"Ah." Du Wei nodded, snapping back to reality. "Then find her a room and let her strip herself." He flashed a grin, eyeing the long-legged girl. "No ulterior motives, mind you. I'm just curious about that leather armor of yours."
"You damned brat! Lay a finger on me, and I'll make you—" the girl spat curses.
Du Wei's face hardened as he strode up to her, boldly poking her cheek with a finger. "Oh, I touched you. What're you gonna do about it?"
The others were bound with ropes, the burly barbarian warrior secured with livestock chains scrounged up by two knights from who-knows-where. As for the long-legged girl, the Rowling guards knocked her out cold and tossed her into Du Wei's room. Their young master seemed taken with her, so why not seize the chance to curry favor?
Unconcerned with his men's scheming, Du Wei turned his focus to a more pressing matter—a private inspection of the captured mage!
Stripped of his gray robe, the mage stood before Du Wei in nothing but undergarments, hands and feet trussed up like a festival dumpling. At first, he tried intimidation: "You dare treat a mage like this? Aren't you afraid of offending the Magic Union?"
A sharp slap answered him, silencing the mage instantly.
Du Wei rubbed his stinging palm. This body of his was still too frail.
"Answer a few questions, and I might let you go," Du Wei said, lounging in a chair and sizing up the bound mage. "Those fireballs you hurled earlier—I didn't hear a single incantation. Have you mastered the art of 'instant casting'?"
That was what piqued Du Wei's curiosity most!
Every book he'd read declared it a universal truth: mages must chant to cast spells. Yet, a rare few—peerless, legendary masters—had honed a technique to trigger spells with thought alone, bypassing vocal chants entirely. This fabled skill, known as "instant casting," demanded immense mental fortitude and a razor-sharp mastery of magical arts.
Only the continent's most renowned archmages could wield such power. A lowly Level 1 mage, barely a step above an apprentice, mastering instant casting? Impossible.
Of course, there were other ways to mimic instant casting. The most common was the magic scroll—a pre-inscribed spell ready to unleash with a flick of the wrist. But scrolls were costly, consumable treasures. Low-level spells were the norm for scrolls; mid-tier ones were rare gems, and high-level spells? Almost unheard of in scroll form.
So, Du Wei's interest burned bright for this Level 1 mage. During the skirmish, the man had cast spells without a whisper of a chant—seemingly the legendary instant casting! Even if it was just the humblest fireball spell.
In this world, a mage's rank was rigidly defined by two measures: the strength of their mana and their command of magical techniques. Mastery of incantations was a key benchmark. The same spell could vary wildly depending on the mage. Elite mages devised shortcuts, trimming syllables or altering rhythms to cast faster than their foes, seizing the upper hand in a duel.
Such innovations were a mage's closely guarded secrets, never shared lightly, lest they lose their edge. And instant casting? That was the holy grail, a prize mages would trade their souls to attain.
Du Wei wasn't naive. He didn't believe this bottom-tier mage had truly cracked instant casting. His gut told him the man had stumbled upon a trick—a substitute, perhaps, that mimicked the real thing. Otherwise, if this mage were a true instant-casting prodigy, the fight's outcome would've been reversed, with Du Wei's side crushed.
This guy was hiding something. And Du Wei had to know what.
The mage's face twisted at the question, his eyes darting nervously as he clamped his mouth shut.
Du Wei smirked. He hadn't expected instant cooperation.
They were alone in the tavern's rear kitchen, and Du Wei had all the time in the world to play this game. He began rifling through the mage's confiscated loot.
First, the mage's robe. Du Wei gave it a glance before tossing it into the nearby hearth. Flames devoured it, reducing it to ash. The silver leaf badge, proof of a certified mage from the Magic Union, caught his eye next. He toyed with it briefly before sending it to join the robe in the fire.
That badge was no trinket. Enchanted by the Magic Union, it could only be worn by its owner and melted if taken too far from them. Its faint magical pulse served as an anti-forgery mark, impossible for common folk to replicate. Useless to Du Wei, though. The mage winced as the badge burned, clearly pained by the loss.
"See? I'm not such a bad guy," Du Wei said with a smile, his pale, youthful face carrying a devilish edge. "I'm just a curious kid fascinated by magic. Answer my questions, and you walk free."
The mage stayed silent.
Du Wei shrugged and resumed his inventory. A small pouch, tucked under the mage's robe, spilled its contents: a handful of mottled gemstones—valuable to most, but mere mana batteries to a mage. Du Wei pocketed them without a second thought.
Next, two sheets of parchment. His eyes gleamed as he scanned them. They bore incantations—real, low-level spells! Despite devouring countless tomes on magic theory, Du Wei had never seen an actual spell recorded. The Magic Union's ironclad rules ensured no true incantations appeared in books, preserving the oral tradition of master-to-disciple teaching. Even the simplest fireball spell was absent from any text.
These parchments were gold. In his old world, Du Wei mused, it was like gun control: anyone could read about firearms, but crafting a working gun from scratch? Good luck.
"What's this now?" Du Wei's gaze fell on a few sealed glass vials, each filled with powders of varying hues. He didn't dare crack them open—mages carried dangerous concoctions. One might turn him to stone or worse.
"My hunch was right," Du Wei said, leaning forward with a grin. "You're no powerhouse. A Level 1 mage, through and through. That instant-casting trick you pulled? It's some kind of clever workaround, isn't it? So, here's the deal: spill your secret to satisfy my curiosity, and you're free. Or… things get painful."
The mage tried one last dodge. "You're a noble! Doesn't treating a mage like this tarnish your honor?"
Du Wei didn't bother replying.
Noble? So what?
Truth be told, Du Wei felt adrift in this strange world. Torn from his old life—friends, family, dreams, everything—he'd spent years in a haze, purposeless. The only spark of interest he'd found here was magic. Morality? Honor? He couldn't care less. To sate his hunger for magical knowledge, he'd ambushed strangers in a tavern without a second thought.
Du Wei Rowling—or whoever he'd been before—had never been a saint.