Chapter 13
An upper-tier 8th Circle Mage. Alter Heinzel was suppressing his disappointment after meeting the boy with white hair, who had been shrouded in absurd rumors, in person.
When he first heard the tale about a Mage who survived a battle against a Grand Marshal, and that this Mage was merely of the 4th Circle, and even worse, a vagrant who had never been properly trained in magic, Alter thought it was nothing but typical apprentice nonsense.
Not being properly trained in magic means that, even if gifted with mana, one has never had the opportunity to hone it.
Most high-ranking mages were at a meager 2nd Circle mana level before they began learning and practicing their craft. Among the masters of several magic towers he knew, there were some who never realized they possessed mana as children.
No matter how great the potential, without proper training or studying, mana does not grow.
Still, the idea of an untrained child possessing a 4th Circle level of mana was laughable.
And beyond that, a claim that the boy’s mastery of magic was so exquisite that he survived a fight against a Grand Marshal? With only a 4th Circle level of magic? It was so ridiculous it evoked an involuntary snicker.
The story was so unbelievable that Alter had completely dismissed it. After all, sooner or later, the rumor was sure to be debunked.
But then, a letter from the Emperor arrived.
The letter confirmed the boy’s existence, stated his inclusion in the party of a Sword Saint, and went on to say that they were seeking someone qualified to teach him magic.
…Does this even make sense?
It was the emergence of a genius that defied everything Alter had known so far.
The moment Alter read the letter, he took one of his best students and immediately departed for the capital. The distance from his magic tower to the capital was at least a week’s journey, but Alter pushed on relentlessly, switching horses every time they grew exhausted and replacing the coachman as well, to arrive sooner.
Thanks to this effort, he managed to make it to the capital in just three days after the letter reached his tower.
But the boy he met after all that effort turned out to be a major disappointment.
The boy clearly possessed a 4th Circle level of mana, making him, at this age, extraordinarily gifted. Especially considering he had never received formal training—it was, in fact, an absurd level of talent.
Most of the apprentice mages under Alter’s care had struggled to even reach the 2nd Circle level by this age.
But he hadn’t dashed from his magic tower, which he’d built through years of hard work, merely to see a boy with a modest amount of talent.
Alter had come to witness an overwhelming genius that would overturn all his knowledge and experience.
Even while boarding the carriage, he was expecting to see a talent that transcended all known conventions. Instead, he had to make a considerable effort to keep his feelings from showing on his face.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Master Bin.”
Alter placed his hand on Bin’s shoulder as the boy was shaking hands with his apprentice.
How frail and insubstantial the boy was that Alter feared breaking him if he accidentally applied too much force.
“…Did this body really fight and survive against a Grand Marshal?”
Though not warriors, battlefield mages are required to possess a certain level of physical fitness and stamina, crucial in environments where screams, arrows, explosions, and magical duels prevail. Casting spells in such chaotic circumstances requires immense concentration.
Moreover, mages need agility to dodge attacks or secure advantageous positions, and must possess exceptional mental fortitude to endure pain from injuries and complete their spells.
Battlefields are far from easy places. The 80-year-old mage knew this all too well.
From his perspective, the boy simply looked unreliable.
Look at those weak arms and legs of his. If he were placed on the battlefield, he’d likely be felled by either an arrow or a stray rock splinter from an explosion before even getting the chance to act.
“…It seems the stories about him surviving a fight against a Grand Marshal are likely unfounded.”
Scholars, by nature, are driven by curiosity and doubt.
Even though everyone, including the Sword Saint, was raving about this once-in-a-century talent who could save the world, none of it meant anything to Alter. He saw nothing more than a plain genius with mage potential, the kind who only emerged every few decades.
Even his apprentice Lir, sitting quietly in the corner of the reception room, reached the 4th Circle by the age of 19.
“Compared to the extraordinary and world-saving genius some claim he is… well, this boy is disappointingly ordinary.”
Alter Heinzel, a lifelong scholar and mage since birth, was someone who had to personally experiment and judge everything before being convinced.
“Could you demonstrate your magic? Something simple—perhaps a ‘Bolt,’ would suffice. It’s necessary to properly assess your current level.”
The “Bolt.”
The basic of basics for any Storm Mage.
Using this spell involves converting mana into electric current, which is then discharged from the fingertips. A simple process with a straightforward mechanism.
Alter could gauge a mage’s skill simply by watching this elementary spell. How much mana leakage occurs during the transformation into electricity? How quickly can the current be generated? How powerful is the electricity produced?
The “Bolt” not only signifies the starting point for Storm Mages, but also gives a very clear and precise indication of a mage’s overall level.
“I decline.”
However, the boy named Bin bluntly refused Alter’s request.
“…Why is that?”
Though he concealed his dissatisfaction with the utmost care, Alter’s eyebrows betrayed a flicker of disappointment when his hope to witness a refined and perfect Bolt vanished in an instant.
“I would like to conserve my mana for the upcoming expedition tomorrow.”
“Surely, casting one mere Bolt wouldn’t harm you, would it?”
“One Bolt could make a difference in battle tomorrow. A mage’s mana is a crucial resource in any expedition, and I’m sure you understand that, Master Alter. If you would like to evaluate my skills, you can join tomorrow’s expedition.”
“…”
With that response, Alter couldn’t very well insist on seeing a Bolt.
After all, there have been countless instances where an expedition ended in failure due to a mage’s drained mana during critical moments.
Sometimes, lacking even a single bolt of mana could lead to the loss of battles that should have been won or the deaths of soldiers who shouldn’t have fallen.
“…Very well then. Tomorrow will suffice. Have a restful night.”
He would know everything soon enough.
If tomorrow proved him wrong, and the rumors were false, the boy would pay for deceiving the Emperor, as well as all the other leaders of the various races, and for wasting his time.
—
Morning came and the expedition was ready to depart before it even hit 9 o’clock.
Bin wore a black robe and a wide-brimmed hat. A jet-black sapphire ring adorned his skeletal fingers, and around his thin neck, a necklace made of mermaid pearls hung.
Though the decorative items didn’t match the boy’s sharp and decadent demeanor, they were useful in enhancing mana and improving the precision of spells—a fact that no one on the battlefield would ignore because of aesthetics.
Alter and Lir sat idly on the carriage adjacent to Bin, passively observing the changing scenery through the windows.
Since they were not here to fight, they hadn’t come fully prepared like Bin.
Alter’s combat robes remained hanging in their lodgings, and Lir wore only his usual hat and carried few rings in preparation for emergencies.
As the carriage carrying the three of them left the capital and headed north, Bin was intently examining his Book of Magic.
“By the way, where exactly are we headed?”
Alter finally ventured to ask once the capital was out of sight.
“To the Enker High Plain.”
Their destination was farther than expected.
“To the Enker High Plain? Why are we going there?”
“Because a dragon resides there.”
The Enker High Plain.
Once renowned for its fertile soil and ideal conditions for farming, the region had accounted for 70% of the continent’s wheat production. The area also had a brilliant environment with minimal weeds or pests.
However, the dragonling’s arrival disrupted everything, significantly affecting the continent’s food supply and leading to a skyrocketing in grain prices.
This sudden influx of vagrants could be traced back to this very problem.
“…The number of people we have seems insufficient for dragon hunting. Please note that I have no intention of participating in the battle. I’m here solely to observe the extent of your abilities.”
The dragon that occupied the plains was not fully grown, but even in its youth, it retained the dangerous essence of a dragon.
It was definitely no opponent for a 4th Circle mage, accompanied by merely a squad of regular infantry.
At least a team with a high-ranking mage ranked no less than 7 Circle, or a warrior equal to the strength of a chief from the Orc race, would be necessary.
Or if none of that were available, they would require at least ten times as many infantrymen.
‘Is this boy really as skilled as they claim?’
Alter rubbed his chin, casting a skeptical look at the young boy.
‘Seems more likely that this is all hearsay from someone clueless about the sheer power of dragons.’
The boy appeared to be at most sixteen or seventeen years old. With no trace of elven heritage, when could he have possibly encountered a dragon?
Alter’s guess was rational, but what the boy lacked in experience in this world, he made up for in countless simulated encounters with the young dragon of Enker High Plain, albeit from a screen in his previous life.
“A task that a Sword Saint could resolve in a flash.”
“But the Sword Saint is busy protecting people, and the other party members are occupied assisting him.”
Bin kept his eyes locked on the Book of Magic as he replied calmly.
“Until I’ve learned all the basic teachings from the masters, I’m not allowed to participate in the major missions of the Sword Saint’s team. But that doesn’t mean I can do nothing. Even I, as a soldier who eats and dresses from the hard-earned taxes of the continent’s citizens, must do my part.”
The carriage, shaking and creaking, filled with the boy’s small voice, felt oddly poetic.
“An adolescent dragon is something we should handle, don’t you agree?”
“…Yeah, that’s true I suppose.”
Alter chuckled lightly, then slowly moved closer to sit beside the boy.
He had initially expected the boy to be a reckless savage, having been told that he came from a vagrant background. Instead, Alter found the boy polite and thoughtful—far surpassing his expectations.
“…You’ve been flipping through that spell book constantly since we started; is there something in it you don’t understand?”
Alter decided to offer the boy a small gift in the form of some instruction, seeing how considerately the boy was thinking.
