“I’d like to buy some Healing Potions.”
A hoarse voice emerged from beneath the wide black hood.
At the same time, a hand extended from the sleeve—thin and emaciated, covered in burnt cracks, with a faint scorched smell wafting from it.
The figure trembled as he placed ten gold coins along with a Wizard Apprentice Credential on the table.
He then quickly hid his hand back inside the wide sleeve of his robe, refusing to expose even a sliver more.
Alden glanced at the Wizard Apprentice Credential on the table and immediately understood.
Lan Lian, huh?
Recalling the explosion-like noise that had come from his dormitory the previous night, Alden quickly formed a guess in his mind.
He looked toward the chin faintly visible beneath the hood—no trace of white skin, just the marks of burns: blackened charred skin mixed with rolled-up red flesh.
Lan Lian must have made a mistake while researching witchcraft and suffered backlash.
While Wizard Apprentices who encountered this weren’t numerous, Alden had been in the Wizard Tower for over a decade and had seen at least twenty such cases.
They were all impatient types who rashly channeled magic power to attempt witchcraft without fully understanding the knowledge, forgetting the teachings they’d heard upon first entering the Wizard Tower.
Lan Lian was still relatively lucky—at least he’d kept his life and hadn’t been burned to ash on the spot.
Alden deftly took out his own Wizard Apprentice Credential and touched it to the one on the table, then pocketed the gold coins and placed a bottle of Healing Potion on the counter.
The Healing Potion could only alleviate the injuries; it couldn’t repair the prior damage. If Lan Lian managed to survive, he’d probably have to live with that appearance for the rest of his days.
However, Healing Potions weren’t omnipotent either. With injuries like these, survival itself was questionable.
Alden glanced at the figure’s frail, slightly hunched body wrapped in the wide Wizard Robe and guessed that Lan Lian’s wounds were severe.
Clearly, large areas of his body had also been badly burned. His once-robust frame was likely now as fragile as a charred log, unable to withstand a single blow.
Alden wasn’t surprised by this change.
The power of witchcraft was unpredictable and bizarre. There had even been a Wizard Apprentice who, due to carelessness while studying Wood-Element Witchcraft, ended up parasitized by a plant instead, his body twisting into a thin, elongated shape.
He hadn’t lasted long before dying.
How long could Lan Lian hold out?
As Alden speculated inwardly, he took out a pair of gloves and a mask.
After pocketing the gold coins, he sneered to himself. Sure enough, even in this state, he couldn’t shake his aristocratic flair for extravagance—using gloves and a mask to conceal his injured parts.
Little did he know that in the Wizard Tower, gold coins were the lifeline for these mediocre nobles with poor aptitude. They ensured that after taking on the lowest-level tasks and earning only meager Contribution Points, these flat-footed noble apprentices could still survive.
Only nobles who had just arrived at the Wizard Tower would waste their most vital lifeline so ignorantly.
But Alden had no intention of reminding him. As the other collected his items, calculations began to form in Alden’s mind.
If Lan Lian died, then his possessions…
In the hall, many well-informed Wizard Apprentices had also heard the news. They looked at the once-flashy Lan Lian’s current state—some sneered, some scoffed, but most, like Alden, coveted his wealth.
Though bound by the Wizard Tower’s rules, these Junior Apprentices who hadn’t mastered any witchcraft couldn’t act directly against Lan Lian without trading with mid-level or High-Level Apprentices first. But given Lan Lian’s condition, he probably wouldn’t last much longer anyway, right?
It’d be better if Lan Lian died sooner.
An Luo pushed open the door and quickly locked it before letting out a sigh of relief.
He removed his Wizard’s cloak and placed the Healing Potion, gloves, and mask on the table.
Bits of black ash still shook off from his hands.
The mirror hanging on the wall reflected An Luo’s current appearance.
His entire face and neck were smeared with black ash, and both hands from fingertips to forearms were equally grimy.
Looking at his abstract visage in the mirror, An Luo immediately thought of Jerry Mouse with his face blown black.
The firecracker episode.
An Luo: “…”
In truth, his disguise inspiration had come from that very episode.
An Luo washed his body clean and dried his hands before pulling a piece of paper from his pocket inscribed with the characters “Burnt.” Instantly, the lingering scorched smell and sensation on his body vanished completely.
Just two simple characters had taken him nearly two days.
The more complex the Chinese characters, the harder they were to write. An Luo vaguely sensed that two characters were his limit.
He’d even toyed with the idea of writing a full sentence like “Open a safe rift to send me back to Earth” to see if there was hope of returning home.
But under this world’s rules, he could manage at most two characters.
Not a single extra stroke.
He handed the paper with the runes to Meieruita.
First, he could write more, so giving it away was fine. Second, he wanted to demonstrate his utility.
Meieruita took the paper.
Unlike the previous “Fire”-shaped rune, these two runes could connect through a wondrous link to form an entirely new ability. Yet, viewed individually, each carried its own meaning.
Truly marvelous.
At his current Wizard Apprentice level, Meieruita could only briefly observe the runes, attempting to imprint them on his soul. Staring too long would cause harm.
He accepted the paper from An Luo without hesitation.
“There’s still over a month of safety,” An Luo said.
He frowned worriedly.
Though he had this golden finger of Chinese characters, even the strongest cheat required magic power to activate.
And magic power came from Meditation.
Meditation? He had no clue how to do that.
Lan Lian, the native, had mediocre talent, but at least he had some, right?
Even after two months, he hadn’t grasped it.
An Luo’s body was now fully transformed back into his Earthling form—who knew if he even had talent anymore.
He flipped through the introductory book Wizard Apprentices received upon entering the Wizard Tower and followed the instructions once more.
He sat cross-legged, palms upturned lightly on his knees, eyes closed, mind emptied, sensing the free-floating magic power in the air.
Pitch black. Nothing.
Plus, his legs hurt so much.
Seriously, how did these Wizard Apprentices manage to meditate cross-legged for two hours without issue?
Didn’t their legs go numb?
“I have no idea at all,” Meieruita replied. “Cross-legged Meditation feels very comfortable.”
An Luo: “…”
So envious.
If he’d known, he would’ve written “Meditate for five minutes.” Why set it for two full hours?
An Luo lasted only half an hour cross-legged before he couldn’t take it anymore. His legs went numb, and even slight movement sent pins and needles shooting through them.
Meieruita set down his book to support him, his tone gentle and movements light. “Does it hurt here?”
“Hiss… Don’t touch, don’t touch. Let me rest a bit.”
Seeing An Luo so uncomfortable, Meieruita withdrew his hand from An Luo’s calf without a trace and instead supported his waist to help him shift position.
This uncomfortable?
Is his internal structure different from ours?
If only he could dissect and take a look…
An Luo didn’t notice Meieruita’s actions. After a while, sensation gradually returned to his legs.
“Thanks,” he said to Meieruita.
Meieruita gave An Luo a deep look, his gaze sliding over his fair face and pointed chin. In a soft voice, he replied, “You’re welcome.”
No need to rush.
One step at a time. Acting rashly without sufficient power would be a waste.
He averted his eyes, reining in his insistent curiosity, and resumed his role as the quiet, seemingly harmless Wizard Apprentice.
After resolving the immediate crisis, An Luo’s life settled into a regular, peaceful routine.
Each day, he attempted Meditation, recited text from books for Meieruita, and tried writing useful Chinese characters.
Every day felt endlessly long.
He really wanted to go home and play on his phone or computer!
Failing that, a novel would do.
“I brought a Knight Novel,” Meieruita said. “If you’d like—”
Before he finished, An Luo eagerly interrupted. “Yes, yes! Give it to me! I want to read it!”
Meieruita was a bit startled by An Luo’s sudden enthusiasm. He handed over the cheap Knight Novel and watched as An Luo immediately flipped it open, diving in and becoming engrossed. He frowned slightly.
He couldn’t comprehend An Luo’s behavior.
In such an unsafe environment, with lethal threats lurking nearby, how could he—dare he—devote his energy to entertainment that held no practical value?
Meieruita found it baffling.
To him, the “boredom” An Luo mentioned was already incomprehensible.
Boredom?
What was boredom? Why feel bored?
When still weak, wasting time on pointless entertainment instead of seizing every chance to improve—that was boredom.
Meieruita turned to the next page of his book, continuing to study and comprehend its knowledge word by word.
That noon, An Luo opened the food cabinet and found only two white loaves left.
They’d be gone after this meal.
Normally, he should’ve gone to buy more white bread, but after days of soaked white bread, he was numb to it and desperately craved something else.
Besides white bread, the Wizard Tower offered other foods—mainly for Wizard Apprentices who couldn’t even afford black bread.
These were dead Magic Plants or Magic Beasts destined for the incinerator.
Worthless biological refuse, piled haphazardly.
No poison worries, as toxic ones had research value and wouldn’t be discarded.
Desperate, impoverished Wizard Apprentices would grab some from the filthy carts before incineration to stave off hunger.
But the cooked taste was even worse than black bread, so they only took them as a last resort.
Still, to survive, they endured.
The apprentices tasked with delivering them to the incinerator were glad to see them taken—it lightened their workload.
An Luo, fed up with white bread, joined the fray.
“What garbage.” Suddenly, a Wizard Apprentice angrily tossed a string of red fruits back into the cart.
“What happened?” someone beside him asked.
The first apprentice spat bitterly, “Last time I took these home and made soup, it ruined the whole pot. Tasted like fire in my mouth, swelled my lips, and it stung my eyes like crazy.”
Hearing this, many who’d grabbed the red fruits tossed them back from their bags.
An Luo’s eyes lit up instead. He quietly collected some of the red fruits.
Chili peppers!
Soon, he spotted plants that smelled like seasonings.
An Luo finally understood why the Wizard Apprentices found them so unpalatable when boiled.
Dumping a jumble of solid spices into a pot for a grand stew? Yeah, that’d be quite the “refreshing” experience.
He recalled the story background he’d set.
Western medieval…
Yeah, it all made sense.
He silently hefted a bag of Magic Plants and Magic Beast meat, blending into the crowd as he left.
Many did the same—heads down, hurrying quietly. An Luo returned to his dormitory unnoticed.
When he hauled the big bundle inside, Meieruita was startled.
He spoke tactfully, “We’re not that desperate yet… If it’s to save money, I still have some black bread.”
At first, Meieruita had tried scavenging this free refuse too, but after a few attempts, even he gave up and traded Contribution Points for black bread.
An Luo: “I just want something tasty.”
Meieruita looked up at An Luo.
His gaze was calm, but An Luo still read the “Are you out of your mind?” implication in those gray-green eyes.
An Luo: “……”
My brain isn’t broken.
