Chapter 51: The Principle of Humiliation

Almost a month had passed.

Within the royal capital’s air, an unseen force subtly began its metamorphosis.

The Royal Magic Association, acting under the aegis of the Theoretical Council, formally published a meticulously compiled and revised treatise.

Adorning the parchment’s opening, two unprecedented restrictions on its readership were emblazoned in striking magical ink.

The first stipulated that the newly released “The Principle of Unity of Motion and Gravity” comprised solely the initial three chapters of the original work.

Secondly, access to read and transcribe this treatise was granted exclusively to accredited mages of Seven Rings and higher, provided they had both embraced and demonstrated proficient application of the “Principle of Limits and Variables” in their calculations.

***

Within Marcus’s sprawling manor, the tranquil chamber was permeated by the soothing scent of calming incense, a fragrance utterly incapable of quelling the tumultuous anxiety churning within its master’s heart.

He sat cross-legged upon the plush carpet, endeavoring to enter a meditative state.

Yet, his spiritual energy had spiraled into utter disarray, akin to a disturbed swarm of bees, wildly colliding within the vast expanse of his mind, utterly refusing to coalesce into a cohesive stream.

The very incantation models he had once known intimately now appeared alien and impossibly distant.

Across more than two decades of rigorous cultivation, he had never before experienced such a profound sense of powerlessness.

His entire magical journey now found itself unyieldingly blocked by an invisible, insurmountable barrier.

A soft rap sounded at the door.

A light, hesitant knock echoed through the silence.

Marcus’s eyes snapped open, their whites heavily veined with crimson, betraying a madness teetering precariously on the brink of collapse.

“Enter.”

The servant glided in, their steps light and utterly silent, bearing a black ebony tray upon which rested a scroll of parchment, bound neatly with silver thread.

“My lord, the association’s latest publication, released today.”

The servant bowed their head profoundly, not daring to meet their master’s gaze.

“As you commanded, any treatise pertaining to stellar or celestial motion has been retrieved for you without delay.”

Marcus’s gaze settled upon the coiled parchment.

At the scroll’s seal, the intricate and imposing emblem of the Theoretical Council was branded: a design interwoven with gears, stellar orbits, and balanced scales.

The servant set down the tray, then silently withdrew, softly closing the door behind them.

Within the tranquil chamber, only Marcus and the scroll of the treatise remained.

He made no immediate move to retrieve it.

Instead, his eyes were riveted upon the prominent lines outlining the stringent reading restrictions.

“…have both embraced and demonstrated proficient application of the ‘Principle of Limits and Variables’…”

Each word, like a searing branding iron, scorched his very pupils, imprinting the indelible mark of “humiliation” deep within the core of his soul.

His mind drifted back to nearly a month prior, recalling Horace’s voice—gentle yet unequivocally firm.

“I would rather not be compelled, at our next convocation, to personally affix the ‘Expelled’ seal upon the archives of certain families.”

“Just as with Silent Shadow.”

Expulsion.

This single word instilled in him a terror far surpassing that of any malevolent curse.

It signified that centuries of his family’s accumulated legacy, his esteemed position, indeed his entire existence, would be utterly obliterated within the Magic Association’s archives by the cold, definitive press of a seal.

Silently.

Without a trace.

Marcus closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with tumultuous agitation.

Horace’s gentle, smiling countenance and the two chilling words, “expelled,” intertwined ceaselessly within his mind.

He envisioned, with harrowing clarity, the ancient and profound archives of the Magic Association, where the twelve-generation legacy of the Vitra family’s glorious stellar-orbit emblem was lifted by a withered hand, only to be brutally struck down by the cold, black impress of a seal.

With a soft, final ‘thump,’ the emblem, along with the parchment it adorned, disintegrated into mere dust.

Centuries of accumulated heritage, dissolved into nothingness.

Marcus’s eyes snapped open.

The bloodshot veins and the visible struggle had receded from his eyes, leaving behind only the tomb-like stillness of utter resignation.

He extended his hand, retrieving the rolled parchment.

His fingers unfastened the silver cord, his movements steady, imbued with a chilling, almost ritualistic numbness.

There was no longer any avenue of retreat.

The very notion of resistance, overshadowed by Horace’s disarming smile, was denied even the chance to blossom.

To survive, to ensure the Vitra family retained its foothold within the royal capital, he had no choice but to comprehend it, to master it.

Even… to embrace it entirely.

Even if this very thing was, with each passing moment, slowly but surely severing the roots of his ancestral line.

The parchment slowly unfurled.

“The Principle of Unity of Motion and Gravity”

Creator: Lia.

Upon seeing the name he so utterly despised, Marcus’s fingers gave a faint, involuntary twitch, though they swiftly regained their composure.

He began to read.

“Chapter One: Definitions of Fundamental Physical Quantities”

“I. Mass (symbol m): An intrinsic property of matter, characterizing an object’s inherent tendency to preserve its current state of motion…”

“II. Force (symbol F): The agent responsible for altering an object’s state of motion…”

The language was stark, the definitions surgically precise.

Each concept, akin to a merciless scalpel, meticulously dissected the nebulous magical understandings of the past, which had relied solely on intuition and empirical observation, laying bare their every component.

What remained were only cold, quantifiable rules, subject entirely to calculation.

He pressed on, his gaze descending the page.

“Chapter Two: From Stellar Motion to Universal Gravitation”

“…the magnitude of the Sun’s gravitational pull upon a planet is directly proportional to the planet’s own mass, and inversely proportional to the square of the distance separating the two…”

Marcus’s heart plummeted.

His family’s proud, twelve-generation inherited arcane art, the “Star Orbit Prophecy,” centered on observing the trajectories of specific celestial bodies.

Through this, combined with a vast array of intricate empirical charts and the family’s secretly transmitted inspirational formulae, they foretold the kingdom’s future climatic shifts, the courses of mineral veins, and even the faintest harbingers of war.

This arcane method was shrouded in mystery, imbued with nobility, and utterly inscrutable.

It had always ensured the Vitra family maintained a unique and invaluable standing before the royal court.

Yet now, this treatise unequivocally declared that the so-called stellar trajectories, the very essence of prophecy, were nothing more than a calculable problem.

All that was required were sufficiently precise initial data and an accurate formula.

“…the gravitational force between any two objects is directly proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance separating them.”

F = G × (m₁ × m₂) / r²

That formula lay silently upon the parchment.

It stood as a stark pronouncement, heralding the definitive end of an era.

Marcus felt as though the mysterious edifice his family had safeguarded for centuries was being systematically dismantled, brick by brick, by this single formula.

In his mind’s eye, the ancestral star chart, revered within his family’s shrine and adorned with mystical symbols and ancient runes, materialized.

In the very next instant, this sacred map was mercilessly obscured by that cold, unyielding formula, its entire mystical aura shredded to tatters, revealing only a stark, quantifiable skeleton.

His breathing grew labored and heavy.

He compelled himself to read the final chapter.

“Chapter Three: The Freefall Motion of Terrestrial Objects”

“…heaven and earth, at this precise moment, are irrevocably unified.”

“The celestial bodies above and the terrestrial objects below adhere to the very same fundamental laws.”

Marcus slowly lowered the parchment.

In the still chamber, the calming incense had long since consumed itself, leaving the air permeated only by a cold, profound silence.

He remained seated on the carpet, utterly motionless, as if turned to stone.

A prolonged silence stretched.

He finally rose, moving towards his writing desk.

Eschewing the magical lamp, he instead, in the encompassing darkness, retrieved another document from a locked drawer.

This was the handwritten manuscript of “The Principle of Calculus” he had acquired from the association.

Over the past month, countless times he had yearned to commit it to the flames, yet ultimately, the crushing fear of his family’s decline had triumphed over his incandescent rage.

He laid the two treatises side by side upon the desk.

One articulated the principles governing the world’s motion.

The other, the very language required to comprehend those principles.

They were inextricably linked.

To master the former, one must first assimilate the latter.

Marcus gazed silently upon the “Principle of Limits and Variables,” its pages filled with alien symbols.

His eyes scanned the definitions of “limit,” “differentiation,” and “integration.”

He recalled, from a private gathering of Seven Ring mages just days prior, the water mage named Faran.

Faran had publicly showcased his groundbreaking “Water Mirror Resonance Art.”

The newly refined water mirror not only boasted a thirty percent increase in surface area but also achieved a theoretical zenith of stability, its clarity so profound it seemed capable of reflecting the weariness deep within one’s very soul.

Standing amidst the assembled mages, Marcus had distinctly perceived the water mirror’s inherent stability, a structural integrity utterly unlike anything he had witnessed before.

Someone inquired about the catalyst for Faran’s remarkable breakthrough.

A look of near-fanatical reverence graced Faran’s features as he replied:

“I have gazed upon truth itself.”

“I once believed the world to be a continuous entity, yet Master Lia revealed to me that this was merely a macroscopic illusion.

It was the ‘differentiation’ mirror that allowed me to perceive the structural deficiencies within my spell model at a microscopic level.”

“By deriving my magical output function, I uncovered several ‘singularities’ previously undetected, which caused discontinuities in energy flow.

Once these were rectified, everything transformed.”

A profound silence had then descended upon all the Seven Ring mages present.

Marcus had scoffed inwardly, dismissing Faran as nothing more than an opportunist currying favor with the new elite, merely grandstanding.

But when his spiritual energy inadvertently swept across the water mirror, his internal sneer instantly froze.

He clearly perceived that the water mirror’s magical structure was stable as a naturally formed crystal, with energy flow at each node precisely controlled to a degree he could not fathom.

This… this was beyond any structural optimization technique he knew!

After Faran finished speaking, his gaze swept over the assembled crowd, an almost pitying glint in his eyes, as if he were observing a group of unfortunates left behind by the tide of change.

In that moment, Marcus felt that gaze no longer as a mere needle, but as a red-hot iron awl, savagely piercing his heart, nailing his arrogant pride to the pillar of shame reserved for “obsolescence.”

Marcus stood in the darkness for a long time.

Then, he lit a single candle.

The flickering, dim yellow light illuminated his otherwise expressionless face.

He unfurled a fresh sheet of parchment.

He picked up his quill, dipping it into the ink.

He turned to the appendix of “The Principle of Limits and Variables” and found the practice exercises.

“I. Find the derivative of the function y=x² at x=2.”

Marcus’s hand, gripping the pen, felt somewhat stiff.

His nimble fingers, capable of instantaneously weaving complex, destructive incantations, now felt ponderous as lead.

He stared at the simple problem, his mind a blank, chaotic void.

He was accustomed to guiding magical energy by instinct and experience, allowing it to naturally coalesce into form.

Yet this problem demanded that he dissect a process of change with a cold, rigid, aesthetically barren logic.

He, a Seven Ring Conjurer, the current head of the Vincent family, a figure of considerable influence within the royal capital’s magical circles.

Yet at this very moment, he found himself utterly stumped by a foundational, apprentice-level exercise.

Humiliation, fury, and indignant resentment churned within his chest, threatening to make him crush the pen in his grasp.

But ultimately, these tumultuous emotions subsided into a barely audible sigh.

He held his breath, forcing himself to banish the hateful image of the detestable young woman’s face, and, referencing the preceding formulae and examples, began to meticulously transcribe the unfamiliar derivation process onto the parchment, stroke by arduous stroke.

“According to the definition of instantaneous rate of change, the rate of change of a quantity at a certain point is equal to the constant value reached when the ratio of its increment to the increment of the independent variable approaches zero…”

“That is, f'(x₀) = lim(Δx→0) [f(x₀+Δx) – f(x₀)] / Δx…”

The candlelight flickered, casting his focused, struggling silhouette upon the cold wall.

A once-lofty authority figure was painstakingly relearning how to walk.