Magus's fifth attempt at potion making failed, and with it, his last vial of Sub-Dragon Blood was gone.
But he didn't care.
Because now, he himself was the best proof that success was possible.
After a night of deep sleep, Magus sought out Rune in the council hall the next morning.
Rune had just returned from a patrol. He was still in his armor, dust clinging to his shoulders, his expression weary but focused. Inside the hall, he sat surrounded by several knight commanders, all of them deep in discussion about the looming invasion of the Black Scale Lizardmen.
"In past years," one commander was saying, "the Lizardmen always attack around the Frost Descent Month to seize food for the winter. Judging by the calendar, that time is nearly upon us."
"Our scouts found traces of their movement about ten kilometers north of the city yesterday," another added grimly.
"Those cursed beasts never change!" someone growled. "My lord, give me a hundred men, and I'll wipe out the whole nest!"
Rune frowned.
Blackstone City was a small frontier town, with an army barely exceeding five hundred soldiers. More than half were militiamen—farmers with spears who had undergone only basic training and had never truly seen battle. They were reliable for holding the walls, but if they met the Black Scale Lizardmen on open ground, Rune knew they would break and flee after the first clash.
The city's real fighting force, men who could be called true soldiers, numbered no more than two hundred and fifty.
That force was already stretched thin defending not only Blackstone itself but also the surrounding villages.
Rune felt a familiar headache tightening in his temples.
As if the threat of the Lizardmen weren't enough, there was also Owen—the ambitious neighboring lord eyeing his borders. If Rune miscalculated, this winter would become a nightmare for everyone under his rule.
Just as he was lost in thought, movement at the doorway caught his eye. Magus entered the hall quietly, his plain robe swaying slightly with each step.
Rune raised his hand, signaling for his commanders to pause. He turned toward Magus. "Is something the matter?"
Magus's expression was calm. "I succeeded."
For a heartbeat, Rune didn't understand. Then realization dawned on his face, mixed with disbelief. "You mean—you've found a way to strengthen the army?"
The others exchanged skeptical glances.
He had been locked in his study for only a day, and now he claimed to have discovered something that could change the strength of their forces? It sounded impossible.
Magus didn't bother arguing. Without a word, he walked to a heavy long table in the center of the hall. He placed one hand on its edge, and with a quiet breath, lifted it clean off the ground.
The table—solid oak, weighing two or three hundred jin—rose smoothly into the air. Magus held it steady, his arm unshaking, the wood creaking faintly under its own weight.
The hall went utterly silent.
Every commander stared, eyes wide, mouths slightly agape.
It was common knowledge that Magus had always been frail. In the past, he could barely lift a longsword, much less a table.
Now he was holding it aloft with one hand as though it were a feather.
That kind of strength belonged to an Apprentice Knight.
Rune shot to his feet, astonishment and joy flashing in his eyes. "What in the world—how did this happen?"
Magus set the table down gently, a faint smile curving his lips. "I've created a potion that enhances the human body. I drank a sample myself. My physique is now roughly equal to an Apprentice Knight's."
He paused briefly, then added, "The weaker the user's body, the stronger the effect. It works even on Formal Knights, though the improvement lessens with each dose. I'll need to collect more data before finalizing the exact limits."
As Magus spoke, Rune's eyes grew brighter and brighter.
A potion that could create Apprentice Knights—perhaps even full Knights—with enough supply?
The thought made his pulse quicken.
Rune knew better than anyone how difficult it was to train a Knight in this era.
An ordinary boy began training around the age of twelve, strengthening his body for four or five years before he was even qualified to practice a Breathing Method and become a Knight Page. That stage alone required endurance and resources that most peasants could never afford.
From there, the Knight Page would spend another four or five years mastering the Breathing Method before advancing to an Apprentice Knight.
Then came the final stage—years of cultivation, perhaps seven or eight more, to condense a life seed and become a Formal Knight.
All told, it took an average of seventeen to eighteen years to raise a single Knight—if the trainee had the talent to succeed at all.
Many never did.
And throughout that time, the cost in food, medicine, training, and equipment was enormous. Even among the nobles of the Iron Throne territory, the number of Knights had never exceeded a hundred, even in the most prosperous days.
Rune took a long breath, his excitement barely contained.
This potion could change everything.
If Magus truly had such a formula, then for the first time, Rune's city—and perhaps the entire Iron Throne domain—could stand on equal footing with the great powers.
He clenched his fists to steady himself and faced his younger brother squarely. "Tell me what you need."
Magus's tone turned serious. "To make this potion, I'll need a large amount of Black Scale Lizardmen blood."
Rune didn't hesitate. "Done. Tomorrow, I'll lead the army out of the city myself to hunt them."
Then, without warning, Rune stepped forward and clasped Magus by the shoulder, his eyes full of warmth and relief. "I never thought the legends of Wizards were true. I was wrong to doubt you before."
Magus smiled lightly. "There's no need for apology between brothers."
Rune laughed, the tension in the hall lifting for the first time that morning. "Well said! With us brothers working together, we'll reclaim the Iron Throne one day and avenge Father's death."
Magus nodded solemnly, though inwardly his heart remained calm.
For him, vengeance and power were distant concerns. His true goal lay elsewhere—on the path of the Wizard.
He sought not fame, nor dominion, but understanding. To master the elements, to achieve longevity, and to one day witness the revival of the world's lost magic—a golden age that would come a thousand years hence.
Still, even if his aspirations differed from Rune's, Magus knew how to wear the right mask. He needed resources—rare herbs, reagents, magical materials—and having a ruling brother meant access to all of them.
So his plan was clear: strengthen the territory, turn it into a stable foundation for his studies, and quietly pursue his own ascension toward becoming a Formal Wizard.
Across the hall, the commanders were slowly regaining their composure.
The shock of what they had witnessed gave way to awe. The frail young man they had once dismissed as a scholar had lifted a table like it was nothing.
The stories of ancient Wizards, once thought to be myths, now stood before them in flesh and blood.
To transform an ordinary person into an Apprentice Knight overnight—that was nothing short of divine.
A low murmur spread among them—excitement, disbelief, and reverence all mingled together.
With such power on their side, perhaps Blackstone City's fate was about to change.
When Rune gave the order to prepare for a Lizardmen hunt the next day, every commander answered with renewed vigor.
They had never been so eager for battle.
The Black Scale Lizardmen, whom they had once feared and hated, suddenly seemed less like monsters and more like treasure troves—each one a walking vial of precious blood, a step closer to greater strength.
The hall buzzed with energy. Armor clinked, boots thudded, and the scent of anticipation filled the air.
Rune stood at the head of the chamber, his expression solemn yet alight with determination. For the first time in months, he felt genuine hope.
If Magus's potion could truly elevate their soldiers, they might not only survive this winter—they could begin to rebuild the power their family had lost.
"Tomorrow," Rune said, his voice firm, "we strike first. We'll meet them before they reach our farms. For the Iron Throne!"
"For the Iron Throne!" the commanders echoed, fists striking their chests.
Magus watched quietly, a faint smile lingering on his lips. The room was alive with fervor and devotion—emotions he neither shared nor rejected. They served their purpose.
He turned his gaze to the tall windows, where the pale light of morning filtered through the glass, scattering across the stone floor.
Beyond those walls lay a world still shrouded in ignorance, clinging to steel and muscle while the forgotten art of true magic slumbered beneath its soil.
That, he thought, was the world he would one day awaken.