Mage Eye

The cold morning wind carried the delicious scent of roasted meat to everyone's noses. Lister rubbed his nose and followed Octas into the camp.

Acrobatic clowns with enormous red noses spun through the air in colorful costumes. Their ridiculous poses and movements sent the onlookers into peals of laughter, while the stunt of leaping through flaming hoops had people pulling gold coins from their pockets and tossing them their way. Hundreds of tables were laden with pastries rarely seen on ordinary days, free for anyone to take. Dozens of massive spits held whole cows and sheep, and even a deer—an exceptionally rare quarry, surely prepared by Count Newman specifically to entertain the mages. If you wanted some, all you had to do was tell one of the nearby cooks, and he would briskly carve you a chunk of fatty, dripping meat.

At the center of the camp floated an enormous silver, cigar-shaped monstrosity. This had to be the magic airship. It hovered five meters above the ground, and its metal gasbag, over a hundred meters long, was covered in complex magic arrays. Those were presumably the key to keeping the airship aloft—the so-called core technology.

"Ha ha, Octas!" A mage approached warmly with a wineglass in hand. "I never expected you to be late. There's even your favorite mead here!"

"Just looking after a few little ones, Hilbert." Under the other man's stunned gaze, Octas took the wineglass from his hand and drained it without a care. Then he wiped his mouth and handed the glass back. "Still the same familiar taste."

A small head poked out from behind the man's back. It was a black raven, its sleek feathers refracting a violet-blue sheen beneath the sun. "Big idiot! Big idiot!"

"Ah, it's you, little fellow." Octas waved a hand, and the raven's cries abruptly stopped. The mage hurriedly took the raven down. Its beak had been completely frozen by Octas—no wonder it was hopping around in such panic. He rubbed the ice with his hand, and flames quickly melted the solid frost. The raven no longer dared curse him to his face, only flying far away as it shouted, "Big idiot! Big idiot!"

"It's still got such a filthy mouth." Octas shrugged. "All right, boys and girls, welcome to the camp. We leave this afternoon. Until then, enjoy all the food and services here to your heart's content. It's all free!"

The children burst into excited cheers and rushed impatiently toward the tables of pastries. Octas looked at Lister and tilted his head. "Come on, kid. Your wolf pelt needs to be turned into cash."

Lister followed behind Octas. As they passed a table, he deftly snatched up a chicken leg and ate as he walked. Octas praised him, "Not bad. Even if you didn't become a mage, I'm sure you could become an outstanding ranger or rogue."

"Aren't you hungry?" Lister tossed the chicken bone onto a garbage heap, where two unfortunate soldiers were digging a pit to bury the refuse. "Don't mages need to eat too?"

"Now isn't the time for eating." Octas reached a tent and lifted its curtain. A golden eye on the pale violet fabric was flipped over by Octas, looking as displeased as the old man inside. "Hey! Look! Fresh wolf pelt!"

The bald old man in blue robes had a massive snow-white beard covering his chin. Unlike an elderly farmer, his skin was not wrinkled at all, but as smooth as a baby's. He emerged from behind a pile of bottles and jars, all filled with plants soaking in some special blue liquid. "Plant specimens around Newman City have decreased by two percent. Some highly invasive plant has entered the area."

Once the curtain fell, the noise outside was completely cut off from the tent. Lister carefully examined his surroundings and discovered that the tent was much larger inside than it appeared from outside. Was this also a mage's ability?

"Give it a rest, Garrila. You're not a druid of Silver Crown Forest." Octas took out the wolf pelt and handed it over. The old man touched the fresh hide. "A very fine pelt. This came from a first-circle dire wolf. It has already evolved from an ordinary beast into a magical beast. If it were allowed to keep growing, it might even reach the level of Black Death."

"Impossible. Black Death only reached that level after the Amani Priests performed blood sacrifices for a full two hundred years. How could a mere dire wolf grow to that extent?" Octas curled his lip. "All right, name a price. This little fellow and I are splitting it evenly."

Garrila looked at Lister and reached out to touch his pointed ear. His hand was very warm. Lister looked into his brown eyes. "Either your father or mother must have been an elf of Quel'Thalas. Otherwise, you wouldn't possess such strong arcane talent."

"Just as I suspected." Octas sat in a chair covered in vines. "Give us an estimate."

Only then did Garrila turn his attention back to the wolf pelt. He carefully examined its color, completeness, thickness, texture, and feel. His warm hands continuously brushed through the stiff wolf fur. After a moment, he raised his head. "Count Newman happens to want a magical wolfskin cloak. This pelt is a perfect fit for his build. I estimate it can bear a Gentle Breeze spell. Four hundred gold coins."

"Very good. Cash, please." Octas was quite satisfied with the result. Lister finally gathered the courage to speak. "Since you think I have Quel'Thalas elven blood, could you give me some knowledge about the arcane?"

Garrila grew serious. He clasped his hands together and stared deeply at Lister. Lister's expression was equally solemn. After a moment, Garrila smiled knowingly. "Knowledge is priceless. Gold cannot measure its value."

Lister could not hide his disappointment. He also felt that his request had indeed been too abrupt. He gave a slight bow. "I—"

"But I never said I was unwilling to trade with you." Garrila's beard trembled. "You are clever and bold. Those are advantages granted by your human bloodline. Unlike elves, we humans do not have exceptionally long lives. Our short lives force us to be adventurous. After all, the arcane world is boundless, and we do not have much time to waste on mundane matters. If humans wish to reach the heights of the arcane within their limited time, they must take risks."

"And your elven bloodline has granted you extraordinary talent. Just now, I could even sense the trickle of magic power slowly flowing through your body. It is hard to imagine that, at your age, you have already touched the edge of the arcane."

"So, I am willing to make this trade—or rather, this investment." Garrila took out three thin books with pale violet covers. "Each of these records a spell. You may choose one."

"Mage Eye, Fireball, Lightning Claw." Lister took only one glance before looking at Octas without hesitation. "Master Octas, you said I could ask you one small question for free."

Octas shrugged at Garrila and sauntered over. "Mage Eye allows you to create an eyeball separate from your own. This eyeball is connected to your eyes. Because it is a construct of magic power, it can fly into the air. Its field of vision is extremely broad, allowing you to clearly see everything within one kilometer. As your strength increases or the spell is improved, the farthest recorded Mage Eye could fly eight thousand meters into the sky for observation."

Garrila interjected at the right moment. "That was the most classic battle in the defeat of the Amani Trolls. How could those simple-minded fools have known that our vision extended so far?"

"Fireball is a required course for fire mages. It emphasizes explosive power. With further research, the power of Fireball can increase almost without limit—for example, by incorporating all kinds of special flames from nature, or by improving the method of casting."

"Lightning Claw is a destruction spell. It is more difficult than Fireball, but its strength lies in allowing the caster to control the electric current. Take my Chain Lightning last night, for instance. A mage can freely control the current's path, whereas the overwhelming flames after a Fireball explodes are very difficult to control."

Without hesitation, Lister picked up Mage Eye. "I choose this."

"Very good." Garrila nodded and raised his wineglass. "The deal is made!"