Duke, being the sort of prodigy who made mere "talented" people look like drooling toddlers, actually did learn all those spells on the spot, right there in the dusty, sacred halls of the library. He didn't even need to bother hauling the copied spell manuals back to his dorm; they were already etched into his mind like a very expensive, very magical tattoo. But seeing the ancient librarian, whose face now wore a look that screamed, "You disrespect magic, you little punk! Be careful, I'll make things very difficult for you next time, possibly by hiding all the comfortable chairs!", Duke decided a tactical retreat was prudent. Even a genius knows when to humor an immortal grump.
Moreover, Duke, in his moment of arrogant omnipotence, discovered something quite serious, something that sent a tiny, cold shiver down his perfectly honed magical spine: the limit of the System AI. It turned out, to his utter scientific horror, that the System AI was... well, it was a scientific thing. A purely logical, empirical, maddeningly rational entity.
For magic that could be explained by the cold, hard, undeniable laws of science, the System AI was god-level. It was practically omniscient. Just like the dazzling ice and scorching fire magic he'd previously mastered, the System AI could not only help Duke learn magic instantly, but it could also immediately derive a vast, mind-boggling number of super-magic expertise, thus improving the power of his spells in every conceivable aspect. It was like having a magical supercomputer whispering cheat codes directly into his brain.
But then came the utterly infuriating, illogical, and frankly unscientific categories. Anything that seemed fundamentally unscientific, or fell into directions Duke was not intuitively familiar with, was promptly given the digital cold shoulder. For instance, the Enchantment-based Hypnosis spell was identified as 'unrecognizable' by the System. It simply couldn't compute the illogical nuances of mind control. And the Prophecy-based Language Comprehending spell, which allowed the user to understand what the other party was saying but hilariously could not read or write, was reported by the system as 'not in line with the principles of translation, unrecognizable'. Apparently, true translation required knowing how to properly construct a sentence, not just hear babbling.
The most special, and most infuriating, was the Necromancy system. The System AI directly, with the cold efficiency of a particularly unhelpful bureaucrat, told Duke that it could not be used due to "lack of unknown necessary conditions." Duke suspected "unknown necessary conditions" translated roughly to "this violates fundamental laws of physics and common decency, so hard pass."
Duke could only sigh dramatically, gather his towering pile of newly-copied, instantly-memorized (but not quite mastered) spell manuals, and roll back to the dormitory arranged for him by the academy. He shuffled along, looking like a very exasperated, very powerful pack mule. Basically, he had crammed all the spells into his brain, and he could technically use them if he wanted, but he didn't have that amazing, gut-level, "I've just become one with the cosmos" feeling of instant mastery. The magic was there, but the oomph was missing.
Duke knew, deep down, that he was being entirely too demanding. A wizard should be grateful for just knowing the spells, let alone having them instantly copied.
The old man who was in charge of the library had told him, with a distinct emphasis on clarity, that generally all sorts of arcane skills and super-magic expertise would be passed down to disciples by their mentors, usually over decades of servitude and painful tests. One simply would not be able to learn any of the true essentials outside of this sacred, grueling bond. At most, one could glean some superficial skills in some mentors' "open classes" for all students in the academy, which usually involved more yawning than actual learning.
If you wanted to learn, sure, you could! But you had to exchange it for equal value! This was magic, not a charity.
The problem, as Duke now painfully realized, was that he had, with glorious arrogance, rejected Medivh before. And now, he suspected, probably no other self-respecting mentor would be willing to exchange precious magic skills with him, except for perhaps old man Norton, who seemed to view him as a fascinating, infuriating anomaly.
The most important, and truly soul-crushing, realization for Duke was that he suddenly discovered that the overall magic level of the academy itself was not actually that high. Apart from the legendary (and currently possessed-by-a-dark-god) Medivh, there were only two other archmages left in the entire academy, and to add insult to injury, there were no magic books above Level 5 in the academy library! None! Zero! Zip!
To learn more advanced, world-shattering magic, one must either undertake a perilous journey to the legendary, the city of Dalaran, or, more conveniently, but infinitely more suicidal... Karazhan. Yes, Karazhan, Medivh's private, sprawling home base, which, unknown to most, was slowly being corrupted and controlled by the nefarious Burning Legion leader, Sargeras himself. As a guardian, and also as the son and successor of the former guardian Aegwynn, Medivh had a private, ominous wizard tower in Karazhan, practically a fortress of arcane secrets.
The south of Elwynn Forest was Duskwood, a perpetually gloomy, spider-infested swamp, and the southeast of Duskwood was the notoriously grim Deadwind Pass. Karazhan was located squarely in Deadwind Pass, towering like a monolithic monument to dark power.
It was, effectively, Medivh's personal, utterly forbidden fiefdom, and outsiders were strictly forbidden to enter, usually by means of magical explosions or being turned inside out.
If Duke had been willing to be Medivh's disciple before, he would certainly have been able to enter its forbidden depths, but he would also most likely have been devoured, soul and all, without leaving even a single bone fragment behind. A mere morsel for a dark lord.
"This," Duke muttered to himself, pacing his small dormitory room, a solitary genius trapped by the mundane, "this is the upper limit of the Stormwind King Family School of Magic... How in the blazes am I supposed to break through this limit? Do I need to build my own floating city? Or perhaps just bribe Sargeras with pearls?"
Just when Duke was feeling a little melancholy, contemplating the infuriating ceilings of magical advancement, there was a knock on the dormitory door. A polite, rhythmic rap-rap-rap.
"Who dares disturb the brooding of a genius?!" Duke bellowed, purely out of habit, then quickly softened his tone. "Who is it?"
"Duke, it's me—Daniel, and Anya is here too," a booming, familiar voice replied from outside, slightly muffled by the sturdy oak door.
"Come in!" Duke, who was comfortably buried in a literal mountain of copied spell books, stretched out his right hand. The magical power flowed gently, elegantly, in his magic circuit, and he performed a little trick, a simple display of his effortless arcane prowess.
It was the Transmutation system's Switch Technique].
With a barely audible click, Duke opened the door lock, a full ten meters away. The door swung inward with a dramatic creak, revealing a very surprised Daniel and Anya. They were a little bewildered that Duke, who should theoretically be the one to open the door, was sitting so far away, lounging amidst his intellectual chaos.
Daniel stretched his thick, muscular neck, craning it as if to see if there was anyone behind the door, or if Duke had somehow conjured a phantom servant. He peered into the empty hallway, clearly confused.
"Daniel, it's just a Switch Technique]," Anya reminded him in a low, exasperated whisper, clearly used to Daniel's charmingly dense nature.
Daniel smiled, sheepishly patted his head, then strode in, his massive frame practically taking up two-thirds of the narrow aisle. Anya, ever the graceful shadow, could only follow behind him like a loyal, slightly amused follower.
Looking up from his intellectual fortress of books, Duke found that Daniel looked immensely relieved, a look of genuine existential peace on his face.
"So, how's the soul-crushing grind going?" Duke asked, a playful smirk on his lips.
"No, no, no, not like that!" Daniel exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously. "I just realized that you also have a human side, Duke! For a moment there, I thought you didn't need to learn anything at all, and could just directly reach the level of Guardian Medivh by sheer force of will, or perhaps by eating a particularly rare magical mushroom."
"Pfft." It was Anya, normally reserved, who couldn't help but snort, then covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Duke could only spread his hands helplessly, a picture of false modesty. "Okay, okay, you caught me. Even geniuses need to crack a book or two. But enough about my arduous intellectual journey. You two came to me, is it about Mentor Norton?"
The two nodded at the same time, a synchronized bob. "The instructor heard that you had just finished your research," Daniel boomed, "and he notified us to come over as soon as he knew you were back! He asked us to tell you that the translation of the notebook has been completed! He said something about it being 'less gibberish than expected'!"
"Excellent! Thank you!" Duke smiled, his eyes twinkling. He glanced at their robes, and his smile became even brighter. Daniel proudly displayed two small books on his chest, while Anya, with a shy blush, had three. This was the subtle, yet incredibly important, symbol of junior and intermediate apprentices in the Royal School of Magic.
The number of apprenticeships only reflected one's initial, raw qualifications. Only the number of book symbols truly reflected the hard-earned status of an apprentice. Of course, there were also those unfortunate souls who were stuck in the advanced apprenticeship for a painfully long time, their robes adorned with a single, lonely book, silently mocking their lack of progress.
Facing Duke's knowing gaze, Anya was visibly embarrassed. "We can't compare to you, Duke," she mumbled, fidgeting with her robe.
"No, no, no," Duke quickly interjected, already striding towards the door. "Since we came out of the Northshire Monastery together, we should stick together, like extremely shiny, wealthy peas in a magical pod. I'm going to go to Mentor Norton first. We can catch up on all the soul-crushing details of your studies later!"
Not only the honest, straightforward Daniel, but also the usually reserved Anya couldn't hide the sheer, unadulterated joy on their faces. There was no way to deny it; Duke had been far too prominent recently. First, he'd single-handedly (or rather, multi-handedly) butchered Hogg, and then, he'd somehow opened up an exclusive, incredibly lucrative pearl route all by himself. Even their own mentor, Master Norton, had subtly (and not so subtly) suggested that they should "communicate more" with Duke. It was less a suggestion and more an urgent royal decree.
In this rather joyous mood, they followed Duke to Master Norton's private laboratory on the north side of the academy.
Only mages of the master level or above were allowed to build their own opulent wizard towers within the academy's sacred grounds. Old man Norton, bless his ancient, irritable heart, only had a humble (by wizard standards) single-family house with an independent yard as his laboratory. It still probably cost more than a small town, though.
As if sensing Duke's arrival, or perhaps due to some arcane proximity alarm, the ornate gate of the compound opened automatically to the left and right, revealing a surprisingly pristine cobblestone path. The steps that were supposed to lead to the main entrance of the first-floor lobby suddenly, magically, rose up one step at a time, transforming into a grand, impossibly steep staircase leading directly, and rather dramatically, to the third floor.
As soon as Duke, ever the adventurer, confidently stood on the first step, he Huo Ran heard a voice, raspy and dry as old parchment: "Stand firm, young man. Don't go falling now, that would be terribly inconvenient."
The next second, with a gentle hum of arcane power, the entire staircase acted like an enchanted escalator, carrying Duke smoothly, almost silently, up to the third floor, like a very important package being delivered to a very important wizard.
At the end of the ascending stairs was a round window, which suddenly, with a dramatic, almost theatrical flourish, opened in a spiral shape just as Duke was about to arrive. Through the bright, morning light streaming in, Duke saw old man Norton, still looking like he was about to fall apart, sitting comfortably on a recliner, peering intently at a notebook with a one-way lens similar to a magnifying glass. He looked like a very intellectual, very fragile gargoyle.
"You're here?" Norton rasped, without looking up.
"I am coming in" Duke replied, a hint of theatricality in his own voice now.
"I heard you gained a lot in Westfall," Norton observed, his voice tinged with an unreadable mix of curiosity and something that sounded suspiciously like professional jealousy.
"Teacher Norton, do you perhaps require any... research funding?" Duke offered, trying to sound casual, as if offering a small loan to a struggling artist, when he was actually offering enough gold to buy a small duchy. "I can..."
Old man Norton waved a dismissive hand, a gesture that conveyed utter disinterest in material wealth. "I am old, young man. My motivations have long since withered like a forgotten scroll, and I don't need those paltry material things anymore. My wealth is knowledge, not gold."
At this moment, Duke felt a profound, almost bone-deep sense of weariness, a kind of ancient, cosmic old age in the old man that he had never felt before. It wasn't just physical age; it was the weariness of a soul that had seen too much.
What in the blazes happened to the old man? Duke wondered, a flicker of genuine concern replacing his usual smugness.
Old wizard Norton finally raised his head, his ancient eyes locking onto Duke's, and suddenly, a wry, almost melancholic smile touched his lips. "It's okay, boy. I just saw my own limits, stark and unyielding, reflected in the endless possibilities that surge within you. Even if I am no longer qualified, by the very laws of magic and time, to be your mentor, I hope that you can, at the very least, accept my inheritance. It's mostly dusty books and existential dread, but some of it is rather useful."