The Cornflower Witch

In May, Sylutia was busy teaching the newly recruited personnel in the Mishil District. Some of them had prior experience with mechanical constructs, while others were mage apprentices who already knew parts of various skills. She trained them to become members capable of participating in new vehicle manufacturing, expanding production capacity.

Because there were so many people, Sylutia divided them into twelve classes based on their strength and stage, and had several experienced mages assist her in instruction. Even so, she still needed to teach six lessons a day during the week, leaving only one day of rest on the weekend.

This was the first time she had to teach on such a large scale, and she could not help but recall and imitate the teachers she had encountered before, searching for the right method and cadence.

For those receiving training, the whole scene felt novel. After all, this instructor looked even younger than many of them, and her outstanding looks and graceful figure often drew attention away unintentionally from the lessons she was delivering.

Faced with this, Sylutia had to get herself a special pair of glasses to tone down the allure of her eyes, and she changed into a loose scholar's robe that did not show her figure, which helped the classroom instruction be taken more seriously.

Day after day passed, and batches of trainees finished their courses and began practical work in the workshop, taking part in various stages of new vehicle production.

This brand-new knowledge system and practical process allowed many mages to achieve a balance in the Threefold Law and thereby raise their aspect levels. Out of a hundred Third Tier mages, about twenty rose to Fourth Tier within three months.

Scenes like this were not unfamiliar in the history of the Mage Alliance. Every wave of technological innovation and dissemination brought a large number of mage advancements until the knowledge became common and routine.

Meanwhile, in a remote small town under the Mage Alliance, another figure who had once been taught by Sylutia walked alone.

A summer breeze stirred, lifting the edges of a faded leather coat. The young man in the worn robe pushed open the tavern door.

This was the busiest place in that little town, though the area itself was very desolate and the population sparse.

“Hey, pour me another glass of Fire Newt,” someone said, “that flavor is amazing.”

“Drink less, won’t you? You used all the mission pay on booze again,” replied an adventurer who had just finished a job and was drinking here.

“Anyone need a fine curved blade? I’ve got a Client Curved Blade of Third Tier quality—smooth as silk for cutting an enemy’s throat,” another seller hawked an uncertainly sourced blade.

“Refined sea-buckthorn potion. Slightly boosts constitution. One hundred gold coins a bottle,” someone else shouted, selling a concoction they had brewed.

The youth slipped past these people and reached the bar, asking only for a cup of plain water.

“Oh, it’s you again, Rogers. You’re still so frugal—just water?” a burly, bearded man drinking nearby called over.

The youth nodded, then removed his hood, revealing short hair that was black with a touch of brown-red.

“Making money isn’t easy,” he said, sounding reflective.

“Hahaha, no kidding. But what’s the point of making money and not spending it?” the bearded man boomed with laughter.

“Come on, I’ll treat today. Have something decent,” he said, rapping his thick fingers on the bar top. The old wooden boards thudded, catching the attention of the busy barkeeper.

“Bring this brother a beer too, put it on my tab.”

“All right.” The barkeeper glanced at Rogers, then turned and grabbed a large wooden tankard, filling it with frothy beer.

Room-temperature beer and chilled beer are not the same thing. The former is left alone and unwanted, while the latter is the tavern’s bestseller. In the Mage Alliance, any tavern with even modest means sets up cooling gear to chill beer—that’s where most of their profits come from.

Because mages and workshops are relatively few, the cheapest cooling devices only cost twenty gold coins, so their adoption is widespread. It might even be considered a tavern specialty within the Mage Alliance.

Before the beer reached him, Rogers gave a quick thanks, then took the tankard and drank deeply. The cold slid down his throat, an especially pleasant sensation in that midsummer season.

Seeing his expression, the small-mustached man chuckled and patted his shoulder. “See? Wasn’t I right?”

“Yes, it’s really great,” Rogers said, savoring the remainder of the beer and nodding.

Although he was a Second Tier mage apprentice and could afford beer, he had restrained himself for the past two years to save resources and buy books. There were too many places demanding money, so he couldn’t bring himself to spend it on such things.

After the beer topic, the bearded man asked Rogers about how things had been going.

“Looking at you, you must’ve just returned from a mission.”

“That’s right. I took part in a hunt for desert lizards. It was bumpy, but we got it done.” Rogers recalled a few days earlier when he and four other adventurers were hired to go to a remote village to deal with desert lizards causing trouble.

After the job, Rogers didn’t take the lizards’ hides and scales for himself; he had the companions convert them into gold for him. Over the years, he had saved up two hundred gold coins—something that might seem incredible to many, given he was only a Second Tier mage apprentice.

But he’d managed it. That determination and perseverance came from a goal he had to achieve: to become a formal Third Tier mage.

Four years ago, he had probably been like a lost fly, stumbling around with a pack of worthless friends in the forlorn Capital of Star-Gazing, not knowing where tomorrow or the future lay. Then one day things changed.

He fled the path his companions forced on him, but they caught up and beat him to his knees until he vomited blood, nearly dying in that alley. Luckily someone came to his rescue.

It was a hot summer. Even standing in the breeze, hair at his forehead clung with sweat. Big beads of sweat dripped down, making his eyes sting. From the corner of his eye he watched a figure on a distant rooftop—the girl flipping through a book, serene as she sat in the wind. Even that faint silhouette sparked wonderful fantasies.

After he was rescued and regained consciousness, he expected things to end there, but the girl approached him and gave him a rare Advancement Secret Method, and with it, hope for the future.

Now, four years later, he had mastered that text completely and accumulated enough resources for advancement. His mood had swung several times over the last few days.

First came excitement—unimaginable excitement. On the way back he kept imagining what he would become after advancing. He would be much stronger, be able to make more money, win respect and fear, work in peripheral institutions of large factions, and lead a stable life in the future.

Those thoughts filled his head so much that he almost forgot exactly how he had come back until that morning when he finally snapped out of the swirl of fantasies.

He warned himself to stay steady and cool-headed. After all, he was only fully prepared; he had not yet truly stepped into Third Tier and changed his fate.

Slowly, his emotions quieted with that constant self-reminder until he walked into the tavern and sat at the bar.

The beer’s taste spread across his tongue, a little cool and softly stinging with alcohol, making him clearer-headed. He looked at his scarred, callused hands and then put them down.

After finishing the beer, Rogers stood, took a gold coin from his pouch, and pushed it across the table.

“A gold coin? For me?” the bearded man asked, puzzled.

“Yes.” Rogers nodded.

“I’m about to do something big. Wish me luck, old friend,” he said.

“Oh? That sounds like no small matter.” The man flipped the coin in his hand.

“All right, I get it. Go on then. Don’t worry. Even if you never come back, I’ll tell the story to others over drinks—about that time a big friend gave me a gold coin. Hahaha.”

“That’s a relief,” Rogers smiled and slapped the man’s palm. Then he picked up his things and left.

He didn’t say what he was going to do, and the other man didn’t ask. People who met in this small town’s tavern were all marginal figures who had stepped outside regular society. Everyone carried secrets and emotional knots. The jobs they took were risky; perhaps one day someone wouldn’t return. They had grown accustomed to it.

Leaving the tavern, Rogers headed deep into the desert. He knew of a hidden safe residence suitable for setting up the advancement array. He had prepared for this day for a long time.

Half a day later he arrived at the ruins in the desert, opened a hidden stone slab, descended into the secret underground dwelling, lit a lamp, and began to arrange his materials.

“Explosive thornfruit oil candle, red-tail scorpion stinger, three pieces of Burning-Black Obsidian...” he took each prepared item from his pack and carefully placed them into the array.

When everything was laid out, he checked the array three times more, adjusted his state, calmed his mind, and reviewed the advancement procedures and secret method. After repeating this ten times, he finally began activation.

At first, a few items in the array slowly floated upward, and the aspect power within them was gradually excited and drawn out. The candle made from explosive thornfruit oil flared suddenly, and the Scorching Sun aspect contained within swept through, causing the temperature around the array to rise rapidly. Then Rogers triggered another pattern in the array so the red-tail scorpion stinger reacted in turn, followed by the three pieces of obsidian arranged there.

According to the ritual secret recorded in the book, he used materials that possessed Third Tier aspect power—such as the explosive thornfruit oil candle and the red-tail scorpion stinger—to assist in elevating the aspect level of the three obsidian pieces and then transforming them.

The once pitch-black obsidian now floated in the air, emitting an orange-red glow. Inside, they gradually filled with a Third Tier measure of the Gold Steam aspect. This was the crucial moment. He had to resonate this aspect level with his own fate card before the aspect power cooled and faded, and then construct a Core Card: the Obsidian Furnace.

Time ticked by. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. The three obsidian pieces altered their light several times. Drawn by the secret method, their forms were slowly reforged and transformed into black spheres with complex internal structures—multiple chambers like a heart or some kind of engine.

The advancement process allowed no retreat and no interruption; it had to succeed in one go. Now the final, most grueling stage had come.

Rogers felt his spirit and will nearing some limit. If he did not succeed within three minutes, he might faint from exhaustion of mental power.

After preparing for so long, he had never expected to meet such difficulty. Is this the harsh survival environment of wild mages?

Because wild mages lack guidance from faction seniors or masters, they often have to face many pits and unknown problems on their own when advancing, causing their success rate to be far lower than that of faction-affiliated mages.

Fortunately, the Obsidian Codex that Sylutia had given him had added many insights, preventing him from being completely in the dark. Even someone as weak in basics as he was could reach the threshold of advancement.

At last, two minutes later, the black furnace model gradually solidified, then stabilized, and his mental pressure eased significantly.

What followed was simpler. Half an hour later his Core Ability Card finished condensing, his fate thus lifted, entering Third Tier and completing the advancement ritual successfully.

Name: Rogers Colin

Race: Human (Bloodline Advancement)

Status: Healthy (No abnormalities)

Talent: Resolute Mindset [Superior]

Fate Card: [Obsidian Mage] (Third Tier · Gold Steam)

“You have mastered the art of refining and transforming obsidian and excel at casting spells aided by its power.”

- Effect [Obsidian Enhancement Lv.3]: From a special advancement secret. When you cast using obsidian, your spells gain additional power.

- Effect [Resolute Will Lv.3]: Your mental will is far tougher than most; this rare talent helps you resist mental pressure and shock.

- Effect [Bloodline Advancement]: Upon entering Third Tier, your abilities receive an overall boost, granting immunity to many low-tier effects.

- Profession Rank [Mage Apprentice Lv.3]: A formed rank that improves memory and hones mental strength.

Core Card: [Obsidian Furnace] [Gold Steam]

“You forged your own Spell Forge using carefully refined obsidian—proof of your refined craft.”

- Influence [Spellcasting Ability]: You can use aspect power to construct spell models without occupying ability card slots. (Universal Spell Slots +1, Power -2, Obsidian-related enhancement +1)

Ability Cards: [Spell · Obsidian Impact Lv.3] [Spell · Obsidian Sigil Shield Lv.3] [Spell · Explosion Spell Lv.3]

With the Obsidian Furnace, he could free up the three ability card slots previously occupied, and afterward cast directly via the Obsidian Furnace, though preparation would be somewhat slower.

As for the freed ability card slots, he could learn many auxiliary skills—such as the Advancement Meditation Method for refining and transforming obsidian—or add abilities according to future professional needs.

After stepping into Third Tier, his former apprentice stage had been completely shed. Only now did a mage truly gain strategic advantages—able to use Spell Frontispieces and a Spell Forge to open more ability card slots and strengthen overall power.

One day later, after resting well and stabilizing his tier power in the underground dwelling, Rogers emerged.

He lifted his hood against the blowing sand. Though his appearance had not changed much, his mindset was entirely different.

Walking on the sand, he looked at distant dunes, thought for a moment, then raised his hand. A piece of obsidian rock shot out from his palm and burrowed into a sand dune. A violent explosion followed, blowing sand tens of meters into the air and creating a huge cavity about fifteen meters across.

The slightly damp sand rained down, dusting his hood and face. He looked a bit disheveled, but Rogers laughed.

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