Although the Slavic Bearman bloodline in Oleg's body had vanished, the fiery temper inherited from the Bearmen had not changed in the slightest. The moment he heard what that blond, curly-haired brat said, he flew into a rage.
"What did you say?"
Oleg clenched his fists and leaped in front of Alban before anyone else could react. The shadow cast by his massive body completely enveloped the scrawny wizard as he roared, "Say that again!"
The other gray-robed men on the docks fell silent, their eyes shining as they watched the conflict between Oleg and Alban. Their ingrained way of thinking had yet to make them realize the true nature of this clash.
"I said, you're better suited for this job." Alban cleared his throat and repeated himself, his face pale. Compared to before, however, his voice was much weaker.
Perhaps realizing that his voice lacked force, the tadpole-shaped spell mark on this newly minted North District Wizard's forehead flashed. The frog he had been clutching in his palm silently turned into a puff of black ash.
Then the spellbook at Alban's waist bloomed with a dim gray light.
He had not chanted an incantation or cast a single spell, yet the mere sight of that glimmer made the onlookers instinctively take a step back—fear etched deep into their bloodlines.
When Oleg saw the light emanating from Alban's spellbook, he reacted exactly like the other tricksters.
He took a step back too.
With that one step, much of the rage that had just surged up within him dissipated.
By the time he came back to himself, the cargo ship's employer had already draped an arm around Alban's shoulders and led him smilingly toward the dockside lounge. That was where the monitoring array was watched over, paying thirty Copper Coins an