Soul-Death Grass 1

The next morning, Anglie did not get up until nearly ten. He had gone to bed too late the night before, and it took a full seven hours of sleep for him to recover.

After hurriedly finishing breakfast, he informed the academy guards and registered his departure papers. Then he hired a carriage and headed straight for Red Rock Mountain Cemetery on the outskirts of the city.

By afternoon, the faintly crimson setting sun had dyed everything a vivid red. Several fiery clouds edged in gold drifted across the sky.

On Red Rock Mountain outside Maruya City, the mountaintop had been directly leveled into a vast platform filled with gray-white gravestones. Lush green woods surrounded it, sloping down on all sides. From afar, the entire mountain looked like a trapezoid.

Among the graves atop the mountain, mourners who had come to pay their respects could occasionally be seen. One of them was an ordinary noble youth of about ten-odd years old. His face was blank, while his gaze drifted ceaselessly over the grass around the gravestones. From time to time, he walked from one grave to another. He did not seem to be there to mourn at all. A middle-aged coachman in gray cloth followed at his side.

"Lord Anglie, it's already getting late. Shouldn't we head back?" the coachman quietly reminded him. He had followed this young noble around for nearly two hours. If not for the two gold coins paid upfront—equal to twenty silver coins, or twenty fares—he certainly would not have trailed behind this young master like an idiot, wandering in circles.

"Is it almost dark already?" Only then did Anglie notice the sky.

His brows knitted tightly. His gaze swept the surrounding grass one last time, unwilling to give up, before a trace of disappointment finally appeared on his face.

"Forget it, then. Let's go back," Anglie said flatly, turning toward the cemetery exit.

"By the way, how have things been in Rudin lately? Is Saladin still fighting?" he asked casually.

The coachman thought for a moment. "I heard people who fled from Rudin talking in taverns. They said only the royal capital of Rudin hasn't been taken yet; everywhere else has been carved up by neighboring countries. Not many of Saladin's people have come to the port, so the situation isn't very clear. After all, we're only ordinary commoners. We have no right to know about such major matters." He smiled as he spoke.

"That's true. But there should have been many people flooding into the port from Rudin, right? Were there any important figures among them?" Anglie continued. He knew coachmen often carried all kinds of passengers and could pick up a great deal of information from their idle chatter.

The coachman chuckled but said nothing.

Anglie casually fished a gold coin from his pocket and tossed it to him. Only then did the coachman beam and continue. "I heard two passengers chatting about it. Not many people escaped from Rudin—mostly minor nobles. The larger groups seem to have been intercepted along the way. Especially the royal party; they were surrounded by enemies from several countries. I heard it was a terrible sight..."

"Is that so?" Anglie nodded. It sounded as though that Marquis Syrius had not escaped his doom after all. Still, the coachman's information came from an uncertain source, and its reliability was questionable. If it was true, then killing Philip—the only remaining hidden danger—could be declared settled.

"By the way, have you heard of a plant called Soul-Death Grass?" he suddenly asked. Several more gold coins appeared in his hand.

The golden gleam made the coachman's face bloom even more brightly. "Soul-Death Grass? Describe what it looks like. Maybe I've seen it somewhere, just not under that name."

"It looks like clover, except its whole body is black."

"Entirely black clover? Oh... you mean Black Trefoil? That stuff only grows in graveyards. So that's what you came here for?" The coachman suddenly understood. "Then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I've heard people mention Black Trefoil in apothecaries. It seems to be quite an expensive medicinal ingredient. There definitely won't be any here; even if there were, someone would have picked it clean long ago."

"An apothecary?" Anglie nodded. "Then take me directly to one." He tossed two gold coins to the coachman, who caught them delightedly.

"Of course, no problem."

"The faster, the better."

"We'll be there within half an hour!" The coachman patted his chest and laughed.

A little over twenty minutes later, Anglie stood before an herbal shop at the port. Carriages and pedestrians passed behind him, while the surrounding area was loud and bustling.

An iron rod jutted out from outside the shop, with a cloth sign hanging from it. Written in Rudin was: Mas's Little Apothecary. Beside the words was a drawing of a bundle of dried herbs.

The shop was located beneath a gray-white residential building, wedged among a row of storefronts. People in all manner of dress entered and left through its doors: some wore noble attire, but far more were ordinary commoners in plain cloth clothing. There were also mercenaries carrying swords, sabers, and other weapons on their backs. The stream of customers was unending, and business seemed good.

This was the nearest apothecary the coachman had recommended. Its prices were fair.

Dressed in a black-and-red noble hunting outfit, Anglie looked somewhat conspicuous standing before the apothecary. The people entering and leaving occasionally cast glances his way.

He surveyed the interior, then strode up the steps and entered.

The owner was weighing medicine for two mercenaries, a man and a woman. He was a white-bearded old man with kind features and an approachable air, looking every inch like an experienced old pharmacist. Several young men and women nearby were explaining things to other customers. The moment Anglie entered, a youth immediately came over to greet him.

"Welcome, young master. Are you feeling unwell? What medicine do you need?" The youth wore a practiced smile.

"I need some Black Trefoil. Do you have any here?"

"Black Trefoil?" The youth's smile stiffened. "You must be joking. Even the largest apothecary at the port doesn't sell such a rare medicinal herb."

Anglie frowned. "There's truly no way to buy it?"

The youth nodded firmly. "A single Black Trefoil is worth several thousand gold coins. It no longer counts as an ordinary medicinal herb. Only auctions might have it, or private collectors. This herb... more than ten years ago, the Alliance explicitly decreed that commoners were forbidden from buying or selling it. Violators would face the death penalty and confiscation of property."

"Is that so?" Anglie felt somewhat helpless. Even the cultivation of the first stage of Wizard Apprentice training required such troublesome prerequisites. Who knew what sort of trouble lay ahead?

At several thousand gold coins per plant, he could not afford it even if someone delivered it right before him.

By the time he left the apothecary, night had fallen completely.

Anglie had the coachman take him directly to his mentor Adolf's villa.

The only option left was to seek out his mentor. After all, Adolf had given Anglie the Wizard's Book, so he could only place his hopes on him. Soul-Death Grass—Black Trefoil—was simply not something Anglie could obtain.

By the time he arrived at Adolf's villa, the port bells had already struck seven in the evening. All kinds of oil streetlamps had also been lit along the roads.

When Anglie stepped down from the carriage, he saw his mentor's daughter Sophia watering the garden. Four oil lamps hung on either side of the villa entrance. The light was neither bright nor overly dim.

Sophia saw Anglie as well. "Anglie, you came so early?" A trace of surprise appeared on her face, as if she had known he would come again. She walked over and opened the iron gate.

"Come on. Father is in the study on the second floor."

Anglie nodded. He did not need her to lead the way and, familiar with the route, walked straight into the open-doored villa. He went up the winding staircase to the second floor and arrived outside the study.

Knock, knock, knock.

He knocked gently on the door.

"Come in. It isn't locked." Adolf's aged voice came from inside.

Anglie lightly turned the handle. With a click, the door opened.

Adolf lay with his eyes closed in a bamboo reclining chair, dressed in a white sleeping robe. A leather-bound book rested on his stomach in one hand.

"Sit."

After giving a salute, Anglie sat on a separate leather sofa to one side.

"Judging by your appearance, Mentor, I suppose you already knew I would come seeking help?"

Adolf opened his eyes, and a faint smile surfaced on his face. "You truly did not disappoint me. The book's real contents did not frighten you away?"

Anglie froze for a moment, then smiled. "It really did give me quite a fright."

"Being able to see the true contents proves that you possess the aptitude of a Wizard. I have given that book to many, many young people, but among them, you are the only one who could see its true contents. Only those who can see the true contents will come to find me immediately on the second or third day after receiving the book. Ordinary people could never finish reading its disguised contents in such a short time." Adolf smiled as he spoke.

"It seems you were very certain I would pass that will assessment?" Anglie asked doubtfully.

"You went to Red Rock Mountain Cemetery earlier?" Adolf's smile deepened. "In Maluya, I am not merely an ordinary scholar of languages."

Anglie understood. His movements had likely been under his mentor's watch all along.

"Then, Mentor, how should the matter of Black Trefoil, Soul-Death Grass, be resolved? This plant seems very difficult to obtain."

"A few years ago, I purchased a Black Trefoil. It will be more than enough to lay your foundation." Adolf smiled with narrowed eyes.

"Then what price must I pay?" Anglie asked calmly. Although Adolf thought highly of him, an item worth several thousand gold coins would naturally not be given away so easily.

"A price? It is too early for you to speak of that now. Several thousand gold coins are not a small sum even to me, but I can bear it. What I value is your potential—your future." Adolf's smile faded as he spoke clearly.

"Mary, have Sophia come in for a moment," he called loudly toward the door.

Before long, Sophia entered in a red dress, looking puzzled. "Father, why did you call me?" She glanced at Anglie on the sofa to the side, then at Adolf, who was smiling faintly. With her backhand, she gently closed the door.

"Anglie, do you think Sophia is beautiful?" Adolf asked.

Anglie was startled, then looked toward Sophia.

This senior apprentice, who was around twenty years old, had delicate features that gave her a quiet, gentle air. She wore a form-fitting red dress, and her brownish-yellow curled hair fell over her shoulders. Her figure rose and fell in all the right places, remarkably well-proportioned. The skin exposed on her arms and neck was snow-white.