Chapter 2: The Haunted Land

That sentence worked like a charm. Roland, who had been sprinting, came to a sudden, screeching halt, as if nails had grown beneath his feet, refusing to flee any further.

"You... you said I could become a mage?" Roland turned around and spoke, enunciating each word carefully.

Seeing his tactic had indeed taken effect, the old man breathed a sigh of relief, inwardly warning himself not to let his temper scare this boy again, lest he be doomed to remain in this accursed place for who knows how much longer.

With this thought, the old man bared his teeth at Roland, attempting what he believed to be a friendly smile, but to Roland, it looked even more sinister and terrifying than before.

"Ah, well, boy, as I said, I can make you a mage. Interested?" There was a hint of temptation in the old man's words.

"I... I've already done the test. My mental strength is only twice that of an ordinary person—nowhere near enough," Roland said, a shadow passing over his young face.

The old man chuckled. "Boy, so your mental strength is a bit lacking. No matter! If you do as I, Kus, instruct, I guarantee you'll pass the test!" He rubbed his dry hands together, looking expectantly at the youth before him.

"What do you want me to do?" Roland's face showed a hint of wariness. This old fellow looked anything but trustworthy; best not to let himself be fooled.

The old man tried to soften his tone. "Boy, what I want you to do is very simple. See this white stone? Just drip a drop of fresh blood onto it."

Roland hesitated. Though he grew up in a poor family in Bosang Town, he had heard many tales of magical rituals requiring human blood, so the old man's request, simple as it seemed, made him pause.

Having lived for over a thousand years, Kus easily saw through Roland's doubts, but he also understood the boy's longing to become a mage. He steadied himself. "Surely you know how difficult it is for an ordinary person to become a mage overnight. Even if a Saint-level mage stood before you, they couldn't guarantee success. Yet I can. Do you expect such an opportunity to come without risk? Is that possible?"

Roland knew the old man spoke the truth. If it were easy to make a mage out of anyone, mages would not be so exalted. If he could become a mage, his family's circumstances would change in an instant—his mother, his wheelchair-bound brother, his father whose health was ruined by hard labor, all would benefit. After much inner struggle, Roland decided to take the risk. If he failed, at worst, he would die, which might even lessen his family's burden. But if he succeeded, the advantages were obvious.

With this resolution, Roland walked over to the white stone.

"That's it, boy. To reap rewards, you must pay the price. Let me warn you: the stone will make you suffer a bit, so brace yourself," Kus said, his eyes flashing.

Roland was not afraid of hardship. What he feared was the disappointment in his family's eyes, the helplessness of watching their poverty while unable to help.

No longer hesitating, Roland squatted, bit his index finger, and in moments, two or three drops of blood fell onto the ordinary-looking white stone.

Kus, his body in a translucent state, showed a tense expression, watching Roland without blinking.

The white stone absorbed the blood like a sponge in the blink of an eye. Then the stone began to fade, its color growing lighter, until a moment later, nothing remained on the ground. To Roland's astonishment, the stone appeared in his mind!

He could clearly sense it beneath his brow—a place marked by white texture and sharp edges, the very stone he'd bled onto, though now much smaller.

After waiting for some time, Kus stared at Roland's calm face and asked suspiciously, "Boy, don't you feel any pain? Any discomfort?"

Roland shook his head in confusion. "It seems... my mind is much clearer, and my thoughts are faster!"

Kus's sunken eyes nearly popped out. He remembered clearly how painful it had been when he first obtained the stone and dripped his blood upon it—he'd been tormented for over half an hour. He also recalled that, over the centuries, everyone who came here and tried the ritual had failed—some... But this frail boy had refined the stone without a hint of pain!

"Enough, Uncle Kus. I've done as you said. Now, quickly make me a mage!" Roland urged.

Kus was exasperated. "There's nothing more I need to do. You can now become a mage!"

"Really? Uncle Kus, you aren't tricking me?"

"Hmph! If you don't believe me, go test yourself again. I honestly don't know what sort of freak you are, to refine the stone so easily!" If Kus weren't a soul, he would have marched over and thumped Roland.

"Yes, yes! I'll test again—maybe I'll pass this time!" With that, Roland called out a farewell to Kus and dashed off.

He failed to notice that Kus's soul kept pace with him, never leaving his side.

"I can finally leave this damned place. Though I no longer own the mysterious white stone, that's better than spending another millennium here, alone," Kus muttered.

"Ah!" Roland suddenly cried, startling Kus from his reverie. "What's wrong?" Kus asked.

"B-bones! Skeletons!" Roland's voice shook. Though he'd faced hardship from a young age and was mature beyond his years, he was still only ten. Now, realizing he was stepping on a pile of bones, he couldn't help but cry out.

"Hmph, it's just a pile of bones. When you're a mage, you'll see far scarier things!" Kus said dismissively.

Roland steadied himself and looked around, blanching at what he saw. He realized he'd left the town in a panic and ended up in a place the townsfolk called the 'Haunted Land.' It was said to be cursed—entering meant certain death. Elders claimed several townspeople had died here, and those who tried to retrieve their bodies met the same fate. Over time, the remains were left exposed, unclaimed.

Suddenly, Roland's mind sharpened, and he fixed his gaze on the floating, skeletal old man. "You did all this, didn't you?" he asked coldly.

Kus paused, then cackled, "Boy, you have some brains, after all."

"You... why did you do this? You didn't mean well for me, did you?" Roland's tone grew colder.

"Hmph, don't pull that face at me. As I said, if you want a chance to ascend overnight, you must accept the risks. Yes, I 'enticed' them to try, hoping to leave this place, but if they hadn't volunteered, I, as a soul, couldn't touch them! They died because they couldn't endure the pain of refining the stone."

Kus was not wrong. As Roland had just felt the lure of becoming a mage, he knew he would have tried regardless of the risk—even death. Luckily, he succeeded, unlike those whose bones now lay before him.

Roland sighed, bent down, and buried the bones with scattered stones, silently praying, "Rest in peace, elders. May the gods grant you joy and well-being in the next world..."

Finished, Roland tidied his clothes and ran toward Bosang Town, whistling sharply as he went with two fingers in his mouth.

"Clop clop clop..." Soon, a black donkey galloped toward him, arriving in the blink of an eye. It raised its forelegs high and tossed its big head, striking a pose it thought quite dashing.

"Alright, Blackie, enough showing off. Let's hurry back to town—I wonder if the testing's done yet!" Roland leapt onto the donkey's back.

This black donkey had befriended Roland half a year ago. To improve his meals, Roland often snuck out to hunt wild game, and during one barbecue, a donkey appeared from nowhere, shamelessly begging for meat. Afterward, whenever Roland went outside town, the donkey would bring wild rabbits for him to roast. Roland grew fond of the carnivorous donkey, and over time, they became fast companions.

The donkey, dissatisfied with Roland's lack of praise, snorted twice, then turned and sped toward Bosang Town, covering the distance to the chapel square in five or six minutes.

By now, the testing was nearly over, and people were leaving in small groups. They were surprised to see Roland rushing up on a donkey, since he'd caused quite a stir earlier during the mage test. Many returned to see what this boy—who'd gone from heaven to hell in the blink of an eye—would do next.

"Master Doug, please test me for mage qualification once more. I think something must have gone wrong earlier," Roland said, hurrying up to the staff.

"Roland, do you doubt the Holy Church's testing instruments?" Doug said, annoyed. He'd seen many stubborn kids like Roland who believed themselves prodigies, unable to accept the test results, always making excuses for a retest. But none of them ever succeeded.

"No, no, sir. I just felt unwell during the last test, which may have affected my mental strength. I'm fine now, so please test me again. Maybe I'll pass this time."

"Just as I thought—another self-important brat," Doug thought with growing irritation. "Hmph, you can test, but by the rules, pay a hundred gold coins!" He wanted no more argument and stated the condition bluntly.

Roland was dumbfounded. "Master Doug, didn't I already pay the fee?"

Doug rolled his eyes. "That was for the first test. This test requires another fee. Hmph, no gold, step aside."

As Roland stood at a loss, a mocking voice rang out: "Heh, I'll pay the hundred coins for him. Master Doug, let him test again."

A chubby youth tossed a bag of coins to Doug.

Roland was at a loss—this was Menley, who'd always been at odds with him, now suddenly paying his test fee.

"I just enjoy watching you fail and get disappointed—it's delightful! Don't worry, you won't owe me for the hundred coins. Just make sure your face looks extra dejected when you fail! Hahaha..." Menley sneered.

The small spark of goodwill Roland had felt for Menley vanished without a trace. He snorted and ignored him, striding to the stone table. Since he'd already tested once, Doug had him stand at the black stone column for a mental strength test.

The townsfolk and academy recruiters gathered around—everyone else's tests were done, so they welcomed the entertainment.

Menley watched the frail boy with disdain, thinking, "Trying to compete with me, eh? I'll make you the town laughingstock. You'd better keep testing!"

But as Roland again bathed in the milky-white light, cries of astonishment erupted across the square, and Menley's eyes grew wide as saucers.