Chapter Fourteen: A Maiden’s Heart

“Is there something you need, Lord Ist?”
Wil asked Ist with perfect courtesy, a faint smile on his face, paying no mind at all to the murderous glare Ist shot at him.

“Tell me, who are you really?”
Ist’s expression darkened as he questioned Wil.

“Wil. That is my name. As you see, I am a mage.”
Since Wil had come to find Ist deliberately tonight, he was fully prepared and replied without the slightest fluster.

“A mage?” Ist’s face twisted with a sneer. “I don’t care who you are, nor do I know what business you have in our count’s mansion. But you’d better remember this—if I notice anything odd about you, or if you harbor any ill intent toward the Charles family, I won’t let you get away with it.”

At that final sentence, Wil could clearly sense a sharp killing intent emanating from Ist.

“How amusing, Lord Ist,” Wil replied with a soft laugh. “Have you forgotten? It was you who brought me into the count’s mansion. I did not sneak in, nor did I barge in openly. As for your worries about my intentions toward the Charles family, with my abilities, I doubt I could do anything even if I wished to. And, even if I did, with your strength, I’m sure you could stop me at once, couldn’t you?”

With that, Wil chuckled quietly, said nothing more, and walked past Ist toward the apothecary. As he drew level with Ist, a cold snort reached his ears: “Hmph, I’ll be watching you.”

“That’s precisely what I was waiting for,” Wil thought to himself, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. He made a polite bow with his hand at his waist, then departed without another word.

Only after returning to his room did Wil finally let out a long breath. Keeping his composure under Ist’s oppressive presence was a formidable task. In just a few moments, cold sweat had soaked his back, the damp clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. But he had no time to worry about that now. He hurried to the worktable to gather the materials he needed, processed them, and began to concoct potions. He drew out a scroll and a water-based pen, and started sketching rapidly.

Illusion magic—sorcery of the mind, wrought by magical energy—targets the spirit, inducing a series of false perceptions: hallucinations, sounds, even phantom scents. What Wil was crafting now was a grand-scale illusion spell.

Deploying illusion magic under the nose of someone as powerful as Ist was by no means easy. Therefore, Wil had specially modified his usual illusion spells, designing a magic formation vast enough to envelop the entire count’s mansion within its bounds.

Upon the scroll, Wil drew dozens of small magical sigils. Once he finished, he tore the scroll along the lines of those sigils into many small pieces, kneaded them into spheres, then used the pen to inscribe each one with an activation rune.

By the next morning, Wil had produced nearly two hundred of these spheres. He picked one up and examined it. The moment he left his room, every move he made would fall under Ist’s scrutiny; there was no way he could openly assemble a magic formation before the man’s eyes. Thus, he had devised this method—preparing the illusion magic in advance as spheres, so he could discreetly plant them in every corner of the mansion. Each sphere bore an activation rune, and at the right moment, a single incantation would trigger a powerful illusion formation across the entire estate.

Two hundred spheres filled two pockets precisely. Just then, Wei Ling entered carrying breakfast.

The morning meal was sumptuous: a glass of milk, a cup of honeyed barley tea, several slices of roast meat, and a thick slab of honeyed rye bread. Wil, famished after a sleepless night of work, devoured the food with little regard for decorum. Only when he was nearly finished did he remember Wei Ling was still at his side. He brushed the crumbs from his mouth, a little embarrassed. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I have!”
Wei Ling suppressed a smile, and, seeing Wil had nearly finished, handed him a napkin. “Um, can I start learning magic now?”

“Aren’t you already learning?”
Wil looked puzzled. “Meditation is the foundation of all magical study. To master magic, you must first master meditation.”

“I know that!”
Wei Ling nodded. Her cheeks flushed as she glanced at Wil, and she asked quietly, “I meant, could you teach me some incantations?”

“Oh?”
Wil was momentarily taken aback. Before he could reply, Wei Ling hastily added, “They don’t have to be difficult—just simple ones, like the Fire Spell.”

Wil wiped his mouth, did not answer directly, but instead asked, “Can you sing?”

“Ah?”
Wei Ling was surprised by the question. But, quick-witted as ever, she soon understood his meaning and nodded happily. “You’re worried I can’t chant, aren’t you?”

Wil nodded. To cast a spell, two things were required: magical power generated through meditation, and the chanting of incantations to stir the magical elements. Only with both could one perform magic.

But clearly, for Wei Ling, neither requirement posed much difficulty.

“Very well, I’ll teach you a few wind-element incantations. But you must remember—until you reach the rank of a first-tier mage, you must not attempt to use them.”

As he spoke, Wil took out a piece of parchment and wrote out several wind-element incantations, including two intermediate spells and one advanced one. The three more complex spells he outlined in stylized script, beneath which he wrote one large character: Forbidden.

For a mage, incantations were their greatest secret. This had always been true, whether in the age of magic or the age of soul practitioners. Even in the magical era, a mentor would never lightly pass their incantations to a student—much less in this current age. Even a noble family as eminent as the Charles clan had never possessed a single magical incantation, not even the most basic; so precious and rare were they in these times. Yet Wil handed them to her so easily, and even included three incantations of inestimable value. This may have been an unconscious act on Wil’s part, but when Wei Ling saw those three spells at the bottom of the parchment, her eyes instantly reddened.

“Something so precious—you’re sure you want to give it to me?”
Wei Ling surreptitiously wiped her eyes and asked.

“Is it really so precious?”
Wil gave a gentle laugh. “No matter how valuable an incantation may be, without a gifted mage to wield it, it is nothing more than a string of peculiar words.”

“Idiot!”
Wei Ling chided him softly, but then lowered her head, a blush rising on her cheeks, making her look all the more enchanting. Gripping the parchment tightly, she bit her lip and murmured, “I won’t let these incantations become meaningless words!”

With that, she turned and left the apothecary.