Chapter 46: The Architect of a New World

The meeting hall of the Theoretical Council, located within the headquarters of the Mage Association.

This grand hall, capable of accommodating hundreds, typically remained vast and solemn, only permitted for use during momentous occasions that would shape the future of the kingdom’s magical realm.

Today, however, a dozen or so individuals were already seated within its confines.

Laplace and Alistair occupied the principal seats at the head of the hall.

Alistair’s complexion remained pale, bearing the lingering weakness of a recent illness, yet his eyes shone with an unprecedented brilliance, as if a spiritual rebirth had granted him a glimpse into a new world.

Below them sat dozens of Seventh-Ring mages from various schools of thought, alongside three Eighth-Ring Archmages who, under normal circumstances, were rarely seen.

These were the rebels of the old era, the most natural allies of new ideas.

“Everyone is present,”

Laplace announced, his aged voice echoing through the silent hall as he surveyed the room.

Attendants then distributed weighty parchment scrolls, each sealed with magic, to every mage present.

“Gentlemen,”

Laplace began, a smile he couldn’t quite conceal playing on his lips as he observed the expressions of anticipation mixed with confusion on everyone’s faces.

“Before you open these, I have a small piece of personal advice.”

He cleared his throat, speaking with the seasoned tone of one who had seen much.

“It would be best not to read it all in one sitting.”

“For the sake of your own lives, and to spare the association’s cleaners any trouble. After all, dealing with the aftermath of certain… sudden incidents is no easy task.”

A ripple of suppressed laughter spread through the hall.

As high-ranking mages, everyone present was naturally aware of the physical consequences of cognitive collapse.

Yet, as luminaries in their respective fields, they possessed absolute confidence in the resilience of their own mental models.

A fiery Eighth-Ring master from the Evocation school declared loudly, “Laplace, you truly underestimate us! It’s merely a thesis; how could it possibly claim our lives?”

“Is that so?”

Laplace chuckled, stroking his white beard, and said no more, merely offering a knowing gesture of “by all means.”

Without further hesitation, the mages began to break the magical seals on their scrolls.

The Principle of the Unification of Celestial and Terrestrial Motion.

The imposing title immediately caught their eyes, causing a sudden jolt in many hearts.

‘What audacious claims,’ some thought.

The hall fell silent in an instant, the only sound the faint rustle of parchment being unrolled.

This quiet, however, did not last long.

Merely the first chapter, “Definitions of Fundamental Physical Quantities,” was enough to draw many brows into a tight frown.

“Mass: an inherent property of matter… characterizing its tendency to resist changes in its state of motion…”

“Force: the cause of a change in an object’s state of motion…”

Concise, precise, and irrefutable.

This read less like an explanation and more like a definitive pronouncement.

It was akin to a cold, sharp scalpel, dissecting all the vague and chaotic concepts they had previously learned, rendering them utterly clear yet simultaneously shattered beyond recognition.

As their gazes shifted to the second chapter, and they beheld the formula that linked the stars in the heavens to an apple falling on the ground, the very air in the hall seemed to thicken.

F = G × (m₁×m₂)/r²

The rustling sound of turning pages vanished entirely.

A soft clatter echoed.

A Seventh-Ring mage from the Illusion school, renowned for his exquisite control over spiritual energy, dropped the quill from his hand.

His face was ashen, his eyes tightly shut, and beads of sweat the size of peas trickled down his forehead.

The air around him began to warp, and vivid, uncontrolled illusionary scenes he had just conceived flickered into existence only to shatter—birds crashing into mountains, rivers coiling towards the sky—a terrifying materialization of his mental world’s collapse.

Across from him, a master of the Abjuration school, specialized in force field shields, found himself in an even more dire state.

His body began to tremble uncontrollably, a faint blue force field shield flickering wildly around him.

The internal structure of his shield was disintegrating at its very foundations, countless minute force field nodes flickering erratically, like dying stars, unable to adapt to the new definition of “force.”

He abruptly raised a hand to cover his mouth and nose, yet the immense pressure stemming from the collapse of his cognitive foundation stubbornly forced warm blood to seep through his fingers, dripping onto the parchment and staining the cold, absolute formula inscribed upon it.

An invisible storm of spiritual energy was silently taking shape within the hall.

No one present was a weakling.

The moment they realized their cognitive models were on the verge of collapse, they immediately ceased reading, instead channeling all their spiritual energy to try and reconcile, to guide, the impact of this “new truth.”

This was an agonizingly painful and perilous process.

It was tantamount to undergoing major demolition and reconstruction surgery within their own minds, without the benefit of anesthesia.

Several Seventh-Ring mages, whose foundations were perhaps less robust, even began bleeding from their facial orifices on the spot, their vitality flagging.

They were only stabilized by the timely spiritual appeasement spells cast by their companions, which anchored their collapsing mental worlds.

From the principal seat, Alistair watched this unfolding scene, his eyes reflecting a complex array of emotions.

He felt as though he were reliving his own experience from just days before.

He instinctively touched his head, where the excruciating pain of his own cognition being torn apart seemed to still linger.

Laplace, in contrast, remained utterly calm, observing each individual’s reactions with an almost detached interest.

A full hour elapsed.

Only then did the commotion in the hall gradually subside.

Most had lowered their papers, their faces pale and expressions weary, yet in their eyes flickered a strange light, a mixture of fear, shock, and ecstatic joy.

After a brief, profound silence, a wave of fervent discussion, like wildfire, instantly swept through the entire hall.

“It’s madness… utter madness! This theory, it… it’s actually true!”

“I tried to logically refute it, but I couldn’t! Starting from those three fundamental laws of motion, the entire system is perfectly integrated; there’s simply no flaw to attack!”

“More than that! You who started from the beginning likely haven’t reached the fourth chapter yet, have you? Do you know?

In the fourth chapter, the author actually derives ‘the laws of stellar motion’ from the basic principles! My gods, that’s not divine revelation; it’s merely an inevitable outcome under the influence of gravity!”

A mage from the Astromancy school exclaimed, his face flushed with excitement, nearly leaping from his chair.

“The fifth chapter! Who has read the fifth chapter? ‘Work’ and ‘Energy’! The ‘Law of Conservation of Energy’! It’s simply… a gateway to another world! It provides a problem-solving approach that completely bypasses process analysis!”

Naturally, there were also voices of doubt.

“But that gravitational constant, G, until it’s experimentally determined, the practicality of this formula will be significantly diminished!”

“Precisely, and it uses circular orbits for its initial derivations. This approximation… always strikes me as somewhat imprecise.”

Nevertheless, these objections appeared utterly pale and powerless before the monumental edifice of such a revolutionary theory.

They were merely windows in need of repair, not cracks threatening the very foundation.

Just as the intense discussions reached their peak, a slightly hoarse voice suddenly resonated through the hall.

The speaker was one of the three Eighth-Ring Archmages, an elderly mage from the Conjuration school renowned for his quick wit.

He had not participated in the debate, instead meticulously poring over the thesis from the very beginning, his fingers constantly tracing the edges of the pages and the formatting of the text.

“Gentlemen, please quiet down.”

His voice was not loud, yet it carried an undeniable gravity that commanded attention.

The hall swiftly fell silent, all eyes converging upon him.

The old mage lifted his head, his gaze sweeping past the assembled mages to settle on Laplace at the head of the hall.

“Master Laplace, I have a question.”

“Please, speak.”

“The formatting of this thesis…” The old mage did not lift the parchment, but rather tapped the tabletop gently with a single finger, as if marking a rhythm.

“Abstract, introduction, definitions, derivations, experimental design… This is an exceptionally rigorous and efficient ‘information transmission model.'”

He paused, then his eyes swept over the others.

“More importantly, this format—which discards all flowery prose, carries no subjective emotion, and purely uses cold mathematics and logic to deconstruct the world…”

His gaze sharpened considerably.

“I cannot be mistaken. This format is like a unique soul frequency. Not long ago, another thesis that sparked immense controversy—’A Preliminary Exploration into the Laws of Object Motion’—utilized this exact same frequency.”

At his words, the entire assembly was stunned.

Many present had read that previous paper, and now, suddenly enlightened, expressions of utter shock dawned upon their faces.

‘It’s true!’ they realized.

‘Exactly the same!’

That extreme rationality, as if to quantify everything in the world into cold symbols, that absolute confidence which disregarded all tradition and trusted only in logical deduction—it was identical!

A terrifying conjecture, one that no one dared to dwell on, began to surface in every heart.

The old mage’s voice held a trace of imperceptible tremor as he voiced the question everyone longed to ask.

“The author of this ‘Principle,’ which has overturned our entire worldview…”

“…is it the same person who authored ‘A Preliminary Exploration’?”

The entire meeting hall became so silent that a dropped pin would have been audible.

Everyone’s breath hitched, their gazes fixed intently on Laplace, awaiting the answer that would undoubtedly escalate the storm once more.

Under the collective gaze of all, Laplace slowly rose to his feet.

The smile had vanished from his face, replaced by an expression of solemnity and gravity, as though he were witnessing the birth of history itself.

He surveyed each stunned, speechless face in the hall, then nodded.

“That is correct.”

His voice was soft, yet it resonated like the lingering chime of a great bell, reverberating deep within the soul of every listener.

A collective gasp of indrawn breath filled the hall, as if all the air had been suddenly sucked out.

Laplace paused, allowing everyone a moment to catch their breath, and then, with a tone akin to a divine pronouncement, he dropped the true bombshell.

“The one who laid the cornerstone of this temple of truth, who reshaped the rules of the entire world…”

“…is none other than the apprentice named Lia.”

In that instant, the entire world seemed to fall silent.

If, moments ago, they had merely been stunned by a revolutionary theory, now, they were utterly aghast at the person who had created it.

‘An apprentice?’

‘A mere girl, not even a fully fledged mage?’

‘First, she reshaped terrestrial kinematics, and now she has incorporated the entire celestial sphere into her theoretical framework?’

‘This transcends the definition of genius.’

‘This is a monster.’

‘A monster who, by their own power, has recast the very foundations of the world’s magical theory!’

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