By the afternoon Irwyn felt phantom pain. Not real physical pain, no, because the training room had negated all that, but just his body feeling wounds that were no longer there. As it turned out, Dervish was not shy about stabbing Irwyn, repeatedly. Irwyn imagined the stoic man was probably compensating for not being allowed to mercilessly cut Elizabeth every five minutes because it certainly seemed that way.

After the spar to judge Irwyn, the rest of the following training had been spent on less magical exercises, supposedly to not risk his overcasting: It was a great variety of reaction, dodging, perception and situational awareness. It was almost ironic how Irwyn could easily perceive almost anything magical when he was trying to but utterly failed with anything that was not. A glaring example was Elizabeth throwing pebbles at him from behind and damn hitting him every single time when he was distracted, focusing on magic. When he attempted to do the same, she managed to deftly move out of the way before anything came even close. To be fair, Irwyn’s accuracy with those was not great.

“I believe we have a suitable physical baseline. Now we can begin to push your limits,” Dervish said as Irwyn was recovering from yet another stab. They were already phasing him less and less, which was most likely the point; Irwyn imagined that not even flinching at wounds would be a very useful in an actual life-and-death struggle.

“Baseline…” Irwyn repeated. He felt like he had been brought to his very limits several times in the last few hours. If that was not pushing them, he dreaded what would be.

“Yes, you have shown what you can do relying on your body,” Dervish nodded. “However, you are a mage. You must rely on magic, on mana, not flesh nor muscle. Look at me Irwyn and think: How am I so fast? How do I perceive things so clearly?”

“That is a good point,” Irwyn nodded. Dervish’s speed was much, much faster than just inhuman. He had thought it might be an ongoing spell of some sort that he just could not feel and did not consider it too deeply. Now, however, the man was suggesting otherwise. “I assume there is a trick to that.”

“Well, perhaps it could be called a trick,” Dervish nodded lightly. “It is a simple exercise, though one difficult to master. To start you need to follow a simple step: Flood your head and brain with mana.”

“Will that make me so much faster?” Irwyn raised an eyebrow.

“The limiting factors on you are twofold:” Dervish explained. “First, it is how fast your body can perceive and pass things on and from your soul. Secondly, it is your brain’s inability to utilise your soul’s cognitive power fully. The mana will both hasten those processes and allow you to access more. There will always be room for improvement there as long as you do not manage to access your soul completely; and mages possess exceptionally powerful souls so that will not happen in the nearby future.”

“Have you managed it?” Irwyn was curious. Dervish stared at him for half a second as if considering if to answer him at all before the man spoke.

“Yes and no. At one point in my life I have reached the limit, however, since then the cognition available has grown greater than my ability to fully access it. But you should attempt it yourself to see.”

And Irwyn did, closing his eyes. It was almost funny that he had never attempted something like this by himself. He grasped the magic as he always did and found how little thought he had really given this. Because casting had always been instinctual for him as far as he could remember. He never really had to consider where exactly that magic had come from; never thought about where it moved before it left his body or where it went if he chose to absorb it back.

It was such an obvious angle of introspection in hindsight, as Irwyn now understood. When he grasped for his magic it came from seemingly everywhere at once. From flesh, muscles, blood, and bone. From his spine to his fingertips it moved beneath, gentle and subtle. But inefficient. Because it moved all at once it tried to take from his left arm when he wanted it to leave from his right. From his feet when he guided it to his head. There, Irwyn realised, would be a great angle for improvement. But not immediately for he had been instructed to do something else.

He grasped that magic and tried to concentrate it in his head. There was already magic in there, though it was spread just like in the rest of his body, so he withdrew it from his skull inwards. It was a slightly strange sensation. He could not quite feel his brain itself, however, based on the mana gathering inside his skull it was mostly possible to tell it apart from the liquid and nerves, though it was no precise thing.

Still, Irwyn followed Dervish’s instruction and tried his best to concentrate as much power as he could where he believed the brain to be. It was relatively easy to reach two and threefold of what was across the rest of his body. Then it became more difficult, the mana slipping and dispersing where there was less of it as though something was actively resisting the accumulation.

It was at that point that Irwyn also noticed that the mana he was actively using was being replenished at a visible rate. That was, he supposed, the so-called Funnel except the metaphor was rather stretched, considering it was pouring more magic into his body in countless places at once. The most distinct was the heart, though other organs and what his thought were major arteries were not far behind. From there the power actually dispersed somewhat equally, trying to reach a new equilibrium, though he felt as if some of that restoration was happening everywhere at once.

Irwyn reached his limit when his brain’s mana levels were about six and a half times that of the ambience of his body. Anymore he could not properly get a hold of. Irwyn opened his eyes, took a deep breath and choked on it. His lungs seized at the unexpected sensation as he instinctively tried to flinch. Tried because instead of barely moving, Irwyn threw himself backwards with the strength of a jump, immediately losing balance and falling over. But his fall was so incredibly slow. It felt like 3 or maybe even 4 seconds passed as Irwyn plunged down to the ground. He tried to flail and put his hands under him but they refused to move as he willed them to: It was as if he was moving in a fast forward after running head-first into a steel beam.

It was almost a relief to fall down on his face, at least until Irwyn gaged on his own spit. The following cough was stretched out weirdly and grated against Irwyn’s lungs. As soon as he was able to breathe he almost choked again and barely held off of throwing up. Then he lied there, barely able to just breathe without moving.

“I suppose you would call this the trappings of talent,” Dervish said, except his voice was slightly faster than it had been before. Irwyn, taking a few more seconds to recover, took an actual deep breath and flipped on his back.

“Was that supposed to happen?” and why did it stop? Irwyn felt for the mana inside him and realised that his brain was no longer charged 6 or 5 times. His control had slipped without him noticing and it hovered barely at one and a half times of what the the rest of his body was at.

“Not at all,” Dervish shook his head. “At their first attempt, most mages are usually barely capable of improving their perception by minimal fractions. It is rather impressive that you have achieved a level of accelerated cognition so far beyond your ability to physically control. I suppose it is the result of first coming in contact with such a technique after achieving beginner’s mastery.”

“Have you gone through something like this,” he glanced at Elizabeth who seemed to be distinctly amused by his situation.

“I have been practicing this method since I learned to feel my internal mana,” she was smiling as she spoke. “I have never quite attempted to exceed my limits by such a large margin.”

“How am I even supposed to operate like that,” Irwyn sighed. “It was as if the world was slowed down while my body moved ten times the speed I wanted it to.”

“By reaching mastery, obviously,” Dervish said. “You should figure out what your comfortable limit is and practice maintaining it whenever you have the opportunity, then slowly push upwards as your limit increases. With continued use, the sensation of dyschronometria and dysphoria will lessen until you settle into a natural balance.”

“Dyschronometria?” Irwyn raised an eyebrow. He had certainly never heard of the word.

“Inability to properly perceive time,” Elizabeth chided in.

“The end goal is to maintain a greatly heightened level of perception perpetually, even in your sleep, and continuously heighten it to the next manageable level. Of course, pushing your limit and ability to sustain the state without pause might take years. Therefore it is best to start practising as soon as you can.”

And so that was the task Irwyn set himself into for the following hours. He found that around twice the density of mana in his head allowed him for slightly but notably improved perception and cognitive ability while being barely disruptive. It had also, to his great excitement, improved his ability to control magic by about a tenth. That was still significant, however, it palled in comparison with future potential. The cognitive increase was supposedly multiplicative with the amount of concentrated magic in the brain until he reached the hard limit of his soul’s capacity. That he had not reached that limit with his previous attempt was already promising; even if his limit was close to that, the soul grew with time and use, particularly fast for mages.

Their training then turned into a cycle between Irwyn being made to struggle against Dervish’s merciless training routine and taking a break to focus on his cognitive empowerment. The results were already showing: During the one-sided beatdown Irwyn was already noticing improvements when compared to earlier in the day. And that was with barely any actual time to improve.

“It will be sunset soon. We should adjourn,” Dervish interrupted Irwyn’s experimentation after a while. Irwyn had been trying to see if pushing the magic concentration in his head further would allow for even more potent magic if he was willing to stop moving; the results were mixed for the moment, the increased focus needed for higher densities also messing with his ability to cast. “I will be expecting you both again the day after tomorrow.”

“In two days then,” Elizabeth nodded as she approached the sitting Irwyn from the side. Her shoulders were hunched from the mental exhaustion of intense daylong practice, even if the damn miracle hall took care of any muscular pain or physical fatigue. As Irwyn was about to stand up and say his goodbyes she grabbed him by the arm and, before he could so much as look up, he was flung through Time/Space once again.

He found himself in the very same private room at the high-class establishment where he had first met Elizabeth. It was also indeed just before dusk, the great windows view casting an impressive view of the setting sun.

“You know, I wanted to say my goodbyes,” Irwyn sighed. Well, there was a decent chance Dervish had followed them, he supposed, if Irwyn’s hypothesis about the man was correct.

“He won’t mind,” Elizabeth just waved her hand dismissively. “I thought you would appreciate a meal even though the hall prevents you from growing hungry.”

“Of course it does,” Irwyn almost groaned. He hadn't even realized. What didn’t it do?

“It fulfils any needs for training anyone might need,” Elizabeth nodded. “It had actually been a gift to her Ladyship Avys by the previous Duke of Green, though she mostly lends it out for use to exceptional children.”

“I have certainly heard that the duchess cares for children greatly,” Irwyn said, perhaps fishing to broach the topic of… well anything adjacent to the Duchess of Black was bound to be interesting.

“She certainly does,” Elizabeth immediately replied, though Irwyn thought there might have been a bit of discomfort in her eyes.

“It reminds me that I have heard much about the duchess but little about the Duke,” Irwyn quickly changed the topic noticing that.

“Is that so?” Elizabeth raised her brow with clear surprise, forgetting whatever emotion had struck her before. “I suppose the general public might not see much of him.”

“I assume that is not the case in mage circles? I, for one, have not been able to even find his name,” which in itself was strange. Irwyn could not image why such an important public figure would go out of their way, because that had to be the case, not let their name be known by the general public.

“Yes, the Duke, Ezax von Blackburg, is an extraordinary mage, perhaps the greatest alive in the whole Duchy. Rumour has it that he might even have the potential to claim a Name one day.”

“Name?” Irwyn pretended not to understand her meaning. He really shouldn’t with his background, after all.

“I am getting ahead of myself here,” Elizabeth coughed lightly. “But simply put, claiming a Name is the greatest attainment a mage can make. There are only 3 Named mages alive in the entire Federation.”

“Well, that is indeed far away from even considering,” Irwyn chuckled while he remembered that unfinished book he had found in a ruined hideout a while back - which he had left behind at Ebon Respite and was probably in Old Crow's hands - taken from a hideout of a man seeking to claim a Name as well. And if he was remembering right, that book from some 30 years or so ago claimed there had been only 2 at the time.

Then, Time/Space shifted and a plate appeared in front of Irwyn. It was a noodle dish of some sort this time, except the noodles had the attunement of Light while another kind of Starfire meat was sprinkled generously together with a literal burning sauce.

“I worry this might be addictive,” Irwyn admitted, looking at the food. He remembered the meal yesterday and felt himself crave to dig in.

“I do not believe so?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, most likely never having considered it. “Even if so, my mother would always say that any mage must have the will to overcome a dependence.”

“Will is not always enough,” Irwyn grunted. He had seen, having lived in the slums, what actual physical addiction did to people. And he had been warned, repeatedly, that there was a line on the spiral beyond which coming back was almost impossible even with the strongest of determinations.

“If it is any consolidation, I have never heard of anyone complaining about any such issues,” Elizabeth said though even she was slightly frowning at her own dish, a black fish with smoldering coal-like vegetables. “I shall, however, inquire.”

“It would be rude to refuse an already prepared meal,” Irwyn surrendered, though it was half an excuse. “However, in the future I will refrain from eating this ‘attuned cuisine’ daily.”

“That is your choice,” Elizabeth nodded. “I suppose I could request more… mundane dishes.”

“I suppose you have a plan for tomorrow?” Irwyn changed the topic instead.

“Perhaps… I have promised to show you the Dredge, have I not?” Elizabeth pretended to wonder.

“I still have little idea what it actually is,” Irwyn shrugged.

“You will see tomorrow then,” she nodded with a smile. “Usually it is unavailable to the public, however, I have certain access privileges.”

“I will be looking forward to it,” Irwyn also nodded and glance at his food again. Eventually, the desire won over the wariness and he ended up devouring it like air.

On the way back though he had no convenient teleportation and had to walk in the lamp-lit streets. Because the main streets were well-illuminated even after sunset. He went down the lift and left the central district without an issue, leaving behind the inner gate and the moat. However, as he walked down the walkway, just a street in front of his hotel, Irwyn felt a sudden surge of magic come from not afar. Curious he glanced over and did a double take. It was subtle but he noticed at the entrance to a side street in the rough direction of the magic there were 3 people seemingly loitering about, except they had, despite their different clothing styles, a single distinct feature Irwyn could see: A small bird sewn into their clothes. As if a badge of allegiance.

Well, Irwyn had wanted to investigate the situation surrounding the Guild before his meeting up with Desir. That would appear to be his opportunity.