad enough on its own. I had already made enough enemies in the academy without adding a dynastic house to the mix. But, the real problem came from connections. Apparently, the little twerp’s mother was the mistress of a Mage Emperor, a being capable of reshaping continents by his will alone.
I wouldn’t have survived a confrontation with such a being. Not that I needed to. A problem of such scale would never reach him. Unfortunately, even a servant of his, without casting a simple spell, could ruin my life. The only thing they couldn’t do was to attack me in the academy.
That turned out to be a simple problem. In the form of an incredible ‘honor’ where I received the command of my own flying fortress in a glorious expedition. In a planar battlefield, where death was a common companion, there were too many ways to kill me.
So, I stole a lap, and faked my own death. Just not before using my command authority to make some subtle modifications to the magical fortress, allowing me to stay undetected; and arranged a bunch of fake identities, belonging to maintenance workers and common soldiers.
Most importantly, I secretly etched a spell to the arcane core of the fortress, one that would let me teleport away unnoticed once we were in — or at least near enough — to a plane I could live undetected.
“What a pathetic fate for a mage of the fifth circle,” I muttered. A glorious position, just one transformation away from becoming a mage lord.
A task that I achieved alone. No family, no sponsors, no one. Just a gritty orphan determined to change his fate. It hadn’t been easy. Developing as a mage required endless resources, knowledge, and material. As an orphan, I had none. While my genius status allowed me a spot in one of the struggling academies, it also saddled me with a considerable debt.
Naturally, there had been some mage clans that ‘generously’ offered to take over my debt and fund my education, even offer me a ‘job’, but such a retainer deal was never something I would accept. They would offer a relative luxury, but they would never allow a retainer to grow beyond the fourth circle.
However, without joining a mage clan, I had to be flashier than I would have liked. I fought, I explored, I invented, selling discoveries that would best kept for myself, all to fund my progress. Though, I didn’t expect to ruin me through a misunderstanding.
But just as I was getting lost in the memory line, a silent shuffle passed through the warehouse. Unfortunately, before I could register, a part of the wall was … cut, and a man in robes, carrying a sword, stepped in.
He was not a mage.
No, he was a cultivator.
I didn’t know much about cultivators, other than them being one of the many entities that were contesting for the plane. However, while many civilizations were involved in the form of giant, city-sized engines of war, cultivators did it … alone.
I had only seen them fight one, but the sight of a man flying in a vacuum, cutting a giant fortress into two with a swing of his blade was rather … catchy.
I wanted to stay hidden, but that hope died the moment he turned to me, immediately noticing my presence. “Who are you?” he asked.
“M-maintenance worker, great sir,” I answered. One that hopefully gave him a reason to keep me alive while I processed every little detail about his presence, aware that my survival depended on his snap judgment. It was a soft, yet dangerous voice. One that would have sent shivers through me even if he hadn’t cut through wards like butter.
Several simple magical solutions came to mind, but were erased just as fast, the invisibility spell being one of them. Admittedly, the invisibility spell was not a difficult one. I could cast even under the limitations of the wards covering the warehouse, but there was no guarantee I would survive to complete it.
As for combat, that was even more of a trouble. I didn’t know much about cultivators, but I knew that, without the preparations, a mage would have no chance against even a weak one, and he didn’t seem weak.
The only thing that could help was the secret control ward at the arcane core of the fortress, but using that was not low-key. Even if I succeeded in killing him, it would alert the new commander of the fortress.
Without their attention, I would not survive.
Too bad my knowledge about cultivators was limited. Extremely limited. I knew they were a group of weird warrior mages that didn’t use mana but used their own brand of energy. They were also very combative, which could explain his bloody clothes and slumped stance.
I didn’t know my enemy. I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know what I could do for him to prevent the swing of his blade.
Like I didn’t have enough troubles of my own.
