The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 7

Alavin sat upon a stone bench, having immersed himself in the study of the Restoration Mantra all through the night. Far from being weary, he felt a renewed vigor coursing through him. The Restoration Mantra allowed him to draw in the healing Aether of the world around him, mending his wounds and replenishing his vitality, ensuring he maintained a bountiful spirit. Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

It had taken Alavin a full three years to master the first verse of the Restoration Mantra, largely due to his tender age and lack of knowledge, as well as his unfamiliarity with the method of harnessing the Aether. This time, however, the second verse came to him much more swiftly. Within a single night, he had gained some insight and was confident that he could fully comprehend it within half a year, if not sooner, and combine the knowledge of both verses seamlessly.

The old man had slipped away to sleep in the storeroom at some point, leaving Alavin alone in the courtyard with a solitary grave.

Alavin’s spirits were high, dispelling the gloom from being rebuffed by Elder Jaslin. He prepared breakfast for the old man, stuffed a scone in his mouth, and headed to the corner of the yard for his daily regimen. He hoisted a two-meter-tall stone urn with ease. His muscles were taut, their outlines the picture of perfection.

This stone urn was used to store sundries. His morning task was to deliver these sundries to various locations within Cobalt Strike. Initially, he pushed a wooden cart back and forth, but later, he switched to carrying a large wooden bucket on his back. Two years prior, he had adopted the stone urn, placing all the items to be delivered inside and carrying it on his deliveries.

The urn was covered in iron spikes and weighed three hundred pounds on its own. It could weigh at least five hundred pounds with the daily goods, sometimes reaching a hefty seven or eight hundred.

Bare-chested, Alavin strode across the courtyard, lifting the heavy urn. His robust muscles, explosive strength, and enduring resilience were the results of his relentless daily training.

Turning adversity into a trial was Alavin's daily mantra.

"Alavin, are you there?" A shrill voice called from outside. A plump man standing at the iron gate looking rather pompous, tilted his head and squinted his eyes disdainfully. His name was Odell, one of the stewards of Cobalt Strike, responsible for managing half the servants and their daily tasks.

Alavin ignored him, continuing his exercises with the urn.

"Are you deaf? I'm talking to you..." Odell's voice shrilled.

Boom! The urn dropped heavily to the ground, shaking the entire storeroom courtyard.

Odell shuddered; his voice was stuck as if his neck had been gripped, and he didn't dare step inside the gate.

Alavin wiped the sweat from his brow. "What is it?"

Intimidated by the weight of the urn but still trying to maintain an air of arrogance, Odell waved a list in his hand. "These are the goods to be delivered today."

"They're usually posted on the door. What brings you inside to see me today?"

"Hey! You lowborn, you should be honoured that I came..." Under Alavin's gaze, Odell faltered, and his complaints trailed into mumbles. He dared not provoke Alavin, who had no regard for status and had beaten him more than once.

“Hand it over,” Alavin said, taking the list and glancing over it. “Why so many places?"

Odell sneered, "Aren't you a Novice Mage now? You dared to attack Elder Jaslin, and now a few extra deliveries are too much for you?"

"Some of these places aren't my responsibility."

"I decide what is and isn't your responsibility. The capable do more work. From today on, you'll be delivering to three times as many places as before."

Alavin glared coldly at him, shaking the list in his hand.

"What are you doing? If you dare hit me again, I'll make you deliver all of Cobalt Strike's goods. I’ll work you to death! Are you still staring? Alavin, don't be rash, what's a few more pounds to deliver..." Odell, seeing Alavin step forward, stumbled backward in fear. Alavin had chased him down and beaten him senseless when he was just ten years old, and since then, Odell had been thrashed at least twice a year. The more Odell punished him, the harder Alavin fought back. His body was as tough as iron, unafraid of punishment. Odell had a shadow of fear in his heart, as Alavin had yet to beat him this year.

"I'm picking something up. Don't be scared." Alavin picked up a stone from the ground and casually tossed it into the urn.

Embarrassed and annoyed, Odell retorted, "Hurry up and get ready. Deliver the goods quickly. I warn you, even if you become an Advanced Mage in the future, you'll still be a servant and will have to deliver goods every day."

"Odell, don't be too arrogant. You'll always be a steward, but I may not always be a servant." Alavin fetched a bucket of well water, went into the storeroom to clean himself, and changed into clean, tidy clothes.

Although he was a servant, he was also a nobleman, the young lord of Stormcast. Clothes needed not to be lavish, just clean. No matter how much suffering there was, a smile would do.

Regardless of how others regarded him, he had to first respect himself. This was his attitude towards life and his approach to harnessing energy.

Odell rolled his eyes, thinking Alavin would always be a servant.

Alavin loaded the goods and quantities listed into the urn. But glancing back at Odell's smug face by the gate, Alavin frowned for a moment before returning to the storeroom to stash some additional items at his waist. He then stepped out.

The urn was filled with various goods, weighing at least eight hundred pounds. With a firm grip and a grunt, Alavin hoisted the urn into the air, balancing it steadily in his hands.

Odell drew a sharp breath at the sight of Alavin’s abnormal strength and cursed inwardly. "Hurry up! Don't dawdle. If you're late, you'll walk there and crawl back."

Alavin, carrying the urn, left the storeroom. The eight hundred pounds was no small burden, but he insisted on carrying it each day, maintaining steady steps and even breaths.

Odell secretly envied but mocked with a sneer, "Look at you, all brawn and no brain. What good is strength without Combat Magic? It's a shame, really; you're fated never to touch those heights. You'll be lucky to even scrape by as a Novice Mage, let alone dream of higher ranks."

Suddenly, the stone urn in Alavin's hands tilted unsteadily, threatening to crash down upon Odell. Odell shrieked in alarm, scrambling away in a frenzied roll.

Alavin righted the urn with ease and strode past him.

"You... you bastard!" Odell fumed, grinding his teeth in anger.

Cobalt Strike, nestled deep within the Cloudveil Woods, was an ancient order with a legacy spanning a thousand years. The vast grounds encompassed more than thirty mighty peaks, housing a fellowship of over eight thousand Protégés, including countless champions. It was a renowned and powerful order, a sacred place for mages within hundreds of miles.