Outside the castle dungeon, Dwight met Jolin — his first recruited knight.
Since arriving at the castle, Jolin had voluntarily taken on guarding the captured mage.
She did it out of old loyalty. The mage had once been her companion. Though she now served Dwight, she could not completely ignore their brief time together.
The mage had joined her group only because he was charmed by her looks, and they had worked together for just a few days.
Jolin did not dare defy Dwight by setting him free, but by guarding him personally, she could at least look after him a little — a small gesture of decency.
Thanks to her, the mage had eaten a full meal after arriving here.
He was still forbidden from sleeping or meditating, but Jolin's two squires — the brute warrior and the archer — took turns watching him, making sure he could not recover his magic power.
When Dwight reached the dungeon, he found the damp, gloomy air unpleasant.
But Jolin, now dressed in knight's attire, took his breath away.
The long-legged girl had always had a seductive, charming face, but she had changed her appearance: her hair was cut shorter, a ribbon tied around her forehead, her eyebrows trimmed.
The changes softened her flirtatious air and gave her a **heroic edge**.
In knight's uniform, she looked far more dignified.
She no longer wore her short skirt, nor did she show off her shapely legs. But with a slim sword at her waist and light knight's breastplate, she carried herself like a true knight.
"My lord." Jolin stepped forward at once as Dwight entered. "You've come to…"
"I've come to see my prisoner." Dwight's face was cold; he was still in a bad mood. He glanced at her. "You've been guarding him all night?"
Jolin looked uneasy. "My lord, this man was once my companion. I just…"
"Pleading for him?" Dwight shook his head. "There's no need. I mean him no harm — if he answers my questions honestly, I'll let him go immediately."
With that, Dwight walked past her, adding:
"I'll speak with him alone. All of you wait outside — no one enters without my order."
The cell holding the mage was the largest in the dungeon.
When Dwight stepped in, the mage was pale, his eyes barely open.
His spiritual power was strong, but after the fight in the tavern, he had already used a great deal of magic. Then he had been captured, given no chance to meditate and recover, and had been kept awake for two days.
He was at his breaking point.
Each time he closed his eyes through the night, a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him.
Jolin had been gentle, but her two men showed no mercy.
The brute warrior and archer had always disliked the mage — they had despised him for joining the group only to chase Jolin's beauty. Their relationship had been tense from the start.
Now, as the young noble stepped inside, the mage felt utterly broken.
He was not chained; a mage without power was weaker than an ordinary man.
But the cell was cold and damp, and he had been soaked countless times. His lips were blue from the chill.
When Dwight entered, the mage was sitting on a stone bed, hugging his knees.
The brute warrior snapped at him:
"Hey! Don't you close your eyes! Or I'll douse you again! I've hauled enough water tonight!"
He turned, saw Dwight, and fell silent at once.
Dwight waved him out, then stepped before the mage.
"Well? Honorable mage. Are you comfortable here?"
Comfortable? Did I look comfortable?
The mage thought bitterly, but his face showed pleading.
"Sir, a noble of your standing — why torment me? If word gets out that the eldest son of Count Rollin mistreats a mage, your family will lose all favor with magic users!"
Still trying to threaten me?
Dwight curled his lip.
"Oh? And what do you think will happen if word gets out that a lowly First-Class Mage has mastered **Instant Casting**?"
The mage's face drained of color. Terror flashed in his eyes.
What would happen?
Simple.
Every mage on the continent would hunt him down.
Every mage craved Instant Casting. For a mere First-Class Mage to possess it…
It was like a three-year-old child walking alone with a fortune in gold.
"Tell me," Dwight smiled. "I know your so-called Instant Casting isn't real. You found some trick, some shortcut. I'm not a mage — telling me will cost you nothing. I only want to satisfy my curiosity."
The mage hung his head, torn.
"Why hesitate?" Dwight sighed. "You're only a First-Class Mage — and even that means little. Only mid-level and above mages are respected. If I killed you here, or locked you away forever, no one would care. Not even the Magic Guild would anger a great house over a nobody like you."
"You…" The mage's resolve crumbled. He bit his lip hard. "If I tell you… you must swear not to repeat this. It… it could cost me my status as a mage!"
"Done. I swear it." Dwight raised his hand at once.
"I, Dwight Rollin, swear upon the Goddess of Light that all you tell me today shall remain in my heart and never be spoken to another. Let the goddess strike me down if I break this vow."
The mage's expression twisted with guilt. He licked his dry lips and whispered:
"I… I'm only a **magic apprentice**."
"…What?" Dwight froze. "What do you mean?"
"I…" The mage spoke as if tearing his own heart out. "I'm only a magic apprentice. My real power is that of an apprentice. My First-Class Mage title… I cheated to get it."
Cheated?
Dwight's pulse quickened.
Cheat the Magic Guild's exam?
From what he knew, the guild's tests were strict! If mage status could be faked so easily, the whole system would be a joke.
"I began studying magic as a child. My master was a low-level mage who thought I had talent and took me in. I earned my apprentice's mark at thirteen… it wasn't hard." The mage's voice was bitter.
"There are only a few hundred real mages on the continent, but thousands of magic apprentices.
But the path to becoming a true mage is cruel. Most apprentices will never pass the First-Class exam, no matter how hard they try. They stay apprentices forever.
I'm one of those failures."
"Every mage takes on several apprentices, but they know most will never become mages. Yet they still take them. Why?
Mages see themselves as noble, above common folk. They can't be seen hiring ordinary servants — it's beneath them.
So they keep magic apprentices.
Boys and girls who dream of magic… but only a tiny few ever succeed.
Worst of all, many mages know full well their apprentices have no future — but they never tell them.
They need free servants, free helpers for their experiments.
Servants they don't have to pay a single coin."
"That was my life. At thirteen, my master found me, told me I had talent, took me from my home, and promised to make me a great mage. I followed him, full of hope… only to learn it was all a lie.
He had a dozen apprentices. We were all just free labor.
He lied to us, even though he knew most of us would never be mages.
I was an apprentice for **ten years** before I finally accepted I had no real talent.
My spiritual power is stronger than most humans', and I can faintly sense natural power… but that's my limit. My gift is too small."
"Finally… I turned to **Magic Potion Craft**."
Magic Potion Craft?
Dwight's eyes blazed!
This man's story was shockingly like his own!
Except Dwight couldn't even pass the magic apprentice's exam… he thought bitterly.
In truth, Dwight had no idea how unfair the system really was.
Mages were a proud, cold bunch. They saw themselves as above ordinary people, able to call on the power of the gods.
Most viewed commoners as little more than tools.
Many apprentices taken by mages had **less** magical talent than Dwight!
But mages needed followers. They couldn't hire servants like normal nobles — it was unseemly.
A holy, mysterious mage must have magic users at his side, not commoners.
Since truly talented people were rare, mages lowered their standards.
They took boys and girls with just a little more talent than average, luring them with promises of magic.
Those who lacked the gift spent their lives as cheap labor.
This made the magic apprentice exams loose and inconsistent.
But Dwight's exam in the capital had been held to the **strictest standard**.
Mage Clark did not dare lie to the eldest son of the Rollin family — the second-most powerful military figure in the empire!
If Dwight had been a commoner, Clark would have snatched him up immediately, even knowing he had no future as a mage.
An apprentice with strong spiritual power was extremely useful for experiments.
That was how most mages operated.
If Dwight were not a count's son, he would have been tricked into a life of servitude, chasing a impossible dream.
"I found out by accident that my master had **always known** I could never be a mage," the prisoner said hollowly. "He knew even before he took me from my home. He just wanted a free servant with strong spiritual power to help with his experiments.
Many of his apprentices were the same — strong in one area, flawed in another. We were all trapped by a false dream, wasting our lives."
"…Then what?" Dwight whispered.
"Like I said… once I knew the truth, I was angry. Then I decided to change my fate.
If I couldn't learn real magic… I would master **Magic Potion Craft**."
The prisoner sighed. "Because potion crafters are legally recognized as mages by the Magic Guild.
Even though… most people laugh at the idea. They think potion crafters aren't real mages at all."
"…Then what?"
Dwight's heart thundered.
Could it be?
This man — no magical talent — had become a mage anyway!
And in the tavern, he had **cast real magic**!
If a man with no talent could learn magic…
Then maybe — just maybe — **he** could too!
If he found a way to use magic…
Then the Star Magic in the hidden chamber, Semel's life's work…
**He could learn it!**
"Does mastering potion craft make you a mage?" Dwight stared at him. "From what I know, the Magic Guild's exam for potion crafters is completely different from real mages."
On the continent, true mages were ranked in ten tiers.
Each exam was harder than the last. Higher rank meant greater power.
But potion crafters — though labeled "mages" — had a far simpler test.
Ridiculously simple.
There was only **one rank**.
Pass the exam, and you were a potion crafter.
The guild gave you a badge, officially recognizing you as a mage.
But almost no one respected it.
Even the guild treated them as second-class.
Potion crafters received a plain copper badge, with no magical anti-forgery enchantment.
Probably even the guild thought no one would bother pretending to be such a lowly figure.
A potion crafter — often called a "poison maker" — had lower social standing than a common physician.
Real mages — even First-Class Mages — received a **silver badge**: the silver-leaf badge.
Dwight remembered clearly: the badge he had taken from this mage was a real silver-leaf badge!
That meant he had passed the **real mage exam**, not the potion crafter's!
How had he done it?
His dream of learning magic, once dead, flared back to life inside Dwight.
"My strength is spiritual power — I was born with more than ordinary men. For most people, that just means more energy, less tiredness. But I lacked **sensitivity**. No matter how I meditated, I could not sense the slightest flow of natural power."
The prisoner spoke slowly.
"Then, after ten years studying potion craft, I asked myself a question:
**What is natural power, really?**
My master said it was everything — wind, fire, water, every tiny thing in the world.
But that was too vague.
I thought: if I could truly understand what 'natural power' is… maybe I still had a chance."
Dwight listened silently, hanging on every word.
"Take fire magic. Mages chant, draw fire power from nature, and create flames.
In potion craft, there are more than a dozen ways to make fire using mixtures!
The simplest…" The mage glanced at Dwight. "Do you understand this?"
"Continue. I do." Dwight smiled faintly. "I've read books on potion craft too."
"Very well." The mage went on.
"Potion craft can copy the **basic effect** of every type of magic!
Fire magic creates fire — potion mixtures can do the same. Wind magic moves air — potions can do that too. Water magic, earth magic… all of them!
Potion craft can't match the power of high-level spells, but it can replicate the **core effect**.
Why?
Because the ingredients… **they contain the very magic elements of nature!**"
A proud light entered the prisoner's eyes.
"I can't draw magic elements from nature through meditation…
So I extract them — **from potions**!"