The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 15

Once, he was a young lord of Stormcast, and his parents were both renowned Elders within the Cobalt Strike. From his early years, he was immersed in a life of privilege. His parents adored him, the townsfolk cherished him, and he had a sweet little sister. His life was filled with joy.

Back then, his parents often took him to the Cobalt Strike's keep, where Elders would chuckle and pinch his cheek, calling him adorable, and others, with a hearty slap on their chest, would claim him as their chosen Protégé, their future pride.

Alavin yearned for the keep and thirsted for the knowledge of the energies that bound the world.

But then... In a single night of turmoil, everything changed.

A sudden calamity shattered the once beautiful life he knew. His parents vanished, their fates unknown, and the Cobalt Strike's wrathful punishment descended upon Stormcast.

Alavin, as the young lord, was forcibly taken to the Cobalt Strike and made to suffer as a servant, effectively a hostage. His kin and the twenty thousand souls of his town were marched to the depths of Azure Mountain to toil in the magical ore mines.

He was but seven years old, viewing the unfamiliar surroundings with fear and enduring mockery in a haze of despair.

Eight years swiftly passed, and Alavin shed his naivety, enduring through sheer will. From despair to resolute toughness, his journey was fraught with hardship.

In those eight years, he saw people's true colors, and he learned the harsh realities of the world— only the strong survive, and the weak perish.

The words of his father haunted him—The weak perish, and the strong suffer.

So he held his head high, facing ridicule and shame, and in his ceaseless striving, he found his own way to live and approach the mystical energies.

Alavin knew no one would come to his aid; only he could stand up for himself. He vowed to become the Cobalt Strike's Golden Apprentice, to earn his place among them, to challenge the Elder, and to free Stormcast from its suffering.

"Just endure one more year, and learn another Combat Magic. After a year, I will advance to Novice Mage Stage IX."

Alavin set his goal, knowing that the faster he grew in strength, the more he would be respected.

Late into the night, he returned to the storeroom. Before returning, he had practiced the Restoration Mantra, and his physical state was well recovered. His clothes were ragged and bloodstained, soaked by the rain, revealing the muscular contours of his sturdy body.

Hungry, he planned to find something to eat, but as he stepped into the courtyard, he stopped short. "Who's that?"

A figure stood in the doorway of the storeroom; it was not the old man, but a tall young maiden. The flickering firelight within hazily outlined her perfect silhouette.

Nysah? No, it could not be!

Alavin was on guard, suspecting Nysah had sent someone for revenge. If they chosed a rainy night, it seemed they were in a hurry.

The maiden stood with her back to Alavin, murmuring softly inside.

“The Lord’s injuries have worsened; he may not last much longer. He commanded that I must bring you back.Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Powers eye us greedily, the Shadowlord’s Tower needs someone to hold its ground.

“The only one who can uphold the Shadowlord’s Tower, the only one to command the allegiance of its thousands of blood followers, is you.”

It was as if she was talking to herself or pleading with someone unseen.

“Crack!” Alavin accidentally stepped on a twig. Its faint snap drew the attention of the maiden inside. She glanced over disinterestedly, her indifference clear, but Alavin’s ragged appearance caught her eye again, and she looked back to the courtyard.

Alavin gripped three throwing knives in his hand. His body crackled with electric energy, a bright glow flashing intensely, illuminating his sharply handsome face. His brows furrowed with caution as he approached the storeroom. “Miss, you’ve come to the wrong place. You can’t just enter a man’s room. Care to come out for a chat?”

The maiden’s expression darkened, ready to act, but a hoarse voice came from within the storeroom. “Don’t start trouble here. It’s late, and I need to rest. Be on your way.”

“But...” the maiden urged.

No further sound came from the storeroom.

“For the sake of the Lord, for the Shadowlord’s Tower, please reconsider,” she said as she bowed respectfully and retreated from the storeroom.

Alavin finally saw her clearly. A cloak of black shrouded her, revealing only a stunningly beautiful face illuminated by the firelight within. Her skin was like silk, her eyes like autumn waters, her nose sculpted, and her lips were moist. She was breathtakingly beautiful, like a vision, so stunning it took Alavin’s breath away. He was struck by her beauty but certain she was not from the Cobalt Strike.

The maiden passed by Alavin as if he were mere air, leaving the courtyard with the grace of a fleeting shadow, silently vanishing into the darkness.

“What luck today, all I see are beauties.” Alavin mused for a moment, then turned his attention back to the storeroom, not overly concerned. As long as she wasn’t here for vengeance, there was no need to worry.

“Old man, haven’t eaten all day?” Alavin lifted the lid of the stove to find the morning’s meal untouched and cold.

Half-asleep, the old man sat in a corner of the storeroom, the candlelight casting his aged profile.