Two mugs, filled to the brim with ale, hit the wooden counter. Turning around, Arthur began filling another set of mugs, likely for one of the tables.

  I took a sip. The wizard beside me did the same.

  Neither of us spoke a word, but over the course of the next quarter-mug, I couldn't help but feel an ember of curiosity reignite.

  Throwing another glance sideways, I realized the wizard was anything but scrawny.

  His face, adorned by a magnificent brown beard, was broad but lean. He was nearly as tall as me, perhaps a few centimeters shorter, and through his robe, now devoid of any accessories or attachments, the outline of his body looked pretty athletic.

  His once-disheveled hair was now properly tied in a wide pony tail behind his back.

  ‘I guess nothing forbids a wizard from working out?..’

  This wasn’t the typical archetype from Earth I'd associate with wizards, but then again, back when I was in college, going to the gym after a long day of boring lectures and homework was a great way to relax.

  “Never seen a wizard in a bar before?”

  Surprisingly, it was him who talked first, perhaps noticing my gaze. Some of the roughness receded from his voice, like after not speaking for a day, and then clearing your throat once or twice.

  “Ehem… Truth be told, I’ve never seen a wizard outside a bar, either.”

  “That’s not surprising. Be it bars, or small towns like this – us wizards wouldn't deign to step foot in there.”

  His tone was laced with self-deprecation.

  “Although if jokes were to be believed, wizards walk into bars all the time.”

  It took me a second to get it, after which I couldn't help but exhale slightly more air from my nose than usual. This man seemed much more approachable than Arthur’s warning would make me believe.

  I took another sip of ale, before asking a question myself. Perhaps everything I drank today was finally finding its way to my head, but I was more straightforward than usual.

  “Then what makes a wizard visit both a small town and a bar in the same trip?”

  The wizard chuckled, before taking another big sip ale. There was subtle bitterness in that chuckle.

  “I’m running an errand for.. for my master. In this town, of course, not in this bar!”

  The wizard waved his hands in an exaggerated manner.

  “As for now.. well, even a wizard can have a drink sometimes.”

  Despite his amusing antics, I could feel there was a certain weight behind his eyes – the eyes which his smile didn't quite reach.

  I just nodded, taking another sip of ale.

  “What about you? Do you frequent this bar?”

  “No..”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s my second time.”

  “I see. What made you come here last time?”

  “...a companion died.”

  “Oh. I'm sorry…”

  The wizard seemed slightly flustered. Perhaps grasping for something to change the topic, he asked another question.

  “What brings you here today, then?”

  “A.. close person died today.”

  “...”

  The wizard opened his mouth, trying to search for words. I couldn’t help but chuckle at his awkwardness – although the chuckle was filled with even more bitterness than his own one earlier.

  “It’s fine.”

  I waved my hand dismissively, taking another sip of ale.

  “It’s not like you were the one to kill her.”

  The last sentence was uttered into the distance, in a much fainter voice – and perhaps with a much darker undertone, without me even realizing.

  For a few minutes, we quietly sat, sipping our drinks.

  Yesterday, I would give a lot for a situation just like this, trying to think of ways to pry useful information from the wizard. Today, I couldn't bring myself to care. Still, with the silence becoming heavier, I decided to speak, if only to prevent the awkwardness turning into discomfort.

  “I don't know of any wizards in town, but I do know of one apprentice.”

  “Oh? Really?”

  The man's eyes lit up with curiosity.

  “Yes. I mean, I don't really know much about that, but I heard she tried to become a wizard once, and learned a few cantrips. She's quite good with [Mage Hand], at least.”

  “Indeed? And what does she do here for a living, then?”

  “Actually, she is just the receptionist in the local Adventurer's Guild. Her name's Jane.”

  The moment I got to the word ‘receptionist’, his eyebrow rose. When I said her name, his eyes opened wide.

  “She… studied magic?..”

  “Do you know her?”

  The wizard exhaled, before raising his mug and emptying the remaining quarter. He wordlessly motioned at the nearby Arthur for a refill.

  “No. Not really.”

  The wizard’s words caught me by surprise.

  “But my master knew her. He.. she was his closest living relative after his.. sister - her mother - died.”

  “I see..”

  I did not miss his usage of past tense. And since Jane was (probably) alive, this only left one other option.

  “Why was it so surprising, though? I mean, the fact that she learned magic.”

  The wizard took another sip from his newly-refilled mug.

  “It’s not that surprising that she managed to learn a few cantrips. Her mother clearly had great aptitude for magic, and she probably passed on at least a few basic books. It's just that..”

  The wizard grew slightly hesitant, but perhaps he wasn’t used to drinking, and the alcohol loosened his tongue.

  “I heard that when her mother died, she blamed magic for it. She was still very young back then, but apparently, she lost any and all interest in anything arcane after that.”

  A melancholic look appeared on his face.

  “This happened well over a decade ago, perhaps closer to two. My master used to call this a foolish and childish reaction, and to be honest, I shared his view. Now, though.. I'm not so certain.”

  He took another large sip of ale.

  “I see.”

  I took one as well.

  “From what you told me, I understand where she's coming from..”

  It wasn't that hard to empathize with her reasoning.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “..but perhaps, in time, she herself understood how childish that was. I, for one, would give a lot for even the most basic magic book.”

  “I- wait, you? You don't exactly look like an aspiring mage, if you'll forgive my bluntness.”

  “True. But aren't you quite well built for a mage, yourself?”

  The wizard tried to retort, but closed his mouth. It seemed the scrawny wizard stereotype held true in this world as well, and he was an exception rather than the rule.

  “Besides, it's less so about curiosity.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “It will help me survive.”

  Although there were a few particular reasons for me to learn magic, they all boiled down to a single word - survival.

  The wizard lowered his gaze into the mug before him, staring into the dark depths of the liquid within.

  I gripped my own mug, slowly depriving it of its contents.

  Just as I thought the wizard decided to end this conversation, I heard an unexpected question coming from beside me.

  “What do you think magic is?”

  “...hmm?”

  “My master used to ask me this question from time to time - a long, long time ago. He was quite fond of it, actually. Not in the arcane sense, mind you – most beginners don't even know what the Arcane Tides are, let alone the countless research and theories regarding their function. So, what do you think magic is?”

  It was my turn to stare into the mug.

  Clearly, this question was of a more metaphorical nature – it could likely be interpreted as ‘what does magic mean for the world’, or ‘what does magic mean for every mage’. Or perhaps, ‘what does magic mean for you’.

  “A chance. Whether it’s one that turns the unlikely into likely, or the impossible into improbable - I don't know. But since it's something that will help me survive, I would desperately grasp at it either way.”

  Yeah, that was right. The peaceful weeks, followed by this long day, nearly made me forget it for a moment – but, in truth, in less than three years, what awaited me was likely a fate worse than death. And I had to desperately struggle, with all my might, taking countless risks along the way, all for increasing an unknown chance of avoiding that fate.

  The wizard gave me a faint smile. It was much subtler than his previous ones, but unlike them, it felt genuine.

  “A chance at survival, eh? An honest, natural reason. I think my master wouldn't dislike this answer.”

  The wizard’s eyes became less focused, perhaps gazing further into the past.

  “There were some who answered it was power; Control. Others said it was knowledge – that it held the answers to their burning curiosity. Master didn't like those answers.”

  A sad smile slowly appeared.

  “He used to say magic was not the answer, but the question. That it was not the key, but a tunnel, leading to countless doors – doors which one had to unlock themselves. Doors that led some to their desires.. and others to the abyss. Yet each mage is responsible for walking through their own tunnel - and choosing their own door. Whether what lays behind is salvation, or oblivion…”

  His words trailed off, as his mind wandered into the past.

  “...What did you answer?”

  “..?”

  “When your master asked you this question, what did you answer?”

  My question was met with another melancholic smile, one deeper than before.

  I could see the genuine joy of a warm memory reflected in his eyes – as well as something shiny in one of their corners.

  Before answering, he put his hand under his robe, taking out a thin leather scroll case.

  “A long, long time ago…”

  He began his tale.

  “A small boy in a large city, far away from here, lived alone with his younger sister. After their mother died, leaving them with a few gold coins and a small wooden hut, he did his best to take care of them both. Sometimes, he would sell newspapers. Sometimes, he would go to the relay station and offer to carry luggage. As his twelfth birthday neared, and he got tangled up with a few other kids, he would even, occasionally, snatch a loose coin poach from a drunkard outside the tavern.

  The young kid, like many other kids his age, was fascinated with wizards. Powerful, wise and mysterious – it seemed like they could do whatever they wanted, achieve anything they set their mind to.”

  One day, the kid saw what he thought was an easy mark exiting the tavern. That man had many expensive cases and pouches – if the kid could snatch even a gold coin's worth from inside one of them, he and his sister would have enough food for weeks.”

  Unfortunately- or, perhaps, fortunately for that kid, the man was a wizard. Before the kid’s hand even reached a pouch, it was repelled by an invisible force. The angry wizard turned around, as the kid fell on his knees to beg for forgiveness.

  The wizard seemed to have taken pity on the kid, turning back around. But, perhaps out of desperation, the kid called out: ‘Please, teach me magic!’

  The man turned around. After staring at the kid for a while, he asked a question: ‘What do you think magic is?’. As the kid was taken aback by the question, he clarified: ‘What does magic mean to you, that you wish to learn it so desperately?’

  The kid answered: ‘If I knew magic, I could do anything I want. I could make a lot of money, and buy my sister and me a real house. I could buy us enough food that she'd never feel hungry again. The house would be so big I could invite my friends – and there would be so much food I could share it with them, too. And they'd never have to steal again, or do anything else for the big scary men!’”

  Technically, this sounded like the answer to my initial question, but I decided to let the man speak. Truth be told, for a moment, I was engrossed in the story, curious to see where it went.

  “The wizard looked at the kid with deep contemplation, before replying: ‘Those are lofty goals. But goals without means to achieve them are dreams. And dreams without the conviction to pursue them are delusions.’

  With those words, he took a half-burned, crumpled book from the bag he was carrying, and tore a page – covered slightly in ash, with a few burns at its corners, but otherwise legible.”

  The wizard smiled, with a mixture of warmness and amusement.

  “Looking back, this was a beginner’s guide to arcane manipulation – a common book among children who wish to become wizards. Despite its name, it is still not cheap – they usually go for anything between 100 to 200 gold coins. Much cheaper than ‘real’ spellbooks or their ilk, but still more than most commoners can save in a decade, let alone an orphan.

  That particular book was already set for disposal. Selling any part of it was actually a serious offense as per the Mage Guild's regulations, and could result in massive fines, or even expulsion and blacklisting – but Master never truly cared about such things.”

  The wizard's chuckle was marred with sadness.

  “My master told me he would depart the city in one month. He said that if I could learn what was described on that page, he would take me in as an apprentice.

  When I told him, with great reluctance, that I didn't have enough money to buy even that page, he waved his hand, saying I'd get it for free if I became his apprentice – and if not, I'd have to return it.”

  One more chuckle, containing more amusement this time, escaped the wizard’s lips.

  “He later told me he made that decision on a whim, highly doubting my success. He said that if I showed sufficient progress, he might have taken me in regardless. After all, even the most basic form of arcane meditation is anything but basic. To learn it in a month – one could expect it from a talented scion of a noble family, not from an orphan pickpocket. And yet…”

  A note of pride shone through his tone.

  “On the day before the deadline, after burning through our meager savings so I wouldn't have to stop, after many sleepless nights, and spending most of my days just sitting on that bed, eyes closed and legs crossed… Finally, I succeeded. When the day came, I can still remember Master's dumbfounded expression.”

  The mage smiled, his expression a delicate balance between joy and sorrow.

  “I tried to return the page, as I no longer needed it, but he said it was mine now, because he made that promise. All of this happened over two decades ago. I’ve traveled with Master ever since.”

  “And the sister?”

  “He let her tag along as a maid, and later a lab assistant. Many years later, in another city, she met the love of her life, and settled down. Two years ago, they were still living happily, with two sons and a daughter.”

  For the first time, the shadow of sorrow had lifted from his face, if even for a moment.

  Then, his eyes turned to me, as he took something out of the scroll case, and extended it to me. It was a folded piece of parchment, looking quite pristine – besides the burn marks at its edges.

  “N-no.. how can I-”

  “Shush. I've held on to this piece of paper for far too long.”

  The wizard's voice was suddenly stern.

  “It’s way past time I got rid of it. Besides… he’d have wanted me to pass it on, anyway.”

  The last words were so faint even I barely managed to make them out.

  Without saying another word, I carefully took the folded page, looking for something to wrap it in, and finally placing it in my potion case, which was strapped to my belt, and was just the right length.

  “Now, if you'll excuse me - I’ve had enough ale for today.”

  The wizard sighed.

  “Must’ve lost my touch… It’s been years since I had any.”

  As he stood up, I couldn’t help but ask one last question.

  “What’s your name? Mine is Sebastian.”

  The wizard replied without turning back.

  “Jerome. Jerome Blackwood.”

  ***

  I left the bar shortly after. Drinking alone no longer felt right, and I could already feel a faint buzzing in my ears.

  After taking a quick bath, I went to my room, and fell asleep. It was surprisingly easy. The alcohol must have done its thing.

  Early next morning, a long-forgotten mix of headache and throat dryness reminded me of the drink’s other effects.

  The sun was already up, although not very far so.

  I double-checked everything; Ensuring all I needed was in place, I dressed up, putting the weighty chain shirt above my regular one, and the leather chestpiece above that.

  I hung the helmet on my waist, and put my sheath, with the sword inside, into the holder on my back, strapping the former to the latter.

  Finally, I put on my travel backpack, and walked outside, taking one last look at the room which became my first home in this world. After closing the door and turning the key, I made my way to the dining hall.

  “Here, have this.”

  Beside scrambled eggs with some kind of yogurt and green onions, Martha gave me a small cupcake. It was freshly baked, moderately sweet, with raisins mixed in, and glazed with chocolate (this was the first time I saw chocolate in this world).

  “Thanks again for your help in the woods.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Saying my final farewells, and finishing my meal - as well as the delicious cupcake - I walked over to Arthur, who was still at reception.

  “Here you go.”

  I handed over the key to my old room. With this, it felt like I handed off the last string binding me to this town.

  “Safe travels, Sebastian!”

  “Thank you, Arthur.”

  I walked out, throwing one last glance at the wooden sign, and made my way towards the town watch headquarters.