Hikaru: How I love reading into these kinds of things. One always wondered exactly WHY Klarth needed his spellbooks, when there's no actual time to read them . . .

Klarth: Hikaru Irving doesn't own Tales of Phantasia.

Marching through the Alvanista marchlands was no fun at all. Cress and his team had to cross two absurdly long bridges, endless expanses of grasslands, and through a few forests, just to get to Midgard. Plus the monsters, although relatively easy to dispatch of, were quite a headache.

And now that they neared Midgard, it was bloody cold. Cress did not like the cold. His clothes weren't thick enough to keep out the cold, and his heavy armor seemed to revel the cold, not to mention that his hands were now so numb he could barely feel his fingers grip the hilt of his sword anymore.

But as they marched, Cress found himself wondering—Klarth summoned once or twice every battle, and always it was in as speedy a manner as possible. Some of the tougher spirits—Maxwell—always took quite a while to summon, but during those rare times when Cress took a small break to swallow an apple gel, he noticed—Klarth never actually read his spellbooks. He'd flip through them, the mana would amass for the immense magic of summoning, but Klarth never read his spellbooks.

That's it. He had to know. Digging in his item bag, Cress withdrew a Holy Bottle. He popped the cork, downed its contents. The magical barrier manifested, almost guaranteed to discourage most monsters from attack (unless they were really stubborn). The swordsman caught up to the summoner.

"Hey, Klarth," Cress began, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. Klarth never bothered to look at Cress. "What?" The question came barely a second after the irritable reply. "How come you never read your spellbooks?"

Klarth shrugged. "I read them. When we rest or stay at inns, I read my spellbooks,"

"Well yeah," Cress persisted, "but never to summon. You just flip through it and summon."

The summoner shifted—he had his Necronomicon tucked under his arm. "You see, no one can freely channel magic without using some kind of medium—not even the elves. Some people use staves, swords, or even simple sticks in a pinch. Since I'm human, though, I need a much more sophisticated way channeling magic. My spellbooks—" Klarth hefted the Necronomicon—"had magic infused in its texts and pages when they were written, to give the spells their maximum potential power. The magic is arranged in order of the chapters. Even the likeness of the magic circle is inscribed in each book."

Cress nodded, "I'm not sure I follow, but go on."

Klarth scowled at him before clearing his throat.

"The books aren't my only catalysts. My tattoos as well as the pact rings aid me greatly. Hell, even some of the materials used to make my clothes had mana-conducting properties. But anyway, since each chapter arranges the order of magic power in the books, when I prepare to summon, I flip through the book to build up that power and process. First, the magic circle is inscribed on each book's cover. Through each chapter I flip through, the magic builds up—incantation, concentration, the gathering, the amassing, and finally the release, in which I summon."

"Wow," Cress whistled. "All that just to summon. All I have to do is draw my sword and hack and slash!"

"Cress! Klarth! Monsters at three o'clock!" Mint shouted, some distance ahead. Cress groaned. He hated the marchlands.

As Cress leapt into the fray, Klarth took a deep breath, recalled the magic processes exactly as he had described to the young swordsman.

Incantation—

"I call upon the Light of the Heavens!"

Concentration—

The beginning of a spell circle glowed beneath Klarth's feet as he flipped through his spellbook—

The gathering—

The magic circle clarified, took on a definite form—

The amassing—

Mana spouted from the environment around him, the earth, the clouds, the plants, the air, the atmosphere—

The summoning—

"I summon thee! Come, Luna!"

And forth came the Spirit.