The Theoretical Instructor, Sanderson

Dean seemed to have learned a great deal, but this was Ice Shaping Magic, after all. It differed too much from Magic Hand, leaving little he could draw upon.

This was Dean's first time attending the white-haired old man's class. Before this, he had known only bits and pieces about him.

Dean had already gained a fairly thorough understanding of the Ice Shaping Magic demonstrated just now, but ultimately, it offered only limited help with Magic Hand.

Dean could not help looking toward the old man as he walked away.

Sanderson... I think that was his name. Dean silently made a crucial decision—he would ask this second-level Mage to become his mentor!

A mentor held the highest place in the heart of anyone, whether a Mage, Priest, warrior, or member of any other profession.

Generally, a mentor would not have many disciples—five or six at most, and often only one or two.

For a disciple, until they surpassed their mentor, they would generally have only that one mentor: a guide in life, and a guide to survival.

While the other apprentices were still immersed in their thoughts, Dean left the classroom ahead of them without disturbing anyone.

As far as Dean knew, Instructor Sanderson had no disciples, not even a nominal one.

This was not because Sanderson set his sights so high that he accepted only prodigies of exceptional talent who appeared once in a century. Rather, it was because he was a theorist, and his strength was meager.

Dean had known this for some time, but theoretical knowledge was precisely what he wanted.

Despite walking with a cane, Instructor Sanderson was not actually slow. By the time Dean stepped out of the classroom, he was already nowhere to be seen.

However, Dean knew where Sanderson lived. It was no secret. In a town the size of a sesame seed, a few inquiries were enough to find the home of an instructor at its only school, Bru Academy.

Sanderson had a little courtyard home of his own, where he lived alone, with a magic servant to care for him in his old age.

That was all Dean knew. In fact, rumors about this instructor were pitifully scarce. Sanderson seemed very old—at least in his nineties.

Without pausing for even a moment, Dean headed straight for Sanderson's courtyard.

He already knew that Sanderson had returned home ahead of him. Sanderson himself, however, had no idea that a little fellow named Dean was following behind.

At last, Dean reached the courtyard entrance. The gate was open, giving him a clear view of a tall, slender figure sweeping inside.

This was the magic servant, a rather unusual servant belonging to Sanderson. In all of Bru Magic Academy, only Sanderson had one.

Of course, this was not because magic servants were rare, nor because creating them required exacting conditions. Rather, Sanderson's magic servant had some distinctive qualities.

Dean gave the magic servant a curious glance, but from this angle, he could see only his back.

It was a solitary figure sweeping the ground with a broom. Since he wore an overcoat, Dean could make out nothing else.

Magic servant was one of the more difficult spells to master among elementary magic. Its difficulty increased with changes in its intended use, and the most difficult servant creation was said to rival advanced magic.

These were merely scraps of information Dean had picked up, and he had only read the introduction after hearing that Instructor Sanderson owned a magic servant.

Of course, Dean did not dare dream of such an expensive spell as magic servant in his present circumstances.

"Ahem, excuse me, is Instructor Sanderson home?" Dean asked from the gate, clutching his wand of the poorest quality in both hands.

The magic servant in the courtyard went still, set down his broom, and slowly turned around.

"May I ask what brings you here, honored guest?" His voice was gruff and masculine, but in contrast to that voice, the magic servant was all skin and bones. No—he was practically firewood.

The magic servant's body consisted of pieces of wood of varying sizes, fitted together into a humanoid servant.

"Uh... hello, sir. I'm an apprentice at Bru Magic Academy, and I'd like to see Instructor Sanderson," Dean said, puffing out his chest. Though he had never received training in formal etiquette, he could not help trying to present what he considered a polite bearing.

The magic servant did not answer Dean. Instead, he paused, then picked up his broom and resumed sweeping. Almost at the same moment, the door of the small house at the center of the courtyard opened.

Accompanied by the tapping of his cane against the paving tiles, Sanderson appeared in the courtyard and looked at Dean with mild surprise.

"You are..." Sanderson scratched the few white hairs he had left before finally remembering. "Ah, little fellow. Were you satisfied with today's lesson?"

Sanderson spoke with a warm smile. His courtyard was so deserted that sparrows could have gathered at the gate; visitors were few and far between, and he might not receive even one in an entire month.

Thus, as the courtyard's owner, Sanderson was rather pleased to see Little Dean visiting him—provided, of course, that the boy had not come to bring him trouble.

"I was satisfied, but there were still a few things I wanted more of," Dean said, imitating Sanderson by scratching his somewhat bristly short hair.

"My name is Dean, sir. I learned a great deal from your lecture, but in the end, I'm still lacking something..." Dean paused there.

Dean knew he was no genius magic apprentice, nor did he possess any special constitution. That was why, despite having been a magic apprentice for a year, he had never sought a mentor: in all likelihood, he would be rejected.

Even now, after thinking it over at length and deciding that Instructor Sanderson was the most suitable mentor for him, Dean still feared being turned down.

"I bought a spellbook at the library, and I need your guidance on the spell inside..." Dean rushed the words out in a single breath. "Also, I heard that you don't have any disciples yet, Mentor Sanderson..."

Dean instantly grew tense, like a man facing his final judgment with a possible death sentence hanging over him.

"Mm! I understand!" Sanderson nodded, but said nothing more, instead sinking into quiet thought.

He had some impression of the magic apprentice named Dean. However, Dean was not outstanding, and the magical aptitude he had displayed was quite ordinary. Among the several hundred apprentices, he ranked somewhere in the lower middle, as inconspicuous as could be.

A student like this would suit my standing well enough, Sanderson thought. No wonder the little fellow came to me.

"Little fellow, are you certain you want me, Sanderson, a theoretical instructor, as your mentor?" Sanderson was still smiling, but Dean could hear a note of seriousness in his voice.

"Your student Dean pays his respects, Mentor Sanderson." Hearing Sanderson's words, Dean hastened to accept without the slightest hesitation and bent at the waist in a bow.

Though Dean's face remained calm, his heart began pounding fiercely, as though forcing himself to stay composed for so long had nearly made it stop beating altogether.

(End of chapter)