The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 18

"How did I end up here?" He stretched lazily, feeling light and refreshed. The cold discomfort had gone.

"I dreamt it all. It must've been the alcohol. I should drink less next time."

Alavin sprung up, flexing his body in his usual training routine. He punched fiercely into the air, sparks flying in coordination with his Goliath Force for the first three phrases.

But as he continued, Alavin paused, staring at his arm crackling with unusually abundant arcs of electricity that felt strange to wield.

What was happening? Had he overindulged in the drink the night before?

Channeling his Energy, he dispersed the electricity and threw a few more punches, but this time, he was truly astonished. Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

"Did I... break through?

"Novice Mage... Stage IV?

"How is this possible?"

Alavin was incredulous, somehow having advanced to Stage IV of the Novice Mage rank without understanding how.

But soon, Alavin faced a new conundrum. Not only had his realm increased, but his Channel of Energy had widened, and within his Energetic Core, there was an addition—a small, pitch-black dagger shrouded in a dark mist, hovering silently above the subdued energy.

"What's all this about?

"Wasn't I merely dreaming last night?"

Alavin inspected closely. Indeed, he had truly advanced. But because the advancement was so bizarrely sudden, the magic within his Channel of Energy still lingered at Stage III, desperately needing replenishment. And there really was a black dagger inside his energy, identical to the one the old man had given him in what he thought was a dream.

It wasn't a dream? It wasn't a dream!

This mysterious black dagger was a gift from the old man!

"Thank you!" Overjoyed, Alavin ran back to the storeroom to give thanks. But strangely, there was no one in the storeroom. The old man was not there.

In the eight years Alavin had known him, the old man had either been lost in thought under a tree, mourning at the graveside, or sleeping in the storeroom—he had never strayed half a step from that place.

"Odd, where could he have gone?"

A bad feeling suddenly hit Alavin, and he searched carefully through the storeroom and courtyard, even scouring the hills around, but he found no trace of the old man.

"Has he left?

"That can't be right. How could he have left without a word?

"But he did seem strange yesterday.

"Could it be because of the girl from yesterday?"

Alavin returned to the storeroom, approaching the old man's wooden bed. A worn blanket and a few patched garments were all of the old man's possessions, and not a single item was taken.

"What’s this?"

Alavin's hand touched the old clothes, feeling something inside them. He gently lifted them to reveal a note, with a single word—"Fate!"

Beneath the note lay a scroll, and an ancient sword. A wave of antiquity and might washed over him. The scroll and the ancient sword seemed to possess real energy, filling the surrounding air with hints of sharpness and coldness.

"Has he truly gone?" Alavin held the note, suddenly feeling a sense of loss as if something had been abruptly taken from him.

Has he really gone?

For eight years, it was the old man's company that made the simple storeroom feel like home. No matter how tough or bitter life was, Alavin could always return home and rest. He knew the old man was no ordinary man, but he had never expected him to leave so soon.

Fate! Is it my fate? Whose fate? Why did he deliberately leave this word?

Alavin carefully stowed the note, keeping it close, and picked up the scroll.

This scroll was called Grand Arcanum of the Blade.

With no elaborate introduction, Alavin opened the scroll and revealed the first technique— Earthtorrent Greatblade! A technique to cleave mountains and rivers asunder!

They were refined descriptions of techniques, and concise illustrations of the Channel of Energy.

Alavin frowned as he perused through the scroll. The writing and diagrams were incredibly detailed yet blurry and indistinct, requiring intense concentration and calm to make out the content, and this was only the first technique. Flipping to the second, Alavin found it impossible to discern clearly; even the name of the move was obscure. It was right there before him but somehow resisted clarity, even giving him a strange sense of rejection.

With his current realm and mental fortitude, Alavin was barely qualified to study the first technique.

“What level of Combat Magic is this?”

Alavin marveled at the Arcanum in his hands, so mysterious and extraordinary. He had always longed for Combat Magic and hoped to possess his own weapon. He hadn’t expected his wishes to be fulfilled this day, yet as he held the ancient scroll and sword, all the while reflecting on his drunkenness from the previous night, he struggled to feel happy.

“Alavin!” A shrill voice suddenly called from outside.

Alavin concealed the Arcanum and the ancient sword in the deepest part of the storeroom.

“Alavin! Where on earth have you gone off to!” Odell burst through the iron door, waving a list in hand, shouting shrilly, “I’ve had your orders since dawn, and now it’s noon, and you’ve yet to deliver. Do you even want your job anymore?”

“I’ll be on my way,” Alavin replied, swiftly preparing himself and taking the list outside.

Odell stood by the iron door, nagging incessantly, “Don’t think being a Novice Mage exempts you from the rules. No matter how strong you are, you’re still a servant under my watch! I’ll let it slide today, but if you dare miss another delivery, I’ll report you to the steward. See how you’ll be dealt with then!”