Chapter 8


    Every two years, Cobalt Strike would open its doors to recruit new Protégés. Thousands would


    gather at the foot of the mountains, eager to enroll their children to study the mystical energies and


    hone their magic. To advance from Apprentice to Novice Mage was a matter of great pride for any


    parent. Should one be fortunate enough to be an elite Protégé, or even a personal student of


    an Elder, it was as if their ancestors were blessed, withughter billowing from their graves in joyful


    pride.


    As vin carried the stone urn, his steps causing the stairway to tremble slightly, he was a sight to


    behold in the early morning of Cobalt Strike. Although many Protégés had grown ustomed to his


    presence, his appearances still drew attention.


    He was a robust figure, standing tall at six feet, looking like he was around seventeen years old


    when, in fact, he was only fifteen. The grueling eight years at Cobalt Strike had matured him beyond


    his years, both in mind and body.


    “vin, congrattions on advancing to Novice Mage.”


    Protégés greeted him along the way, offering smiles filled with respect or sympathy.


    “Good day, brother,” vin would reply to these friendly Protégés.


    “Let’s spar sometime,” called out another from a distance.


    “Right, I’ll hold you to that,” vin responded with augh.


    Of course, while some admired vin, others couldn’t stand him. Many Protégés passed by, some


    sneering, some whispering, and still more simply ignoring him.


    vin, list in hand and urn on the shoulder, steadily ascended the steep stone steps. He delivered


    goods from the foot of the mountain to the top, to courtyards, kitchens, and personal training


    grounds, all the while collecting unused materials to be returned. He took his duties seriously, using


    the opportunity to strengthen his body.


    He had delivered many items without incident, but upon reaching the summit and the Arena, he was


    met with harsh criticism.


    “I asked for an iron staff, one weighing a hundred pounds. What’s the meaning of these two wooden


    sticks?”


    A muscr man snapped the sturdy sticks with ease and flung them toward vin. The Arena fell


    silent, with many early risers turning to look.


    Suchrge arenas, featuring specially crafted dueling tforms and various training equipment,


    were the central training grounds for Cobalt Strike’s Protégés. Here, one could practice, spar, and


    observe elite Protégés battle, learning from their experience and techniques. Each arena could


    amodate up to a thousand people and was an essential ce of cultivation within Cobalt


    Strike. There were fifteen simr arenas in total.


    vin set down the urn and pulled out his list. “Arena ten, two wooden sticks.”


    “Nonsense, I told Odellst night, clear as day, I wanted a hundred-pound iron staff. You’re vin,


    right? I heard you demonstrated the strength of a Novice Mage yesterday. Pah, as if that’s


    something to be proud of. Do you think you can get away with swapping materials? One word from


    me, and you could be locked in solitary for ten days.”


    Mockingughter rippled from the sidelines.


    “Alright, I’ll go fetch the right one for you,” vin said, picking up the urn to leave.


    “When? I need it urgently.”


    “Next lifetime.”


    “You’re asking for it,” the other Protégé spat angrily but was held back by his peers. “You’re twenty,


    why argue with a kid?”


    vin ignored such nuisances, shouldering his urn and continuing his deliveries. Before long, he


    reached another tall peak, a ce he had not delivered to before, as it was home to the female


    Protégées.


    “Hey, isn’t that vin?”


    “It looks like him. What’s he doing here?”


    “I heard he managed to reach Novice Mage on his own. Thed’s got talent.”


    “He’s not bad, really; just a bit too fiery and proud.”


    N?velDrama.Org owns this.


    “He was once a young lord, now fallen to this state. Quite the pity.”


    The passing female Protégées were many, but none sought to trouble him.


    Carrying the urn, vin reached the halfway point on the mountain, his designated delivery spot,


    only to find—what’s this? A hot spring area?


    Scattered about were various secluded hot springs, said to be fed by warm waters rich in life


    essence from deep within the earth. This was a favored ce for many Protégés to train.


    “Who are you?” A female Protégée encountered vin, likely fresh from her own training. Her long,


    wet, hair was dangling, and she was dressed in little more than the bare essentials, hinting at the


    curves beneath. She nced at the two-meter urn vin held aloft, a flicker of surprise crossing her


    face before recognition set in. "What brings you here?"


    "I''m supposed to deliver thirty..." vin started, not realizing he had stumbled upon the hot springs.


    His mouth hung open as he checked his list, which bizarrely stated thirty wooden sticks.


    "Thirty what?"


    "Nothing, I''ve made a mistake," vin realized the truth—it had to be Odell''s doing.


    "Why''s there a man here?" More people approached, pausing to stare, their damp hair and sheer


    garments leaving little to the imagination.


    vin had no desire to stir up trouble. Holding the stone urn, he was ready to depart when a stern


    female Protégée scolded, "Men are not allowed on this mountain at dawn or dusk. Do you not know


    the rules?"


    Another female Protégée spoke gently in his defense. "Let him be. He might have simply lost his


    way."


    "Who knows? He might have ulterior motives," retorted another.


    A girl giggled. "He''s not old, but he sure looks sturdy."


    Feeling frustrated, vin hastened away from the mountain and dumped all the goods listed for that


    location at the foot of the hill. "I''ve made the delivery, but they refused me entry. It''s theirs to fetch


    now."


    "This is a low trick," muttered vin, scrutinizing his delivery list for the next destinations. Among a


    few seemingly normal stops, he was surprised to find ''Ninth Mountain.''


    Wasn''t Ninth Mountain also known as Botanic Haven? Botanic Haven was a forbidden area of


    Cobalt Strike, a ce where no Protégé was allowed to tread without permission, under threat of


    severe punishment.


    Odell was ying a harsh game, sending vin to deliver goods to Botanic Haven. If he went, he


    might be chased off, or worse. If vin didn''t go, Odell could use it as a pretext to report to the


    overseer, possibly earning vin a punishment.


    Decisively, vin tossed away the list and decided to leave. Let them try to punish him; he wouldn''t


    be serving their whims.


    But after only a few steps, vin stopped in his tracks on the narrow path. His eyes flicked back


    and forth, and then he nced over his shoulder at the discarded list.