When Ronan woke from his sleep, he rubbed his eyes and glanced out the window, realizing that the sun was already setting.
His first reaction was to make dinner quickly—cooking by candlelight after dark was far too troublesome.
Besides, he was starving.
After washing his hands with water from the storage jug, Ronan grabbed the food left by his predecessor—a mix of grains that included quinoa, corn, black beans, and several other things he couldn't recognize.
This kind of coarse grain wouldn't fetch much outside—just a few copper coins—but in Hoddam Sorcerer Grounds, a single pound cost one magic stone grain.
A single low-grade magic stone could be broken into a hundred magic stone grains. In other words, one magic stone could only buy about a hundred pounds of this rough grain.
The cost of living here was truly outrageous.
Ronan scooped two spoonfuls of the grain mix into a small pot and added some water. While waiting for the rice to cook, he made a simple soup with some wild mushrooms and a few pine pigeon eggs his predecessor had gathered from the forest.
A bowl of mushroom and egg drop soup with a side of mixed-grain rice—nothing fancy, but it was enough for a meal.
When you're starving, taste doesn't matter. As long as it fills your stomach, it's good enough.
After eating his fill, Ronan patted his stomach and strolled out of the treehouse at a leisurely pace. The sky outside had turned completely dark.
The night sky above was a deep, dark blue, but the surrounding forest gradually lit up with tiny points of light, like stars scattered among the trees.
A swarm of glowing creatures resembling fireflies rose from the forest floor, floating in the air like dandelion seeds caught in the wind. Their soft, flickering glow made the quiet night feel like something out of a dream.
Sadly, the moment was short-lived.
"Slap!"
Ronan smacked his arm, killing a mosquito.
"This place is swarming with mosquitoes at night," he muttered.
His robe did little to protect him from the relentless bites. Within moments, his arms and legs were covered in itchy welts.
Grimacing, Ronan quickly retreated back into the treehouse.
A few minutes later, he reemerged. This time, his robe was covered in insect-repellent powder. In one hand, he carried a small net, and in the other, a semi-transparent white pouch.
He climbed onto a sturdy branch of the old oak tree, using the net to catch the glowing creatures dancing through the night air.
These firefly-like creatures weren't difficult to catch. In just a short while, his pouch was filled to the brim.
"Forty… That should be enough," Ronan muttered, debating whether to continue.
Just then, he heard faint voices and the sound of footsteps coming from the forest.
Instantly alert, Ronan instinctively turned to dash back into the treehouse—but he was too late.
Two figures emerged from the trees: a tall man and a shorter woman, both wearing long robes. They walked side by side, chatting casually as if taking an evening stroll.
Ronan froze on the tree branch, clutching his net and pouch tightly. Sweat trickled down his forehead as his mind raced.
Fortunately, the two strangers only gave him a brief glance before losing interest. Within moments, they disappeared into the woods.
"Phew—"
Ronan exhaled a long breath of relief. His tense muscles finally relaxed, but a lingering frustration crept in.
"I'm like a bird startled by every rustle… all because I'm too weak."
He sighed, shaking his head. The mood for catching more creatures was gone. He returned to the treehouse with his pouch full of glowing bugs.
Blowing out the candle, Ronan hung the pouch from a ceiling beam. In the soft glow of the makeshift "lightbulb," the entire room was bathed in a warm, golden light—far better than any candle.
Too bad it would only last for one night. By morning, all the firefly-like creatures inside would be dead.
Ronan stared at the glowing pouch for a while, admiring the peaceful light that filled the room. Finally satisfied, he sat at the round oak table in the center of the room.
The table was covered with books—all left behind by his predecessor.
The ones he focused on the most were the following four:
"Basic Meditation Techniques"
"Complete Guide to Zero-Level Spells"
"Rune Literature: A Collection of Ten Common Zero-Level Runes"
"Basics of Potion Crafting"
These four books were his most valuable possessions.
The predecessor had spent nearly all his magic stones to acquire them from Hoddam Sorcerer Academy.
They represented knowledge, heritage, and, most importantly, the key to the world of wizards.
Many of the sorcerers in Hoddam Sorcerer Grounds were students of the academy.
Hoddam Wizard Academy didn't have strict admission standards. As long as you could pay the tuition, they would accept you.
But once inside, every aspect of your life—courses, lectures, meals, and accommodations—required magic stones.
When your magic stones ran out, you would be promptly "invited" to leave, just as easily as you were admitted.
Thus, while many students came from the academy, few ever earned true recognition. Those who did became synonymous with power and talent.
"This isn't a school… it's a business," Ronan muttered, flipping open the black-covered "Basic Meditation Techniques."
Mental strength was the core of a sorcerer's power, and meditation was the primary way to enhance it. Its importance couldn't be overstated.
Ronan had tried meditating several times over the past few days, but he had yet to succeed. Every attempt felt like he was missing just a little something.
The predecessor's experience and insights in this area hadn't transferred over. He had to start from scratch as a complete beginner.
"...Empty your mind, discard distractions, and focus your thoughts on a single point…"
Ronan read the steps aloud. After closing the book, he shut his eyes and silently repeated the instructions while gradually relaxing his mind.
Once he felt ready, he took a sip of water, washed his hands and face, and sat cross-legged on his small bed.
In truth, there was no specific posture required for meditation—lying down or sprawling out would have worked just as well.
But Ronan had tried that before, and it usually ended with him falling asleep.
As he adjusted himself, a corner of the thin blanket accidentally pulled back, revealing a line of small, worn text carved into the bed frame:
"The soul is the eternal sanctuary."
Ronan whispered the words, his expression shifting slightly.
It was the opening line of "Basic Meditation Techniques"—a famous saying in the wizarding world.
The phrase served as a reminder to every aspiring sorcerer: the essence of the path lay in the pursuit of an eternal soul.
Apparently, someone had carved it into the bed frame as a personal warning or motivation.
It wasn't his predecessor's doing—the handwriting was old and faded.
Perhaps it was left by the previous tenant… or even the one before that.
Ronan's thoughts wandered, imagining a scene from years past—a young boy about his age, sitting in the same spot under the same dim light, quietly meditating and training alone, dreaming of one day leaving the treehouse district and stepping into the academy.
The thought filled Ronan with an unexpected sense of courage and determination.
That small, accidental discovery seemed to give him strength. The lingering fear from earlier gradually faded, and his mind finally settled into peace.