Chapter 19: Imprints of Power

After the gruesome training, Clayton was still tired but he convinced himself to attend the next class, which was about Arcane energy and taught by Professor Reese, the man in charge of his batch.

Reese was a very cautious person; in the novel he saved his life many times simply because he was very cautious and afraid. He never made any move publicly. readers used to make a ton of memes about him; there were even theories that he is some reincarnation who is guiding this world, just hiding himself.

He was silently going through the corridor without getting any attention; suddenly he heard a voice: “You always walk like you're about to assassinate someone."

He glanced over.

Lily.

Of course this damn girl,

She stood with her arms crossed, leaning slightly against the stone archway leading into the lecture hall. Her reddish-brown hair was tied up today, eyes bright and unreadable. She looked... alert. Not in a hostile way, but like she was testing him with every blink.

“And you always stand around like you’re waiting to blackmail someone,” Clayton replied smoothly.

Her lips curved just slightly. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”

“I’ll pass on being blackmailed before breakfast, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

They walked the rest of the way to the classroom door in silence. Not hostile silence—just the kind that comes between people trying to figure out if they’re on the same team or just in the same game. Before either could speak again, the door opened, and the lecture room swallowed them.

The room was tall and amphitheater-shaped, its stone walls etched with glowing diagrams of arcane channels. Around thirty students were already seated. The front rows were packed with the Academy’s brightest—or at least, the most well-connected.

As Clayton scanned the room, he caught sight of Asher sitting with a group of students. The prince’s golden curls shone even in the dim light, and those brilliant blue eyes briefly flicked up and met his. A soft, warm smile—not unlike a halo—spread across Asher’s face.

Again with the smile. I wish I could break his damn teeth off, creepy bastard.

It didn’t unsettle Clayton as much now. But it still didn’t comfort him either.

Eric sat three seats down, flipping through a card-weaving manual with the sort of detached interest that suggested he’d memorized it and was just pretending to skim.

They were both watching him. Everyone was, really.

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Professor Reese entered a moment later, carrying a single black-bound tome and a stick of chalk. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, but his eyes were sharp as ever. Without greeting or delay, he turned to the enormous digital board behind him.

“Arcane Energy,” he said, writing the words in a steady hand.

"You wield it, you bond with it, you channel it. And yet most of you don’t really understand it.”

Then he turned to face the class. “Let’s begin by dismantling a common misconception: Arcane energy is not magic. It is not a spell. It is not light, nor dark, nor divine.”

“Arcane Energy,” Reese said, tapping the air with each word, “cannot be created. Cannot be destroyed. It flows through all living things, the natural world, and even the void between. It is constant—but it is also mutable.”

He pointed to a glowing diagram now forming behind him: a human silhouette, surrounded by faint arcs of energy.

“When you cast a card, you don’t create power. You reshape existing threads of Arcane Energy—forcing them into forms they were never meant to take. It’s why every casting takes a toll.”

“It is motion. Pressure. Potential.”

He let the room go quiet before continuing.

“But shaping that energy… leaves something behind.”

He let the silence settle.

The words hit differently. Clayton leaned forward slightly, already intrigued.

He tapped his ring twice.

A new image flared—jagged scars across the figure, etchings like burns along the chest and spine.

“And as you grow stronger—be it through battle, training, awakening, or desperation—you shift this network. You alter it.”

The professor walked toward the edge of the platform, staring down at the students.

“Those who push too far, too fast, leave traces.”

“These are called Arcane Imprints. Every duel, every breakthrough, every desperate moment when your body and energy synchronize—an imprint is left.”

Clayton’s expression darkened. He knew this part. But Reese was saying it more plainly than he remembered.

“Imprints make you stronger,” Reese said. “Faster. More connected. They’re the reason veterans feel instinctively more powerful than novices. Not because they trained more, but because their very souls are marked by growth.”

Another pause.

“But that mark cuts both ways.”

The diagram twisted. The energy started to fray—unravel and swirl erratically. The silhouette trembled.

“Arcane Imprints are not just power. They are memory. And too many of them—especially ones forged in fear or rage—can destabilize you.”

Clayton sat back, arms crossed. That was new.

Reese’s tone went quiet now. “There’s a reason why rogue cardweavers—the ones who train outside factions, without balance or guidance—are more prone to breakdowns. They carry wild, unstable imprints. Some of them end up hollow. Others… become something else entirely.”

Clayton didn’t need the reminder. If he was right about Lily, this was probably exactly what she’d been hiding—her power wasn’t tempered. It was volatile. Maybe even dangerous.

“Let me be clear,” Reese said, his voice like ice. “You’re all going to get imprints. But you must learn to guide them. Control them. If you don’t, your own power will eat you alive.”

"You will lose control of yourself and madness will consume you."

The sphere pulsed one last time before dimming.

“That’s all for today. Class dismissed.”

Chairs scraped. Conversations resumed. But Clayton sat still for a moment longer.

So this is how they raise monsters here.

You don’t grow stronger by grinding stats.

You get branded. Bit by bit.

And if you’re not careful—

You burn out.

Or worse…

You lose yourself entirely.

He exhaled slowly, then stood up.

Lily nudged his shoulder. “Well, that was grim. You okay, mystery man?”

Clayton gave a crooked smile. “Yeah. Just thinking about all the fun we’re going to have losing our minds.”

Lily snorted. “Promise me you’ll let me go first. Would be tragic if I didn’t get to see you finally break.”

“Oh, you’ll know,” Clayton said, walking past her toward the door. “I plan to go out with flair.”