The Legendary Mage (Alavin) novel Chapter 7

Alavin sat upon a stone bench, having immersed himself in the study of the Restoration Mantra all through the night. Far from being weary, he felt a renewed vigor coursing through him. The Restoration Mantra allowed him to draw in the healing Aether of the world around him, mending his wounds and replenishing his vitality, ensuring he maintained a bountiful spirit.

It had taken Alavin a full three years to master the first verse of the Restoration Mantra, largely due to his tender age and lack of knowledge, as well as his unfamiliarity with the method of harnessing the Aether. This time, however, the second verse came to him much more swiftly. Within a single night, he had gained some insight and was confident that he could fully comprehend it within half a year, if not sooner, and combine the knowledge of both verses seamlessly.

The old man had slipped away to sleep in the storeroom at some point, leaving Alavin alone in the courtyard with a solitary grave.

Alavin’s spirits were high, dispelling the gloom from being rebuffed by Elder Jaslin. He prepared breakfast for the old man, stuffed a scone in his mouth, and headed to the corner of the yard for his daily regimen. He hoisted a two-meter-tall stone urn with ease. His muscles were taut, their outlines the picture of perfection.

This stone urn was used to store sundries. His morning task was to deliver these sundries to various locations within Cobalt Strike. Initially, he pushed a wooden cart back and forth, but later, he switched to carrying a large wooden bucket on his back. Two years prior, he had adopted the stone urn, placing all the items to be delivered inside and carrying it on his deliveries.

The urn was covered in iron spikes and weighed three hundred pounds on its own. It could weigh at least five hundred pounds with the daily goods, sometimes reaching a hefty seven or eight hundred.

Bare-chested, Alavin strode across the courtyard, lifting the heavy urn. His robust muscles, explosive strength, and enduring resilience were the results of his relentless daily training.

Turning adversity into a trial was Alavin's daily mantra.

"Alavin, are you there?" A shrill voice called from outside. A plump man standing at the iron gate looking rather pompous, tilted his head and squinted his eyes disdainfully. His name was Odell, one of the stewards of Cobalt Strike, responsible for managing half the servants and their daily tasks.

Alavin ignored him, continuing his exercises with the urn.

"Are you deaf? I'm talking to you..." Odell's voice shrilled.

Boom! The urn dropped heavily to the ground, shaking the entire storeroom courtyard.

Odell shuddered; his voice was stuck as if his neck had been gripped, and he didn't dare step inside the gate.

Alavin wiped the sweat from his brow. "What is it?"

Intimidated by the weight of the urn but still trying to maintain an air of arrogance, Odell waved a list in his hand. "These are the goods to be delivered today."

"They're usually posted on the door. What brings you inside to see me today?"

"Hey! You lowborn, you should be honoured that I came..." Under Alavin's gaze, Odell faltered, and his complaints trailed into mumbles. He dared not provoke Alavin, who had no regard for status and had beaten him more than once.

“Hand it over,” Alavin said, taking the list and glancing over it. “Why so many places?"

Odell sneered, "Aren't you a Novice Mage now? You dared to attack Elder Jaslin, and now a few extra deliveries are too much for you?"