Magic & Maths

The Cherouba's final day was still two weeks away when Korou found himself drifting in the enclosed veil of the Mandala garden. Temperature drop, in tandem with the Monastery's altitude, had made sojourns to this verdant haven treacherous. But today, the lost boy gravitated towards it in an alluring reminiscence. A blanket of powdered frost rested over the meadow. Korou's insulated boot sank in them.

He glanced over; there was no one. He pursed his lips, wondering if he was early. A day prior, Ibo had asked Korou to meet him here. He didn't mention any specifics, except for an abstract mention of the imaginary number theorem. It was Leslor's seventh chapter, and the most obnoxious one. It made absolutely no sense. All it theorised was: 'During optimisation of a spell, if the computation of the domain and range lurks towards a figure that lies beyond the number line, it would lead to a collapse, strong enough to displace physical mass.' In layman's oblitration of the caster and their surrounding.

Korou heaved a misty breath sigh. His jaws quivered, pulling over his frost-wolf coat. The glacial northwesterlies swerved over him; this year, Meru's peak had been treacherous. His father had commented that it was due to the unpredictable monsoon earlier; meanwhile, the superstitious believed it to be an omen from their forefathers. The latter was laughable, and the former regrettable. In any case, he wished it would be over soon.

Rubbing his palms, Korou glanced at the hazy outline of the Monastery entrance. Still no sign of Ibo. He was starting to believe the unpredictable boy had forsaken their arrangement. Irritably, he kicked the powdered floor, and the reverberating beat of drums broke in. The ninth day of carnival had begun.

Shaking his head, Korou turned over. In his last life, he was never a fan of community festivities. The very concept of people grouping together in a unified paegantry was flawed. Individuals, by virtue of existence, are different; thus, a semblance of similar thought patterns regarding a subject matter couldn't possibly be true. Even in Academia, there were as many points of view as there were scholars; none could agree on anything until they could with their own iteration. Then how was he to believe humans could rejoice and share the same perspective, as marketed by festivals?

'Sounds like a long-winded excuse for being lazy.' Ayano's sweet snicker echoed through his mind. It had been ages since he had allowed her to enter his thoughts. 'And also a lot of counterintuitive arguments.'

'We can enjoy by staying within the confines of our home,' he had argued back. 'Christmas or not, it's just exchanging gifts and feasting...'

'Nuh uh, my wonderful, charming idiot scholar,' Ayano had shushed him with a grin. Her finger pressed over his lips. 'Your hypothesis stands annulled, since the sample size is minuscule; for your conclusion on festivals to hold any weight, I need you to first experience them.'

'Can I just umm back off?'

'I will see you at six, bye~' Ayano had ended the conversation there. Later, they had ended up at a Gourment restro at Ginza—The Peninsula Tokyo. He had relished the delicacies, but the unplanned winter rain had disrupted Ayano's plans. He never really got to see what the free-spirited lover of his wanted to present.

Dusting the snowflakes from his head, Korou gazed at the valley below. Despite the gossamer haze, faint amber iridescence flickered, inhibiting the village in an idyllic view. Streaks of silver and cyan intervened with myriad schools of Cyan trails porpoising in a legion assembly. Korou broke into a gentle smile; even the Roman soldiers won't hold a candle against these mystical, whimsical denizens.

An hour later, Iromi, tugging Ibo by his ear, stepped into the desolate Campus. She was clad in a thick burgundy-drenched woollen greatcoat. The stitches were a touch of machine and the embroidery a call from the Central province: Teutonia or Vanga; Korou suspected it was a gift from her Master: Athongba Yaiphabi.

"I am sorry, Korou," She bowed lightly and nudged the listless Ibo to do the same. "He overslept, and I was busy with cleaning."

"Cleaning?"

"My rent for living at home."

Korou didn't pursue further.

Iromi pushed the barely awake Ibo on the glacial field, slapped him in the back of his head, added a threat about a childhood incident and scurried to the Monastery lodging. She had been attending a preparatory workshop on Parīksā, and today was the last day. It was an exclusive program conceived by Naobi and headed by Yaiphabi. Students were invited only, and usually those beyond the third year were given preference.

"Best of luck," Korou gave her a thumbs-up. He would have preferred a high-five, but Iromi was already paces away.

"Thanks," She shot a smirk. It oozed of slyness. "But I don't need it. I will ace this one as well."

Ibo yawned beside him and shook off the snow. "It's a translation modal test today," He drawled, still drowsy. "Cheche has been brimming with excitement for it."

"Ah, that's why Atla was bawling her eyes out in the morning."

"Atla Che joined in as well?"

Korou nodded.

"Wow."

"Indeed, wow," He yanked the boy awake. "The dork warrior is seriously hell bent on joining

Zaüber. But this isn't about her. What did you need me for?"

In magecraft, two famous schools of thought dominated Korou's era. The Processual and the Post Processual. The former believed in magic as an intricate step-by-step process rooted in natural sciences and objectivity. Meanwhile, the latter studied past ideologies, symbolism, and human behaviour; for them, magic is a string of thoughts manipulated by the past and shaped by the individual's psyche. In short, they both made sense, but they did not make sense. Korou preferred to side with none, and follow Odillia's classical model: Visualise the steps, follow the three laws and get the results.

"You have been trying to apply basic spells without understanding the school of thought?" Korou shuffled through Ibo's notes, which were scribbled with complex mathematical computations and geometrical figures.

"They are boring," Ibo yawned and tapped on Lucius's magical circles treatises. "And they always gloss over the relevance of maths. You can't have magic without them."

"The processual school doesn't." Korou tried to clarify. "Even Euclid, the father of modern optimisation in Magecraftian calculus, belonged to it."

"I haven't read Euclid," Ibo scribbled another set of numbers. Korou peeked in; there were symbols, foreign and formulas, head-splitting that Ibo effortlessly derived. "And I am not planning to, but Athongba Yaiphabi emphasised I need them for this year's firework procession." He slid the new paper to Korou's side and pointed at the three-layered circle. "I proposed this; it is a composite between Lucius and Euclid, but follows Odilia's number theorem..."

Korou cast a glance. He had to squint under the Sanctorum's faint shimmer to discern the numbers. He wasn't well-versed with most of what Ibo uttered, but he knew Odilia's foundational theories based on the three laws by heart. Korou was sure, after his third read of Naobi's notes on Principia Mathematica, that he could recite the derivatives and perform the simple spells.

"You want to use magecraft?" Korou paused, his master's warning fresh in his mind. "Are you sure?"

Ibo gave him a furtive glance. He pulled back the sheet and crossed it. He then scribbled another and pushed it to him.

Korou shook his head and concealed his laughter. Ibo's new proposition was to assemble a group of Shamans, make them stand in a singular column and ask them to flame on simultaneously.

"This is hilarious."

"That's what Shamanism will get you," Ibo grinned. "And honestly, if it were up to me, I would rather be sleeping or chasing the game stalls in the carnival. This is an extra burden, a punishment even, I don't like it at all."

"But you love maths?" Korou tried to reason while observing his theorems. They were intricate, with almost no error, except for the application. He had skipped steps.

"That is exactly why I hate this arrangement," Ibo slid down and started rolling. It was his default mode to do so whenever things went south or he was happy. Either way, he was confused. "But I have the control to make it great, thus magecraft. I shall bestow this village with my greatness!"

"Sure, I love the plan, except we all will surely die if we follow the six-step sequence here." Korou pointed at the complex geometrical arc below the second circle, composed of five five-pronged stars and Teutonic runes. Theoretically, they were sound, application-wise; the structure won't last a second before Mana would overflow and cause the third law to act. "Ibo, how much of the three laws are you aware of?"

"The first two, why?" He was scribbling profusely, trying to fix the computation. His brows were knit together.

"Right, are you aware of why the third is important?"

"Korou, if you are going to lecture, please be straightforward."

"Every action has an opposite and equivalent reaction," Korou whispered a chant, in his mind, the three-step sequence of conjuring a flame played—first law visualisation, and then mana particles bounced over the tips of his fingers, they swerved and curled before lighting up in a hiss; the second law—law of conservation of energy—he can't create Mana, neither destory it, just convert it from one form to another. He closed his palm next, dispersing the ember, and reopened it. Over his palms were tiny burn freckles; the third law. "Your circle clearly forgets that third law exists; you only allow Mana to flow in and disperse in one full sweep. Forget optimisation, no caster would survive it."

"I will figure it out."

"No, you won't," Korou snatched away his notes. "Neither would I, nor Iromi, what you are trying is beyond our years. You are confusing your numerical prowess with applied and being arrogant."

"Cheche said the same thing," Ibo slipped back onto the floor and rolled profusely. He made a screeching noise that would have gotten both of them kicked out on a regular day. "Then what am I to do? I am not doing Shamanism; it is a managerial disaster! I want to enjoy the carnival, not run it."

"Why not buy the enchanted ones from the merchant?" said Korou. He had seen the ones from Kolodon, the capital of Vanga province, selling quite a lot in Bazzar. "I am sure the Monastery can allocate a budget for that."

Ibo afterwards broke into a rageful tear and punched the stone floor. When Iromi found them, he was close to burning all his notes and then heading to Athongba Yaiphabi to get compensation for the hurt he had to go through over miscommunicated orders.