Delaersha, not hiding her interest in Reyn, continued:
"The teachers at Kleyden Academy are too weak; there are few truly capable ones among them. You should have left there sooner.
"I wasn't planning to return to Kleyden Academy anyway."
Reyn had studied at Kleyden Academy for three years and learned little there besides fencing. The academy had two breaks per year; summer vacation was now underway, with half a month until classes resumed.
Each student could stay no more than five years, after which they had to leave, Superhuman or not.
Before his rebirth, the old Reyn had desperately wanted to continue to the fourth year, but his father, Bad, hadn't supported him, leading to their falling out.
Now, as a Battle mage, he naturally had no desire to return to Kleyden Academy.
Delaersha's face grew serious.
"Becoming a mage is just the beginning," she said. "The path of advancement is very long. The Goddess teaches us: 'Magic is Truth, Knowledge is Power.' As a mage, you must never stop seeking truth and knowledge."
Reyn nodded. He had heard those words.
It was a saying of the Goddess of Magic, revered by every follower—especially mages—as absolute truth.
Delaersha went on:
"Battle mages, as one of the three great schools, are few in number but officially recognized by the Supreme Council. A true mage must never abandon the pursuit of truth and knowledge.
"I have several good contacts in Longsand. If you want to enroll in the Silver Star Academy or the Tower of Mages, I can help.
"Don't rush your decision. In the near future, I'll likely be at the 'Basilisk' tavern."
With that, Delaersha returned to the room with Roger.
Reyn watched them go, seriously considering her offer.
Her words made sense. Mage wasn't a Superhuman profession one could advance in alone. Spellcasting was a complex, delicate process. Soul Elements only provided spell templates; to truly unleash magic's full power required constant research and refinement of casting techniques.
The mightiest mages always saw themselves as truth-seekers, not mere spell-slingers.
Beyond magic, mages often had to master runes, alchemy, enchanting, mythology, history, planar studies, classification of Demonic Souls and their Elements—these near-endless fields of knowledge didn't demand mastery in every area, but they consumed countless mage hours and effort, granting immense power in return.
The higher a mage's rank, the broader their knowledge, and the greater the Goddess of Magic's favor.
Longsand's premier mage organizations were the Silver Star Academy and Tower of Mages, founded by the Silver Star Duchess. Any mage living in Longsand had to interact with them somehow.
Either join the Silver Star Academy or enter the Tower of Mages.
Of course, Reyn could choose neither and become a freelance mage.
Freelance mages lacked backing from influential forces, resources, and—most critically—access to great magical academies' libraries. Due to knowledge and skill shortages, even with supreme talent, advancing far was difficult.
Imperial history had rare freelance mage geniuses reaching Legendary rank, but none became Saint Soul Mages or joined the Supreme Council.
Reyn had no intention of becoming a freelance mage. Only a fool would reject the optimal path if available.
He just hadn't decided yet: Silver Star Academy or Tower of Mages.
The Silver Star Academy had a freer atmosphere, like the other two academies, but with fewer students. All aimed to become mages; if not, other casters. Student conditions were excellent.
Of course, "excellent" compared to other academies. The Tower of Mages was incomparable.
Only official mages could enter the Tower of Mages. Management was strict, training based on "master-apprentice" rather than academic systems.
Every mage joining the Tower had to select a higher-rank mentor and learn or fight under their guidance.
The Tower of Mages covered all member expenses, including knowledge and potions, courtesy of the Silver Star Duchess. In return, all Tower mages obeyed her.
This Saint Soul Mage was the Tower's sole ruler.
Reyn knew little of the Tower's inner workings, but nearly all Longsand's strongest mages were members.
His background was well-known, so entering either the Silver Star Academy or Tower of Mages wouldn't be hard.
With a recommender like a Legendary mage, it was just a word away.
Reyn leaned toward starting at the Silver Star Academy for basics, then deciding on the Tower once he knew more.
But he had one concern: Shadow Blade assassins seemed to be plotting against the Silver Star Academy.
Major events were likely brewing there soon.
Reyn wanted no part in that murky affair. Though just a first-rank mage—a minor figure to both the Academy and Shadow Blade—he bore the Discord Seal. Discovery there would mean big trouble.
"Better wait. I'll join the Silver Star Academy after this conspiracy unravels."
So Reyn decided, but first, one crucial task.
He left the courtyard, went up to the second floor of the "Basilisk" tavern, and entered his room.
The room was paid for, untouched in his absence. The shotgun and Iceberg's longsword, confiscated and hidden under the bed, remained undisturbed.
Reyn retrieved the shotgun and inspected it. All good.
He had made thirty shells earlier; some used that day, seventeen left. But after days stored, they seemed damp, usability uncertain.
Reyn shook his head, discarding that batch. The shotgun itself needed reworking.
He had crafted it hastily for emergencies. Useful as a normal human, but now as a Superhuman, he didn't need it temporarily.
Firing it was too noisy, unlikely usable in Longsand city.
Especially in the Silver Star district, where the Eye of the Spiritual Demon atop the Tower of Mages constantly watched the area. A shot would draw its gaze instantly, exposing Reyn without escape.
Of course, the shotgun remained useful, compensating for his current lack of ranged attacks sans spells.
But first, modifications—especially smokeless powder in shells. Best to learn spiritual weapon crafting from Zoltan, blending both for ideal firearms.
Reyn stowed the gun and sword, went downstairs, and ordered dinner in the tavern's common hall.
Zoltan joined him, griping that Roger was again entertaining that woman in the back room and neglecting cards.
Reyn listened grudgingly and, to change topics, brought up weapon crafting.
As expected, mention of weapons made Zoltan forget cards; eyes alight, he boasted to Reyn about several spiritual rifles from his collection.
Dinner stretched over three-plus hours, nearly half a keg of beer drunk, and Reyn gleaned much.
As night fell, Reyn took the shotgun and sword back to his apartment.
He disassembled the gun, ditched the damp shells. Now his weapons were just the octagonal hammer and Iceberg's bastard sword.
Taking the sword, he swung it a few times and shook his head dissatisfied.
This bastard sword was costly, good materials and workmanship, but unenchanted and too light—about ten pounds.
A ten-pound sword was actually heavy. A normal human would tire after a few swings, useless in combat. Only Superhumans could wield it.
Roger, Legendary demon hunter, lacked great strength; his steel "Wolf Fang" weighed about thirty pounds.
But for Reyn, ten or thirty pounds—both too light.
He could now lift two thousand pounds effortlessly; around a hundred pounds suited him ideally. Less than a hundred wouldn't fully leverage his strength edge; more than a hundred hampered agility, speed, and stamina drain in battle.
Hundred-pound swords were rare, usually two-handers or giant blades.
Reyn wielded swords but felt no special love. Perhaps his past life's nickname—he favored hammers.
Heavy weapons like warhammers better unleashed his power!
He hefted the nearby octagonal hammer. Thirty pounds felt like a straw—too light.
"Still need to buy a proper hammer."
Reyn recalled seeing warhammers in that workshop when buying the octagonal one; suitable ones should be there.
He headed out, crossed the street, and soon reached the workshop.
The owner lounged wearily; seeing Reyn, he didn't rise to serve.
Reyn ignored him, going to the hammer section.
Over a dozen warhammers displayed, mainly three types. One: long-hafted heavy hammers, near human height, two-handed, weighing two to three hundred pounds. Another: short-hafted one-handers, lighter at about forty pounds.
Few of those two. Most were medium-length warhammers.
Warhammers were dwarves' favored weapon: large head, meter-long haft ideal for dwarf stature, usable by humans one- or two-handed.
Five or six in the shop, nearly all dwarf-designed replicas.
Heads mostly square, hafts with anti-slip patterns, many with dwarven ornamentation. At a glance, they seemed dwarf-forged.
Unenchanted, ordinary weapons.
Enchanted weapons started at a hundred gold shields; Reyn couldn't afford that. Nor would shops display them for handling.
Reyn didn't fuss, just hefted one to feel weight—too light.
He tried several—all around seventy pounds.
That weight suited dwarves and close combatants, but Reyn's enhanced "Strength" Element made seventy still too light.
Reyn was about to buy one temporarily and ask price when he spotted another warhammer on the wall behind the owner, looking heavier.
He approached and asked:
"Owner, may I see that hammer behind you?"