Chapter Thirteen: The Night in Dallas

Night slowly devoured the city of Dallas, yet the lights within Corning Castle, seat of the city's lord, blazed brightly. In the study of the castle, the lord of Corning County, Viscount Corning, delicately handled a peculiar mirror. Though he was alone in the room, Viscount Corning was impeccably attired, every button fastened with meticulous care.

The mirror in his hands was roughly diamond-shaped, its surface shimmering with a deep blue sheen, mysterious patterns etched around its frame. Strangely, though the viscount faced it directly, the glass reflected nothing but emptiness.

Suddenly, the study door burst open. Edward hurried inside, breathless. “Father!”

“Hmph! Out,” the viscount snapped, setting down the mirror. “Has your study of sorcery made you forget all the etiquette of a noble?”

“…Yes, Father.” Edward, still gasping for breath, retreated, closed the door, then knocked properly. Only after hearing the word “Come in” did he enter again.

After Edward had performed a perfectly proper bow, Viscount Corning asked coolly what had happened.

“Compson is dead. Sir John found his corpse in the slums,” Edward reported hastily.

The viscount’s expression did not flicker. After a long silence, he said indifferently, “Useless.”

Edward’s face darkened as he continued, “According to Sir John, Compson was killed by Bill, the apprentice from the Sorcerers’ Tower. That boy had been hiding his true strength—he’s already advanced to Senior Apprentice and has mastered Fireball to a high degree. Even working together, John and Compson were no match for him. John barely escaped with his life, but Compson didn’t even manage to flee.”

The viscount listened with a faint smile, but when Edward finished, his tone remained calm. “Very well. I understand. You may go.”

“Father…”

“What is it now?” The viscount’s brows furrowed.

“Father, there’s something I don’t understand.” Without waiting for a reply, Edward pressed on. “Since you’ve received confirmation that Mentor Stein is near death, why waste effort scheming against that useless Charles? When the mentor dies, won’t he be at our mercy?”

The viscount looked at Edward’s youthful, handsome face and was reminded of his own younger days. Unusually, he did not rebuke his son, but explained gently, “He’s not worthy of our plotting. It is Stein we must contend with—for it was he who gave that boy the Castellon Flame Medallion.

“My goal from the start has been singular: to have Stein pass the Castellon Flame Medallion to you. It should have been a certainty—you are, after all, his favorite pupil. Unfortunately, Stein has always favored that boy. If he were content to remain ordinary, perhaps for your sake I would have let him live out his days as a wealthy man. But he insists on becoming a sorcerer’s apprentice, and even at the lowest rank, that would change everything in Stein’s eyes. After all, Stein and that boy share the same wretched third-class aptitude.”

“What! Impossible! The mentor is also third-class? How could he have become a sorcerer?” Edward exclaimed in shock.

“Exactly. That’s why the medallion is so important—it is your opportunity to break through to a sorcerer’s rank. My sources are reliable: it was with this medallion that Stein once gained the chance to advance in the capital.”

“Father, even without such an opportunity, I am confident I can break through to the sorcerer’s rank.”

“How naive. The advancement to sorcerer is nothing like advancing through the ranks of apprentice. There are crucial barriers. If it were so easy, why would our castle’s two resident guests remain stuck as Senior Apprentices all these years? And even if you do not need what our family values, it can be passed down to our descendants. Why let it fall into that brat’s hands? I had hoped to eliminate that Andy boy quietly, for your sake. Who could have guessed his luck would see him not only survive but advance to Junior Apprentice? I have received definitive news: Stein has already passed the Castellon Flame Medallion to him.”

“Father, your information is truly impressive,” Edward said with sincere admiration. It was not the first time he had felt that nothing in this world could escape his father's knowledge.

Viscount Corning quietly stroked the strange mirror in his hand, accepting his son’s praise with satisfaction, then continued, “After his old wounds flared up, Stein left the city—I suspect he’s seeking a cure. This was heaven-sent—an ideal opportunity to seize the medallion. With our influence, we could have concealed everything before Stein’s return. To ensure nothing went awry, I even gave Compson a secret treasure, the Voodoo Puppet. Yet, as ever, the man was useless.”

“Then, Father, with Compson dead, what should our next step be? Should we use Sir John to win the trust of that Charles boy from the Charles family?”

“Hmph! John is nothing but a master-biting dog. Would you entrust important matters to him with any peace of mind?” The viscount’s tone was scornful.

“Uh… unless he was our mole,” Edward said, then chuckled softly.

Viscount Corning also laughed, and for a moment, father and son felt closer than ever.

Only after Edward had left the study did the viscount’s smile fade. He tapped the desk gently and sighed, “Even when a lion hunts a rabbit, it uses all its strength.”

Then, as if recalling something, he went to the door, checked the corridor to ensure he was alone, then returned to the desk and picked up the peculiar mirror. A strange, rhythmic chant resonated through the study.

“Magic mirror, magic mirror, tell me—how is Stein’s injury?”

A faint light shimmered across the mirror’s surface, and words appeared in azure script: “Five magic stones.”

The viscount’s mouth twitched, but at last he fished five magic stones from his pocket and placed them one by one on the mirror. As each stone touched the glass, it melted as if ice meeting fire, and the liquid was swiftly absorbed.

The writing on the mirror shifted: “Stein’s condition, three days past: old wounds relapsed, strength less than a tenth, dead within seven days.”

The viscount burst into triumphant laughter, sprang to his feet, and seized his sword from the wall, drawing it with a flourish. Pointing its tip forward, he declared in a low voice,

“No one will stop the rise of House Corning. No one!”

Southwest of Corning County, deep within the Forest of Shadows.

A pitch-black cavern, its only light the faint glow from clusters of phosphorescent mushrooms. At the cave’s deepest point lay the corpse of a spider, belly-up on the cold ground, its body the size of a double bed. Each of its eight legs bristled with knife-like barbs, shimmering with a blue gleam. But most horrifying of all was the beautiful woman’s face that grew from its body—now blood-soaked, contorted in a rictus of pain. This was a bronze-ranked monster: the Faced Spider.

The cave was a shambles, as though a fierce battle had just raged. Not far from the spider’s carcass lay a battered figure—none other than Stein, whom the magic mirror had doomed to mere days of life.

Stein spat dark, clotted blood from his chest and struggled to his feet. The battle had been brutal. He was gravely wounded—one arm severed at the shoulder, a deep gash in his abdomen oozing black blood. With his remaining arm, he fumbled for antidotes and healing potions and drank them all in one desperate gulp.

After resting for quite some time, Stein finally felt a little better. Carefully, he began collecting the spider silk he needed from the cave. When he had gathered enough, he exhaled in relief. He knew that his current injuries weren’t the true danger—it was the resurgence of his old wounds that was most deadly. Without effective treatment, he would not last many more days.

“At last, I have all the materials I need,” he thought silently. “Once I return to Dallas, the plan can begin.” With these words, Stein staggered out of the cave, his eyes shining with determination. As he passed, the beasts of the Forest of Shadows slunk away into the darkness.