Outside the castle's dungeon, Du Wei met Rolynn, the first female knight he had recruited into his service. Since arriving at the castle, Rolynn had taken it upon herself to guard the captive mage. Her decision stemmed from a lingering sense of camaraderie, for the mage had once been her companion. Though she now pledged loyalty to Du Wei, old bonds still tugged at her heart. The mage had been drawn to her beauty, and despite their brief acquaintance of mere days, Rolynn felt a duty to look after him, at least within the bounds of her new allegiance. She couldn't defy Du Wei by setting him free, but by personally overseeing his captivity, she could ensure he was treated with a measure of care—a small gesture to honor past ties.
Under her watch, the mage had at least enjoyed a hearty meal the previous night. Sleep, however, was forbidden, and meditation to restore his magical energy was strictly out of the question. Rolynn's two retainers—a burly barbarian warrior and a sharp-eyed archer—took turns standing guard, ensuring the mage had no chance to replenish his power.
As Du Wei descended into the dungeon, the dank, chilling air clung to him, its grim scent an assault on his senses. He wrinkled his nose, unaccustomed to such oppressive surroundings.
But then his gaze fell on Rolynn, and his mood lifted. Clad in a knight's attire, she was a striking sight. Her once-lush locks were now cropped shorter, bound with a silk ribbon across her forehead. Her brows, subtly reshaped, traded some of her former allure for a sharper, more gallant air. Gone was the short skirt that had showcased her shapely legs; in its place, a sleek knight's breastplate and a slender sword at her hip lent her an aura of disciplined grace. She stood tall, exuding a quiet dignity that suited her new role.
"Honored master," Rolynn said, stepping forward as Du Wei approached. "You're here to—"
"I've come to see my captive," Du Wei cut in, his voice cool, his expression shadowed by a foul mood. He glanced at her. "Have you been standing watch here all night?"
A flicker of unease crossed Rolynn's face. "Master, this man was once my comrade. I thought—"
"Pleading for him?" Du Wei shook his head. "No need. I have no intention of tormenting him. If he answers a few questions truthfully, I'll set him free at once."
With that, he brushed past her, adding over his shoulder, "I'll speak with him alone. All of you, stay outside. No one enters without my command."
The cell holding the mage was the largest in the dungeon, yet it offered little comfort. When Du Wei entered, he found the mage slumped, his face ashen, eyes barely open, teetering on the edge of collapse. The man's spirit, though naturally resilient, had been worn thin. During their earlier clash at the Giant Wood Tavern, he had unleashed spells that drained much of his energy. Captured soon after, he'd been denied rest or meditation, his strength sapped further by sleepless nights. Now, confined in this bleak cell, he endured a cruel routine: the moment his eyelids drooped, a bucket of icy water would jolt him awake. Rolynn might have shown him some kindness, but her retainers were far less forgiving.
In their old adventuring party, the barbarian warrior and the archer had never taken kindly to the mage. His obvious infatuation with Rolynn had earned their scorn, and their rapport had always been strained. Now, with the mage at their mercy, they relished their task a little too much.
As Du Wei stepped into the cell, the mage stirred, his spirit fraying under the weight of exhaustion. He wore no chains—there was no need. A mage stripped of magic was weaker than an ordinary man. The cell's damp chill had seeped into his bones, and countless dousings had left him shivering, his lips pale and trembling. He sat hunched on a stone bench, clutching his knees, while the barbarian loomed nearby, barking, "Hey, no shutting your eyes! Or I'll douse you again! I've hauled enough water tonight to last me a lifetime!"
The warrior's words cut off abruptly as he noticed Du Wei's entrance. With a wave of his hand, Du Wei dismissed him. The barbarian retreated, leaving Du Wei to face the mage alone.
"Well, esteemed mage," Du Wei said, his tone light but edged with mockery. "How are you faring? Everything to your liking here?"
The mage's hollow gaze met Du Wei's. Liking? he thought bitterly. Do I look like I'm thriving? But he swallowed his resentment, forcing a pleading expression. "Sir, you're a noble of high standing, the eldest son of Earl Raymond of the Rowling House. Why trouble yourself with someone like me? If word spreads that you've mistreated a mage, it could tarnish your family's name. The Rowling House might find it hard to forge alliances with mages in the future."
Du Wei's lips curled into a faint smirk. "A threat, is it? Very bold." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "But let me ask you this: what happens if word gets out that a mere first-rank mage has mastered instant casting?"
The mage's face drained of what little color remained. Fear flashed in his eyes.
The consequences were obvious. If other mages learned that a lowly first-rank mage wielded such a coveted skill, he'd become a target—a prize to be hunted across the continent. Instant casting was a technique even the greatest mages yearned to master. For a nobody like him to possess it was akin to a child wandering unguarded with a fortune in gold. He'd be torn apart by those desperate to claim his secret.
"Come now," Du Wei said, his tone softening, almost coaxing. "I know your so-called instant casting isn't the real thing. You've found some clever trick, haven't you? I'm no mage myself—what harm could it do to share it with me? I'm merely curious, nothing more."
The mage's head bowed, his expression torn, caught between defiance and despair.
"What's there to hesitate over?" Du Wei sighed, his voice carrying a hint of pity. "You're just a first-rank mage. In this world, mages are rare and revered, but that respect is reserved for those of mid-rank or higher. A bottom-tier mage like you? If I locked you away for life—or ended you here—do you think anyone would care? Even the Magic Union wouldn't bat an eye. They're not about to cross a noble like me for someone so… insignificant."
The mage's resolve wavered, his eyes flickering with surrender. His lips trembled as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "If… if I tell you, you must swear to keep it secret. This… it's tied to my very identity as a mage."
"Done," Du Wei said without hesitation, raising his hand solemnly. "I, Du Wei of the Rowling House, swear that whatever you tell me today will stay locked in my heart, never to pass my lips. Should I break this vow, may the Goddess of Light strike me down."
The mage's expression shifted, a mix of reluctance and guilt clouding his features. His lips moved hesitantly before he finally confessed, "I… I'm not truly a mage. I'm just a magical apprentice."
Du Wei blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"I mean…" The mage's voice cracked, as if the admission cost him dearly. "My true ability is only that of an apprentice. My first-rank mage qualification… I obtained it through deception."
"Deception?" Du Wei's curiosity surged, his heart quickening.
To fool the Magic Union's rigorous examination was no small feat. The Union's assessments were known to be stringent, designed to weed out pretenders. A mage's qualification wasn't something one could simply bluff their way through—or so Du Wei had believed.
"I began studying magic as a child," the mage said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "My teacher, a low-rank mage, saw potential in me and took me as his apprentice. By thirteen, I earned the title of magical apprentice—not a difficult achievement. The continent has only a few hundred true mages, but thousands hold apprentice status. Yet the path to becoming a real mage is grueling. Most apprentices, no matter how hard they strive, never pass the first-rank exam. They're doomed to remain apprentices forever. And I… I was one of those wretched souls."
He paused, his eyes distant, lost in memory. "Every mage takes on apprentices, but they know full well that most will never rise to true magehood. Some teachers never produce a single mage disciple in their lifetime. Yet they keep recruiting—why? Because mages, lofty and revered, need followers. They can't stoop to hiring common servants like ordinary nobles. So they surround themselves with apprentices, luring them with dreams of magic while using them as free labor—assistants, errand-runners, even glorified lackeys. All without spending a single coin."
The mage's voice grew heavy with resentment. "That was my life. At thirteen, my teacher promised to mold me into a great mage. I left my home full of hope, only to learn it was a lie. He had over a dozen apprentices, all of us qualified as apprentices, but he used us—free hands to aid his experiments, to serve his whims. He knew most of us would never become mages, yet he fed us false hope, keeping us bound to him, wasting our lives."
Du Wei listened intently, a strange sense of kinship stirring within him. This man's story echoed his own struggles, though Du Wei hadn't even passed the apprentice exam—a bitter irony he kept to himself.
"I spent ten years as an apprentice," the mage continued, "before I realized I lacked the talent. My spirit was stronger than most, and I could sense the barest whisper of natural forces—but that was my limit. My potential was capped. In despair, I turned to studying magical pharmacology."
Du Wei's eyes gleamed. Magical pharmacology? The parallel to his own path was uncanny.
The mage seemed not to notice Du Wei's reaction, lost in his tale. "By chance, I learned the truth: my teacher had known from the start that I'd never become a mage. Even when he took me from my home, he saw me only as a useful tool—a servant with just enough magical spark to assist his work. Many of his disciples were the same, each with some minor gift, but none with the full talent to break through. We were lured by a dream, only to squander our lives in his service."
"And then?" Du Wei prompted, leaning forward.
"At first, I was furious," the mage admitted. "But then I resolved to seize control of my fate. If true magic was beyond me, I'd master magical pharmacology instead." He gave a rueful smile. "The Magic Union recognizes pharmacologists as mages, though most scoff at the notion. To the world, a magical pharmacologist is no true mage—just a glorified alchemist."
Du Wei's pulse quickened. This man, like him, lacked the innate gift for magic, yet he'd somehow earned a mage's title—and wielded real spells in battle. If he could uncover the trick behind it, then perhaps…
"Mastering pharmacology makes you a mage?" Du Wei asked, his voice steady despite his racing thoughts. "But the Union's exams for pharmacologists are entirely different from those for true mages, aren't they?"
The mage nodded. "True mages are ranked from one to ten, each level a greater test of power and skill. But for pharmacologists, it's simpler—almost laughably so. There's only one rank. Pass the exam, and you're a pharmacologist, complete with a Union badge proclaiming you a 'mage.' Though, of course, few respect the title."
Du Wei's mind raced. He recalled the badge he'd taken from this mage during their clash—a silver leaf, the mark of a first-rank true mage, not the copper emblem of a pharmacologist. How had he managed it?
"My gift was my spirit," the mage said softly. "I was born with stronger mental energy than most. In an ordinary person, it might manifest as stamina or resilience, but I could never sense the natural forces clearly. No matter how I meditated, I couldn't grasp even a flicker of the world's energy." He looked up, a spark of defiance in his eyes. "But after a decade of studying pharmacology, a question struck me: what is this 'natural force' mages draw upon? My teacher called it everything—the wind, the fire, the water, the essence of the world. But that was too vague. I began to wonder… if I could understand what natural force truly was, maybe I could still find a way."
Du Wei hung on every word, his mind piecing together the implications.
"Take fire magic," the mage continued. "A mage chants a spell, channels the fire elements of the world, and conjures flame. In pharmacology, there are dozens of ways to create fire—take fire phosphite grass, for instance. Grind it into powder, and it ignites on its own. So I thought: if fire phosphite can spark a blaze, and a mage's spell can do the same, doesn't that mean the grass holds some fragment of the fire element? Or perhaps… something in it is the fire element?"
Du Wei's breath caught. A faint idea flickered in his mind, elusive but tantalizing.
The mage's voice grew animated. "I noticed something else. Every spell—every single one—has a counterpart in pharmacology. Fireball or the forbidden City Conflagration Spell—they differ in scale, but both burn through flame. Pharmacology can't match the might of a forbidden spell, but it can replicate the principle. Wind magic, water magic—all of it! Every effect a spell achieves, pharmacology can mimic, even if only in its simplest form. Why? I began to suspect that the rare ingredients we use in potions contain traces of these so-called magical elements."
A proud glint shone in his eyes. "If I couldn't draw elements from nature through meditation, I'd extract them another way—through potions."