Orlando Carton, the young Carterburg patrol officer, on the second night of the Harvest Festival, the city was filled with crowds shopping in the Central City District market and watching magic tricks.
Orlando crossed his arms and watched them, inevitably starting to miss his girlfriend—adorable Jane, who must have been very busy helping at a restaurant in the north of the city, where wealthy gentlemen liked to dine with their families during the Harvest Festival.
"Orlando." A senior colleague beckoned to the young man, and Orlando quickly ran over—running errands for his seniors was one of Orlando’s strengths as a rookie.
Pushing through the crowd, Orlando noticed a young man in black dress clothes, with a white handkerchief edged with black on his collar—signaling that someone in his family had recently passed away.
"Mr. Mischael, this is our best rookie from the police department, Orlando Carton." A greasy middle-aged man said, patting Orlando on the shoulder as he approached: "He’s a good lad! I’ll have him help you."
"No problem, Officer Orlando, please follow me."
Orlando followed the gentleman, not quite understanding who he was, but his senior colleague, who could even stick his nose up in front of the chief, had his head bowed to his chest in front of Mr. Mischael, presumably a very significant gentleman.
Following him, Orlando saw a large pile of suitcases... stacked like a small mountain.
They were positioned under the lighted paths, and perhaps because of the presence of a dog, the luggage seemed quite safe and sound.
"That’s a lot..." Orlando muttered unconsciously.
"Of course, I’m not asking you to move them by hand, Officer," the gentleman said, smiling as he pulled ten Paper Money from his wallet and handed it to Orlando, "This is the fee for troubling the officer today."
In the unlit streets, a transaction had just taken place.
Orlando quickly nodded with a smile, "No problem, sir, I’ll take good care of your luggage."—It was the young man’s first time seeing such a denomination of tip, it was almost equal to ten days of his salary.
"Then I entrust my luggage to you... Ah, yes, today is the Harvest Festival, and here is a little something from me, Officer. Please treat your girlfriend to a cup of tea after work. The Karlmo Tea House in the northern Central District is quite nice, even we from the North District have heard of it." The kind gentleman smiled and pulled out two more ten-denomination Paper Money, handing them to Orlando.
Then he walked away from the scene with the big dog, without waiting for Orlando to say anything.
Left behind, Orlando looked at the Mowish in his hand, and after sweeping the surroundings to make sure no one was paying attention, the young officer’s smile faded and he put the money in his wallet. Then he glanced at the mechanical watch on his wrist—the welfare of an officer.
The elder Clark Mentor glanced at the report in his hand and then turned to look at Mentor Lamire, whose eyes were lifeless, receiving a barrage from old Hoffman.
"He’s only eleven! You’ve already started teaching him third-circle spells!" Old Hoffman was clearly pained at the thought of his Apprentice: "What if he suffers from magical backlash?!"
"But he’s already learning third-circle Blessing Spells, I don’t see a problem," Mentor Lamire replied with a frown: "He’s a talented child who lands his blessings nine out of ten curses!"
"Yes, a prodigy," Mentor Clark was not one to sit by idly, and tonight, after coming back from Malin and giving his account, old Hoffman had unleashed his fury, first casting out Colin, responsible for his daily care, as incapable of living independently, and then he wanted to summon Monica Green Sea, who was teaching Malin sword dance skills. Upon finding she had taken leave, he turned his firepower this way.
After all, Mentor Clark was from the same era as old Hoffman!
"So? He’s only a ten-year-old child!"
"A prodigy at ten! Do you know how happy I was when he learned the Sacred Rite on his first lesson? I can teach him all my Sacred Spells! And he can learn them all! What could be a happier time for a Mentor?!" Old Clark’s words were forceful.
"I feel the same! Although I know I have a certain scent, that child has never even wrinkled his brow once, he always smiles at me, whether we’re dissecting corpses or studying spell formations, old Hoffman! You truly don’t understand our Cursing School! This child is like an angel!" Lamire’s words were filled with sincerity.
Faced with the two mentors, old and young, Hoffman frowned and ultimately swallowed the harsh word he was about to say.
"But at least you must consider Malin’s safety. He’s still too young, mature as he may be, his mind is that of a child in his teens. What if he can’t control his own power? You don’t want to lose this Apprentice either, right?"
This hit home for the two mentors, and no matter how unhappy Clark and Lamire were, they had to admit that there was truth in Hoffman’s words.
Indeed, what if such a bright and obedient Apprentice were to die... What then?
"Don’t speed up the teaching pace anymore! At least not until he’s fourteen! If we lose this child, it would be an immeasurable loss to the entire Church!"
Old Hoffman, looking at the two mentors and receiving their reluctant agreement, finally leaned back in his chair: "So, tell me about your current teaching progress."
As was customary, Clark went first: "The child is learning very quickly. I’ve almost finished teaching him all third-circle Blessing Spells."
Old Hoffman’s face darkened, and he turned to look at Lamire.
The curse formula instructor laughed with a hint of innocence, "This kid is a fast learner; I’ve already taught him every single third-ring curse formula without exception."
This time, old Hoffman finally couldn’t hold back any longer.
"You only started teaching him second-ring magic two months ago! Get out of here!"
Outside the office, the shaping spell instructor and the assistance magic instructor both heard the roar coming from the room and then saw two unfortunate souls tossed out by the enraged old Hoffman, propelled by spiritual energy.
As the assistance magic instructor, the squirrel Rat-man, Minsk Pabrice swiftly ran over to help up old Clark, "What did you do to make old Hoffman so angry?"
"Old Hoffman told us to slow down the teaching pace, but we’ve gone ahead of schedule," Clark said, while holding his waist, "That old coot, I’m an old man too!"
"It’s not that big of a deal," said the red-haired Mrs. Raley, the shaping spell instructor, with a puckered mouth, "I’ve already taught him a few fourth-ring spells."
"Yeah, I did too," Minsk said with a wide grin, "Teaching Malin spells, honestly, is a pleasure. You teach him once, and he gets it right away, truly too simple."
Then the four instructors saw the office door open, with the paper messenger standing at the doorway, silently observing them.
"It’s your turn now," instructor Clark patted the little squirrel’s head.
And Mrs. Ramiel let out a sigh, "It’s your turn now."
So Mrs. Raley walked towards the office with a catlike tread, and Minsk followed with a grin on his face.
Clark patted his waist, looked at Ramiel, and stretched out his hand to pat him with a Blessing of Strength, "Alright, let’s go."
So the senior and the junior left the high tower.
Seeing Colin sitting in the courtyard smoking, Clark walked over and sat next to him, "Upset?"
"No, the teacher is right; I have been somewhat neglectful in managing Malin. I’ll keep a closer watch from now on." After saying that, Colin took out a cigarette from his pack and offered one to both Clark and Ramiel, "It’s been tough on you two instructors."
"We didn’t have it tough; we only taught third-ring spells. Mrs. Raley and Minsk even taught fourth-ring spells," old Clark took the cigarette, pulled out his flint lighter, flipped the lid and struck it to light the tinder, then passed it to Ramiel.
Ramiel, looking down, lit his cigarette and was about to say something when the three felt a surge of spiritual energy from the high tower.
Looking up, they saw something pitch-black fly out from the balcony, "You old bastard, you can’t do this to me—," screaming as it flew in an arc toward the calm lake near the Goddess of Harvest Church, finally splashing up a large water spray.
"Looks like Mrs. Raley," Colin said, a bit curious.
"Yep, that’s her," Ramiel sighed.
Clark raised an eyebrow, "I knew they were going to get it, but that was flung pretty far."
No sooner had he spoken than another smaller black figure flew out the window, crying out, "I was wrong—," before following the same trajectory into the lake, causing a high splash.
"That’s our friend Minsk," Colin said as he scratched his face, suddenly feeling a bit better himself.
Malin, carrying a box of pastries, opened the door to the small room in the church where he lived with his sister, and inside sat Maya, which wasn’t a surprise.
The surprise was Faye sitting beside Maya, the girl feeding Maya dried meat coated in honey with her hand.
Seeing Malin open the door, Faye smiled and squinted her eyes.
For a moment, Malin didn’t know what to say.
He silently placed the box of pastries on the table, his mouth puckered as he, who hadn’t been waited upon since becoming an adult, faced the two smiling girls and finally could only utter the most classic greeting he knew in such an awkward situation.
"I’m back, Maya, Faye," he said.
"Welcome back, Malin," Faye said with a smile, then stroked the tail of the little leopard in her arms.