Mystic Arts Dual System

Chapter 2

So this was how it ended. A bitter laugh slipped from Merlin’s lips. His chest burned where Eldridge’s whip had struck him, each breath sharp with pain. His legs shook when he tried to stand, but he forced himself up anyway.

If he didn’t go, it wouldn’t just be ridiculous. He’d be expelled.

Every year, first-year mages faced the Affinity Assessment before the Tower’s most powerful adepts.

The test decided everything—elemental alignment, future path, and whether a student could remain in the Academy of Holy Light… or be cast out.

Merlin clenched his jaw tightly as knew one thing…Failing would change his fate.

He pressed his book to his chest and staggered out of the training room as the academy bells rang—the ninth bell.

Thirty minutes left.

By the time Merlin reached the Tower of Light, he was limping, his uniform rumpled and stained with dried blood.

Merlin stood at the entrance, his vision swimming slightly from the pain. Two temple guards looked him over, brows lifting.

“Look at that,” one guard scoffed, staring at the blood on Merlin’s shirt.

“Can’t even walk straight. Already bleeding and the test hasn’t even started?”

“I fell,” Merlin muttered. The other guard laughed. “Of course you did. Weak mages always fall.” He kicked the door open.

“Go on. If you collapse in there, don’t worry—no one’s dragging your worthless body back out.”

The laughter followed him only a few steps before the doors slammed shut behind him. Inside, the air changed—cooler, heavier, threaded with restrained magic.

Conversations among the students faltered as Merlin limped forward; a few heads turned, eyes flicking to the blood staining his shirt, then quickly away.

No one spoke and even bothered to help. The unspoken rule was clear: weakness was contagious, and today, everyone was being judged.

Students stood in rows, awaiting their turn at the glowing pedestal in the center.

The Crystal Font radiated silver-blue light that danced like liquid glass.

Surrounding it were the High Adepts—figures cloaked in white and gold, each representing a pillar of magical theory.

As Merlin stepped inside, whispers rippled through the crowd.

“Is that blood on his shirt?”

“Did he get into a fight?”

“Why’s he even here?”

Students stood in scattered groups across the waiting hall, polished boots and perfect robes gleaming under the sacred glass dome.

Gold runes shimmered along the walls, symbols of purity and magical order.

They all stared at him like he didn’t belong here. Their eyes followed him like insects to flame,

“That’s the boy who couldn’t even spark the crystal last year.”

“Heard, he failed three core exams. Should’ve been expelled already.”

“He has no right to be in the Academy of Holy Light.”

Merlin sat in the far corner, away from the others. His book weighed heavy in his lap.

He tried to ignore them and he tried to stay calm. But the sting of Eldridge’s whip and the professor’s words still haunted him.

“You can’t even use your Light abilities to their full potential…”

He clenched his fists. I’ll show them.

Even if it’s just a flicker. Even if I burn out trying, those were his thoughts.

The great hall doors creaked open. “Merlin Faelwyn,” a voice called. “You’re next.”

He stood on shaky legs and walked toward the testing chamber.

The Affinity Chamber glowed with golden light, hexagonal in shape.

Twelve archways surrounded the center, each representing one of the elemental orders.

At the heart of the room, floating above a rune-socketed pedestal, was the Crystal Font—a pulsating prism of light.

It had shattered the pride of many students before him.

Standing beside the font was a man in white ceremonial robes, his head shaved in the traditional style of the High Adepts.

“Ah, Faelwyn,” the man said, clearly unamused. “You again.”

High Adept Caelthorn’s thin lips curled with disdain. “You embarrassed the Academy last year.

Couldn’t even light the Font. Waste of sacred ink, placing your name in our registries.”

Merlin said nothing. He simply stepped forward, the room silent as the golden runes flared to life.

Caelthorn raised an eyebrow. “Very well. Place your palm on the Font. Let the crystal judge your soul.”

The cold air thickened. All sound vanished, as if the chamber itself were holding its breath.

Merlin laid his hand on the crystal. A pulse of energy surged into him. Light flickered around his fingertips.

“Still nothing,” Caelthorn muttered. But then—it happened. A subtle pressure built behind his eyes. A whisper, almost like a voice buried in shadow.

Then, from his palm, a thin coil of dark mist bled out and wrapped around his wrist.

The Crystal Font trembled.“Withdraw your hand!” Caelthorn barked.

But Merlin couldn’t, the mist grew thicker, darker—until suddenly.

CRACK!

The Crystal Font shattered in a spray of glowing shards.

A glyph wall lit up behind him.

"Anomaly Detected."

[Light Affinity: 8%.]

[Unknown (Dark): 91%.]

[Suppression Level: High.]

Verdict: Retest Required. Subject May Be Cursed.

The room was dead silent, no one dared to move.

Merlin’s hand fell limp to his side, his heart bit sounded loudly as he could hear nothing else.

Caelthorn looked at him, eyes narrowed.

The hall around him echoed with the clanging of boots and the low chants of purification hymns.

He hadn’t even been given time to process the results of the Affinity Test.

In the history of the Tower, only six fonts had ever cracked.

Merlin just shattered one. The implication was grave.

Either he was the most unstable novice mage in generations… or something far older stirred within him.

“Guards,” Caelthorn barked. Merlin flinched as his chest tightened as he turned and saw two temple knights moving toward him.

“Wait—!” He took a step back, but his foot slipped. Pain shot up his side, and his vision swam.

They were on him before he could steady himself as their hands gripped his arms and lifted him clean off the floor.

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath. His body felt light—not because he was strong, but because he had nothing left.

“You’re being taken for sanctification,” one of them said.

Merlin’s stomach dropped. “But I didn’t do anything!”

No response.

He tried to pull free, but his fingers barely closed around the metal. His legs shook uselessly as he wasn’t walking. He was being dragged.

“Let go of me,” he said, though the words came out thin and hoarse. The guard in front glanced back with a cold smile.

“You’re lucky we didn’t throw you in the Abyssal Pit.”

Merlin went still.

“Be glad the priests asked for purification first.”

The path grew colder. They had reached the sub-chapel—the forbidden levels beneath the Tower of Light’s sanctum.

Torchlight flickered off iron sconces shaped like open palms of the Divine.

The guards yanked open the great obsidian door, the hinges shrieking like tortured souls.

Inside, Merlin glimpsed a circular chamber, its floor inlaid with golden concentric circles and lines of runes that pulsed faintly with divine fire.

At its center, a bronze basin of blessed oil hovered midair, suspended by nothing but magic.

Lines of celestial script circled the ceiling like a halo. This was no normal purification. This was the Rite of Sanctification.

It was said only five students in the academy’s history had been brought to this place. None had returned the same. Some never returned at all.

Waiting within the chamber stood three robed priests, their faces concealed by white hoods marked with sun sigils.

Elder Caelthorn, who had just tested him an hour ago, now watched with narrowed eyes from behind a barrier of prayerlight.

“Merlin,” one of the elders intoned, voice echoing unnaturally, “you carry an affliction. Your test revealed darkness hidden within your soul.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Merlin snapped, trying to rise to his knees. “I don’t even know what that was—”

“SILENCE.”

His shirt clung to his skin, damp with sweat and stained with the dried blood from the strike Eldridge had given him.

The guards said nothing, their grips firm around his arms as they descended lower and lower into the echoing gloom.

The chamber beneath the chapel was circular and silent, walls etched with scripture glowing faintly with holy runes. The air was warmer here, oppressive, like standing too close to a forge.

At the far end, three priests stood around a stone dais. One was tall and gaunt, his robes a rich ivory white embroidered with golden sunbursts. High Priest Anselm with his face hard as marble he gestured for Merlin to be brought forward.

"Place him within the ring."

The guards shoved Merlin into the center of the circle. The young mage stumbled, catching himself on bruised knees. He raised his eyes just as the runes around the dais flared.

Anselm's voice boomed: "Merlin of Dormitory H3, you are here commanded by the High Circle to undergo the Rite of Sanctification…

Your affinity has shown an anomaly—an encroachment of the forbidden." He lifted a staff.

"The holy fire shall burn away that which is unclean."

Merlin's voice was hoarse. "I'm not cursed."

The other priests exchanged uneasy looks.

"Silence," Anselm barked. "Only the fire may speak now."

He raised the staff. Golden flames burst from the runes, spiraling up like serpents.

They gathered above the circle before crashing down onto Merlin.

Merlin braced himself, eyes clenched. He expected agony—searing pain, the flames devouring him.

Instead, warmth. The fire passed through him not burning, but it acted as if it recognized him.

He opened his eyes as the flames coiled around his arms and chest, threads of golden light wrapping his wounds, licking the dried blood from his skin. Where it touched, pain faded.

Anselm's eyes widened. "No… that’s not possible."

Merlin stood slowly, bathed in golden flame. But now—there was something else.

A shadow within the flame. Like oil in water.

[System Synchronization Complete.]

[Mystic Arts System Activated.]

[You have been recognized by two gods.]

[Ding! Dual Element Unlocked.]

Merlin froze as he couldn't recognise the voice.