Perfectly Passing the Mentor's Trial

Fifteen minutes later.

A slightly battered cart slowly came to a stop beside the busiest street in the eastern district of the outer ring.

Tylen jumped down from the cart and looked up at the imposing eight-story building before him.

A massive plaque hung above the main entrance, its surface inscribed with elegant Second Era Golden Thorn Dynasty noble cursive, spelling out four large characters: "White Cloud Eye."

The script twisted and curled, like roses blooming amidst a thicket of golden thorns, exuding an ancient and graceful noble air.

Quinn Street—this was the largest distribution hub for magical materials in the entire outer ring district.

People streamed in and out of the entrance: formally robed wizards in exquisite attire, senior apprentices with hurried expressions, and even hooded merchants of other races. Business was booming.

Tylen tied his old horse to a hitching post by the roadside, reached into his chest to feel the stiff scroll hidden there, confirmed for the seventh time that it was still in place, then took a deep breath and strode inside.

As he pushed open the heavy double oak doors, a faint scent of ink and parchment washed over him.

Inside was a spacious, bright lobby. Directly ahead, a spiral staircase led up to the second floor, its handrails polished to a mirror-like shine.

On either side of the lobby stood long rosewood counters.

The left counter was cluttered with all kinds of raw materials needed for Runic Studies: from the most basic Starlight Parchment and Dragonblood Grass Ink, to precision Mithril Engraving Knives and Crystal Measuring Rulers—everything imaginable.

The right counter was hung with finished runic scrolls.

They were categorized by function: combat, healing, reconnaissance, traps... Colorful labels dazzled the eye.

However, Tylen's arrival shattered the harmonious atmosphere of the lobby.

Though he had taken off his bloodstained apprentice robe, the shirt underneath still carried a faint smell of blood.

Worse still, the faint stench of corpses clinging to him was practically a biological weapon to any spellcaster with a keen sense of smell.

"What's that smell?"

"So foul..."

Customers browsing at both counters wrinkled their noses, covered their mouths, and shot Tylen looks of disgust.

A young doorman stationed at the entrance saw this and immediately hurried over.

He looked Tylen up and down, taking in his shabby appearance, and made no effort to hide his contempt:

"Hey! You, the corpse collector! Get the hell out!"

The doorman waved his arms as if shooing away a pesky fly.

"We don't take corpses here! Don't bring your bad luck inside! Get out right now!"

Tylen didn't get angry. He didn't argue.

He simply gave the doorman a calm look, then turned and walked toward the door.

The doorman snorted coldly and turned back to his post.

Just then.

A hand suddenly shot out and grabbed the doorman by the wrist.

"What are you doing?!"

Startled, the doorman was about to lash out when the corner of his eye caught something.

Through Tylen's slightly open shirt, a palm-sized, brownish-yellow metal token was visible.

The roaring lion embossed on the token gleamed with a cold, metallic sheen in the light.

That was... Sir Kane's insignia?!

The doorman's pupils contracted in shock. The disdain that had filled his eyes moments ago was now replaced by astonishment and disbelief.

As someone who made a living on this street, he knew exactly what that token represented.

"Shh."

Tylen raised a finger to his lips, his low voice sounding in the doorman's ear:

"I'm here on my mentor's orders. I have an important task and need to see your boss."

The doorman understood instantly.

This was no poor corpse collector—this was clearly a trusted agent of some big shot, traveling incognito!

"Sir... please wait a moment!"

The doorman's attitude did a complete one-eighty. His previously contemptuous tone became reverent, even fawning:

"I'll go inform the boss! Right away!"

With that, the doorman scurried up the spiral staircase to the second floor, moving as if his backside were on fire.

In less than a minute, he came running back down, panting, and bent over with a "please" gesture:

"Sir, the boss requests your presence. Follow me."

Following the bellhop through the spiral staircase, they arrived on the second floor.

The atmosphere here was even more private and luxurious than the first floor.

The first thing that caught the eye was a spacious lounge area, covered in thick, plush carpet.

To the left and right were two quiet hallways, lined with high-end private rooms boasting strict privacy protections.

The bellhop led Tylen to room 202 at the end of the corridor, gently knocked on the door, then respectfully pushed it open.

"Please, come in."

Tylen stepped into the room.

It was an office with meticulous decor.

A middle-aged man in a blue silk robe sat behind a wide desk.

He was slightly plump, with a fair complexion and an air of dignified opulence—clearly someone who had held a high position for a long time.

At that moment, he leaned back in his chair, fingers lightly toying with the massive jade thumb ring on his hand.

Seeing Tylen enter, the middle-aged man furrowed his brow slightly, clearly catching the faint scent of blood as well.

"How did you end up in such a mess?"

The man's voice was low and resonant, carrying an imposing aura that commanded respect without anger.

Tylen stood before the desk, hands at his sides, his tone respectful and calm:

"In reply to Your Excellency, I encountered an attack on the way. To defend myself, I killed a few people."

The middle-aged man raised an eyebrow at this, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

He waved his hand, signaling the bellhop to close the door and withdraw.

As the door shut, only the two of them remained in the room.

"Is there something you need from me?" the middle-aged man asked.

Tylen didn't answer directly but cautiously countered:

"May I ask, are you the owner of this White Cloud Eye rune shop?"

The middle-aged man nodded. "Yes."

Tylen pressed further: "And may I ask your name?"

The man seemed to grow a bit impatient, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Karen Stephenson."

Hearing that name, Tylen finally let out a long breath.

He bowed again, his tone sincere:

"I must ask for your understanding, Mr. Stephenson. This is my first time carrying out my mentor's task, so I need to be cautious—I wouldn't want to deliver it to the wrong person."

Then he added: "May I ask, what did you and my mentor agree upon today?"

This was the final confirmation.

Stephenson looked at the overly cautious young man before him, and a hint of amusement finally curled at the corner of his mouth:

"Your teacher asked you to hand me a scroll."

"Whew..."

Tylen completely relaxed.

He carefully took out the scroll, warmed by his body heat, from inside his robe. Holding it with both hands, he respectfully placed it on the desk.

"This is what my mentor instructed me to deliver to you."

Stephenson didn't rush to put the scroll away.

He calmly picked it up, undid the seal, and unrolled it for a glance.

Then, suddenly, he held the scroll out to Tylen, a faint, knowing smile on his face:

"Take a look. Your teacher left this content specifically for you—it contains the relevant instructions and passwords for your future dealings with me."

Tylen was taken aback.

But he didn't reach out to take it, nor did he even glance at the scroll.

He lowered his head, staring at his own toes, his tone respectful yet firm:

"Apologies, sir."

"My mentor ordered me absolutely not to look at any of its contents."

The air in the room instantly froze.

Stephenson slowly rose to his feet.

A terrifying pressure, belonging to a full-fledged wizard, radiated from him like a tidal wave, flooding the entire room.

Tylen felt a weight press down on his shoulders, as if a mountain had been dropped on him, making even breathing difficult.

"Are you questioning me?"

Steampunk's voice turned ice-cold, his gaze as sharp as a hawk's talons: "This scroll contains the orders your teacher gave you! I'm telling you to look at it now—do you dare refuse?"

Faced with this terrifying pressure, beads of sweat broke out on Tylen's forehead.

But he still didn't lift his head, nor did he retreat a single step.

He held his breath, his posture still respectful, yet his tone was harder than steel: "Mr. Steampunk."

"I cannot confirm whether the orders on the scroll are genuine, nor can I be certain that what you're saying is true."

"As an apprentice, I only obey the orders my teacher gave me directly."

"My teacher commanded me: do not look at any of the contents."

"That is my principle."

Silence.

A deathly silence.

Steampunk stared hard at Tylen, the pressure growing heavier, as if the next moment he would crush this insolent apprentice into dust.

Yet Tylen kept his head lowered, like a stubborn rock.

A long moment passed.

"Hmph."

Steampunk suddenly let out a cold snort, and that terrifying pressure vanished without a trace.

He plopped back into his chair, his face once again wearing that languid, lazy smile, as if everything just now had been an illusion.

"Alright."

Steampunk waved a hand, a hint of barely perceptible approval in his tone: "Go back and tell your teacher that I've received the goods."

Only then did Tylen lift his head, wiping the cold sweat from his brow, and bow once more: "Yes, sir."

With that, he turned to leave.

Just as his hand was about to touch the doorknob, Steampunk's voice rang out again: "By the way, regarding the 'Magic Resonance' theory in Runic Studies—how much do you know about it?"

Tylen stopped, turned around, and put on a face of just the right amount of confusion and humility: "Sorry, sir. I'm just a beginner apprentice; I don't understand deep magical theory."

Steampunk gave him a long look, smiled, and waved his hand: "Go on."

After Tylen left the room and his footsteps faded into the distance.

Steampunk waved his hand casually.

On the wall opposite his desk, a massive mercury mirror slowly materialized.

The mirror's surface rippled, revealing the twenty-third floor of the Cain Wizard Tower.

Makley was sitting in that high-backed chair, holding a cup of black tea, smiling as he watched from the other side.

"Milord."

Steampunk gave a slight bow toward Makley in the mirror, his tone filled with admiration: "Your judgment is as sharp and precise as ever."

"This Magnus—though he appears to have low talent and unremarkable magical sensitivity—his temperament... he's truly a rare find."

"Faced with my pressure and temptation, he managed to be watertight and hold his ground."

"Such composure—let alone a Level 0 apprentice, even many Level 5 or 6 apprentices, if I gave them a scare like that, would probably lose their wits. And he still remembered your orders. Impressive."

On the other side of the mirror, Makley set down his teacup, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile he couldn't suppress: "Haha, Karen, I knew you'd say that."

"For our future dealings, this kid will handle the errands."

"You've seen it too—this kid is extremely cautious, sensible, and most importantly—he knows how to hide his talent."

"Just now on the street, he pulled off that 'Magic Resonance' so smoothly, yet he played dumb in front of you, claiming he didn't understand magic theory."

Steampunk also smiled and nodded: "Indeed. At his age, to have such depth and temperament is truly rare."

"The incident that just happened on Truth Avenue—I've already received word about it."

"I have to say, sir, your place here is practically a talent wholesale market."

"A few years ago, you produced the dazzling Violet Star, and now you've got the seasoned and steady Magnus."

Steampunk sighed, his tone tinged with sour envy:

"Compared to your side, my apprentices are practically brain-dead."

"All they do is reach out for resources and stir up trouble for me. I've nearly had a brain hemorrhage from anger several times."

Makley laughed heartily, clearly in excellent spirits:

"Alright, stop complaining. That kid does have considerable talent in runes, especially that ability to extrapolate and apply it in practical combat."

"When you have time, you can teach him a trick or two."

"After all, he runs errands for me—he needs some means of self-preservation. I don't want him dying halfway on the road someday."

Steampunk nodded and made a solemn promise:

"Rest assured on that. As long as the kid is steady and reliable enough, he won't miss out on the benefits."

Cain Wizard Tower, twenty-third floor.

The communication ended, and the mercury mirror slowly dissipated.

Makley could no longer maintain that inscrutable mentor persona. He slapped his thigh hard and burst into excited laughter:

"Good! Excellent! Absolutely perfect!"

Throughout today's series of tests, Tylen's performance had been nothing short of flawless!

At the Church, he knew to exploit Father Logan's greed for money, borrowing authority to quickly build a network.

On Truth Avenue, when faced with Haige's provocation, he understood how to use the Wizard Tower's rules to initiate a duel.

Not only did he legitimately eliminate his enemy, but he also paid off the guards to protect himself.

Though slightly lacking in experience—getting ambushed in succession by the thugs and that pair of siblings—he reacted swiftly, learned his lesson immediately, and avoided a second sneak attack.

Finally, when facing Steampunk's probing, he displayed absolute loyalty and principle.

One incident after another, each perfectly exceeded Makley's expectations.

"Of course, there are no flaws either."

Makley stroked his chin, recalling Tylen's penny-pinching demeanor on the road.

That kid handled public funds with remarkable ease and casualness.

Slipping money to Father Logan, bribing the guards, even calculating whether he could secretly buy himself some good food.

It was clear that the kid had been using his position to line his own pockets quite a bit.

Even on the way to the White Cloud Eye shop, he kept muttering about how to leverage this corpse-collecting business to make himself some money, then pondering how to cook the books to balance the accounts.

But to Makley, was this a flaw?

No!

This was a strength among strengths!

"People who truly don't covet anything—those are the ones you need to watch out for."

Makley sneered coldly.

"You don't covet money, you don't covet women, you don't covet power... then what are you after? My position? Or my life?"

"Only those who wear their desires on their sleeves are the easiest to control."

Throughout the entire process, Makley could clearly see Tylen's intense craving for money and social advancement.

That craving was the best leash.

"This kid has a mature and cautious mind, high emotional intelligence, and is good at socializing."

"He understands gratitude and has a baseline conscience."

"His learning ability is strong, and he's ravenous for both knowledge and money."

"This is exactly the core confidant I've been looking for!"

Makley stood up, walked to the window, and gazed at the bustling city below, a glint of ambition shining in his eyes.

"For a disciple like this, I have plenty of ways to make him swear loyalty willingly."

"Since the test is passed, it's time to give the kid a little sweetener and teach him some real skills."

Thinking of today's chain of assassinations, Makley's eyes darkened slightly.

Having held a high position for so long, he had somewhat forgotten the cruelty of the lower rungs.

For even the faintest glimmer of a chance to rise, the madness those at the bottom could display was truly chilling.

"It seems I'll need to prepare a decent set of defensive spells for him..."

"As for magic, he probably won't be able to grasp it. Fortunately, he's quite skilled in Runic Studies."

"Then let's hand him a set of defensive runes!"

With that, Makley immediately turned around with a pleased grin, diving into the knowledge stored in his collection of books. The meticulous way he picked and chose was several times more serious than his usual classroom demeanor.

While Makley was busy figuring out which runes to teach Tylen, Tylen had already driven the cart all the way back to Saint Rest Church.

Seeing Tylen return, Father Logan immediately walked over with a beaming smile and said, "You're in luck, kid. I've already taken care of the corpse that overdosed on pills and the infant's body for you."

Hearing this, Tylen broke into a smile and said, "Thank you for your kindness, Father!"

Then he pulled two Purple Gold Coins, each worth 500, from his chest and handed them over with both hands, smiling as he said, "You've worked hard!"

Father Logan smoothly slid the 1,000 Purple Gold Coins into his sleeve, then waved his hand. Two gravediggers placed the bodies—one large, one small—onto Tylen's cart.

After that, Father Logan smiled and asked, "I've got two fresh corpses that just came in. You interested? Since no one's claimed them, I'll sell you both for 100 Purple Gold Coins."

Tylen raised an eyebrow and asked, "What corpses? Can I take a look?"

Father Logan then led Tylen to the side hall where the church stored the bodies. When the white cloth was pulled back, Tylen's eyes were filled with complexity.

Because these corpses were none other than the pair of siblings who had attacked him earlier.

And judging by the state of the bodies, it seemed someone had defiled them.

After a few seconds of silence, Tylen took out 100 Purple Gold Coins. "Alright, I'll take them."