Chapter Twenty-Three: The Two Unions

Azure light radiated ceaselessly from Wester’s milk-white arms, flowing steadily into Weir’s body. A cool, soothing sensation instantly swept through him, swiftly healing the bruises and wounds scattered across his body.

Water magic has always been the most effective for healing and restoration among all magical disciplines. Even Weir acknowledged this, despite the powerful restorative properties of light magic. Yet, compared to the gentle effects of water magic, he felt the latter excelled in healing. Water magic, unlike light, never rejects any opposing elemental attribute—even fire is welcomed. Light magic, on the other hand, is fiercely exclusive. Against attributes like darkness or necromancy, which are diametrically opposed, light’s healing not only fails to work but can even produce unforeseen, detrimental effects.

Soon, thanks to Wester’s ministrations, Weir’s injuries were entirely mended. Aside from his disheveled hair and torn clothing, not a single wound remained. Even the grime that clung to him before was washed away under the nourishing flow of Wester’s water magic.

He drew a deep breath. Though Wester’s magic hadn’t directly restored his mana, it had dispelled the fatigue lingering from his previous battles. Now, he felt thoroughly refreshed.

“Thank you.”

“It was nothing. Here’s a mage’s robe for you. Normally, these are custom-made, since they require special materials to grant magical conductivity. But given your current state, I could only find a smaller one for you to wear temporarily. When your tailored robe arrives in a few days, you can change into it.”

“Alright.”

Weir nodded and took the robe, inspecting it briefly. He had to admit, its craftsmanship was exquisite. The exterior was a subdued, deep black, while the interior blazed with a vivid, fiery red. The black outer layer was adorned with a series of magical glyphs traced in golden lines. With a keen eye, Weir immediately saw that the robe’s glyphs consisted of three types: on the red side were levitation glyphs to lighten weight, while the black side bore two—one to enhance magic, and another for defense.

Noticing Weir’s attention fixed on the robe’s glyphs, Wester asked with mild surprise, “Can you read these glyphs?”

“A little,” Weir replied calmly. Pointing at the glyphs, he asked, “Who made this robe?”

“The robe was crafted by a specialized artisan, but the glyphs were inscribed by Master Macro Jack himself!”

“Macro Jack?”

The name stirred a vague memory in Weir, though he couldn’t quite recall who it was.

“Yes, Master Macro Jack. He’s like our mentor Tris Meyer Procis—both serve as court magicians in the royal palace.”

At this, a look of unprecedented respect appeared on Wester’s pale face.

“Tris Meyer Procis? Macro Jack?”

Weir repeated the names twice before realization dawned—these were the most renowned and powerful magicians in the Vera Empire. Macro Jack, an eighth-tier earth magician, was skilled in all manner of magical arrays. Inscribing such glyphs was trivial for him. He held the post of vice president of the Empire’s Mage Guild and was a four-star court magician. The other, Tris Meyer Procis, was a ninth-tier fire mage, president of the Mage Guild, and also a four-star court magician. It was no exaggeration to say that their very presence allowed the empire’s rulers to grant magicians special privileges in this age of declining magic.

“What, you don’t know those two masters?” Wester’s elegant brows furrowed slightly, her pallor lending her a delicate beauty.

“Of course I know them. I’m just curious—if the Vera Empire has such masters, why does the Mage Guild harbor so much rubbish?”

Wester understood Weir’s meaning. She glanced around to ensure no one else was present, then sighed softly and replied, “Now that you’ve joined the Mage Guild, you’ll eventually learn some things anyway. Whether you know sooner or later makes little difference. In fact, there are two Mage Guilds.”

“Two Mage Guilds?!”

Weir was startled, quickly pressing Wester for clarification. “Explain. What’s actually going on?”

“Well, the origins go back to the Vera Empire’s political system. You should know that besides the royal family, there’s another power: the Hall of Martial Souls. They control most of the soul magicians in the empire, spreading their influence everywhere in a religious guise—including the Mage Guild.”

“You mean the Hall of Martial Souls has power within the Mage Guild too?”

Weir frowned. If things were as she said, the guild’s situation was more chaotic than it appeared.

“Yes. The Mage Guild is split into two parts: one called the Outer Guild, the other the Inner Guild. To true magicians, only the Inner Guild is the real Mage Guild; the Outer is just a bunch of clowns.”

Though Wester’s expression stayed neutral, her tone betrayed clear resentment toward the Hall of Martial Souls.

“Then why not reorganize the Mage Guild completely?”

Weir asked, but just then, the pale-faced Semily strode in and sneered, “Reorganize? If it were so easy, kid, do you know the Hall of Martial Souls’ usual methods? By their religious standards, we magicians are all heretics—outsiders! And since they’re another ruling power, wiping out the Mage Guild is child’s play for them. Instead, we make noise and keep the guild alive that way.”

“Hmph, the guild survives, but the reputation of magicians is ruined,” Weir replied coldly.

“Haha, reputation? Kid, if the Mage Guild falls, the entire profession collapses. Then you’d be nothing—what reputation would you have to talk about? Only by surviving is there hope to change anything.”

Weir clearly disliked Semily’s words, but he couldn’t refute them; after all, it was the bitter truth.

Seeing Weir remain silent, Semily said nothing more, but handed Weir a wooden tray. “Your things: two magic wands—one wind, one fire—and the Mage Guild’s insignia.”