Once they saw what the primer actually was, the faint hopes some of them had been nursing collapsed—Elliot wanted every one of them to hold out a hand, and then he personally took a kind of magic potion and dabbed it onto each palm.
They had assumed the primer would be some kind of object, and had even been planning to throw it away once they entered the trial grounds. Now that was plainly impossible.
When Elliot finished, he said, "This primer gives off a special smell that draws magical beasts, and it stays good for one month. You're welcome to try to get it off—the trial rules allow that. Whether you can actually manage it is, of course, your own business."
After that Elliot trailed along at Adam's side with an insufferably cheeky air, looking exactly like a man waiting to be begged. They were nearly at the foot of the laboratory building and Adam still hadn't made a sound, so Elliot couldn't hold it in any longer: "Adam, don't you want me to help you get the primer off?"
Adam looked at him and shook his head. "No need."
Elliot was crestfallen. The academy allowed apprentices to remove the mark through their own abilities, but those abilities did not include asking someone else for help. Elliot had been hoping Adam would beg him so he could mess with him a little—and now that was off the table.
"Cack cack," the devil laughed slyly off to one side. "Naive human. How would the great master fall for a trick like that?"
Adam had no need of it, but others had started scheming around Adam.
They all knew, more or less, that Adam and Elliot were on good terms, but Adam's fearsome reputation kept them from going to him directly with their request; they could only make their wishes known through William.
So when Adam got back to the laboratory, William came up to him stammering, "Adam, there's something..."
Adam was loading food, water, and a set quantity of energy stones into his personal storage space. Hearing this, he glanced at William. "Spit it out."
William found it hard to bring out, and privately thought the odds were slim, but he said it anyway: "Some of the apprentices at the academy want your help getting the method for removing the primer out of Mr. Elliot."
Adam looked at William strangely. "Does that include you?"
William waved both hands frantically. "No, no, no—I don't think it's possible either, but I couldn't hold out against their pleading..."
Adam looked away and said flatly, "Good, you're not too stupid. But it's impossible."
William had expected that answer, but he still couldn't help asking, "Why?"
Adam sighed. It seemed his laboratory was due for some new blood. "The Mages' wisdom wouldn't leave a hole like that. They allow apprentices to remove the mark with their own ability—what is 'your own ability'?" He tapped his head. "It's intelligence, not connections."
"But isn't having connections a kind of ability too?"
Adam couldn't be bothered to answer; James kindly explained instead. "William, I don't think you've understood what the trial is for."
William turned to look at James.
"The trial exists to weed out apprentices with no intelligence, to eliminate the ones who've just been there to make up the numbers."
William seemed to grasp it.
"A Mage is a profession that pursues energy and explores truth. If your own intelligence isn't enough, what good are connections? The academy isn't training politicians."
William nodded awkwardly and dropped the subject. As for how he explained it to the people who had asked him, that was nobody else's concern.
Adam finished packing his things, then suddenly recalled that he hadn't seen the other two apprentices who had come off the deserted island. He asked William, "Cristel and Ophelia aren't taking part in the trial?"
William blinked, not having expected the question, but he happened to know. "Cristel became Mage Blake's disciple, so she doesn't need to take the trial. As for Ophelia, I heard she's in some laboratory somewhere, but I'm not too sure."
The devil came bursting out, hungry for gossip. "Who are they? Are they girls?"
William nodded.
"Cack cack. Could they be the master's—"
William stared speechlessly at the devil, whose form was scattering apart under a psychokinesis palm strike, and had no idea what to say...
Early the next morning, guided by the senior apprentices, the rookies came once more to the teleportation hall and stepped onto the teleportation formation, each carrying different feelings. On this trip many of them were fated to fail and be eliminated, or to die and be eaten; some were so frightened that their legs trembled. But no matter what, none of them could change the fate coming for them.
Teleportation felt as unbearable as ever, except that this time Adam could fend it off with a psychokinesis barrier. After a moment of giddiness, Adam found himself in an unfamiliar place.
It was damp and rank all around, the ground underfoot soft and covered with rotting plant and animal remains; he could hear rushing water, and before his eyes were things so densely packed they blotted out the sunlight. The ether content of the air was a little lower than at the academy, but the energy in the air was restless.
Random scatter teleportation?
Adam quickly surveyed his surroundings and found that everyone else was no longer with him—here he was alone. The primer on his hand seemed to have reacted with the special potion now that he had reached the designated site, giving off a peculiar odor the nose could pick out clearly.
This was a tropical rainforest. On Earth, such regions were notorious for their biodiversity and their danger; explorers had often met unnatural deaths there. And in the high-magic environment of the Mage Plane, what weird and ungodly magical beasts this one might hold was simply beyond imagining.
In surroundings like these, Adam was utterly cautious. He activated his psychokinesis barrier without holding anything back; a transparent, colorless energy shield enclosed his whole body. He did not even let his feet touch the ground, but hovered ten centimeters above it.
The trees here were too tall, and among the densely tangled branches and leaves there was no telling how many creatures were hiding. Adam was unwilling to fly too high, lest he become a target.
He knew that flight altitude didn't really mean much either way, but at least near the ground he would have more room to maneuver.
Adam could tell directions, but directions were useless. This was the trial ground; there would be no exit.
He couldn't help counting himself lucky to have his personal storage space, so he wouldn't have to waste effort searching for food and water. Who knew which plants in a rainforest were poisonous, or how poisonous the poisonous ones were.
Of course, the devil was also very useful here. For example: "Go take a look up ahead." Adam pointed at the deep darkness in front of him and gave the devil its orders.
In the material world, apart from certain specific high-magic environments, there was little that threatened a devil, a being of will; pure physical attacks had no effect on it, which made it the best possible choice for scouting. As for whether it might get finished off by a passing high-grade magical beast, Adam's attitude was that he didn't much care.
The devil, as if it had a death wish, turned into the image of a young woman and, putting on a pitiful, aggrieved air, posed and preened at Adam: "Master, could you really bear to send your darling to such a terrifying place?"
Adam fixed his emotionless eyes on the devil. The devil forced itself to hold his gaze for a few seconds, then the young woman's form collapsed, and it muttered in sulky resignation, "Fine, fine, fine. I'll go, I'll go!"
Adam stood on a stretch of ground that was relatively open and dry. After the devil left, he turned his attention to the primer on his hand. Being constantly exposed like this felt terrible, and Adam wanted to remove the primer too—but his knowledge of potion-making was not extensive, and a few minutes later he had to admit he could not counteract the effects of a special potion brewed through such a complex process.
Then there was movement deep in the rainforest. Adam heard the crash of whole swathes of trees going down, the grating, tooth-aching creak of something crawling over the ground, and the devil's shrill cry for help: "Master, help! Your most loyal servant is about to be finished!"
Adam frowned and cast a light spell forward, and even he, cool as he was, felt his pupils contract: what was chasing the devil was a giant python at least twenty meters long by his estimate, its body colored almost exactly like the rainforest—if it held still, anyone would take it for a tree trunk. Its mouth was ceaselessly spraying a transparent liquid that corroded away everything it touched.
On some nameless stretch of coast on the Mage Continent, a figure wrapped entirely in a long robe stepped onto land. His name was Peter Om, Clark's grandfather.
Ever since he learned of Clark's death, he had set out from a distant island, following the aura of the death mark. He was going to avenge his only grandson.
When an apprentice advances to full-fledged Mage, the all-around evolution that begins in the soul and spreads through the body is a leap to a higher level of life.
That is of course a good thing, but unless a full-fledged Mage finds a Mage partner whose soul is completely identical, they can hardly ever have children of their own blood again. Peter Om's son had long since died; Clark was his only grandson.
Within a family power, the strength of one's direct kin determines one's say within the faction—and Clark had the talent to advance to full-fledged Mage. His death was not only a wound to the heart but the loss of enormous interests.
The death mark was a kind of curse, and nearly all curse spells were powerless against full-fledged Mages. Clark's inexplicable death was something he could not accept, least of all dying at the hands of an apprentice.
Magefoes were actually in a very difficult position. They did not even dare to openly reveal a full-fledged Mage's aura on the Mage Continent, nor were they entitled to use teleportation formations, since otherwise they might draw mainstream Mages down to kill them, or simply be shot dead by the Guardians. So Peter Om could only wander the Mage Continent like an ordinary apprentice.
He knew Clark had died inside the territory ruled by Mordo Elemental Tower—he himself had supplied the location. But he never could have imagined Clark would be killed; Magefoes might be at a total disadvantage at the full-fledged Mage stage, but during their apprenticeship they were not weak.
"Whoever you are, no one provokes the Om family and walks away without paying..." Beneath the robe, Peter's face twisted into a bloodthirsty grin, and he sped on toward the direction the death mark pointed him.