For the first time, Ronan saw Old Wills with such a serious expression. He even used the word "plead" when speaking to him.
"Go ahead," Ronan replied, his demeanor becoming equally serious.
Old Wills hesitated, clearly finding it difficult to speak, but eventually, he said softly, "I've heard that tickets for ships leaving Hoddam are being sold, but the prices are steep. One ticket costs a high-level magic stone."
"That's outrageous!" Ronan shook his head, finding it absurd. "Tickets earlier this year were only ten low-level magic stones."
Even with wartime inflation, the price shouldn't be that exaggerated.
Anyone who could afford a high-level magic stone wouldn't be struggling to leave Hoddam.
"Yes," Old Wills nodded. "That's likely an inflated price. I think the actual cost will be about ten intermediate magic stones at most."
Ten intermediate magic stones seemed reasonable and plausible.
Ronan didn't question the reliability of Old Wills' source. Old Wills was experienced and capable of making sound judgments.
"How much more do you need?" Ronan asked directly.
"Eight stones," Old Wills replied. "As long as it's enough for Vinicia. She can take Sherrill with her."
Ronan didn't respond immediately, but instead, he looked into Old Wills' eyes.
He vaguely remembered Old Wills sharing his dream of leaving Hoddam one day, settling in some worldly kingdom, and living life as a leisurely old nobleman.
If the invasion by the Forest of Whispered Death hadn't occurred, perhaps Old Wills would be sunbathing on the tower of some noble's castle by now.
"I'll give them to you now," Ronan said after a moment, reaching for his pouch.
Though his remaining magic stones were limited, he had just enough to hand over eight intermediate stones.
Old Wills' own ticket would have to wait until Ronan opened the last black-robed wizard's storage pouch or made more money from selling rune stones.
But Old Wills stopped him, shaking his head. "Not now... I'll ask you when the time comes."
Saying this, he took out a small package from under his robe and placed it in Ronan's hand.
"Thank you, Ronan, no matter what," Old Wills said, embracing Ronan and whispering in his ear, "You're the most compassionate wizard I've ever met. I have a feeling you'll go far."
With that, Old Wills patted his shoulder and disappeared into the night.
Ronan looked at the heavy gray package in his hands, then at the spot where Old Wills had vanished, feeling a mix of emotions.
He knew clearly.
What Old Wills had given him was likely everything he had to offer in gratitude.
Under the soft, bright light of the crystal lamp, Ronan sat at the table, carefully examining the package from Old Wills.
It contained two books.
One was a common "Basic Potionology." The difference was that every page, paragraph, and line was filled with Old Wills' notes, his experiences, and lessons learned from decades of trial and error.
There were even a few potion recipes he had developed himself—nothing rare, but all highly practical.
Ronan had already witnessed their value during their escape from the forest.
This book was incredibly helpful for Ronan to get started in potion-making, filled with Old Wills' dedication and effort.
As for the other book...
Ronan's expression changed.
It was a notebook.
A remarkably old notebook.
The pages had yellowed and become brittle, as if they might crumble like dried leaves with the slightest touch.
Ronan carefully turned the pages.
The writing was also ancient, with ink so faded in many places it was barely legible.
Much of the notebook was missing, whether from age or intentional removal.
The remaining pages were filled with disarrayed, fragmented information.
Ronan furrowed his brow, piecing together what he could—the notebook primarily discussed replicating something called "Shrine Power."
It delved into complex, esoteric knowledge of alchemy, potion-making, and runes, filled with specialized terms.
To Ronan, it was like trying to read a college textbook as a grade-schooler.
Moreover, the notebook's research ended inconclusively. Its author only managed to reach the step of preserving "Shrine Power" long-term.
"What is 'Shrine Power,' and what benefits does replicating it bring?"
Ronan was at a loss; it was too complex. It felt like a child stumbling upon a textbook meant for advanced scholars.
Yet, to say it was entirely useless would be incorrect.
It was undeniably ancient and contained wizarding knowledge.
From that perspective, it was incredibly valuable.
Perhaps that was why Old Wills had chosen to give it to him.
Ronan carefully placed the ancient notebook into his storage pouch.
Outside, faint noises could still be heard.
Reflecting on the night's events, Ronan sighed softly and began working on the last unopened storage pouch.
The summons for the wandering gray robes, after fermenting overnight, reached a fever pitch the next day.
Ronan made a point to check it out.
He discovered the summons had been issued in the form of tasks.
The notice, bearing the emblem of Hoddam Wizard Academy, listed a plethora of tasks for the wandering gray robes to choose from.
Tasks ranged from gathering specific magical herbs around the wizarding grounds to joining academy wizards on missions.
The highest reward offered was ten intermediate magic stones for investigating a small magic stone mine over two hundred kilometers away, with transportation provided by a spell airship. The task required wizards at least at the mid-level apprentice stage, with some combat experience preferred.
Ronan, expressionless, scanned the list of tasks before quietly withdrawing from the bustling crowd.
With his current rune engraving skills, he could maintain a steady income by staying home and working diligently, leaving him uninterested in these tasks.
But for other wandering gray robes, it was different.
The academy's task summons was a lifeline for many who were struggling to survive and considering moving out of town.
The promise of magic stones for merely visiting certain areas?
And for those daring enough to take risks, the chance of earning intermediate stones?
Few wandering gray robes at the bottom had ever seen real intermediate stones.
Facing these numerous legitimate and lucrative "job opportunities," the impoverished gray robes were almost delirious with excitement.
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