The Extra's Rise-Chapter 123: Mana Programming (2)

Mana programming, in essence, was the art of weaving magic into the fabric of reality. It involved inscribing runes, circles, and intricate patterns into an object or substance in such a way that it could channel, invoke, or store magic. The process was painstaking and exacting, requiring a blend of artistry and mathematical precision. Each rune was a command; each circle, a system. Together, they formed a kind of mana-code, a mystical equivalent of the programming that ran the tech systems of the modern world.

"The thing about mana programming," Professor Gravemore began, pacing in front of me like an agitated crow, "is that it’s not as forgiving as your modern gadgets. You make a typo in mana-code, and the worst-case scenario isn’t a glitchy app—it’s an explosion. Or worse, you might accidentally create a sentient magical abomination that thinks it’s your parent and decides to ground you for all eternity."

He stopped, fixing me with a look that suggested he half-expected me to try it just to see what would happen. "And let’s be very clear, Arthur: you cannot, under any circumstances, create an artificial Soul from scratch. It’s impossible. Utterly, entirely impossible."

I raised an eyebrow. "Then how am I supposed to make a Lich?"

Gravemore waved a hand toward the Basilisk Heart sitting in a containment field nearby. "That’s where the Source comes in. The Source—your ridiculously high-quality Basilisk Heart—already contains what we call a Soul Basis. Think of it as the skeleton key to the soul, a foundational framework on which we can build. The mana-code we inscribe won’t create the soul; it will guide and shape the Soul Basis into a functioning Lich soul, programmed to obey and act as intended."

He paused, his gaze lingering on the Basilisk Heart with an odd mixture of admiration and concern. "But therein lies the problem. Your Source isn’t just any Source. It’s from a Basilisk—a mythical creature of unfathomable dark mana affinity and natural intelligence. That means the Soul Basis is incredibly potent, and if you’re not careful, it might... well... push back."

"Push back?" I repeated.

"Push back," he confirmed. "It might resist your programming. Try to overwrite your mana-code. Maybe even take control of the entire construct and decide it doesn’t particularly like being your Lich. That’s why your cheat method will be crucial—it simplifies the process and suppresses the Source’s natural autonomy. Still, it’s not a walk in the park. Before you even think about programming the Source, you’ll need practice. Lots of practice."

He gestured for me to follow him to his desk, where a series of diagrams, equations, and runic patterns were spread out like the blueprints for a miniature universe. "Now, let’s break down the mana programming involved in connecting the Staff, Skeleton, Skull, and Source. Each component has to function as part of a greater whole. It’s not just about inscribing runes and circles—it’s about ensuring the mana flows seamlessly between them, like blood through veins."

He tapped a diagram of the Skeleton. "The Skeleton’s programming is the simplest. Vakrt will handle most of it for you—basic mana-code for structural reinforcement and mana conductivity. You won’t need to lose sleep over this part."

Then he pointed to the Skull. "The Skull, representing the Mind aspect, is more complex. It needs programming to process and interpret commands, as well as to harmonize with the Source’s soul programming. This is where things start to get tricky."

Finally, he jabbed a finger at the Basilisk Heart. "And then there’s the Source. The Soul aspect. This is where everything can and will go wrong if you’re not meticulous. You’ll need to craft the mana-code that governs the soul’s autonomy, loyalty, and functionality. And the hardest part of all? Bringing the Source, Skeleton, and Skull into harmony. A Lich isn’t just a sum of its parts—it’s a singular entity, and getting those parts to act as one requires precision most summoners can only dream of."

He paused, looking me over like a jeweler appraising a rough gemstone. "Vakrt can handle some of the programming for the Source and Skull if you can afford it. Frankly, I’d recommend it. They’re leagues ahead of me in terms of technical expertise. But no matter how much you outsource, the final stage will be entirely up to you."

"And that stage is?" I asked.

Gravemore smiled grimly. "Injecting your own dark mana. Specifically, from your Black Star. It will act as the final binding force, tying all the components together into a cohesive whole. But doing so will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. The amount of control, concentration, and raw willpower required is... well, let’s just say it’s not something most people would even attempt."

I stared at the diagrams, the sheer complexity of the task settling over me like an unrelenting storm cloud. Each line, each rune, seemed to hum with potential disaster if misplaced. The enormity of the challenge was clear, but I couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—back down now. "Alright," I said, the resolve in my voice steadier than I felt. "Let’s get started."

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Professor Gravemore nodded approvingly, though his expression carried the weariness of someone who had seen far too many bright-eyed students crash and burn. "Good," he said. "I’ll assign you a foundational task—something to stretch your capabilities but also ground you in the essentials. The tri-fold sequence. It’s the heart of the Lich assembly process, the framework that ensures the Mind, Body, and Soul work in harmony. Without it, your Lich is nothing more than an elaborate paperweight. It won’t be easy, but if you can master this, you’ll be ready to take the next step."

I nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle onto my shoulders. This wasn’t just an assignment; it was the key to proving I could succeed where even seasoned necromancers hesitated to tread.

Curiosity tugged at me, though, as it often did. "Professor," I asked, "have you ever made a Lich yourself?"

Gravemore paused, his eyes narrowing slightly before he extended a hand. The air shimmered as he summoned something through a portal. The temperature in the room dropped, the shadows deepening unnaturally. Then it stepped out.

A wave of oppressive dark mana hit me like a freight train, and I almost leapt out of my seat. A figure emerged—tall, skeletal, and radiating a presence so malevolent it was like the embodiment of a nightmare given form. Its eye sockets burned with twin points of cold, unfeeling light, and intricate runes glowed faintly along its bones.

"A seven-star Lich," Gravemore announced, his voice reverent but calm. "Every component crafted with precision using seven-star materials. It has served me faithfully, though what you’re attempting, Arthur, will far surpass it. When completed, your Lich will be leagues beyond this one in potential. If—" he emphasized the word with a steely look—"you manage to unlock its full power."

The Lich tilted its head slightly, as if it had heard the challenge and found it amusing. Then Gravemore waved his hand, dismissing it back into the portal with a faint shimmer and a low, echoing hum.

"You see now," he said, his tone heavy, "the enormity of what you’ve taken on. The materials you’ve gathered are extraordinary, yes, but assembling them into something functional—something truly remarkable—will demand everything from you. Skill. Will. Intellect. And patience. You cannot rush this, Arthur. The cost of failure is not just monetary."

I nodded, the gravity of his words settling deep into my mind. "I understand. I’ll send the Source and Skull to Vakrt for basic mana programming. I can’t afford to make mistakes on this."

"Good," Gravemore said. "Let them handle the preliminary runes and pathways. Their expertise will ensure a solid foundation. You’ve chosen a path most wouldn’t even dare dream of walking. But if you succeed—" His voice softened, though the intensity remained. "I will be very proud."

His words stirred something in me. Not just determination, but a flicker of pride in the challenge itself. I bowed deeply. "Thank you, Professor."

He dismissed me with a wave, muttering something about needing to prepare a stronger headache potion. I left the classroom, the cool air of the hallway a stark contrast to the oppressive energy I had just felt.

Failure wasn’t an option. I had the Skull. The Source. Soon, the Skeleton would be ready. This was a project that would demand everything I had—and more.

And I would succeed. I had to.