The tale of the idiot young master of the Rowland family driving away yet another learned tutor had quickly become the most entertaining story circulating in the imperial capital. Many idle souls discussed it gleefully, taking a certain pleasure in watching a prominent figure like Count Raymond fall into misfortune. After all, there was a certain dark satisfaction in seeing the mighty stumble.
Count Raymond, however, had made a critical error. His widely publicized reward, offered to anyone who could make his son speak, had turned into a popular topic—a small but notable news item. Because of this, the young master of the Rowland family had achieved unintended fame, becoming the favored subject of people's gossip. Now, whenever a child was born in the capital, families would habitually sigh, "Oh, it doesn't matter if it's a boy or girl, so long as it's healthy... anything but another little idiot like the poor Rowland boy."
On this day, young Master Du Wei once again welcomed his father's visit. This time, however, the guest who accompanied the Count filled Du Wei with deep unease. The figure wore a long, gray robe, a pointed gray hat, with fingers thin and gnarled, and a pair of cloudy, penetrating eyes. He exuded a musty, decaying aura, his cold presence making Du Wei shiver.
"Master Clarke, this is my son," Count Raymond, Vice-Chief of the Imperial Command and second only to the Emperor himself, spoke courteously to the stranger beside him. "Please examine him and tell me if he holds even the faintest potential along the sacred path of magic."
It seemed the Count had reached the end of his options, for this time, he had enlisted the famous Master Clarke of the capital as his son's tutor.
If one were to regard "magician" as a profession, then it would surely rank among the most respected—though perhaps "reverence" might be closer to a fearful awe. Wherever they went, magicians carried the aura of nobility, treated as equals by even the highest aristocrats and enjoying the best of accommodations. A powerful magician on the battlefield could match the might of an entire small army, and every ruler sought to enlist them—not only for their extraordinary abilities but also because they posed no threat to political power.
A magician would devote most of their life to studying the mysteries of magic, their days spent amassing mana and meditating. Few magicians cared for the temptations of wealth—they could transmute stones into jewels or gold, making riches trivial in their eyes. Their passion for magic surpassed any worldly ambitions, a fact that delighted rulers everywhere.
In all of Roland, the art of magic was the most honored and privileged pursuit, with magicians coveted by those in power and offered the finest rewards. But... the Count did not wish for his son to become one! If there were any alternative path, he would prefer it, for magicians were widely feared—monsters of their own making. They were known for their unfeeling nature, their solitary, eccentric lives, sealed away in isolation, lost in magical research. No noblewoman would dream of courting a magician who hid himself away in his study; no noble banquet would invite the cold presence of a mage to chill the room; no emperor would bestow a title or honor upon one or grant him high office within the empire.
But Du Wei, after all, was his son—the Rowland heir, destined to love, to wed, to bear children, to carry on the family's name, and to partake in the social rituals of nobility. Yet, he was, tragically, a "fool," unfit for scholarly or martial pursuits. It seemed that magic might be his last resort. If, somehow, the great Rowland family were to produce a powerful magician in its lineage… though unconventional, it could still be worthwhile.
With a hopeful gaze, the Count watched Master Clarke lead his son into a specially prepared, sealed chamber.
"Well then, boy." Once inside, Master Clarke drew a small vial, sprinkling a trace of golden powder onto his fingers, quickly tracing a circle on the floor. He turned to Du Wei. "I've cast a silence spell—no one outside will hear our conversation."
With that, the eerie mage approached the young boy, his gaze cold and probing. "Now, tell me, boy, what do you think magic is?"
Magic… what was it?
Du Wei hesitated, searching within himself. To be honest, he was quite curious about this world's concept of "magic." After all, he had heard tales of its splendor. But what truly was magic? In his mind, magic seemed to be something wielded by wizards who chanted incantations like "Oh, spirit of wind, heed my call…"Then came the swirling dust, the winds that wailed like lost souls, and all manner of eerie phenomena. Clarke observed the boy's silence, understanding that the question might have been too profound for such a young mind. Smiling slightly, he spoke in a deep, solemn tone: "Magic is the divine mystery granted to humankind by omnipotent gods—a path to discover the ultimate force, to understand oneself and the world, and to unlock the most precious gift bestowed by the divine."
Clarke's voice, clothed in his gray robe, bore a hint of sanctity. But to Du Wei, the lofty words sounded more like an affectation. Young as he was, he kept his expression unreadable, and his silence led the proud magician to assume that awe had seized him. Pleased with the response, Clarke reached into the depths of his ample gray robes and produced a crystal sphere the size of a fist.
"Mental strength is one of the benchmarks to determine whether someone has magical talent—though not the only criterion, it is the most essential. Now, allow me to assess your magical potential…"
Finally, Du Wei spoke, voicing the question that troubled him. "Mental strength? Magical power? But isn't magic something only magicians possess?"
Clarke's eyes widened. "Who told you such a preposterous notion? For heaven's sake, is there no one in the Rowland household who knows even the simplest truths?"
The magician, incensed by such a basic error, continued, "Mental strength is what ordinary people call it. To a magician, mental strength *is* magical power! Through the practices of meditation, a magician can amplify and refine this strength, enabling them to sense the world, to grasp the mysteries of nature, and to attune to the forces within the natural world. Only those with a powerful mental force can achieve this. By accumulating and expanding their mental strength, magicians can sharpen their perception of the myriad magical elements within the world. Magic, at its essence, is the use of specialized techniques to channel one's mental strength to command, or borrow, aspects of nature's forces. That is magic."
Du Wei sighed softly. "I see... Mental strength is magical power. And this power, in essence, is like a lever—a magician uses it to harness nature's forces."
A glimmer of surprise flickered in Clarke's murky eyes. "Remarkable... a mere five-year-old... How is it, then, that people call you a fool?"
Du Wei did not respond, merely gazing at the magician in silence. Clarke, too proud to dwell on trivialities, allowed his surprise to dissipate and continued on.
"This world, this natural realm, brims with magical elements. Every drop, every flicker, is a source of power. The rain, thunder, blizzards, fierce winds—even the cycles of the sun, moon, and stars, the blooming and withering of flowers—all are fonts of natural force. An adept magician can sense the faintest disturbances within the world. Your metaphor of a 'lever' is indeed apt. In simple terms, the stronger your lever, the greater the force you may wield from nature. A weaker lever, naturally, would limit what you can harness."
Du Wei sighed again. "I understand. I'd thought a magician's power came solely from their own 'magical energy.'"
Clarke frowned. "I have to wonder, who ever told you such a groundless idea? Even an apprentice would know that much! 'Power comes from one's own magic'? My heavens… allow me to correct you. Remember this well: human strength is finite; even the strongest among us is bound by limits. Magicians achieve feats beyond the ordinary—such as leveling a small mountain with a wave of the hand, or summoning a storm—but this does not stem from their own power. It is magic that allows them to draw upon the forces of nature. This world is a creation of the divine, and so, in the truest sense, a magician who wields magic is calling upon the power of the gods! Understand this: humans were created by the gods, and can never possess divine power themselves! That is a forbidden realm. A magician's strength derives from nature and, ultimately, from the gods who crafted that very nature."
He lowered his voice, frowning deeply. "I find it peculiar that someone from the Rowland family should be so misguided in matters so fundamental. Should you reach adulthood and still speak of a magician's power as if it originates from within, I fear you could well find yourself bound to a pyre before the temple for blasphemy! Such words undermine the gods themselves!"
Du Wei fell silent, his gaze returning to a blank stare. He lowered his small head, hiding his expression perfectly.