Chapter 113: Magic and Psyche
"What do you suppose Corvo was thinking, sending a bunch of rubbish like this to die?" Arthur looked at the corpses strewn across the outer camp, his brow furrowed deeply.
He had just inspected the hands of these men: the uniformly distributed calluses, the severely deformed finger joints—calling them bandits was generous; they were clearly just farmers who had been duped! Of course, even knowing their background, Arthur felt no boring emotions like sympathy or guilt—anyone who came to kill was an enemy, and showing mercy to an enemy was a betrayal of his own life and the lives of his companions!
"Maybe he just wanted to disrupt our rest?" Zoltan guessed, but Geralt's voice came from behind, denying it:
"No use. We are very close to Cintra now. Even if we didn't sleep all night, we could reach Cintra quickly tomorrow."
"Perhaps it was simply meant to disgust you." Koglgrim said softly: "If this man truly is connected to the arch-sorcerer who is targeting you, then he likely knows about you avenging the villagers of Hoefg. He might assume you are like the legendary rogue knights, despising nobles and favoring commoners."
Arthur frowned, defending himself: "I neither despise nor favor anyone. I just want things to be as they should be."
Mousesack stroked his beard, his expression serious as he spoke: "Have you all not noticed something you overlooked?"
"With the combat training of these men, they were nothing but a disorganized rabble, yet not one of them attempted to flee until the fight was over?"
Arthur slapped his thigh, feeling a corner of the fog in his mind lift.
He was right! The well-equipped, well-trained soldiers of the Verden Night Crows knew to run when the situation turned against them, yet this group of amateur bandits charged forward shouting aggressively from start to finish, as if they were possessed!
"Are you saying they were being controlled?"
Mousesack nodded, then shook his head: "I sensed it while you were interrogating the captive. There was a malicious magical force in their brains. It is very likely this force was influencing their psyche. If any of you understood anatomy, you might find certain areas of their brains damaged."
Magic and psyche—those two words again!
Arthur looked up, his gaze burning as he addressed Mousesack: "Speaking of the relationship between magic and the psyche, I did hear something in Brokilon…"
Because he had only just met the Druid, he did not reveal the truth about the dryads having their minds erased. Instead, he simply said that while sleeping, he was vaguely informed by a great tree about the Conjunction of the Spheres and the decline of the Treants.
"Oh, it is already capable of actively communicating with people through dreams?" Mousesack stroked his long beard, his voice showing excitement and urgency for the first time: "Do you remember the location of that tree? It might be on the verge of ascension and needs my help immediately."
Arthur thought, The tree you value has long since been ascended by me into an Elder Treant, but he feigned a look of difficulty: "When we left Duen Canell, the fog was dense everywhere, making it impossible to distinguish direction."
"By the way, I heard those great trees say that the magic in Brokilon is toxic, and forcing ascension would destroy the psyche. Is that true?"
"Alas…" Mousesack sighed deeply, twirling his beard: "When I journeyed the lands in my youth, I did hear similar rumors from the trees in Brokilon."
"At the time, I thought it was merely an ancient legend, but the longer I delved into the Way of Nature, the more a question began to trouble me…"
Arthur quickly pressed him:
"What question?"
The Druid's expression was solemn as he posed a question that nearly made Arthur's jaw drop: "Is Nature truly natural?"
Arthur looked at Mousesack strangely, wondering why he had suddenly thrown out such a profound question.
Fortunately, Mousesack shifted focus, beginning to discuss academic matters with him: "Seeing how proficient you are with Illusions and Shielding spells, you must be a graduate of Ban Ard. Do you remember what the instructor responsible for guiding you in tempering your magical power said when you first enrolled?"
Arthur felt a wave of internal uncertainty. He had never attended Ban Ard; all his magical knowledge came from Triss.
Luckily, Mousesack's focus was clearly elsewhere. Arthur answered vaguely: "There are four sources of magic in the world: Earth, Fire, Water, and Air. The easiest to utilize is the magic in water veins, followed by Air and Earth. And, utilizing the magic of Fire is an absolute taboo."
Mousesack let out a dissatisfied snort from his nostrils: "Are those the exact words of the instructor who taught you? Did he explain why the magic from Earth and Air is inconvenient to use, or why you absolutely cannot use the magic from Fire?"
Arthur shook his head guiltily: "He didn't say…"
Mousesack's displeasure grew more obvious. He looked at Arthur, shaking his head repeatedly: "Tell me, how did you get into Ban Ard?"
"Ah?"
"I mean your background. Were you born to nobility, wealthy merchants, or commoners?"
Arthur: "Commoner…"
Mousesack nodded: "These days, just anyone can become an instructor! Almost ruined a good prospect! I ask you, do you really believe there are only four sources of magical power in this world?"
Just hearing the rhetorical question implied the answer was no. Arthur shook his head: "I feel it shouldn't be. If that theory were true—that people can only acquire magic by drawing from sources—there wouldn't be so many village shamans in the world who have messed up their minds with magic."
Mousesack's eyes lit up. He stared at Arthur with interest, signaling him to continue.
Arthur was forced to steel himself and began to recount his personal experience: "Also, walking from Temeria to here, I noticed that even when drawing magic from water veins, the feeling one gets is different…"
The magic in well water felt sluggish, requiring intense concentration to draw upon; the magic in rivers was more active, requiring intentional control over the speed of absorption, or it could easily burst blood vessels; as for the magic under the Great Oak of Brokilon… he hadn't paid attention at the time, focused as he was on fighting the Elven phantom.
Now, recalling it, the magic there could only be described as 'aggressive.' The moment one's focus slipped, it would bore through the pores, dragging the person into the mental plane.
Mousesack clapped his hands: "To be able to sense the difference in magic even between various water veins—your sensitivity to magic is almost on par with mine as a Druid. That is excellent; it saves me a lot of breath. Try now to draw magic from the earth beneath your feet."