During the incident at the library, I took responsibility for paying the damages on his behalf. It cost me almost all the Mana Stones I had unexpectedly received from the Shaman during the previous ceremony—apparently, Verdant Heart was more precious to him than I had imagined.

  But I had no regrets. Because I saw something in this boy—raw potential, untapped power.

  An early investment now could yield a great reward in the future.

  As we strolled through the streets of Asterion City, we talked. And for the first time, I learned about who he really was.

  Samus Xavier—a bastard child.

  His mother worked as a mere maid, and his father? A mystery. No one knew who he was, except for his mother. Sam never met him, never heard his name, never even saw a trace of his existence. It was as if the man had vanished from the world, leaving nothing behind but his blood running through Sam’s veins.

  He lived in the Eastern District, the city’s most impoverished slum—a place filled with filth, crime, and hopelessness. Yet, despite his situation, he held a dream. To escape. To take his mother away from that wretched place.

  That was why he was so desperate to learn magic. To him, Wizardry was the key to a better life.

  But the reality was cruel.

  The Wizard Academy was a place for the elite. The cost of admission alone was enough to crush any commoner’s dreams. Even if he somehow managed to gather enough Mana Stones for tuition, his status as a bastard would bar him from entry.

  The Academy valued bloodlines as much as talent. And Sam had neither noble blood nor powerful connections. Yet, despite knowing all of this, he refused to give up.

  That kind of determination reminded me of someone.

  … Me.

  "Alright, we’re here," I said as we arrived at our destination.

  Before us stood the Adventurer’s Training Grounds—an open field lined with practice dummies, sparring rings, and enchanted targets designed to withstand powerful spells.

  I paid for the entrance fee, and we headed to the private training area I had rented. "Alright, show me that Fireball you used back in the library," I instructed.

  Sam’s expression turned serious as he took a deep breath. "Y-Yes, Sir!" He nodded, raising his trembling hands.

  His fingers curled into the proper casting stance as he focused, channeling Mana into his palm. The air around him shimmered as energy gathered, condensing into a bright, pulsating orb of fire.

  Then—

  FWOOSH!

  A blazing Fireball shot forward, exploding upon impact with the target.

  I blinked.

  That… was big. Much bigger than an average Fireball.

  Even trained wizards in the academy struggled to produce something of that size. Yet, this kid—who had no formal training—had just unleashed a spell far beyond his level.

  A slow smirk formed on my lips. "That was impressive."

  Sam beamed at my praise, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. We spent the next few hours rigorously testing his abilities. How many spells could he cast consecutively? Could he use elements besides fire? How precise were his attacks?

  And the results?

  Unbelievable. A Monster in the Making.

  With each test, the same pattern emerged—Sam’s magic was stronger, denser, and more potent than normal spells.

  But there was a trade-off. His spells consumed more Mana than usual.

  A normal wizard would struggle to sustain such high output… but Sam had an abnormal Mana pool. His reserves were massive, far exceeding what an average human his age should have.

  With proper training, he could become a force unlike anything this kingdom had ever seen.

  But the most astonishing part? It wasn’t just his raw power. It was his mind. His learning speed was ridiculous.

  With only a few books I had bought for him, he was able to replicate basic magic flawlessly. His understanding of spell formations was unnaturally sharp for someone who had only just begun learning magic.

  It became clear—

  The moment he fired his first spell back at the library… something in him had awakened.

  And I was going to make sure that potential didn’t go to waste.

  By the time I finished my training session with Sam, the sky had already turned a deep shade of indigo. The first stars of the night twinkled above Asterion City, casting a faint glow over the bustling streets.

  “Thanks and goodbye, Sir Erynd,” Sam waved his hand and went to the opposite side of the road.

  We had agreed to train together once a week, and as I watched Sam excitedly clutch the spellbook I had given him, I knew this was only the beginning for him. But for now, I had another matter to attend to.

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  My new team.

  ***

  The tavern was warm and lively, filled with the scent of roasted meat, aged ale, and the faint hint of smoke from the crackling fireplace. The chatter of adventurers and bards playing stringed instruments blended together into an oddly comforting noise.

  Two elves, Two druids, One dwarf.

  The five of us gathered around a wooden table near the corner of the tavern, our drinks in hand. There was a moment of awkward silence before the first introduction came.

  "H-h-hello... I'm Elena. Nice to meet you all. I hope you can help me."

  Her voice was soft, almost hesitant.

  Elena Vonn Gwydion.

  The younger sister of Darwyn and, without a doubt, the most inexperienced member of our party.

  She had the same sharp Elven features as her brother—high cheekbones, pointed ears, and piercing green eyes. But where Darwyn carried himself with a kind of reckless confidence, Elena seemed reserved, almost shy.

  She reminded me of Orin, but unlike Orin, who was cheerful and easygoing, Elena gave off a quieter, more introverted aura.

  Still, it was clear she was very close to her brother.

  And in response, Darwyn took on a more serious, protective role when she was around—a stark contrast to the timid and sometimes goofy personality he usually displayed.

  As for her combat skills—there wasn’t much to say. She was a beginner archer, still learning how to wield her bow properly. She had a long way to go.

  Next was Orin.

  She introduced herself in her usual straightforward manner, explaining her general combat abilities without revealing too much detail.

  That was an unspoken rule we had all silently agreed on—no one shared too much information yet. After all, this was only our first meeting altogether.

  Before we got into anything serious, we spent some time joking around. The warm glow of the tavern’s lanterns flickered around us, and the scent of roasted meat and ale filled the air.

  “Come on, tell us that funny story again, Mister Bromir!” Orin, already a little tipsy, waved her mug enthusiastically at the dwarf.

  Muradin chuckled, stroking his thick beard as he leaned back in his chair. “Ahh, you mean the one about the time I got stuck in a Goblin’s outhouse?”

  Darwyn nearly choked on his drink. “Aah… That is a good one”

  Orin burst into laughter before Muradin even began. “Yes! That one! It gets better every time!”

  Muradin took a deep breath and dramatically began his tale. “Right, so picture this: me, fresh outta training, barely grown my first real beard—”

  “That tiny thing counts as a beard?” Darwyn teased.

  “Oi, elf, let me tell my story,” Muradin shot back, pretending to be offended. “Anyway! There I was, chasin’ a Goblin through the woods. Nasty little bugger ran straight into this tiny wooden shack. I bust in after him, hammer raised, ready to strike—and boom! The whole thing collapses on me.”

  Orin was already wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh no—”

  Muradin grinned. “Oh yes. Turns out, I’d just stormed into a Goblin latrine. And let me tell you, it was not a dignified way to spend the next hour.”

  Darwyn burst out laughing. “By the gods, how did you even get out?”

  Muradin sighed dramatically. “I didn’t. Not at first. My squad had to dig me out while the Goblins sat on the hill laughing their little green arses off.”

  Orin nearly fell off her chair from laughing. “I can’t—I can’t breathe! This is the best story ever!”

  Muradin smirked, clearly enjoying the attention. “Aye, but the best part? After I got free, I charged right up that hill, still covered in Goblin filth, and knocked their leader flat on his back. They never laughed at me again.”

  “Out of respect, or out of sheer horror?” I asked, unable to stop myself from grinning.

  Muradin shrugged. “Bit o’ both, probably.”

  Orin slammed her mug on the table, still laughing. “Alright, Mister Gwydion, your turn! Tell us something embarrassing!”

  Darwyn groaned. “Oh, come on. Do I have to?”

  “Yes!” Orin and Muradin said in unison.

  Elena and I exchanged amused glances. While the others were fully invested in the conversation, we remained mostly as spectators, occasionally throwing in a comment or chuckling at their antics.

  For a while, we simply enjoyed each other’s company, sharing ridiculous stories, laughing until our sides hurt, and slowly but surely, breaking the ice between us. Soon enough, we would have to talk about serious matters—but for now, it was good to just be adventurers enjoying a drink.

  ***

  An hour had passed, and the lively chatter and laughter began to settle as we shifted to more serious matters. The first thing on our agenda was defining our roles within the team.

  Muradin, with his unshakable resilience and near-indestructible armor, would serve as our frontline tank. His job was simple but crucial—take the hits so the rest of us didn’t have to. Darwyn and Elena, both archers, would provide ranged physical attacks, picking off enemies from a distance with deadly precision. Meanwhile, Orin and I would take on the roles of support and magic damage dealers, balancing offense and defense with our spells and utility items.

  A simple yet solid formation.

  With that settled, we moved on to a more delicate topic—the division of loot. And, as expected, this part took the longest.

  “Look,” Muradin grumbled, crossing his arms. “I’m takin’ the hits, holdin’ the line, riskin’ me neck more than anyone. I say I deserve a bigger cut.”

  Darwyn smirked. “And who’s making sure you’re not left to fend for yourself? Oh right, that would be me, shooting arrows into anything trying to rip your beard off.”

  Muradin scoffed. “Bah, like yer arrows do all the work.”

  Orin sighed dramatically. “Do we really have to argue? Can’t we just, I don’t know, all take equal shares and be happy?”

  I chuckled. “That would be ideal, but let’s be honest—some of us contribute differently than others.”

  After much back-and-forth, we finally came to an agreement. Muradin and Darwyn, being the most experienced, would each receive 25% of the loot. Orin and I settled for 20%, under the condition that Orin would also be responsible for supplying the team with necessary items. That left Elena with 10%, the smallest share, given her lack of experience.

  “Don’t worry,” I reassured Elena when she hesitated. “This isn’t set in stone. Once you gain more experience, we can adjust things.”

  She nodded, though I could still see the uncertainty in her eyes.

  For individual rewards earned through personal contributions, we agreed that each person could keep their own. However, Soul Fragments and valuable equipment would be handled differently—discussed and distributed as needed based on the situation.

  With loot sorted, we moved on to our final topic—the Adventurer’s Guild.

  Registering our team with the Guild would open up a wealth of opportunities. We would gain access to official quests, reputation bonuses, and additional rewards from the Guild itself.

  “I already went ahead and grabbed a few available quests,” Darwyn said with a grin, pulling a bundle of parchment from his bag and spreading them across the table. “Some of these have seriously juicy rewards.”

  I casually leaned in for a look—until my eyes landed on one particular poster.

  And froze.

  My breath hitched. My heart started pounding. There it was—his face.

  Staring back at me with that same cold, calculating gaze I could never forget.

  The bounty printed in bold beneath it nearly made my eyes widen.

  100,000 Mana Stones.

  I let out a slow breath. That was… insane.

  I read the name carefully, imprinting it into my memory.

  Ryzenethar Baaik. So that’s what he’s called.