Inside Perlnas’s bedroom.

  Homitt’s voice pierced her mind like needles of ice blown in a winter gale.

  Curled beneath her blankets, she tried to wrap herself so completely that not a single inch of her body remained exposed, as though the layers of fabric could shut out the voice she loathed beyond measure.

  But she still heard it.

  The next moment she flung off the covers, seized her pillow, and began striking wildly at everything in the room.

  Items atop her dressing table clattered to the floor in a shattering cascade.

  When her frenzy finally ebbed—perhaps out of sheer exhaustion—she slid down to sit against the side of the bed.

  And then the memory—the one that had haunted her for years—forced itself to the forefront of her mind.

  At a lively ball, she had been seven years old, wearing her favorite dress, wandering the hall in search of her mother.

  A man had noticed her and, with gentle voice, asked what troubled her.

  “I’m looking for my mother,” she had answered.

  The man had taken her hand, promising to help.

  But instead he led her into a dim room, where fear tightened around her like a noose.

  What followed was a scene so vile it had burned itself into her bones. The man stripped off his clothes, reaching to tear at hers—

  Thankfully, her cries drew the attention of the household servants, and more people rushed in to rescue her.

  Had they been a moment later, it would have been hell itself for her.

  It was a true shadow upon her soul; and that man—Homitt—was a creature more terrifying than any demon.

  Perlnas hugged her knees, about to bury her head and weep again—

  But her gaze fell upon a wooden figurine lying on the floor.

  It had an oversized head and tiny body, dressed in a noblewoman’s gown, hands on its hips, chin tilted proudly upward, an expression of perfect, adorable arrogance.

  For reasons she could not explain, the sight of it eased her heart somewhat.

  And then she thought of that insolent commoner—the one who dared treat her without reverence. He always carried himself as though nothing in the world could shake him, as though everything rested within his grasp.

  If only I had his state of mind… she thought.

  …

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Abyssfall Gorge.

  After a full morning of dedicated study, Glen finally finished the first two assignments.

  Through them, he had gained deeper insight into magic: how to guide mana with one’s own will, and how chanting and gestures served as auxiliary frameworks to shape the spell.

  Theory, however, was one thing. Practice was another. Only repeated effort could bring mastery.

  In his room earlier, he had attempted a minor telekinetic spell, managing only to lift a single book.

  Using the wand Meko had given him made it much easier.

  After resting at his desk for a moment, hunger stirred. He stepped out to ask Lucas when they might eat.

  “It’s still some time before the next meal,” Lucas said, setting aside his work. “But I remember the outside world eats a second meal around this time. Come—I’ll take you to the kitchen for some bread.”

  “Do you not eat lunch here?” Glenn asked as they walked.

  Lucas shook his head. “We’ve always eaten only once in the morning, then again around four or five in the afternoon. The teacher does the same. We never thought it strange.”

  Forsaking food and sleep—these research fanatics… Glenn thought, and asked no more.

  After eating just enough to feel half full, he told Lucas he was going out to finish his assignment. Lucas, who seemed already aware of his plans, simply nodded.

  Glenn exited the magic house and surveyed the vast landscape, recalling the task Da'off had set.

  He was to rely on his own sensitivity to mana to find a plant called withergrass, which grew in Abyssfall Gorge.

  The plant contained an exceptionally pure withering force; in theory, by sensing that “decay element,” he should be able to locate it.

  This was no small test for someone whose mana sensitivity was still quite underdeveloped.

  Leaving the protective barrier surrounding the magic house, Glenn began his search.

  But he did not know that from within a nearby tree, something had already fixed its gaze upon him.

  “So? What should we do?” whispered a sharp, thin voice from within the trunk. “This guy seems to be Da'off’s apprentice too. Should we take action?”

  The tree was encased in a soundproof barrier, so none feared being overheard—but still the speaker kept his voice low.

  “I suspected he had ties to Da'off from the day he arrived. Seems he’s practicing mana perception,” rumbled a second, heavier voice.

  “Shouldn’t we wait a little longer? We’ve been hiding here nearly a month,” croaked an unpleasant female voice.

  “Opportunities like this don’t come twice! When Da'off is home, those apprentices never step outside the barrier. We’d never catch one. Miss this and who knows how long we’ll wait!”

  The sharp voice trembled with impatience.

  “He’s right. Da'off would never imagine we’re hiding just outside his home. We’ll make him regret crossing us.”

  Once their decision was made, a bizarre sight unfolded: the lush tree slowly lifted its roots from the earth, moving like an octopus as it crept after Glenn from afar.

  Meanwhile Glenn scratched his head, frowning as he searched.

  The air held countless elemental traces, and distinguishing the faint signature of decay was proving difficult.

  Fortunately, not a single magical beast disturbed him—likely because the scent of the magic house still clung to him. Even if he neared them, they instinctively avoided him.

  Then, for a brief instant, he felt the sensation of being watched. He turned.

  Only plants, shrubs, trees—nothing unusual.

  Probably some bird or animal… he thought, continuing his aimless search.

  But then the faint gaze returned.

  Glenn spun around. Again, all looked normal.

  Suspicion creased his brow as he stared at the forest. After a moment, he turned back—

  Only to whirl around again, striking like a feint.

  Still nothing.

  He clicked his tongue, scratched his head, and turned away.

  Inside the trunk, the heavy voice swore under his breath. “Damn! Damn it! I almost twisted my back—hurts like hell!”

  “Enough!” the grating female voice snapped. “You’re a fourth-tier dark mage—don’t tell me you can’t use basic healing magic!”

  “It wasn’t your back! Try being down here, then talk! I’m a mage, not a brute!”

  “Quiet! He’s gone!” the sharp voice suddenly warned.

  All three fell silent—until the thin voice hissed again, “He’s behind us! Shift the view!”

  Glenn stood there, rubbing his chin as he studied the seemingly ordinary tree.

  He had replayed his earlier turns in his mind and noticed a subtle change in the tree’s position—so he had slipped over to investigate.