Chapter 118: Divine Arts and Magic
Pittman invited Gawain into his modest wooden cabin. The old man looked frail and weathered, but his eyes were sharper and more cunning than those of any young merchant. While busily serving tea, he kept sneaking glances at Gawain. “A duke personally visiting my humble little cabin—could it be that you’ve run into some knotty problem requiring my druidic magic? Or have you finally taken an interest in my fortune-telling and ritual ceremonies?”
Gawain casually scanned the room. Despite its humble appearance, everything was neat and orderly. The alchemy bench and various potion containers were arranged tidily in the northwest corner, while the living area was simple but clean—nothing like the dirty, chaotic place Pittman had first arrived at.
Ignoring the old man’s sales pitch, Gawain said directly, “I’m interested in how you brew your alchemical potions and bless them.”
Pittman was surprised. “Potion-making and blessings? You came all this way just for that?”
“Just passing by, thought I’d satisfy my curiosity,” Gawain waved a hand. “Besides, I remember telling you before about increasing the output of agricultural catalysts. How’s that coming along?”
Pittman’s face fell. “It’s not that easy, and your timing is—”
Gawain cut him off. “No worries if there’s no progress yet. I just want to see how far you’ve gotten.”
Relieved, Pittman smiled broadly. “No problem. I’m just about to start working.”
He headed to the potion-making area and began preparing ingredients. Brewing these potions was his daily routine anyway—might as well indulge this eccentric duke’s whim.
Gawain followed, watching the old man bustle among the vials and alchemical tools, but his mind was elsewhere, tangled in deeper thoughts.
The mana engine had succeeded.
It was truly cause for celebration. Even the usually composed Hetty was caught up in the joy of success, and Gawain was no exception.
Yet alongside the happiness, old doubts—previously suppressed—resurfaced: What exactly is mana? How does this world’s fundamental order work?
The engine’s operation proved that logic and laws existed here. It showed that phenomena weren’t isolated but interconnected, forming a system: repulsion runes pushed pistons, pistons drove cranks and rods, the flywheel’s rotation generated inertia, and inertia linked every step of the engine’s cycle. Beyond that, the engine’s power came from the mana web, which drew energy from the environment…
Everything seemed orderly, a closed loop.
But where did the original mana come from? The mana web draws from nature—but what about the mana in nature itself? Is it truly infinite and omnipresent? Can it endlessly replenish the mana web, never running dry?
Does this world not obey conservation of energy?
Or perhaps mana has its own source and finite reserves, hidden in ways humans can’t perceive or measure. People use it blindly, assuming it’s limitless—but what if one day it runs out?
Faced with these troubling questions, Gawain barely had the mental space to ponder what exactly the “repulsion” force in the magic array was.
Honestly, when he saw the mana engine spinning, alongside joy came worry.
Mechanical motion was a more tangible form of energy release than the static magic arrays on the rune furnace. It made Gawain acutely aware of energy consumption. Yet he wasn’t used to not seeing any energy storage—no “mana fuel,” no batteries, no wires or gauges measuring consumption. It felt hollow, as if the engine might suddenly stop spinning at any moment…
Even with wireless power transmission on Earth, at least you knew a power plant was burning fuel. Here, there was only an ever-present mana web, constantly replenished from nowhere. The locals might take this for granted, but Gawain found it unsettling.
He wanted to uncover the true nature of mana, understand why this world worked as it did, why water’s phase changes didn’t produce work yet still followed three states, why electromagnetic induction failed here even though magnetic and electric fields existed independently, and why “light” as a special electromagnetic wave still seemed to exist (if it really was light)…
These contradictions created a profound sense of dissonance. Phenomena and their underlying principles, which should be tightly linked, appeared fragmented. It was as if matter wasn’t orderly but forcibly imposed by some deity, each exhibiting bizarre physical and chemical properties—not because of microscopic laws, but simply because “that’s how it is”…
These doubts had been pushed aside by busy work, forgotten for a time. But when the mana engine actually ran as he’d designed, they surged back uncontrollably.
Still, Gawain knew he couldn’t swallow the whole truth at once. To grasp the world’s fundamental truths, he had to start small—by observing surface phenomena, by focusing on practical experience.
For example, by studying the various magics here and how they worked.
Hetty and Rebecca were proper mages (though both somewhat gifted in unusual ways), but Gawain didn’t seek them out. Instead, he came to Pittman, because he knew one thing: druidic magic was the most unique in this world. Its origins and evolution might reveal some secrets about magic itself.
Druid magic evolved from divine arts.
Pittman had already prepared the materials and ritual tools for today’s potion and ceremony. As he worked, he explained, “Brewing alchemical potions isn’t too hard. The basic catalysts use cheap ingredients—herbs are everywhere. Most of the time is spent on post-processing: smoking, drying, grinding. More hands can speed that up.”
He added powdered sage seeds and purple chrysanthemum petals into a heated vessel, poured in pure water and a pre-made herbal extract.
“Amber told me about your labor system inventions—task division, responsibility systems, assembly lines. Honestly, brilliant ideas. They let unskilled workers handle complex potion steps. But the crucial part can’t be outsourced…”
Bubbles rose in the vessel, releasing a sharp, pungent smell. Pittman quickly added another potion to balance the mixture’s potency.
“The pre-made potion is just mundane stuff, no supernatural power. Even if it works, it’s weak. To unleash magical effects, it must be infused with mana—and that requires a druidic ritual.”
He sealed the vessel’s lid. Through a curved copper tube, steam was channeled into a condenser, where it collected as pale green droplets. Carefully, Pittman gathered the liquid into a small cup and placed it on a tiny altar.
Gawain watched intently as Pittman arranged elemental runes representing wind, fire, water, and earth around the altar. The runes were carved on oak wood pieces. Then he placed two ordinary white crystals—common and inexpensive natural quartz—inside the circle.
Pittman began chanting the obscure druidic incantation. Gawain immediately activated his mana perception.
He saw a radiant glow of mana gathering around Pittman, energies aligning into intricate geometric patterns guided by the runes. The potion’s color shifted from pale green to deep emerald.
As the transformation neared completion, Pittman stopped chanting and removed the crystals. With a solemn tone, he recited a prayer to the nature spirits: “Great gods of nature, protectors of life, mighty spirits of the wild… Heart of the forest, guide of life, your humble servant prays for your response. May you, from your oak… palm… no, oak throne, grant your blessing. Let this potion be filled with life’s energy, let it… oh, it’s done?”
He glanced down, confirmed the potion’s transformation was complete, then cheerfully ended the awkward prayer and handed the potion to Gawain. “Here you go—freshly brewed plant growth catalyst, still warm.”
Gawain held the potion, feeling a tremor run through his face—no amount of a square jaw or beard could hide it.
What was that last prayer? Was the old man joking?!
Yet it was precisely that nearly nonsensical prayer—one that a normal believer’s god would have struck down dozens of times—that confirmed Gawain’s suspicions.
The ancient druidic divine arts… had truly vanished.
What remained now was only druidic magic.
He set the still-warm potion aside and looked Pittman in the eye. “If I’m not mistaken, that prayer you recited is from the Heart of the Forest sect’s scripture, the Sacred Words of the Jungle, right?”
Pittman was surprised. “You even know that?!”
“I’ve read the book,” Gawain waved it off, “but what I want to ask is—did druidic magic really evolve from divine arts?”
(Recommended reading: I, the Divine Redeemer by Shi Yu — yes, the same author who wrote about the Little Bubble God cult. This book still features the Guya cult, a cultural invasion and proselytizing story.)
(End of chapter)