Chapter 39: The Apprentice and the Master’s Intent

Stan stripped off his gloves, tossing them onto the table with a sharp flick.

“So take your brat and get lost,” he snarled. “There are plenty of fools down the hill who’ll teach magic for a price. Go bother them instead.”

‘So, his peculiar temperament was finally surfacing,’ Hay mused.

Yet, Hay remained utterly unfazed by Stan’s crude words and abrasive demeanor.

“You refer to my child as a ‘brat’,” Hay observed calmly.

“Why? Does that offend you?” Stan sneered.

Hay merely let out a soft chuckle.

“Not in the slightest.”

He was entirely sincere. He genuinely wasn’t offended, though he couldn’t speak for how the ‘brat’ himself might feel hearing it.

“On the contrary, I’m quite pleased,” Hay continued. “It’s been ten months since I took Renki in, and you are the very first person to see him as a ‘brat.’ Everyone else, you see, perceives him as a ‘dog,’ not a child.”

In this world, it was simply natural to view slaves as less than human.

He held no desire, nor even the thought, of asking people who had lived this way to treat his child as human, despite being a s*ave. What recourse did he have against the prevailing norms of the world?

Others charged double, yet Stan offered lessons at half the price. Hay had come merely to test the waters, and so far, he found himself rather pleased.

Hay casually perched himself on the edge of the table, resuming his speech.

“Indeed, as a cute, obedient, submissive, and even fiercely loyal human dog.”

Though Stan verbally expressed his disdain for slaves, a flicker of guilt was discernible in his eyes.

Should Stan truly harbor such hatred and contempt for Renki, Hay intended to depart without a backward glance. Entrusting the boy to such an individual would surely preclude any genuine learning.

“Yet you speak as if you don’t perceive the boy as a dog yourself,” Stan retorted.

Stan’s thick, dark eyebrows twitched slightly as he spoke.

“Of course he appears as a dog,” Hay affirmed. “The rune effect certainly works on him.”

Indeed, to Hay, Renki was unequivocally a ‘s*ave,’ and his perception of other slaves remained identical.

“However,”

What distinguished him from others, preventing him from treating them as mere livestock, was the ingrained common sense of ‘Han Tae-hyun,’ firmly established within his mind.

“For even if he appears as a dog, that does not strip him of his humanity.”

Stan set down his glass, then crossed his arms over his chest.

“You brought the boy here with the intention of molding him into a hunting dog, and now you speak so eloquently,” Stan observed, a hint of skepticism in his tone.

“Hunting dogs are a necessity only for the lazy and the weak,” Hay countered. “I have no need for such. Teaching a child magic does not automatically dictate that they must be raised solely as a hunting dog.”

“What utter nonsense are you spouting?” Stan scoffed. “If you’re not raising him as a hunting dog, then why bother teaching him magic at all?”

“I am a mercenary,” Hay explained. “I live risking my life on the streets, where death could claim me on the very next assignment. Should I perish, ought he not possess at least one skill to survive alone in this world?”

The wizard, as if utterly dumbfounded, let out a mirthless laugh.

“You speak amusingly,” Stan remarked. “Are you truly unaware that if you die, your servant will perish alongside you?”

“The master-servant imprint?” Hay questioned, shrugging dismissively. “We can simply erase it.”

At these words, Stan’s expression instantly hardened, turning rigid.

“Erase what?” Stan demanded. “Do you truly believe the master-servant imprint can be simply wiped away at will? Should you attempt to erase it—”

“I am aware,” Hay interjected smoothly. “His neck will likely be severed by the explosive magic inherent in the servant imprint.”

“Knowing that, how can you even speak of erasing the imprint?” Stan roared. “Do you wish to destroy the boy?”

Hay, however, merely scratched his neck with an air of nonchalance.

“I’m not suggesting we erase it immediately,” he clarified, “but rather after I’ve discovered a safe method to do so.”

Stan let out a hollow, disbelieving laugh, his olive-colored eyes blazing with unconcealed fury. Hay found the precise reason for Stan’s genuine anger rather peculiar.

“There is no such thing as a safe imprint removal spell,” Stan declared. “Even a dragon could not accomplish such a feat.”

“Has a dragon ever actually attempted it?” Hay asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” Stan blurted out, taken aback.

“I haven’t heard any accounts of dragons ever attempting to erase a master-servant imprint,” Hay stated simply.

“That’s not the point I’m making!” Stan exclaimed, frustrated.

“I know,” Hay conceded. “Still, shouldn’t one at least make an effort?”

“Why?” Stan demanded.

“Pardon?”

“Why would you spend money to educate a child you brought as a s*ave, only to then contemplate freeing him?” Stan pressed, his voice sharp. “What you’re saying now—isn’t it just a desperate attempt to persuade me to accept your s*ave?”

“It is not.”

Stan merely stared at Hay, his gaze unwavering. His posture seemed to challenge Hay to utter another word.

“However, when the time is right, isn’t it an adult’s duty to send their young out of the nest?” Hay reasoned. “Instead of breaking their wings and forcing them to remain by your side, one should help them learn to fly independently, to the best of their abilities. This holds especially true for a solitary individual who has no one else to lean on.”

Hay pushed off the table, rising to his feet, and took a deliberate step toward Stan.

“I sincerely hope, Mr. Demonic, that you will accept my child as your apprentice.”

****

Emerging from the last house perched atop the hill, Renki squatted down on the front stoop. The stone steps, crudely stacked, were so cold they sent a shiver through him.

He hugged his knees, resting his chin upon them. Moments later, Sylph, who had followed him out, settled gently upon Renki’s head.

Feeling no discernible weight, Renki merely glanced upward at the tickling sensation on his scalp, making no move to dislodge Sylph.

Sylph cooed, fluttering its delicate wings. It even playfully poked Renki’s head with its sharp, eagle-like talons.

“Ow, that hurts! Stop it, Sylph,” Renki complained.

Renki grumbled, waving his arms futilely above his head. Yet, Sylph merely squawked, as if mocking him, before soaring into the air.

Renki sighed, observing Sylph circle teasingly around him.

When Renki failed to provide the desired reaction, Sylph tilted its head curiously and descended to land before him.

“Kie?”

Renki gently stroked Sylph’s head and the area above its beak with his finger. Sylph, like a contented cat, purred a soft, pleasant sound.

“Sylph,” Renki murmured, “if I become a mage, could I truly be of help to my master?”

“I was wondering why you entered our home,” a voice piped up, “but you’ve come to learn magic?”

Renki flinched, his head snapping upward.

A girl, seated in a wheeled chair, halted before Renki. Her eyes, a vibrant, piercing blue like a crisp autumn sky, seemed to hold a chilling coolness.

Despite her small, childlike frame, she appeared older than Renki.

“Were you speaking to me?” Renki asked tentatively.

“Who else is here besides you?” the girl replied with a sweet smile. “Surely you don’t think I was speaking to that spirit?”

Apprehensive at the sudden appearance of a stranger, Renki nervously rubbed his gloved hands on his knees, his eyes darting about.

“My name is Lorelei,” she introduced herself.

Lorelei abruptly extended a hand for a handshake.

Renki hesitated for a moment, then rose to his feet and bowed politely.

A handshake was a greeting exchanged between individuals of equal standing. Renki, of humble status, dared not presume to take her hand.

“My name is Renki,” he stated.

Understanding this, Lorelei did not fault him for declining the handshake. She merely offered a faint, wry smile, though her expression quickly shifted into a bright, welcoming one.

“So, has Stan already turned you away?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“Stan, the mage of this house, I mean,” Lorelei clarified. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? He likely tried to turn you both away, claiming he doesn’t accept slaves. Your master probably sent you out and is now attempting to persuade Stan. Am I correct?”

Lorelei spoke with an air of casual familiarity, as if describing an everyday occurrence.

“You, however, couldn’t possibly be a spirit user.”

Lorelei gestured with her chin toward Sylph, who remained perched on Renki’s head, its tail gently swaying.

“That must be your master’s Sylph, then?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Renki affirmed, nodding.

“What an unusual Sylph,” Lorelei mused. “It appears to be nearing intermediate rank, judging by its ability to maintain the form of a lower-grade spirit.”

“How did you know that?” Renki exclaimed, his eyes wide. “My master is only a mid-to-low rank spirit user!”

Lorelei offered a knowing, secretive smile.

“I have my ways of knowing,” she replied cryptically. “Is Sylph the only spirit he’s contracted? For a mid-to-low rank spirit user, I’d expect more.”

“Kelpie and Thea are also with him.”

Renki immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. He seemed flustered, wondering if he had overstepped by revealing his master’s information so freely.

“So, no fire spirit, then,” Lorelei remarked with a hint of disappointment.

“Still, that’s impressive! To have contracted with three spirits, that is. It’s usually not easy to form contracts with multiple spirits.”

Lorelei extended her hand towards Sylph. The spirit, in turn, climbed onto Lorelei’s hand, then her arm, eventually settling on her shoulder.

To Renki’s astonishment, Sylph even rubbed its face against Lorelei’s cheek, despite her being a stranger. He watched the scene, utterly captivated.

“I saw you both leaving Mr. Venter’s shop earlier,” Lorelei mentioned.

“You did?”

“You had your mana sensitivity tested there, didn’t you? That old man always recommends Stan as a teacher whenever a promising magic prodigy appears.”

“Yes, that’s right. Others called them thugs, though, and…”

Renki clapped his hand over his mouth once more, realizing he was speaking ill of others, which was never a good look.

“They *are* thugs. They’re not mages; they’re merchants. Swindlers who peddle their shallow knowledge for exorbitant prices. They have no right to teach anyone, for they are nothing but trash who insult proper masters. If they accept money, they should at least teach properly.”

“Are you a mage, Lorelei?”

“I am not a mage.”

Lorelei’s wheeled chair moved as if of its own volition, heading towards the backyard. Renki hesitated, glancing between the entrance and Lorelei’s back.

“I cannot be a mage, nor do I wish to be one. Do *you* wish to be a mage?”

With Sylph still perched on Lorelei, Renki had no choice but to follow. In the center of the backyard, a bonfire crackled merrily.

There was a back door, connecting to the kitchen. Lorelei ascended a ramp and pushed the door open, gesturing with her chin for Renki to enter.

“I wish to be anything,” Renki finally answered.

“Anything? So, it doesn’t matter if you’re not a mage?”

“That’s the truth.”

“Your master wants to turn you into a hunting dog. Are you truly fine with that?”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”

“Do you not know what it means to become a hunting dog?”

Renki followed Lorelei into the kitchen, closing the door behind them.

“I do,” he replied.

His voice seemed to echo loudly in the kitchen, making him hunch his shoulders. Then, as if sharing a secret, he spoke in a hushed tone.

“I must bite if told to bite, bark if told to bark, and die if told to die.”

“And you’re fine with that? Good heavens.”

“I merely wish to repay my debt of gratitude.”

“Debt of gratitude?”

Lorelei picked up a water bottle from the kitchen counter and filled a kettle.

“Yes. My master saved me, a s*ave with no value, and nursed me back to health. So, I must repay that grace. This isn’t because I’m a s*ave. I owe him my life, and I should repay it with my life.”

“Did your master tell you to say that?”

Renki offered a bitter smile and shrugged his shoulders.

“I wish he had.”

Renki helped Lorelei, who was struggling to lift the heavy, water-filled kettle, place it over the hearth.

“My master said he doesn’t need a hunting dog.”

“What do you mean?” Lorelei asked, puzzled.

“Then why is he trying to teach you magic?”

“I don’t know either. But my master once told me what I should do instead of becoming a hunting dog.”

Renki splayed his fingers, then folded them one by one as he spoke.

“Eat well, sleep well, and grow well.”

Lorelei, whose eyes had widened at his words, soon smiled and nodded.

“Is that so? He’s an interesting person.”

Occasionally, there are those who dote on their slaves as if they were pets. Perhaps this spirit user is one such master.