Practicing What One Preaches (Seeking Monthly Votes)

Staring at the empty mirror surface as if in a trance, Olive only spoke to break the Silence of the workshop once the faintest textures upon it had completely faded.

"Tell me, what do you feel?"

"Hmm... I feel that what fills the operating terminal isn't pure metal; it gives me a sensation somewhere between liquid and solid. When I don't interfere, it seems to flow, but it solidifies the moment I touch it..."

--Non-Newtonian fluid.

At the thought of this similar property, the corners of Horn's mouth twitched.

If there's already a Nobel who plays with fulminate explosives, then what kind of master must the Newton of this world be?

Could there actually be a flaming laser sword?

"Very keen observation. Just as you described, it is filled with high-concentration Mythos gel. Once spirit is injected, it hardens and generates resistance, much like how Mythos hinders thought. Ha, what a fitting name, isn't it? Rhyme Street Intersection has always been quite literary when it comes to naming things."

"Ahem, I digress."

Coughing slightly to pull the straying topic back, Olive, once again wearing her stoic little face, continued.

"Next, your task is to control the solidification and flow of the Metatne 'Mythos'—mobilize it, guide it, and make it an extension of your limbs until, finally, you carve your own brand into it."

"Better to do than to speak. Give it a try."

Following this, under the always-apt guidance of mentor Olive, Horn attempted to construct geometric shapes within the mirror using his spirit: a regular tetrahedron, a hexahedron, an octahedron, an icosahedron, and so on, keeping them fixed and stable for as long as possible. The cube, which he held the longest, lasted nearly ten minutes before collapsing into a fading shimmer of light.

This is so much fun?!

After a round of attempts, Horn, finding his rhythm, raised his eyebrows. He felt that his previously crude method of using spirit—which only cared about raw power—was slowly transforming into a functional tool under the assistance and extension of the operating terminal. He could not only shape forms but also control the strength and precision of his "blade," performing all sorts of intricate crafts he hadn't even imagined possible.

For instance, the Metatron Cube!

Nesting one cube after another within the mirror with fluid ease, he only gave up in regret when he reached the third stack due to insufficient precision. Horn was increasingly pleasantly surprised.

--This is way smarter than a drawing tablet!

He didn't even need to put in the effort; by pre-setting a series of macros, he could achieve semi-automated drawing. It completely solved the problem of his brain understanding the technique while his hands lagged behind, bridging the long gap of practice and achieving "what you think is what you get" in his drawing...

If one ignored the issue of the pattern's durability, this was a godsend for any artist suffering from tendonitis!

"Is this Alchemy? Is this Occultism?" Horn subconsciously tightened his grip on the handle and muttered, "...C-could it be that I'm actually a genius?"

[Flame of Destiny], give me a boost!

"Your mindset is good. Keep it up."

Still maintaining her expressionless face, Olive extended her arm. At some point, she had produced a lead-gray metal foil, which she slapped onto the top-left corner of the mirror, her fingertip pointing at the pattern etched upon it.

"Look, understand, then imitate."

Focusing intently, Horn stared at the etched symbol, his brows knitting together.

Complex and uneven traces were carved into the metal carrier. Overall, it resembled a raging fire ignited upon an anvil; as Horn stared, it even seemed to twist slightly, as if refusing to be understood, restless in its inability to hold a single form.

In his consciousness, the orange-red card representing [Secret of Change] on the table vibrated in response. A sudden intuition surged forth, allowing Horn to understand the meaning hidden within the symbol before he even consciously knew it.

--Burn!

"Now, use your spirit to replicate this symbol on the 'Metatne' as precisely and flawlessly as possible. You don't need to be this clear on the fine details; the spirit you inject will fill in the details itself in response. What you need to do is control the overall direction..."

Snap!

Before the professor could finish her sentence, the rune Horn had just sketched a quarter of shattered due to a moment of instability, exploding into a halo of light on the mirror.

Failure!

Sheepishly letting go, Horn shook his hands, which felt like they had been kissed by static electricity when taking off a sweater in winter. The heavy stone hanging in his heart finally came crashing down.

So the difficulty spiked this quickly, huh...

Unlike the regular geometric shapes from before, the pattern provided by mentor Olive didn't look that complex, but whenever he tried to apply it to the mirror, there was always a repulsive force destroying the balance of the Mythos, preventing it from being drawn smoothly.

--This knowledge resists being understood by others.

"Continue. Failure is normal. If you succeeded on the first try, I would have to start doubting my own teaching level and judgment."

Sitting on a chair she had pulled over, Olive took a calm sip of tea and continued:

"Do not doubt yourself, and do not be scared off by difficulties. What you must do is ignite your [Fortitude] and [Clear Insight]—no, to put it simply, don't let your spirit lead you. It is also a part of you. Instead, use your determination to set its boundaries and hold the yoke of power firmly..."

Gritting his teeth, Horn summoned his spirit, which was no longer as abundant as before. On the table in his consciousness, the marble staircase on the [Memory: Foresight] card gradually faded, while the polished brass handrail grew increasingly dazzling, bright as if it were about to catch fire.

[A specific memory has enhanced your state of mind.]

Thus, Horn gripped his hands tight once more.

Snap!

Another crisp sound, another failure. Transparent beads of sweat trickled down Horn's temples, and mentor Olive offered a fair critique.

"Your handling of the unexpected imbalance earlier was good, but the texture in the top-right corner requires a precise deflection to be effective."

"Again."

And so, once more.

Snap!

"This time it was the finishing touch. You used too much force in the carving, which disrupted the overall balance."

"Again."

Snap! Snap! Snap!

"All three mistakes were the same—you failed to grasp the overall layout. Remember, whether it is the part already drawn or the part yet to be drawn, they are all extensions of your own limbs. You must construct a blueprint within your mind."

"Again."

Time slipped away.

Time and time again he started over, time and time again he failed, with only the increasingly loud thumping of his heart vibrating against his eardrums. The color on Horn's face first surged and then drained away, his breathing growing heavier and more ragged. Amidst the dizziness, his hands became increasingly adept at the carving, and on the mirror surface that shimmered with light time after time, complex symbols unlike any before began to extend.

Until, a crimson glow illuminated Horn's face, magnificent and steady.

Success at last!