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Ambrose truly was busy. The arcane knowledge woven into the Weft was so complex that even locating the portions he actually needed had taken an enormous amount of time.
Scratch notes were piled high throughout the laboratory. Every sheet was covered in dense, cramped handwriting.
More than a dozen Mage Hands worked simultaneously, clutching quills and recording data. Even Isabel had been drafted into service, her sole responsibility being to refill ink for the floating quills.
After days of nonstop work, Ambrose finally managed to organize what he needed.
His conclusion was simple: as the elves had reasoned, mana addiction resulted from their bodies being unable to bear legendary power.
It was like strapping a child into a full suit of metal armor. Though it would certainly protect the child, the armor would apply constant pressure just by being worn.
Even lying still did not remove that burden. It merely lessened it.
In the short term, everything would seem fine. Everyone...
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