Chapter 51: The Art of Illumination

Night fell, and darkness shrouded the pine forest on the slopes of Mount Tania, just outside the town of Alvado.

Snow began to fall again, which was fortunate—it would conceal their tracks and bury their scent.

In the quiet, shadowed thicket, the sound of snapping branches echoed. Wade walked behind York, who was a small-statured dwarf, and from his hand emanated a circle of white radiance.

It was not candlelight nor fire, but rather an illumination spell.

A cantrip—Light.

This was a low-tier spell, frequently used and not difficult to learn. As long as one possessed the most basic wizard’s aptitude and could cultivate magical power through meditation, one could master the Light spell.

Of course, its frequent use among wizards did not mean the spell was common. After all, a wizard was not as ubiquitous as wildflowers by the roadside.

Wizards were exceedingly rare; perhaps one in ten thousand newborns was born with the innate capacity to learn magic.

Wade had once imagined himself becoming a wizard and had studied the subject carefully.

According to the book “On Wizards,” those capable of becoming wizards would, from childhood, display differences from ordinary people around them.

For instance, they might claim to see things invisible to others, or bend an iron spoon without touching it.

Around the age of seven or eight, peculiar tales would spread through the neighboring towns, and then, in some spring, a wizard clad in robes and bearing a staff would arrive at the prodigy’s home, seeking to persuade the parents to let him take the child away.

This was the ideal path to becoming a wizard. Innate talent allowed one to advance swiftly along this route, and the teacher would devote all his energy to instructing the pupil, for the rewards brought by a higher-level wizard were beyond measure.

A teacher of mediocre talent would travel great distances to take the prodigy as an apprentice, having learned firsthand that “talent” almost absolutely determines a wizard’s height and limits.

Knowledge, practice, wealth—none of these compare to talent. A magical prodigy, without any teaching or learning, could naturally wield first or even second-tier unsystematic spells with age.

For those of mediocre aptitude, such feats might require ten years of study.

It sounded unfair, but such was reality.

The wizard’s profession was inherently unjust; compared to others, they always appeared to possess a noble status.

Wade had not expected this dwarf to be one of those “noble” wizards.

Unfortunately, the dwarf’s talent seemed rather ordinary—Wade saw him fail two or three times before finally conjuring a feeble glow in his hand.

The white light shone brightly on the dwarf’s bald head, his sparse, graying hair scattered around the bare patch, resembling—well—a peculiar gasket.

A walking, peculiar gasket.

Wade couldn’t help but be drawn to the dwarf’s “Mediterranean” crown.

Even Mia squeezed herself into the gap of Wade’s helmet, staring at the dwarf’s bulb-like scalp.

Wade mused that perhaps it was the ghost’s phototaxis, or maybe the little spirit was pondering what that unnaturally smooth object atop the dwarf's head truly was.

He had to admit, the dwarf’s presence eased the tension.

Though the dwarf said nothing, merely walking in the lead, Wade already heard a certain rustling, suppressed breath from behind—appearing and vanishing in an instant.

“Damn, that’s rather rude!”

“Sorry, Aunt, I think I’ve lost my senses a bit…”

You can’t be blamed, lad; it’s only human, Wade thought to himself.

They had followed the dwarf for a decent stretch, winding once more through the forest.

“Here we are!” The dwarf suddenly halted. “Porter, come here and help me move this stone!”

“Coming.”

Lucas stepped forward to the moss-covered slab, bent his knees, and lifted the stone aside with ease.

Beneath the earth and stone lay a square iron door, like the entrance to a cellar.

The narrow iron door was just wide enough for a dwarf to pass through.

“Old York, is this the place you spoke of?” Lucas asked. “Is there really space below for us to hide?”

“Plenty,” York replied. “This is York’s secret… secret warehouse. I could stuff you all in like cotton!”

“But the entrance is far too small.” Lucas scratched his head, imagining himself stuck halfway through—his upper body left above ground, his legs dangling below, unable to move.

Oh, that would be dreadful.

“Old York, I think we’ll have to dismantle this iron door,” Lucas said. “Otherwise, even if your warehouse is as large as you claim, we can’t get inside.”

“Dismantle?!” The dwarf trembled, clearly displeased with Lucas’s suggestion.

Yet after glancing at Wade and then at the hundred or so weary, dust-laden people of Tania behind him, he sighed.

“Fine… do it quickly, but… but don’t let York see it.” The dwarf covered his eyes and turned away.

He seemed saddened, perhaps fond of the ornate door.

Too much time with an object breeds attachment, even if it’s lifeless.

Wade, for example, cherished his round melon-headed hammer and small round shield found on the wasteland.

He was fond of the iron helmet currently atop his head, and the iron sword as well. He had not forgotten to retrieve the old sword before leaving.

If someone proposed flattening his iron helmet, even if it were necessary, Wade thought he would feel a pang of sorrow.

He understood the dwarf’s feelings, but the entrance needed enlarging; they had to hide quickly. Soldiers were nearby, and discovery could come at any moment.

He joined in, with several broad-shouldered men gathering to pry open the iron door with swords and spades.

Amid the tooth-grinding screech of metal, the door bent and twisted in the middle, nails and all, wrenched from its place.

They spent a little more time digging away the surrounding dirt and dismantling the frame holding the iron door, greatly enlarging the once-narrow entrance.

Old York, head bowed, picked up the damaged door.

“Come, follow Old York. The last one in, remember to move the stone back and seal the door.”

“Let the women and children go first,” Lucas urged, stepping aside.

The group lined up, women and children at the front, following the dwarf into the entrance.

The numbers on the surface dwindled, leaving Wade, Lucas, and Bardell behind.

They tidied up the site, replacing the turf they had carefully excavated.

Lucas, the last to enter, dragged the stone over and blocked the entrance; at once, darkness descended, impenetrable and absolute.