Flamme really did have a sweet dream.
She dreamed her master went out adventuring together with her, and she was so happy she couldn’t even describe it.
So much so that, even toward the end when she knew it was a dream, she still didn’t want to wake up.
Flamme opened her bleary, half-asleep eyes to the hazy room, only to see a thick, midnight blue settling beyond the window.
She blinked blankly on her pillow, then hastily closed her eyes again.
Who could possibly understand the pain?
You wake up from a nice sleep, only to find it’s pitch-black and time to sleep again.
This is really bad.
I skipped a whole day of class.
I’m definitely getting chewed out.
Granted, Flamme’s indefatigable persistence in analyzing the barrier spell was precisely so she could skip class and sneak out.
But strictly speaking, while she had technically succeeded in skipping class, the execution was completely devoid of technical skill.
If word got out that she skipped class like this, how could she ever call herself a genius magical girl in the future?
It wasn’t magical at all!
Still, she didn’t choose to keep pretending to be asleep.
Since she was already awake, rather than lying in bed fretting until dawn, it was better to scope out the situation first.
To avoid any accidents, necessary precautions were required.
She raised her finger, and a pale blue glow flashed silently.
Magic to Make Doors Silent
Insurance set, Flamme gently pushed open her bedroom door.
The wooden door slid across the threshold without making a single sound.
“Praise be to magic,” she whispered softly.
The gloomy corridor was completely empty, all the doors tightly shut.
The benefits of suppressing her mana were showing themselves now; she didn’t have to worry about being detected by her master at all.
Heading straight for her destination—the kitchen—she smoothly fetched a plate of roasted bread and small biscuits from the cupboard like a seasoned pro.
Leaning against the counter, she used the moonlight filtering through the window to gorge herself like a ravenous ghost.
“Flamme, eat slowly.”
Hearing the voice, the girl’s hand holding a biscuit froze midair.
She whipped around violently—only to find Link standing right behind her.
Flamme’s face turned to absolute disbelief, scaring her so badly she dropped her biscuit.
“I recall telling you before.” Link walked into the kitchen, brushing past her to grab the kettle and pour a cup of water, his tone casual.
“I’m very good at stealth.”
Link had told far too many lies, but on this point, he was certain it was true.
Ever since he started seriously researching magic, he had discovered that not only was his mana pitifully small, but its nature was also extremely peculiar, making it very difficult for others to detect.
This had been put to the test when Flamme sneaked into the study to steal books back then—he had been in the room the entire time.
Had he known he possessed such a talent earlier, he wouldn’t have had to eliminate everyone who saw him back when he used to do stealth missions.
Link handed the cup of water to Flamme, looking at his disciple with gentle eyes.
Then he said, “You’ve worked hard these past few years. Take a break for a while.”
“Master, is it really you?!” Flamme nearly knocked over her water cup, reaching out to yank on Link’s face.
“Whoever you are, please don’t possess my master!”
She leaped onto Link like an octopus, clinging tightly to him.
Is this how humans express joy?
What a strange feeling, Link thought to himself, deciding he would try it out on Serie later.
“Why don’t you get off your master first?”
Flamme released her grip and dropped back to the ground.
“Once you’re done eating, let’s talk outside.”
Link turned and walked toward the doorway.
Outside lay the moonlight and night breeze, alongside this dilapidated castle that was looking more and more like a set of ruins with every passing day.
Ever since Chris left, no one had been taking care of Dragon Castle.
It was no wonder adventurers had been visiting so frequently lately; from the outside, this dragon castle truly looked like an unguarded ruin.
“Flamme, in the future, you’ll learn that those with talent become mages. Those with money become lordly knights.”
“What about those without money?”
“Those without money become adventurers, of course,” Link replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“If you’re so poor you can’t even land a decent job, your only option is to tie your head to your belt, dive into dungeons and ruins, and take on commissions with pitifully low pay.”
“So, Flamme… why do you want to adventure?”
Under the cold, clear moonlight, Link’s gaze burned intently.
He asked the question he cared about most in his heart.
She raised her head, meeting Link’s golden vertical pupils, which gleamed faintly in the moonlight.
“Master, based on my understanding of magic, step-by-step daily cultivation can indeed bring improvements. But that kind of growth, no matter how hard one works, is limited.”
“Magic is a world of visualization, and imagination is infinite.”
“Only by constantly experiencing and exploring—by seeing places I’ve never seen and coming into contact with magic I’ve never encountered—can I better understand magic, and then create new spells.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it lacked even a sliver of hesitation.
This was an answer she had carried deep in her heart for a very long time.
“I don’t think creating magic has much to do with whether one has talent or not. What matters most is whether that person has stopped in the world they already know.”
The night breeze rushed in from the coastal cliff, gently lifting the tips of her orange-red hair.
Link watched Flamme in silence for a long moment.
My precious pupil really has inherited her master’s true legacy—she can even make skipping class sound so fresh and refined that I actually feel embarrassed to refuse her.
“You’ve convinced me.”
“Huh? Just like that?” Flamme blinked, clearly not expecting this turn of events.
“What, am I some kind of unreasonable dragon?” Link crossed his arms, a hint of offended dignity in his tone.
Flamme wisely chose not to answer that question.
“Since you’re going on an adventure, your master will teach you a life-saving spell,” Link said, his tone shifting smoothly into teaching mode.
“Flamme, cast your favorite spell.”
Flamme didn’t hesitate.
She raised both hands, bringing her fingertips gently together before her chest.
A soft green radiance spilled from her palms like fireflies blown apart by the wind, drifting down to her feet one particle at a time.
The fireflies scattered onto the grass below.
Something in the soil was waking up; after a few breaths, tender green stems and leaves burst from the earth, budding and blooming all in one single motion.
Flowers of every color swayed gently in the night breeze.
A rich floral fragrance drifted through the air, blending with the sea breeze rushing over the cliff, transforming a corner of this dilapidated castle into a field of flowers under the moonlight.
This was Magic to Field Flowers—and it was also Flamme’s favorite spell.
The girl stood in the middle of the flower patch, her long orange-red hair fluttering softly in the wind as she twirled around in circles.
Link stood a few steps away, watching Flamme in the field of flowers.
He was somewhat allergic to romantic moments like this.
But seeing his pupil happy made him happy in turn.
“Use this whenever you run into a crisis,” he said softly.
Flamme raised her head from the flowers, blinking.
“Huh? Use this?”
“Right now, this is the strongest spell you possess.”
Since her master had said so, Flamme naturally chose to believe him; after all, her master’s magic had never been particularly magical to begin with.
Time really flew by.
Link sat crouched in the middle of the flower field, watching as Flamme squatted down to carefully pick a tiny flower and pin it to her cuff.
He recalled that when she first arrived, she was just a little thing.
Back then, he had feared she wasn’t a genius and wouldn’t be able to finish this grueling path of cultivation.
Now, the student had long since proven her genius; it was time for the teacher to admit his own mediocrity.
“Flamme.”
Flamme raised her head from the flowers, sensing that her master’s tone was different from usual.
“People hate change. Whenever they want to make a change, they often stall at the critical moment. In the end, they still feel it’s easier to just keep going on as they are.”
Link’s gaze passed over her, stretching long and distant into the horizon.
“For a very long time, I believed that human passion was fleeting.”
“I even thought about…” He paused, his golden vertical pupils landing back on her.
“It seems I underestimated you, Flamme,” Link said, his tone carrying a touch of loneliness.
“I am not a very remarkable teacher.”
Flamme looked at him, falling silent for a moment.
Then she stepped forward, stood on her tiptoes, reached out, and gently patted the top of Link’s lowered head to comfort him.
Even an adult who is several hundred years old needs comforting sometimes, the girl thought to herself.
“Master, your magic isn’t magical at all. It just so happens I don’t want to learn rigid, by-the-book magic either.”
She pulled her hand back, tucking her arms behind her back as she tilted her head with a smile.
“So it completely cancels out.”
To a certain extent, master and disciple were extremely alike—especially in their understanding of magic.
In Link’s view, magic was divided into three stages:
Imitation: The initial stage, where one must follow the teacher’s guidance, diligently practice the basics, and reach a level of proficiency.
Becoming: After mastering the basics, breaking through existing rules to let one’s magic evolve to a higher level.
Transcendence: Reaching a new level of understanding and synthesis at that higher plane, creating new magic and opening up a brand-new realm.
With his talents, he could act as Flamme’s teacher for the Imitation stage.
As for her teacher for the next stage, Link had already found her: Serie, the apex of all mages.
A giant was already standing right there—why not stand on the shoulders of a giant?
Right now, the biggest problem facing Link was convincing Serie to take in an absolute human as a disciple.
Come to think of it, Serie had written him a letter a while back, asking if he was home.
She would probably agree, right?
“What about you, Master?” Flamme tilted her head.
“Don’t you have any secrets in your heart?”
“Huh?” Link was caught off guard by the question.
“An exchange,” she said, her tone completely matter-of-fact.
Master and disciple were alike not only in their understanding of magic, but also in their refusal to get the short end of the stick in small matters.
A secret was a very special thing.
It was a boundary one could actively choose to draw—choosing whom to let in, and choosing whom to show the side of oneself one wished to hide.
When both sides tore down this boundary at the same time, trust was born.
“I am researching Magic to Resurrect the Dead.”
Clearly, in Link’s eyes, Flamme was someone worthy of being entrusted with a secret.
“Is it to resurrect Chris?” Flamme asked softly.
She had read that name in Link’s autobiography, and it had occupied a considerable amount of space.
“Yes. I once told her a lie.”
This time, Link didn’t embellish the word “lie” with extra fluff; in this moment, he was entirely candid.
“What I have to do now is turn that lie into reality.”
“Magic to Resurrect the Dead… sounds pretty great, doesn’t it?” Link looked at Flamme, his tone relaxed.
“This is my dream at the current stage. I originally planned to tell you when you were capable of standing on your own.”
“Flamme, remain my disciple forever. That way, after you die, I can resurrect you.”
Even with such a twisted way of expressing it, Flamme could hear the true meaning underneath.
“Even if Master didn’t say so, I would still be your disciple forever. But since you said it, it’s a promise.”
Flamme earnestly extended her right hand, her pinky finger slightly hooked.
Link also extended his pinky, gently hooking his finger around hers.
One large finger and one small finger curved into an asymmetrical arc under the moonlight.
And so, the promise was forged.
“Master Link, hand over a part of your dream to me,” Flamme said, shaking her hooked finger back and forth, her tone carrying a natural certainty.
“After all, I’m going to be your pupil for my entire life.”
Under the bright moon, the flowers in the field continued to sway softly in the night breeze.
Link’s eyes grew a little blurry as he looked at Flamme—these damn glasses were way too useless.
“Ah… that would be wonderful,” he said softly.
Then he pulled back his hand and stood tall once more.
Facing his eleven-year-old disciple, he added a three-year-overdue opening line in a solemn tone that felt entirely out of place for such an informal setting:
“Flamme, this is my first time being a master. Please guide me well from now on.”