Another two weeks passed, and the traveling party drew near the borders of the Aethelgard Kingdom. The danger-filled wilderness had finally given way to lush, rolling farmlands that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Here and there, the caravan passed small hamlets and villages. The first signs of civilization brought a wave of relief over the children, whose smiles were a rare sight. After all, three long months on the road had worn them down to the bone.
Since the wolf pack attack, they had not been troubled by magical beasts. To be more precise, a few groups had tested their defenses, but the three Archons had jointly dispatched them before they could ever become a threat.
Half a dozen children had perished in that wolf attack. If the Archons had wished it, they could have saved those unfortunate souls. But why would they?
Firstly, as cruel as it sounded, the Archons saw the journey as a way to cull the weak from this batch of candidates. This harsh selection process ensured that only the most exceptional students would enroll at the academy.
If the children couldn't survive a mere pack of magical beasts, they could forget ever embarking on the path of a Magus. It was a grim reality, but they lived in a cruel world where survival was a privilege and resources, especially for a Magus, were scarce.
Secondly, the ordeal served as an unofficial test. To become a Magus required not only talent and aptitude, but also courage and prudence.
Through the chaos of the wolf attack, the three Archons had observed the children, noting which among them were willing to put their lives on the line, fighting with either brains or brawn. The surviving sixty or so had all made the cut.
For the past two weeks, Alaric had been unable to practice his swordsmanship due to his injury. The mercenaries' supply of healing potions had run dry, and Alaric lacked the courage to ask one of the Archons for aid.
So, he had spent his time consuming souls and expanding his knowledge of herbalism.
Herbalists were highly sought after in the Magus community, and he knew for a fact that they, along with potion masters, were exceptionally wealthy. He decided to assimilate all the memories related to the craft, hoping to gain an edge over the other students.
At the very least, selling magical potions would grant him a steady source of income.
Every day, Alaric would retreat to the space within the Lily and absorb the smaller, white motes of light. The progress was tangible, and the feeling was ecstatic.
His perception had sharpened to a level he hadn't thought possible. Beyond that, his thoughts flowed more quickly, his reasoning smoother and more direct than ever before.
On this day, Alaric sat inside a wooden carriage, his eyes closed as he reviewed his newfound knowledge of herbs and natural ingredients.
After absorbing the memories, he felt a profound familiarity with the craft, as if he had been practicing it his entire life. He hadn't just absorbed information; he had absorbed the very experiences of the Archons he'd consumed.
The myriad uses and properties of different potions fascinated him, and he couldn't wait to put his skills to the test. He was certain he could make a fortune if he applied this knowledge correctly.
With sunset about half an hour away, the caravan stopped by a lake and began to make camp. The children climbed down from the carriages and started helping the mercenaries without complaint.
They were not the same children who had begun this journey. Three months of hardship had forged them into something new; they had matured.
Chores like setting up tents and building campfires would have once been beneath these children of noble birth. Now, they were simply grateful for a roof over their heads, food in their stomachs, and, most importantly, for having survived this perilous journey.
Alaric climbed out of the carriage, breathing in the fresh, cool air as he scanned the campsite. Suddenly, his gaze fell on Joric, and their eyes locked. Alaric's expression turned instantly to ice as he glared at the other boy.
Joric flinched, immediately looking away and putting distance between them. Ever since that night, he had been avoiding Alaric like the plague.
Alaric's eyes narrowed, fixed on Joric's retreating back. Sooner or later, I'll kill you.
He had never felt such a pure, burning hatred for another person. The memory of how close he had come to death that night sent a fresh surge of fury through him. Cursing under his breath, he turned and walked in the opposite direction.
In the distance, he saw the three Archons climbing out of their carriage and settling on some boulders by the lakeside. The burly Magus, Gareth, and the silver-haired female Magus, Sabine, were both engrossed in books.
Meanwhile, the blond Magus, Leander, was gazing out across the water, skipping pebbles across its glassy surface.
A spark of determination lit Alaric's eyes. He walked toward Leander without a second thought. He hadn't had a chance to speak with any of the Archons in weeks, but now the opportunity was right in front of him. He could only hope Leander would be willing to talk.
Hearing approaching footsteps, Leander turned his head, a faint smile touching his lips as he saw who it was. "It's you."
Alaric stopped before him and offered a respectful bow. "Good day, Sir Magus."
Leander was amused by the boy’s stiff formality. "What is it, kid?"
"Sir, I didn't have the chance earlier, but I wanted to thank you for taking care of me after I passed out on the night of the wolf attack," Alaric said, trying to sound as poised as a gentleman.
"Take care of you?" Leander chuckled. "I simply chucked you into a carriage. I wouldn't call that 'taking care' of you."
Alaric’s eye twitched. "Still, thank you."
The Magus’s casual tone gave Alaric some reassurance that his secret was safe; it seemed Leander was unaware of the Celestial Lily. Still, he couldn't be a hundred percent certain, so he resolved to remain vigilant.
Suddenly, Leander asked, "Where did you learn to wield a sword?"
"Huh?" Alaric was slightly taken aback, but a thrill went through him. His skills had caught the Magus's eye. He puffed out his chest and replied with pride, "I learned it on my own, sir."
"No wonder it's so crude and barbaric," Leander said, nodding as if this explained everything.
Alaric’s expression froze. A moment later, he forced a smile and muttered, "I'll work on it."
Then, a thought occurred to him. "Sir, if you don't mind, may I ask you something?"
"Go ahead." Leander seemed to appreciate the boy's respectful attitude and didn't mind indulging his curiosity.
Alaric took a deep breath before asking, "Sir, can you tell me about the Veridian Academy's entrance examination?"