Beyond the castle's dungeons, Duwi encountered Jolene, the first female knight he had recruited under his banner. Since arriving at the castle, Jolene had voluntarily taken on the responsibility of guarding the captured mage.
Her reasoning was simple: the mage had once been a companion of hers. Though she now pledged allegiance to Duwi, Jolene couldn't entirely cast aside the bonds of their shared past. While their acquaintance had been fleeting and borne of the mage's infatuation with her beauty, Jolene felt obligated to show some measure of kindness. She dared not defy Duwi's orders by freeing the captive, but by overseeing his custody herself, she could at least offer small gestures of care, fulfilling what she saw as her moral duty.
Thanks to Jolene, the mage had eaten a hearty meal the previous night—though sleep and meditation were strictly forbidden. Jolene's two attendants, the bull-like warrior and the archer, had kept a tireless watch, ensuring the prisoner had no opportunity to recover his magical strength.
When Duwi entered the dungeon, the damp, oppressive atmosphere unsettled him.
What did catch his eye, however, was Jolene, now clad in knightly attire, a sight that gave him pause. Her alluring face, once her most striking feature, had been transformed by subtle alterations: her hair trimmed short, a ribbon tied across her forehead, and her brows shaped to exude a sharper confidence. These changes, combined with her armor, imbued her with an air of resolute authority, though her long, shapely legs, once showcased in short skirts, were now hidden. The ensemble, complete with a slender sword and a lightweight chest plate, lent her an air of dignified readiness befitting her role.
"Honored Master," Jolene greeted him with a respectful bow as he approached. "You've come to—?"
"I'm here to see my prisoner," Duwi replied, his tone cold and distant, betraying his irritation. Casting her a glance, he asked, "Have you been here all night?"
Jolene hesitated, a conflicted expression flickering across her face. "Master, this man was once my comrade. I thought perhaps…"
"You wish to plead for him?" Duwi interrupted, shaking his head. "There's no need. I don't intend to harm him. If he cooperates and answers a few questions, I'll release him at once."
Without waiting for her response, Duwi brushed past her, leaving a terse command: "I will speak with him alone. Everyone else is to remain outside. No interruptions."
The room where the mage was held was the largest in the dungeon, but its size did little to alleviate its oppressive nature. When Duwi entered, the mage's pallor was stark under the dim light, his eyes barely able to stay open.
Though his magical prowess was formidable, the mage had been drained from a previous battle and left unable to meditate or rest. Sleep-deprived and subjected to cruel vigilance, his spirit had withered. Cold water doused him at every attempt to close his eyes, and though Jolene had shown some mercy, her two attendants displayed no such restraint.
When Duwi arrived, the mage was huddled on a damp stone bed, shivering and hugging his knees, his lips pale from the cold. Nearby, the bull-like warrior jeered, "Don't even think about closing your eyes! I'm not hauling any more water just to wake you!"
The warrior silenced himself as soon as Duwi entered, bowing and retreating at Duwi's command. Left alone with the captive, Duwi approached with an almost casual air.
"Well, my esteemed mage," Duwi said, his tone laced with sardonic politeness. "How are you finding your accommodations?"
The mage looked up weakly, his expression one of despair. "Do I look as though I'm 'well' to you?" he muttered internally but spoke instead with a tone of supplication. "My lord, why must a nobleman of your stature treat me with such cruelty? You, the heir of the Lorin family, a house of such renown—do you not fear the damage this could do to your reputation among mages?"
"Oh? A threat?" Duwi arched an eyebrow. "And if word were to spread that a mere novice mage like yourself had mastered the elusive art of instantaneous casting, what then?"
The mage froze, a flicker of terror breaking through his despondency.
Duwi's smile deepened. "Yes, I know. The outcome would be quite dire for you, wouldn't it? Every mage on the continent would turn you into prey, desperate to uncover the secrets you hold. You'd become a lamb among wolves, wouldn't you?"
The mage's shoulders slumped in defeat. Duwi's words had struck a nerve.
"Speak," Duwi urged, his voice soft yet insistent. "I know your so-called instant casting is not genuine. You've found some clever workaround, haven't you? Tell me. I'm no mage, so what harm could it do to reveal your secret to me? Satisfy my curiosity."
The mage lowered his head, his expression torn between fear and resignation. After a long silence, he finally said, "If I tell you, you must swear not to speak of it to anyone. My very identity as a mage is at stake."
"Of course," Duwi replied, his tone soothing. Raising his hand, he made a solemn vow. "I, Duwi Lorin, swear upon the Light Goddess herself that whatever you reveal to me will remain in confidence. Should I break this oath, may the Goddess herself punish me."
The mage hesitated, his face a storm of doubt and reluctant trust. Finally, with visible effort, he confessed, "The truth is… I am not truly a mage. I am but a magic apprentice."
Duwi blinked, startled. "What?"
"I mean," the mage continued, swallowing hard, "my magical abilities are no greater than that of an apprentice. My title as a first-level mage… I acquired it through deceit."
This revelation caught Duwi's full attention. To earn the title of mage was no trivial feat, and to deceive the rigorous examinations of the Mage Society seemed almost impossible.
"Deception?" A spark of temptation flickered in Du Wei's heart.
"Deceive my way into qualifying as a magician?"
Du Wei knew well enough that the Magic Guild's assessments were no trivial matter. A magician's qualification—if it could be easily falsified—would be nothing short of a farce.
"I started learning magic from a young age. My teacher, a lower-ranked magician, claimed I had a gift for magic and took me under his wing. By thirteen, I earned the title of magic apprentice—it wasn't too difficult." The magician's tone was tinged with bitterness. "True magicians across the continent number only in the hundreds, but there are thousands of apprentices. Unfortunately, the path to becoming a genuine magician is incredibly arduous. Most apprentices, no matter how hard they work, remain stuck in their rank for life. They never progress beyond the title of apprentice. I... am one of those wretches."
"Every magician takes on a handful of apprentices, but they know full well that not all of them will become magicians. In fact, many never will. Yet, they continue to take in students. Why? Because magicians are revered, awe-inspiring figures. Such prestigious individuals can't go without followers. Thus, every magician surrounds themselves with apprentices—young dreamers enchanted by the allure of magic. Yet, for most, those dreams are doomed to failure. The cruelest part? Many magicians are fully aware their apprentices have no real potential but keep silent. They need obedient helpers—assistants for their experiments, aides for menial tasks, servants, even. And these 'servants' cost them not a single gold coin.
"That was my experience. At thirteen, my teacher told me I had potential, took me from my home, and promised to make me a great magician. I followed him, full of hope, only to later realize it was an unattainable dream. My teacher had over a dozen disciples, all of whom passed the apprentice test. He simply used us as unpaid labor and fed us lies to keep us compliant."
The bitterness in his voice deepened. "For ten years, I was a magic apprentice, until I finally admitted that I lacked true talent. Sure, I had slightly stronger mental energy than the average person and a faint connection to natural forces, but that was my limit. Faced with this reality... I turned to studying magical alchemy."
"Magical alchemy?" Du Wei's eyes lit up.
This man's tale felt eerily familiar.
But unlike him, Du Wei hadn't even passed the most basic apprentice exam.
Little did Du Wei know, his circumstances were far from what they seemed.
Magicians are an enigmatic group, aloof and proud, seeing themselves as beings above the masses. They wield the power of storms and flames, borrowing the strength of gods. To them, ordinary mortals are nothing more than expendable ants.
Many magicians take on apprentices with magical aptitude barely better than Du Wei's, simply because they need followers. As much as magicians disdain commoners, they also refuse to hire servants like ordinary nobles—it would tarnish their image. A magician's entourage must consist of apprentices to maintain their lofty status.
Since those truly gifted in magic are rare, most magicians lower their standards, recruiting those with only marginal talent. Even if they know these apprentices will never rise beyond their station, they lure them with dreams of magical mastery. These unfortunate souls often spend their lives as cheap labor.
This practice creates a chaotic standard for apprentice exams across the continent, with wildly varying levels of rigor.
But the test Du Wei had taken in the imperial capital was different. It adhered to the strictest standards because the magician in charge, Master Clark, dared not deceive the imperial military's second-ranking official—the patriarch of the Rowling family.
Clark wouldn't have dared recruit Du Wei, the son of a noble, as mere cheap labor.
If Du Wei had been an ordinary person, however, Clark would have eagerly taken him in. His exceptional mental energy alone would have been enough to make him a valuable assistant, regardless of his lack of magical talent.
This was the harsh reality for many apprentices across the continent.
The prisoner's voice trembled with bitter resentment. "I discovered the truth by chance—that my teacher knew from the start I could never become a magician. When he took me from my family, he already understood this. Yet, he saw potential in my magical energy and kept me as a convenient, unpaid helper for his experiments. My fellow disciples were no different. Each had a fatal flaw in their magical abilities, yet we all clung to fabricated dreams, wasting our lives in his service."
"...And then?" Du Wei sighed.
"As I said earlier... once I learned the truth, I was furious. But eventually, I decided to change my fate. If I couldn't master traditional magic, then... I would devote myself to magical alchemy." The prisoner's tone shifted to a hint of pride. "Magical alchemists, though scorned by most, are officially recognized by the Magic Guild as a branch of magicians."
"...And then?" Du Wei's heartbeat quickened.
Could it be that this man—like him—lacked magical talent yet found another path?
In the tavern, he had seen this man use magic. If someone without talent could learn magic... then maybe, just maybe, he could as well.
If there was a way to learn magic, he could unlock the secrets hidden in the castle's chamber—the legacy of Saymel's celestial magic.
"Is mastering magical alchemy enough to become a magician?" Du Wei asked. "I've heard the guild's exam for magical alchemists is quite different from the one for magicians."
True magicians are divided into ten levels, each exam growing exponentially harder. The higher the level, the greater their power.
In contrast, the magical alchemist's exam is laughably simple.
There is no hierarchy—only one exam.
Pass it, and you're recognized as a magical alchemist, complete with a guild-issued badge.
But the badge is a mere bronze medallion, crudely made, without even basic magical enchantments. Even the guild likely assumes no one would bother forging such a lowly credential.
Magical alchemists, derisively called poison mixers, rank below even common physicians in social standing.
True magicians, even at the lowest rank, receive a silver leaf badge—an unmistakable mark of distinction.
Du Wei couldn't forget the silver leaf badge he had confiscated from this prisoner.
This man hadn't passed the alchemist's exam; he had passed the rigorous magician's exam.
But how?
Could there be a way to fulfill the seemingly impossible dream of learning magic?
"My natural talent lies in mental strength—a sharper mind and greater stamina than most. However, I lack the sensitivity needed to perceive natural forces. No matter how I meditated or trained, I couldn't sense even the faintest trace of nature's energy," the prisoner admitted. "But after ten years of studying alchemy, a thought struck me. What is 'natural energy' anyway? My teacher called it everything—the wind, fire, water, even the tiniest particles. But such explanations felt vague. I wondered—if I could understand what natural energy truly is, perhaps I could still find a way."
Du Wei listened intently, his mind racing to grasp the implications.
"Take fire magic, for example. A magician channels natural fire elements to conjure flames. In alchemy, we can achieve the same result through formulas—using a simple powder ground from fire phosphor grass, for instance, to ignite a flame.
"That got me thinking. Could the fire phosphor grass contain the so-called fire elements of natural energy? Or perhaps, its essence aligns with the magical properties of fire?"
Du Wei's thoughts stirred as the prisoner's words began to weave a profound connection.
"Here's what I discovered," the prisoner continued, his voice brimming with pride. "Every magical spell—from the simplest fireball to legendary doomsday spells like 'Inferno's Wrath'—operates on the same basic principle. The scale and potency differ, but the core idea remains the same. Similarly, every magical effect can also be replicated through alchemy, albeit in simpler forms.
"Why is that? My theory is that the rare ingredients in alchemy contain the magical elements inherent in nature. If I couldn't extract these elements through traditional meditation, then I would draw them out as an alchemist."