Chapter 7: Starry Dream

  In this boundless world, there flows a mysterious and unpredictable energy—Mana.

  It is like a meteor streaking across the night sky: invisible and colorless, yet so dazzling that mortal eyes can hardly capture its true form. It is the breath of life and the pulse of the earth; the extension of thought and the backdrop of dreams. Through millennia of exploration, living beings finally grasped the secret of guiding this primal force using will as a lead and spirit as a bridge. Thousands of years later, Mana has permeated every fiber of civilization, becoming the indispensable lifeblood of the world.

  Under the imaginative constructs of mages, Mana has birthed miracles—towers that pierce the clouds, lanterns that burn with eternal light, and cities that float in the sky, forcing the very seasons to bow to human will. Glory City, this sleepless dream of glass and light that never succumbs to the night, is but a vivid, shimmering reflection of those ten thousand legends.

  Ronen sat alone on a bench in a quiet corner of the grand lobby, observing the miracle woven by magic. His gaze flickered with curiosity over the crowd dancing before him. Wolf had not joined him; the old mercenary held nothing but disdain for such hollow, flashy spectacles.

  The hall was vast enough to hold hundreds. Crystal chandeliers cast flecks of shattered gold over guests dressed in their finest silks. They moved like schools of fish, swirling and spinning through a net of laughter, music, and the crystal clink of wine glasses.

  Ronen had come driven by his own fresh enthusiasm. He figured that if he was to plant roots in this city, meeting people couldn't hurt. However, reality quickly shattered his expectations. While the merchants were polite enough to the young mercenary—after all, trade caravans and mercenary warbands were close partners—their talk of political shifts, financial fluctuations, and regional tax rates was like a foreign tongue to him.

  He tried to fit in, maintaining a mask of polite decorum and nodding vaguely, but after several failed attempts to join a conversation, he retreated to this unnoticed bench. He sighed, his fingers tracing the rough seam of his trousers. For the first time, he truly understood why Wolf found these galas so utterly draining.

  Maybe I should just head back, Ronen thought. There will be plenty of other chances.

  "Hello... is that you, Brother Ronen?"

  A soft voice, nearly swallowed by the music, drifted from his side. His instincts flared, muscles tightening for a split second before he relaxed. Standing there was the quiet apprentice from the White Star Tower. Her name was...

  What was it? He had met too many people today to keep them all straight.

  "It really is you! Oh, thank goodness. A familiar face at last." The girl, clad in her formal apprentice robes, hurried toward him with a look of immense relief. "I'm Mary. Mary Valentine! We met just a moment ago."

  Ronen studied her quietly. This timid girl looked like a startled fawn, her face still flushed with lingering unease. He glanced toward the crowded dance floor, but among the sea of people, he couldn't spot the other girl in robes.

  "I take it you aren't much for this environment either, Miss Mary," he said, keeping his tone level and warm.

  Mary let out a visible breath of relief. "May I... sit next to you?"

  Ronen smiled and slid over, making room. "By all means."

  Mary sat down carefully, her hands folded neatly on her knees and her back straight as a student afraid of making a mistake in class. From the corner of his eye, Ronen saw her stealing glances at him. Every time his eyes met hers, she would snap her head away like a frightened rabbit, only to peek back a few moments later. The mix of shyness and curiosity made Ronen's heart soften.

  In the entire expedition, she and the other apprentice were the only ones close to his own age. He was naturally curious about the girls from the Mage Tower—partly due to their age, and partly because of his deep fascination with magic itself.

  "This is my first time in a place this loud," Ronen said with a self-deprecating chuckle, trying to break the silence. "Sadly, I don't have the fancy talk or the education to interest these merchants and nobles." He glanced at her. "But surely mages are popular at these things?"

  Mary’s face fell slightly. "If my Mentor were here, he would enjoy it. But I am just an apprentice; I'm not 'interesting' enough for them yet." she added with a small pout. "I wanted to stay in my room and read, but Zoe insisted on dragging me down... then the crowd got so thick I lost her. I was so worried, but then I saw you."

  "I wouldn't worry about Miss Zoe," Ronen reassured her. "I've only met her once, but she seems like the type who knows how to handle a party."

  Mary nodded, her voice dropping lower. "Actually... I was just a little scared to be alone."

  "What a coincidence. I was just thinking about heading back myself," Ronen said sincerely. "Since we've run into each other, I'd actually love to ask you something. We have mages in our warband, but they're always busy. They rarely have time to talk to us 'younger' types. Truth be told, I’ve always been fascinated by the craft. If you don't mind, could we talk about magic?"

  He saw her flinch slightly as if starting to get nervous again, so he quickly added: "Just to kill time. Zoe might find us soon, and if not, I'll help you look for her."

  Mary looked at Ronen earnestly, then gave a quiet, solemn nod. A small smile of relief touched her lips—she had found a safe harbor in this overwhelming night. "If it's something I know, I will tell you," she whispered.

  A moment later, an elegant waitress approached with a crystalline cocktail. The liquid inside was a deep, translucent blue, shimmering with silver flakes like a piece of the night sky trapped in a glass.

  "A 'Starry Dream' for the lady whose eyes are as deep as the night," the waitress said softly. She gave Ronen a knowing wink before setting a dark brown drink in front of him.

  "You said you were new here," Mary said, surprised. "How did you know how to do that?"

  Ronen leaned in, looking a bit smug. "I've been sitting here a while with nothing to do but watch. I observed how the nobles ordered, and I overheard that everything we spend tonight is billed to the Lapsus Merchant Circle." He raised his glass to her. "Since someone else is paying, we might as well taste a bit of 'Glory City Night.'"

  He took a sip. It was smooth, followed by a lingering sweetness—nothing like the harsh, burning rotgut mercenaries usually drank.

  As they drank, Ronen searched for a topic. He remembered the argument between the two mages from earlier. "I mentioned we have mages in our band, but they aren't 'orthodox.' Not many mages who choose the mercenary life come from the traditional path."

  He explained further: "People like you, who start as apprentices and climb through the Association's ranks to get certified as 'Orthodox Mages,' usually get snatched up by the Royal Court or high nobility. The ones who end up in mercenary bands are usually the ones who dropped out or took a 'self-taught' shortcut. Even the few orthodox mages who like the adventuring life go to the top-tier warbands—not common groups like ours." He sighed with a hint of regret. "So, we never really get to see what 'real' magic looks like."

  Mary stared at her 'Starry Dream,' then looked at Ronen through the blue glass. The young mercenary was relaxed, his usual sharp edge softened by the gala's glow. A faint blush crept into her cheeks, and she looked down quickly.

  "Actually," she began softly, "there is no absolute standard for an 'Orthodox Mage.' To most people, if you can use magic, you are a mage. 'Orthodox' is just a label the Mage Association uses to maintain its authority. It would be simple if everyone agreed to that standard."

  She continued, her voice gaining strength. "But as Mr. Mark said today, there are many powerful mages who despise Association certification. They've never taken an exam in their lives, yet they are respected and sought after by every major power. Because of them, the Association has never been able to make their 'Orthodox' title the only legal way to be a mage."

  Mary took a small, curious sip of her drink. The spice of the alcohol made her eyes crinkle. "A mage's strength has nothing to do with a registration paper. Being in the Association just means you get a monthly stipend and better research materials. In exchange, you have to do chores for them. But if you are truly powerful, merchants and nobles will bring the resources to your doorstep regardless of your title."

  "And what about apprentices like you, studying in a tower?" Ronen leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. "Our destination is a Mage Tower. I'd love to know what to expect."

  "Most Mage Towers in the Empire are private. Places like our White Star Tower, which belong directly to the Association, are the minority," Mary said, her confidence growing as she spoke about her home. "As for Zoe and me, we are apprentices by trade, but we could call ourselves mages—we both hold Primary Mage certifications from the Association."

  She swirled her glass. "The mages you see in mercenary bands didn't necessarily fail their studies. Magic is a deep, exhausting science. Not everyone can master it quickly. Many apprentices find that taking a high-paying mercenary contract is more exciting than rotting away in a library for a tiny stipend."

  She ticked off the ranks on her slender fingers. "Primary, Advanced, Great Mage, Archmage, Grand Archmage... how far do you have to go before you aren't considered a 'failure'? Even our Tower Master, who is a Grand Archmage, says he is still a student. Magic is endless."

  "And you?" Ronen asked, though he already suspected the answer. "Have you ever thought about switching paths? Becoming a mercenary?"

  Mary shook her head, a hint of fear returning to her eyes. "I couldn't. My magic is all theory; I'm no good at combat. I only came because I'm assisting my Mentor." Her voice trailed off. "And... I'm not good with people. Being a mercenary means traveling and talking to strangers constantly. That sounds... very hard for me."

  Sensing the mood getting heavy, she tried to turn the question around. "What about you, Mr. Ronen? Why did you choose to become a mercenary?"