Victor was no fool obsessed with music and numb to the world around him. He could sense Wolf's hostility perfectly well, and his heart was a mix of anger and amusement. It wasn't as if he had stolen Wolf's opportunity to hold a concert in the Sacred Hymn Hall. The only reason it had come down to the two of them during the council's final selection of musicians was that Victor had happened to be the one left in the discussion alongside Wolf. If anyone was to blame, it was Wolf himself — for being better at writing reviews than composing music, and for forgetting what his own musical aspirations truly were.
"Of course, Wolf. I've just finished a new piano concerto, and I'm very satisfied with it. Would you like to hear it in advance?" Victor smiled and countered. His concerto had already been registered with the Musicians' Association, so he had no fear that Wolf would steal it after listening.
Wolf had not expected Victor to shake off weeks of gloom and lethargy and radiate such confidence. His face turned an ashen gray at once. He grunted twice, then said stiffly, "Victor, I think I'll preserve a bit of curiosity. I hope that when the time comes in three months at the Sacred Hymn Hall, you won't disappoint me." If Victor was this confident, Wolf was terrified that listening to his concerto would not only fail to furnish him with any cutting words to hurl back, but would rob him of his appetite and sleep for the next three months.
Victor spread his hands and said, full of mirth, "What a pity. I was rather hoping you'd offer some feedback."
Wolf had no desire to continue the topic. His gaze shifted, landing on Lucian standing beside Victor. Taking in the latter's worn, cheap linen clothes, he raised his chin contemptuously and said, "Victor, since when did you befriend low-born, uneducated commoners?"
Although no one in Wolf's direct family line had held a title since his great-grandfather's generation, he still had a distant cousin who was a viscount and several others who were baronets — more than enough for him to regard himself as a member of the aristocracy, to look down on commoners like Victor, and to maintain an air of cold superiority at all times, to say nothing of a pauper like Lucian. Coupled with his hatred and resentment toward Victor, the sight of Lucian at his side was like seeing a repulsive mouse scurrying onto his own dinner table.
Lucian felt only a faint flicker of anger at Wolf's near-abusive tone; the rest was pure amusement. Wherever one went, so long as there were differences in wealth and status, people would use them to draw lines between the "noble" and the "base." Modern society was somewhat better about it, but this bizarre fusion of the Renaissance and the Dark Middle Ages that comprised this other world wore such distinctions openly and even took pride in them. The only way to change that kind of discrimination was through one's own strength.
Victor, himself of common birth, felt the same inexpressible disgust toward Wolf's attitude. He furrowed his brow and said gravely, "Watch your words, Wolf. This is my recent student, Lucian — a young man of considerable musical talent."
Though Victor harbored no prejudice against commoners himself, the attitudes, atmosphere, and education of the entire world had left deep marks on him. So when introducing Lucian — partly to shield him from scorn, and partly out of his own revulsion toward Wolf — Victor could not resist stretching the truth a little, even though, at this point, he still had no idea whether Lucian suffered from a natural deficiency in musical sense.
"Ha ha ha — he? He has musical talent? A low-born commoner who has never once been exposed to musical education or culture — has musical talent? Victor, I think preparing for this concert has made you lose your mind." Wolf acted as though he had heard the funniest joke in the world. He laughed until he lost all composure, doubling over, the stifled frustration of moments ago completely gone as he mocked Victor and Lucian at the top of his lungs.
Victor had not expected his well-meaning boast to provoke such a violent reaction. While marveling at how incomprehensible Wolf was, he could only press on stubbornly: "Altor is the City of Sacred Hymns, the capital of music. Everyone here enjoys the Lord's blessing and the nourishment of music. Even among commoners, there are many outstanding Bards. Moreover, some people's musical talent is a gift from the Lord — innate. Nurture and education merely brush away the dust that has dimmed the gem's radiance, allowing it to shine as it was always meant to, isn't that right?"
Wolf shook his head with a laugh and pointed at Lucian. "Such musical prodigies do exist. But if one has truly received the Lord's blessing, the divine power in one's blood should be easy to awaken. That is why Her Royal High Princess Natasha possesses it, and why Lord Verdi does as well. But this 'student' of yours — what's his name again? Ah, Lucian — certainly does not. If he can ever become an outstanding musician, I will publicly apologize to both you and him in the Musical Review, and I will never hold another concert again."
Flushed with triumph, Wolf let the words slip before he could think. But he was cautious enough to have inserted the word "outstanding" before "musician." After all, so long as Lucian was not universally acknowledged as such, he could always wriggle out of the promise if Victor came to collect.
From what Lucian had gathered over the past few days, Princess Natasha was the sole bloodline of Duke Vaolet and held the title of Countess of the Violet — a title that every duke was required to inherit before ascending, because the Vaolet family was the Violet family. Her musical talent was exceptional: she excelled at the violin, the flute, and the harpsichord, and had it not been for her station, she would likely have become an outstanding musician long ago. As a knight, too, Natasha was a prodigy — a fifth-rank Great Knight who, at only twenty-five, was already within reach of the rank of Heavenly Knight.
Count Verdi was likewise a member of the Violet family, the duke's nephew. He had composed several excellent pieces and, rather than residing in his own estate, served in Altor as commander of the city guard, having recently attained the rank of fifth-rank Great Knight as well.
Having said his piece, Wolf did not spare Victor another glance. Smiling, he walked toward the staircase.
Victor shook his head in disgust and said to Lucian, "Pay no mind to that narrow, caustic, vulgar man. Just focus on your studies. Go take care of your other affairs this afternoon, then come back tomorrow morning and find Elena. She'll take you to the library. Oh, and from now on you'll have one day off each week — whether that's Saturday or Sunday, you'll have to work out with whoever else manages the library. Now then, off I go to the recital hall."
Lucian watched Victor leave, then turned and handed the contract to Elena. "I'll be trouble for you tomorrow, Elena."
Elena smiled, a shallow dimple appearing on her left cheek. "It's my job, Lucian. Oh, and don't mind Mr. Wolf. Most people in the Association can't stand him — except for a few of the council members. Well, the council members who happen to hold titles."
"Ha — Mr. Wolf, who always looks down on us with his chin in the air, is surely not the type to look humbely at the council members' chins?" Lucian quipped dryly, drawing a peal of laughter from Elena.
After sharing a few more jokes with Elena, Lucian excused himself — he needed to go scout out the sewer entrance.
"Lucian!" After a few steps, he suddenly heard Elena's voice. He turned back, puzzled.
Elena clenched her right hand into a small fist and pumped it. "Lucian, I believe in you! Even if you can't become a musician, become an outstanding performer — and then we'll see what expression Mr. Wolf wears on his face!"
Before she had come to work at the Musicians' Association, Elena's own life had straddled the line between commoner and pauper. She knew all too well the sting of Wolf's tone, and it had left her deeply displeased.
Lucian mimicked her fist-pumping gesture and replied perfunctorily, "Count on it!"
…………
Past nine in the evening, aside from a few drunks, not a soul could be seen in the Adrang District. The night was steeped in silence, broken only by the occasional bark of a stray dog. For the poor of this world, the custom was always to sleep early and rise with the dawn. There was no rich nightlife to enjoy, and mornings demanded an early start to scrape together a living.
At supper, Lucian had shared the good news — that Victor had taken him under his wing and helped him secure a rather promising job — with Uncle Joel and Aunt Elisa. After that, he had excused himself to study, retreated to his little room, and spent his time in Meditation while parsing the spells he intended to learn next.
Now, slipping silently out of the hut and gently pulling the door shut behind him, Lucian crept toward the secluded sewer entrance he had scouted that afternoon. Once he had analyzed the four Magic Circles, he would be able to use arcane materials to set up and cast weakened, auxiliary versions of formal spells — spells like "Minor Fossil to Mud," which would be invaluable for hollowing out a hidden passage from his room down into the sewer and building a magic laboratory down there. Then he could come and go without arousing suspicion.
After patiently confirming that no one was nearby, Lucian entered the sewer.
The stench, the slick, filthy surroundings — all of it still made him uncomfortable, but none of it could dim his enthusiasm for learning Arcane Magic. He moved through the tunnels, searching for secluded corners, and inside the Library of the Soul, he sketched a rough map of the sewer system as he went.
Along the way, Lucian also scraped off a fair amount of the faintly luminous moss growing on the walls and stuffed it into the left pocket of his trousers. This moss — known as "glow moss" — was a material component for a non-formal apprentice-level spell called the Light Suppression Charm.
As he searched, Lucian found himself puzzled: he still had not encountered a single one of the beggars Correa had told him lived down here. All around was silence — nothing but his own faint footsteps echoing in the dark, a feeling that was decidedly eerie.
Before long, Lucian found a spot well suited for magical experimentation. It was a three-way junction. A dozen paces ahead, the passage was sealed by a massive boulder. The left branch led deeper underground. If he stood in the right position, he could easily spot anyone approaching from either the left or behind.
From the right-hand pocket of his linen tunic, Lucian pinched out a small lump of sulfur powder and sighed inwardly. If he failed to become a full-fledged mage, simply carrying around all the material components would be a nuisance. He had only four types and could distribute them across four pockets — but those mages who carried dozens or even hundreds of varieties probably needed dedicated robes lined with row upon row of small compartments.
Recalling the spell structures he had parsed and his own understanding of the process by which Arcane Magic was constructed, Lucian extended his right hand. His fingers pinched together, and fine sulfur powder trickled slowly from his palm. From his mouth came a strange, guttural incantation. Under the glow of the luminescent moss, his expression was solemn and grim.