Why Was Academic Exchange So Secretive?

"Not encrypted?" Rorschach froze at the plain Common Tongue letters.

He froze the entire leather armor and hurriedly began copying down its contents.

He soon understood why there was no encryption: besides the handwritten, disorderly text, there were hand-drawn diagrams, long strings of equations, and even crossed-out scribbles left intact.

It looked more like some magic or technique had copied someone's manuscript...

The chaotic layout and drawings made Rorschach's transcription more difficult. He could only interpret it as he went and copy down selected portions.

"Spellcasting... rhythm... frequency."

The manuscript's author believed that every spell was like a song. He compared casting gestures to plucking vibrating "strings," making the ambient external magic vibrate and play a melody, thereby causing the spell to take effect...

Such theories were not uncommon in earlier works. After reading it, Rorschach did not waste paper copying it down. He continued reading:

Every spell had a specific melody, and only by playing the complete melody could one achieve the correct casting effect.

Some spells had several syllables, while one category of spells had only a single "note." Skilled mages, meanwhile, could play entire movements...

Spells had casting steps, and there were also Elemental Spells, reflected on the panel as "entries." Now this was getting interesting. Rorschach hurried on.

Every "note" corresponded to a vibration of magical power. Amplitude determined the amount of energy, while frequency was the distinguishing characteristic corresponding to each "note."

In other words, every casting step triggered fluctuations in magical power at a specific frequency? Rorschach guessed that the author might have been a mage of noble birth, someone who had received a good musical education.

Wait...

Rorschach's eyes widened. He reread the following passage over and over, going through it several times:

"If we designed a machine or magic, could we decipher the casting motions of every spell? Unfortunately, I have yet to figure out how to accurately measure vibration frequency..."

Just when Rorschach thought that was all, the author abruptly changed direction:

"Yes, I have already invented an exquisite instrument to detect the occurrence of magical fluctuations. In fact, even novice mages can sense a little of it.

But the instrument discovered a time interval between the vibration of magical power and the spell's effect taking place! Though it is so tiny that our bodies cannot perceive it!"

The following content was the author's self-indulgent boasting, ending with, "The specific method is limited by space and will not be elaborated upon here..."

Are you Fermat? Rorschach noticed a small passage written to the side and struggled to make it out:

"If fluctuations in magical power can be amplified and canceled like other waves, could we cancel a Spellcaster's fluctuations before their spell takes effect, thereby interrupting the casting?

This is nothing. Restriction spells and divine arts can do the same, though I have not mastered them and still do not understand the principle... But I have an even more brilliant idea..."

Since every casting step caused fluctuations at a specific frequency, could waves of a particular frequency be used to cancel them out?

No, no, since the specific frequency was unknown, one could simply change frequencies rapidly and send out canceling waves across every channel. As long as the frequency-shifting time was shorter than the time it took for the spell to take effect, and the output power was great enough, the casting effect would not occur. Instead, it would...

Suppress, prohibit all magic.

Rorschach closed his eyes, recalling that rainy night in Andorilla.

The smell of burning grease still lingered in his memory. What had calmed the chaotic gale summoned by the Earth Mother Goddess?

He did not know whether it had been the manuscript's author, but Rorschach now understood that someone had succeeded. They could not only prohibit magic, but even prohibit the might of the gods.

The later text recorded that the author had obtained the frequency ranges of several Minor Spells through experiments, though as he had said, there were no precise results.

After Rorschach finished copying, the temperature rose again, and the leather armor returned to normal. He used Frost Touch once more, only to find that the relevant content ended there. The diagram beside it recorded a "genius machine" that "used Light Spell activation to smash an egg with the most perfect force after a complex mechanism."

The technology that could sense magical light was indeed impressive, but why was its target an egg?

Rorschach found that he could not fully understand this genius author. The manuscript was fragmented, flashes of genius bubbling up one after another like bubbles.

"This old fellow really did whatever he pleased." Rorschach sighed as he copied. He used Chinese characters, and for the most important section, he also used the formulaic expressions from his previous life.

The organized text became more logical, supplemented with Rorschach's own understanding of casting steps and Elemental Spells: I don't keep a diary, but if some fellow traveler transmigrates here in the future and gets hold of my notebook, it should be helpful, right? Well, preferably someone in science or engineering. When he finished, he put it into his storage ring.

"Young Master Rorschach, dinner is ready. Shall I have someone bring it up?" A knock sounded from outside. Sing was calling Rorschach to dinner, punctuating his words with a beer burp.

Having finished reading the "literature," Rorschach wanted to relax his mind. He put the leather armor back on and headed outside. "No need. I'm coming."

Creak—the room door closed.

There was a tall wardrobe in the corner of the room. Rorschach had not noticed the small gap between the top of the wardrobe and the ceiling. Another man in black climbed out through it—no, he should have been called a man in gray now, covered in dust. He carefully inspected the tabletop, then lightly and nimbly leaped out the window.

"How did it go?" Outside the inn, the wind concealed the conversation between the two men.

"There really was something on the leather armor." The "man in gray" dusted himself off.

"How did the newcomer crack it?"

"What do I know about magic?"

"What about the contents? Did you see them?"

"Brother Rorschach stared at it for ages, then copied it down."

"And then?"

"I recognized every word in the armor's contents, but I couldn't understand it. As for the stuff Brother copied down, I couldn't even recognize the words anymore!"

The other man grew somewhat anxious. "Are you illiterate? Why don't you know anything I ask?"

"It said something about notes, songs, and melodies. Maybe it was nobles talking about music."

"This thing needed to be secretly brought all the way to the Holy Kingdom? You illiterate bastard might believe that, but can you convince the boss?"

If Rorschach had heard them, he would have nodded too. These days, even an academic exchange had to be conducted in secret. It was too shady!

For ordinary people on this continent, dinner was an optional meal. Cultivators could only drink water after sunset.

Only mages, nobles, and merchants who still had social engagements or business to conduct at night ensured that they ate dinner regularly. Inns, meanwhile, prepared all three meals to accommodate merchant caravans arriving at any time, though naturally, one should not expect much quality.

Was this a meeting of carbohydrates? A small slice of dark bread, a bowl of oatmeal porridge without milk cooked into a grayish-yellow paste, and—

Bang. The owner placed a fresh basin of paste on the table. The sound of it meeting the tabletop showed that it was no light portion. After stirring it, one could see ingredients that had not been fully mashed in the red paste: a kind of flat, round bean.

"A specialty of our establishment, country-style cooking." The owner had a bulbous red nose, the same color as the specialty dish. He brooked no refusal as he ladled out a bowl for everyone present.

Rorschach and the others cautiously scooped up a small spoonful to taste. Sour, astringent, then the smell of beans.

"Salt Bran Beans! Oh, it's been far too long since I last had these!" Only Singlev swept through his food like a whirlwind, loudly praising the "delicacy." The owner was so pleased that he gave him a cup of monastery-brewed beer.