Boundary

Duke had finally brushed against it, that elusive, shimmering veil. For the first time, the chasm between a mere Archmage and a true Magus appeared before him with blinding clarity. He knew, with an almost agonizing certainty, that if he just pushed a little harder, that boundary would shatter like cheap glass.

But Duke, to his own utter bewilderment, hesitated.

Not enough!

The word screamed in his gut, a primal, undeniable instinct. Some folks might shrug off intuition as unreliable, a mere whisper in the wind. But Duke, a man of culture and a former college student, remembered reading about it: that nagging feeling, that alarm bell ringing in your soul even when your logical brain insists everything's hunky-dory. It was the brain, that magnificent, squishy organ, sending a frantic distress signal based on a lifetime of subtle sensory data, a premonition of impending doom. Like when the hairs on your neck stand on end before a lightning strike, or when your Gryphon suddenly refuses to fly over a seemingly clear patch of sky. Your brain's already screaming "Danger!" If you ignore that gut feeling, you're just asking for a one-way ticket to the grave.

And that's exactly where Duke found himself. The Ice Crown was practically begging for him to embrace its power, to ascend. So why the hesitation? Why the internal siren blaring in his skull? He slammed the brakes on the high-speed flow of his three magic circuits, pulling back from the brink of upgrade with the precision of a master horseman reining in a runaway stallion.

"System," Duke demanded, his voice tight with urgency, "run a full diagnostic. If I go all-in, fully exerting the power of either the ice or fire circuit, will I hit any snags?"

The System Wizard chirped back, utterly devoid of empathy: "Ding! After extensive testing, no issues detected. On the existing basis, the Ice Crown and Phoenix Flame circuits can each perform their functions perfectly. No problems there, host."

Duke blinked. Wait a minute. Something smells fishy. "Each perfectly perform their functions?" he muttered, a cold dread creeping up his spine. "System! What happens if I try to unleash the power of both the ice and fire circuits at the same time?!"

The System's response was as dry as a desert bone. "Fire and frost are conflicting elemental abilities. It is strongly recommended that the host not attempt to utilize these two elements simultaneously."

"I don't care what you recommend, you glorified abacus!" Duke roared, his patience wearing thinner than a goblin's wallet. "Calculate it for me! Now!"

"Host," the System deadpanned, "this is not scientific."

"Bull-roar!" Duke exploded, finally connecting the dots. "This isn't some dusty laboratory, this is Azeroth! Not every scientific principle makes sense here! We've got wizards slinging awesome Frostfire Arrows, for crying out loud!"

"Ding… Ding… After simulation," the System droned, its voice a harbinger of doom, "your arcane circuit cannot meet the simultaneous output requirements of two top-level magic circuits. An unstable state will occur. Ding! After further calculation, at full strength, you will only be able to exert 66.7% of the power of a Frostfire Arrow."

Duke slapped his forehead with a resounding thwack, a cold sweat breaking out on his back. He'd been so caught up in the moment, so blinded by the allure of power, he'd completely spaced on the most basic of arcane economics! Right! These two top-tier magic circuits were complete in themselves. A hundred points of fire power needed a hundred and fifty points of arcane juice. Same for a hundred points of frost. Maybe the arcane circuit linked to Phoenix Flame wasn't perfect, but it could still hold its own. The kicker, the absolute deal-breaker, was that a measly hundred-and-fifty-point arcane circuit couldn't possibly fuel a hundred points of fire and a hundred points of ice simultaneously. To handle that kind of load, he'd need an arcane circuit of at least two hundred and fifty points, and that was just for starters!

If he truly wanted to become the triple-threat, god-tier mage he'd always dreamed of, he had to go back to the drawing board and supercharge his arcane circuit, the very backbone of his magical supply. This wasn't going to be a walk in the park. Duke had no idea if Medivh, that enigmatic old bird, had even bothered to jot down a magic model of that caliber. He must have, but… where in the blazes was it?! Was it locked away in the legendary, probably-mythical Book of Medivh? Crap! No one had mentioned that little detail when Medivh kicked the bucket! Duke's face went as pale as a freshly bleached skeleton. Did such a thing even exist in this reality? Or had Medivh, in his infinite wisdom (or sheer eccentricity), deliberately left a breadcrumb trail, a backup plan for a rainy day? Or was it just gathering dust in the Karazhan Library?

Oh, Light help him. The Karazhan Library was a labyrinth of 1.28 million magic books. If he could just unleash the System AI to scan them, finding it would be a piece of cake. But these weren't just any books; these were magic books! The weaker ones were fine, the System could zip through them. But the stronger tomes? They had built-in magical booby traps, self-destruct mechanisms that would trigger if you tried to open them all at once. Duke had the authority, sure, but he had to open them one by agonizing one, like a gnome painstakingly unwrapping a million tiny presents.

Just then, Khadgar materialized, floating in with a glowing blue orb in his hand, inside which a soul thrashed and howled like a trapped banshee. "Hey, Master," Khadgar chirped, completely oblivious to Duke's inner turmoil. "I haven't seen you in over two months! How'd you manage to get yourself into a pickle with this kind of thing the moment you woke up? She's only a third of a demon's soul, mind you, but she put up a real fight. My brothers all got a few scrapes."

"Wait!" Duke snapped, his head snapping up. "You said… more than two months?! What's the date?!"

"Uh, well, didn't you say the Alliance was changing last year's Orc invasion to the First Year of the Dark Portal?" Khadgar stammered, caught off guard. "So, it's February 10th of the Second Year of the Dark Portal now. Oh, I saw you were deep in your own spiritual world, trying for a breakthrough, so I didn't dare disturb you! Even though your disciples have been knocking on the door more times than a persistent door-to-door salesman!"

Duke's face went from pale to a ghastly shade of green. He'd been stuck in his own head for over two months! In March, when spring finally rolled around and the flowers bloomed, he'd be neck-deep in the Orc war, with no time for personal arcane pursuits. Was he doomed to be stuck at the Archmage level for another whole year? Low strength meant higher stakes, a bigger target on his back! Duke gritted his teeth so hard his lips almost bled.

Seeing Duke's face, a thundercloud of pure fury, Khadgar actually flinched. He quickly sensed that Duke's aura was still firmly in the Archmage camp. Close, yes, but he hadn't crossed that finish line. Had Duke actually failed his attempt at becoming a Magus? This time, it was Khadgar's turn to lose his composure, his spectral form flickering nervously. Oh, Light help me, he thought, there's nothing worse than a powerful wizard having a bad day!

Not daring to push his luck, Khadgar stammered, "Uh, Master, this… this fellow's soul is right here. If you've got any complaints, feel free to give her a good soul-burning to blow off some steam. Or, I could, uh, kill the imprisoned demon for you? Just for fun?"

Duke actually let out a snort of amusement. "You idiot," he said, shaking his head. "Do I look like some unreasonable brute? If I wanted to upgrade to Magus, I could do it anytime. The current situation just isn't ideal, so I'm holding back."

"Oh," Khadgar said, visibly deflating, patting his chest in relief.

"Alright, let's see if this poor sap has any useful intel," Duke said, extending his hand. Arcane energy pulsed, gently drawing the one-third soul of the Death Speaker into his grasp. Duke couldn't decipher the chaotic information within the soul, but the System AI could. By meticulously sifting through the Eredar demon language swirling in the soul's shallow layers, Duke finally struck gold.

Sudden, unadulterated ecstasy!

"HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Old Antonidas, you sly dog, you deserve to get hit by a truck! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Duke's unbridled, maniacal laughter echoed through the ancient, hallowed halls of Karazhan, a sound that probably sent shivers down the spines of any lingering spectral residents.