At the end of Frost Descent Month (November), the first snow began to fall.
Blackstone City was blanketed in silver, the vast landscape transformed into a sea of white.
On this very day, Magus's study of Wizard's Hand finally reached full mastery.
["Wizard's Hand" learning progress has reached 100%. Skill acquired: "Wizard's Hand."]
A surge of information flooded into Magus's mind. He closed his eyes, letting the torrent of knowledge settle. When he opened them again, calm light flickered in his gaze. Fixing his eyes on a book resting on the table, he softly chanted a string of strange, lilting syllables.
As the sound drifted through the room, the book began to tremble ever so slightly, then rose from the table—slowly floating up, down, left, and right, following the movements of his gaze.
The spell Wizard's Hand granted the ability to lift and move distant objects through sheer will. To onlookers, it would seem as though an invisible, spectral hand was at work—hence the name.
Among the many zero-level spells, Wizard's Hand was one of the most practical. Whether during dissection, potion crafting, or magical experiments, the spell saved immense effort. And in battle, it could be used to manipulate weapons from afar, striking enemies unexpectedly. The range and weight a caster could control depended on two factors: their spell proficiency and the strength of their mental power.
That was precisely why Magus had chosen Wizard's Hand as his first spell. With it, his future potion brewing and lizardman-blood refining would become far more convenient.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"Which spell should I learn next?"
With a casual thought, three spellbooks slid from the bookshelf and landed neatly on the table. Their covers bore the titles: Acid Splash, Sleep Spell, and Flash.
The meanings of these spells were self-explanatory. Acid Splash for corrosive attacks, Sleep Spell for subduing living beings, and Flash for dazzling bursts of light.
After a moment of contemplation, Magus reached for Sleep Spell.
He had recently caught many small animals for his Biological Modification experiments. If he could cast Sleep Spell, putting them to rest painlessly before dissection would be much simpler and more humane. The lizardmen's retreat meant he was not needed on the battlefield, so learning an offensive spell could wait.
The truth was, the fighting strength of a first-level Wizard Apprentice was generally unimpressive. When one first advanced to this stage, they were merely individuals whose mental power exceeded that of ordinary people—able to attract external energy particles and store them within their bodies, thus forming the rudimentary concept of mana.
Through continued meditation, those energy particles gradually strengthened the apprentice's physique. Yet even so, a first-level Wizard Apprentice was only slightly superior to an Apprentice Knight. They possessed better magic resistance but were still weaker in direct combat. Only after mastering two or three offensive spells would such an apprentice truly wield enough power to stand against a trained Knight.
This balance remained until one reached the rank of Second-level Wizard Apprentice. At that point, the apprentice could begin to control energy particles actively, fortifying their body to remarkable levels. When combined with magical augmentation, their power could rival even a Peak Knight, and only Great Knights could contend with them on equal footing.
Moreover, a Second-level Apprentice could form a contract with a magic pet and wield enchanted items. A magician equipped with both a combat pet and enchanted tools would become a force that even Great Knights would hesitate to face head-on.
It was at this stage that the difference between Wizards and Knights truly became vast.
Setting aside these thoughts, Magus opened Sleep Spell and began to read.
[Reading "Sleep Spell Magic Model": progress + 0.08%]
[Reading "Sleep Spell Magic Model": progress + 0.08%]
Time flowed quietly.
After Frost Descent Month came December—the coldest, harshest time of year. Snowstorms swept across the land, turning travel and trade into hardship. During this bitter season, the Black Scale Lizardmen finally began their long retreat. On the twenty-sixth day of December, their remnants trudged through the snow and vanished into the wilderness.
Thus ended a war that had lasted more than two months.
Five days later, Blackstone City celebrated the dawn of a new year—Starlight Calendar 1249, the first day of Winter Qin Month.
Despite the howling winds, the city overflowed with joy. Houses were decked with ribbons and garlands; every street shimmered under the lantern light. Children dashed through the crowds, cheeks flushed from the cold, laughter echoing down the snowy lanes.
Within the inner castle, the grand banquet hall glowed with warmth. Servants and young maids hurried about, carrying trays filled with fragrant ham, wheels of cheese, baskets of dried fruit, and bottles of fine wine. Around the long table, Knights gathered to drink, boast, and laugh uproariously, their voices booming like thunder.
Old Geller, the steward of the castle, oversaw the arrangements. As he glanced at the merry crowd, a deep emotion stirred within him. In previous years, after the devastation wrought by the Black Scale Lizardmen, neither the former lord nor his generals had the heart to hold such a feast. But this year was different—astonishingly different.
According to Sir Jorton, the Knight who led the city's defense, the enemy had been crushed before the first snowfall and driven back to their lair. The surrounding villages remained safe, their crops untouched.
For this reason, on the first day of the new year, the serfs themselves brought offerings of grain, wine, and livestock to the castle, thanking their lord for protecting them.
Yet what puzzled Old Geller most was what the knights kept saying: that all these victories were thanks to Magus. Every one of them spoke his name with deep respect—even reverence.
Having lived in Blackstone City for decades, Old Geller could sense that something was changing. The city, once stagnant and weary, now seemed to pulse with new life, as though awakening from a long slumber.
"The Lord and Sir Magus are here!"
The herald's voice cut through the din. The hall immediately fell silent as every knight turned toward the entrance.
Rune and Magus entered side by side. Both wore formal attire, their bearing noble and composed. The brothers shared the same striking features—handsome faces, clear eyes, and the calm confidence of blooded nobility.
Rune, the elder, was tall and broad-shouldered, his muscles sculpted like marble, his presence commanding and strong.
Magus, the younger, was leaner, but the frailty he once carried was gone. His every movement radiated quiet power and precision. Most striking of all were his eyes—deep and luminous, like twin stars. Few dared to meet that gaze for long.
Their entrance drew every eye in the hall.
"Lord."
"Sir Magus."
The knights bowed deeply. Notably, their form of address for Magus had changed—from Young Master to Sir, a mark of respect reserved for those acknowledged as true power-holders.
Rune strode to the center of the hall, raising his wineglass high.
"You all worked hard this past year," he declared with a broad smile. "Tonight, drink your fill and enjoy the feast!"
The knights erupted in cheers, their voices rumbling through the hall like a storm. Laughter and toasts followed one after another, and the scent of roasted meat filled the air.
Standing quietly at the side, Magus watched the celebration. He lifted a glass of fruit wine and took a measured sip, savoring its sweetness. Over the past two months, the energy particles he had absorbed through meditation had steadily strengthened his body. His physique now reached 2.79 on the scale—almost equal to that of a peak Apprentice Knight.
And yet, unlike Knights, whose training devoured vast amounts of food, Magus required none of that. The energy he absorbed nourished his body directly, sparing him the hunger that plagued ordinary fighters. In fact, he could easily go months without eating if he chose. Now, he ate merely for pleasure, not need.
As he finished the last of his wine, Rune approached him with an easy smile.
"Why aren't you joining the others? You've barely touched your drink."
Magus shook his head lightly. "I still prefer quiet over noise."
Rune chuckled, understanding well his brother's reserved temperament. "As expected," he said. Then, leaning closer, he added with a hint of mischief, "I have good news for you. I found what you wanted. It should already be delivered to your courtyard."
Magus's expression shifted slightly, his eyes brightening with interest. "Already? That was quick."
Rune laughed softly. "Of course. You asked, didn't you? Consider it my new-year gift."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Magus's lips. "Thank you, brother."
Rune waved a hand dismissively. "No need for thanks. Just promise me one thing—don't blow up the courtyard again."
Magus coughed lightly, feigning innocence. "That was an accident."
"An accident that scorched half the herb garden," Rune teased.
Magus chuckled, neither confirming nor denying it. Their laughter blended briefly with the joyful noise of the hall, though theirs carried a quiet warmth that only brothers shared.
As the banquet wore on, the hall grew louder. Minstrels arrived, plucking lutes and singing of victory and peace. The knights raised their mugs again and again, toasting the new year, the lord, and the brothers who led them.
But Magus's thoughts had already drifted elsewhere—to the mysterious "item" Rune had prepared for him. Something rare enough to excite his curiosity, perhaps even something that could further his magical research. The possibilities flickered in his mind like sparks in the dark.
Outside, snow fell in thick, silent flakes, blanketing Blackstone City once more. Within the inner courtyard, the lamps burned steadily through the night, their light reflecting on the fresh white ground—awaiting the young wizard who would soon arrive to continue his pursuit of power and knowledge.