The Thesis

A wizard tower was a sanctuary, a research center, and a fortress.

For some reason, a massive wizard tower could serve as both a symbol and a deterrent. A mage's tower could be seen from far away, surrounded by high walls, its towering spire standing like a warrior's castle.

A mage's bond with his tower was as close as his bond with his familiar. Through arcane magic, a mage and the builder of a wizard tower could establish a connection between the tower and its owner, allowing their magical power to flow between them and drawing the surrounding magic into the tower.

In many ways, a wizard tower was less a residence than a device for gathering and channeling magical energy. Essentially, it was a building-sized magic item. Its design and structure were meant to gather magic, and its shape—the tall, upright structure—served that purpose. That was why mages were so fond of building towering wizard towers.

Borne approached the wizard tower. A grassy plain nearly a hundred meters wide surrounded it. The moment he drew near, he felt more than a dozen faint currents of magical energy sweep over him. The wooden token in his hand glowed faintly, and the scene before him changed. The even grassland was gone; he now stood among trees, and an arched doorway had appeared in the white brick wall.

Beyond the doorway lay a vast garden.

A folded space!

The tower looked only a few hundred square meters in size from the outside, but the space within was immense.

The plants in the garden had clearly been sorted with care. Different areas simulated different environments, including a lava zone and a snowy mountain climate, but they all had one thing in common: rare and precious plants. He couldn't name most of the species.

"The Arcane Garden!"

Borne now understood where he was.

Building an Arcane Garden required a complete ecosystem. It allowed mages to grow all kinds of magical plants in their towers and conduct magical experiments.

Researching magic and constructing magic arrays involved far too many fields, from botany to the magical properties of materials—not to mention all the other areas of study.

The magical symbols and arcane script in this room provided the magical plants with different growing conditions, allowing them to thrive.

Holding the wooden token, Borne could sense the Tower Spirit and had gained the lowest-level permission, "Achievement." The Tower Spirit seemed like a low-level intelligent AI. By spending points, he could go directly to different areas based on the information it provided. Borne also learned that the library was on the third floor.

With only one point to his name, the "poor" Borne had no choice but to take the stairs. He found them by following the token's signal.

He climbed the winding stone stairs to the second floor, which housed the laboratories. There were labs of various sizes and functions, all fully equipped. Renting a lab cost different amounts depending on its level, and of course, points could be used to pay.

Fortunately, the stairs continued from the same spot. After touring the labs, Borne went straight up to the third floor.

Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched out like a maze. The number of points you had determined which areas you could enter; with too few points, some places were off-limits.

With his single point, Borne could only browse the theoretical sections on "Theoretical Magic," "Applied Magic," and "Introduction to Magical Engineering." He couldn't even find any spell incantations for zero-level cantrips.

With one point, he could only read the opening sections of some theses. Borrowing one outright would cost points, and if he didn't have enough, the wizard tower would forcibly "throw" him out.

He wasn't sure how it would "throw" him out, but Borne certainly wasn't eager to find out.

There were many ways to earn points, and most people did so by submitting papers. Meaningful "insights," rare old books not already held by the wizard tower, and magical formulae could all be submitted as well. In the middle of the hall stood something like a notice board, displaying some library rules and submission guidelines. Every week, it listed new materials that had been "added."

If your submission was accepted, it would be displayed there for everyone to "admire." It was also a chance to "build" your reputation.

In one corner, Borne finally found some "free" public materials. They were papers that had been accepted but later ignored, or submissions that had somehow slipped in as "filler." Over time, they had nearly become "free," and you could read most of each paper without paying.

Quite a few people came and went here. Clearly, they knew this section had "free" material. Many glanced at newcomers, then looked away with disdain.

"Another fool looking for gold in the 'rubbish heap.'"

They mocked others in their minds while doing exactly the same thing themselves.

Borne spent the whole day browsing what other people considered "rubbish."

In fact, for the first month or two after classes started each year, this was a "treasure trove" for freshmen. After all, even the worst free stuff was better than nothing.

But by now, it was already mid-month. Most of the newcomers who'd come to look had already done so. Anyone still spending the whole day here was sure to become an object of scorn.

People were like that. When they'd once embarrassed themselves, they wanted others to do the same, so they could feel some kind of balance within themselves.

Borne paid no attention to the looks from those around him. Different perspectives led people to see things differently.

Although the materials here were mostly padded-out filler, some had "substance." After all, how could a paper pass review without anything worthwhile in it?

Take the one Borne was reading now. Its premise was a little bizarre: use the perpetual motion of undead skeletons to plow fields in place of draft animals.

The idea itself wasn't bad, but skeletons were undead, and the aura they gave off would damage and corrupt the soil. Besides, for them to operate perpetually, they would need to be in an environment rich in necromantic energy—and such a place wasn't suitable for farming.

Most of these papers had "unconventional" ideas, or were outright flights of fancy. But that didn't stop Borne from reading them. Who said reading meant accepting the author's point of view? Couldn't he take the opposite view?

Why had such "terrible" papers been accepted at all? There had to be something redeeming about them. Maybe the handwriting was good, or the author's flattery had hit the reviewer's sweet spot...

Or perhaps it was the writing style?

Three days later.

On the seventh floor of the wizard tower, in a spacious, brightly lit room, a middle-ranked Arcanist sat at a desk piled high with papers and books. He frowned at the manuscript in his hands, shook his head, and set it aside.

Reviewing papers for Giles Academy was one of its most important duties. The reviewers changed every ten days, with a different Arcanist taking over each time.

Evans was a meticulous man. Unlike others, who left their reviewing until the last two days—or even the last day—he wrote comments on the more "promising" papers.

Mr. Evans had been reviewing papers for four days now. He no longer felt the focus and excitement he'd had at the start. There were too many submissions, especially from lower-year students desperate to earn points. They often submitted papers that were utterly meaningless. He might find one idea that interested him among dozens, even hundreds, of submissions, while the vast majority were nothing but badly padded "rubbish."

If each person weren't limited to one submission per round, the workload might have been several times greater.

He picked up another manuscript from the pile, and at once, it caught Evans's eye. The title was clear, the main and supporting points easy to distinguish, and the structure concise.

Even before reading it, just holding it in his hands and looking it over gave him one impression—clean!

Yes, clean. Evans had never seen anyone write a paper in such a concise and clear...

Well, beautiful way!

He couldn't think of another word to describe it.

This time, he didn't read the contents first. Instead, he looked at the author's name.

Doctor?!

In Netherese, this was a "verb," but here, he—or rather, he—had turned it into a "noun." That was fresh. Although the academy didn't forbid using "pseudonyms," few people did so. After all, chances to become famous were rare.

Reputation counted toward your score at the academy, and it could be very useful to students after graduation.

Judging from the handwriting, the author was probably a noble, but the writing wasn't in the aristocratic style. Instead, it used commoner grammar.

The nobles, especially the great nobles, loved writing in Old Netherese and piling on all sorts of useless, self-proclaimed elegant words. They might as well have written, "I'm a noble," right on the page.

This "bad habit" had spread throughout the academy. Many commoner students even spent a great deal of time learning noble speech to improve their so-called acceptance rate. The academy had stepped in to "clarify" the matter, but with little effect.

This was the first time Evans had seen a paper that was clearly written by a noble, but deliberately used "commoner" language. It immediately piqued his interest.

"'Three Steps to Writing an Excellent Thesis'?"

Evans read the title, then carefully read the paper from beginning to end.

"Writing a thesis is actually very simple, especially when it comes to the fundamentals of magical theory. There are templates for everything. The specific steps are as follows:

"First: Determine the main point of your thesis...

"Second: Set out the topic of your thesis...

"..."

The contents of the paper were completely unexpected. For the first time, someone had submitted a paper that wasn't some bizarre spell or wild conjecture. Instead, it examined the submission process—and its advice was highly practical.

By following the templates it described, even a paper about applying a cantrip with no practical use at all could have a much higher chance of being accepted!

No!

Most importantly, it greatly improved the reader's experience. That would make readers far more efficient at taking in information. Not only that, but if every paper were written this way, it would greatly improve the reviewers' efficiency, too.

This was truly a "genius" thesis!

Evans was a little troubled, though. It was somewhat "off topic." Points were awarded according to the value of a paper, and that value clearly referred to magic and the arcane arts.

In this situation, he could only report it. Several vice deans and the dean would then review it. While submitting it through the "back channel," he also "happened" to discover that the contributor who called himself "Professor" was actually named Borne—Borne Ioulaum!

Ioulaum?!

Borne? Could this be the "genius Arcanist" who had been the talk of the capital?

"This is getting interesting..."

The reply came quickly. That very afternoon, it arrived.

A flash of white light, and a file appeared on the desk. In the wizard tower, only one person could teleport something so precisely right in front of him.

He immediately opened it and read through it. When he finished, he couldn't help clenching his fist and rapping it on the wooden desk. "Your Excellency is as wise as ever!"

The following day.

Borne noticed his points had increased by ten first thing in the morning. The points for an accepted paper. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

One point went for around eighty to a hundred gold coins in trades between students.

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