What could be more peaceful than falling asleep to the sound of rain?
Thank heavens Martin didn't snore, allowing An Nan to enjoy a tranquil rainy night.
By early morning, the rain had stopped. Sunlight pierced through broken clouds, and puddles on the damp cobblestones reflected passing pedestrians. The cool air carried the fresh scent of rain.
This night rain, heralding summer's arrival, made the damp wood difficult to chop, though it still sold quickly—albeit still for 20 copper coins.
In the afternoon, An Nan and Martin arrived at Dawn Tavern earlier than usual.
Evelyn, who lived nearby, had arrived even earlier and was calculating yesterday's accounts at the counter. The female dwarf Soluman Copperbeard was nowhere to be seen. Oddly, the bard, who usually arrived with the customers at opening time, had come earlier than all of them and sat with Mr. Fast.
"...one cup of wine, six mugs of rye beer, one juice, one grilled steak, and two pounds of bread..."
Hearing Evelyn count yesterday's bills for the third time, An Nan passed by the counter and said, "Three silver coins and fifty-six copper coins."
Evelyn's eyes widened adorably. "How did you know?"
"Just simple arithmetic."
Evelyn's reaction reminded An Nan of Aunt Susan, who had praised him all day when he'd casually calculated a month's household expenses. He'd thought it was merely affection then, but now he realized that knowledge he considered more "common" than the bard's stories wasn't universal here—
The town had no school, only a library, which illiterate townspeople never visited.
Knowledge was typically monopolized by the middle and upper classes. When An Nan had asked similar questions to the seemingly learned bard, he could only handle addition and subtraction of numbers under two digits.
An Nan felt ashamed that upon this realization, his first thought was how to profit from this knowledge...
Nearby, the bard was tapping Mr. Fast's shoulder with a "Did you see that?!" expression.
"This proves nothing."
It just made An Nan change from somewhat special to slightly more special.
"When will your contact arrive?" the bard pressed.
"Should be..." Fast glanced at the shadow entering the tavern, "now."
An Nan looked up at the figure entering the tavern and couldn't tear his eyes away.
He hadn't even stared this intently at Lady Wine or Tasia!
The newcomer wore loose grey robes, carried a staff in his right hand, and had long curly hair covering half his face, revealing a tired countenance on the other half. The grey-robed mage walked straight to Fast and the bard's table, propping his staff against it: "I need your strongest drink!"
This wasn't quite how An Nan had imagined a mage... he thought, putting down his cloth and walking to the counter.
"This isn't quite what we agreed on," the bard said suspiciously, eyeing the man.
Carrying his staff like a greatsword, unkempt, with fingers devoid of magical rings...
"As long as he can do the job."
Under their watchful eyes, An Nan got some distilled spirits from Martin and brought it to the grey-robed mage's table.
Still hesitating how to start a conversation, the mage took the initiative: "Boy, you seem quite curious about me?"
"Are you a mage, sir?"
"Gulp... hic..."
Slamming the empty glass down, the mage lowered his head, his parted hair revealing a ghastly scar on his forehead. "I am."
The bard watched An Nan's eyes light up. This fellow might fool An Nan, but not him—such a scar was too out of place on a mage: "You didn't bring a mercenary disguised as a mage, did you?"
"Want to know... hic... why I'm such a mess?"
The smell of alcohol on his breath revealed his growing intoxication.
An Nan didn't really want to know, but nodded anyway.
It was a cliché story that An Nan half-understood and half-guessed: the grey-robed mage had been an apprentice in Breezetown's mage tower, competing with another apprentice. But whether in being chosen by mages or becoming one himself, that person had always stayed ahead, and more ridiculously, didn't even know of his existence.
So the grey-robed mage decided to train outside, finally becoming a level 3 mage before returning—only to find that person was about to become an elite mage.
Using Dutch courage to bare his soul, the mage slumped in his chair: "Kid, tell me, if you can't be the best, why try at all?"
"Because effort isn't about being the best, but about improving yourself?"
The mage just shook his head like a spring doll.
An Nan tried again: "Gods have different levels of power, but I've never heard of a god dying from frustration at not being the strongest."
This failed to convince the mage either. He sneered, turning to Fast: "Where did you find this priest-in-training?"
"He's just trying to comfort you."
Fast, who had been watching, sat down beside them. As the owner, he had to step in before the ruse became obvious.
The bard joined them too, having neither told stories nor played his lute today.
"Effort means nothing in the face of talent," the mage said. "Just as someone without magical affinity can never become a spellcaster, no matter how hard they try."
"An Nan, say something else," Fast prompted.
"Shall I?"
"Would you rather have this crude warrior do the consoling?"
"Alright... sir, was your only goal in becoming a mage to compete with that person, rather than embarking on the mysterious journey of magic?" An Nan hoped he'd remember his initial passion, after all, it was the magic An Nan yearned for, "There's a saying: 'It is the time you have spent on your rose that makes your rose so important.'"
Amidst the bard's exclamation of "Gods, I must write that down!", the mage fell silent.
Other customers began entering the tavern. Martin ran to help, allowing An Nan to continue his conversation with the mage.
"You want to become a mage?"
Sudden joy enveloped An Nan: "Is it possible?!"
"Do you have money?"
And then reality crashed down like cold water.
"If Dawn Tavern's server were to become a mage apprentice, I think as the owner, I should sponsor part of it," Mr. Fast interjected. "An Nan, you're clever. You could have a brighter future."
"What about me, Mr. Fast?" Martin squeezed in to ask.
"You're different. You're too stupid."
The grey-robed mage glanced at Fast, who understood and told An Nan: "Customers are here, boy. Go serve some drinks."
As An Nan turned away, the mage suddenly raised his hand toward An Nan's back and incanted: "Magic Missile."
An Nan, facing away, walked to the counter completely unaware, as he couldn't understand the spell.
"That works better than your lousy test plan."
The drunk mage lowered his hand and told the startled Fast and bard:
"He had no reaction at all. Either he's more cunning than the old foxes in Breezetown, or he really doesn't understand Common."