Warlock Apprentice

“Card: Garden of the Twilight Goddess.”

This card in his card set had a healing effect which was as powerful as level-2 cantrips. However, it was very costly to use since he could only make one of these every other two days.

After using “Garden of the Twilight Goddess”, the wound on Blackjack’s arm was almost healed. At the same time, a tiny, golden arrow was removed from his damaged muscles by the healing effect.

Blackjack looked at the golden arrow and grimaced.

“A long-range alchemy weapon? So that was how he attacked me so fast!” A hint of greed showed up in Blackjack’s eyes. In Brute Cavern, where alchemists were rare, alchemy weapons were beyond valuable. Let alone a long-range weapon which could be used by level-1 apprentices.

“That alchemy weapon will be mine! Once I’m healed, I’ll use my Card: Punishment for the Hanged Man, and I’ll break the chick’s wings into pieces! Fafafafa!” Blackjack laughed in a low voice. “He’s just an inexperienced chick who doesn’t know when to double tap his enemy. Must be a new wizard who never witnessed the cruelty of this world. He still has the pathetic sympathy of a mortal. Now, I only need to lay low and pretend to be weak, and he’ll hesitate, then I can crash him under my feet…”

Thinking about this, Blackjack put up a weak but stubborn and determined expression. He watched mortal dramas before, and he knew such a display always did a good job of moving people’s emotions.

Angor reached a hand into the box — adeptly this time — and took out a ball using his instinct.

035325.

The woman took over the ball. Soon, a line appeared on the screen in front of her: [Baron Milk VS Ashen Warrior. In 30 minutes. Sky Tower Level 1, Arena 6.]

…

While trying to ignore the whispers of discussion among people, Angor moved to a far corner and closed his eyes to meditate. He was still displaying his “leave me alone” temperament.

He had not even meditated for long when he heard similar footsteps again.

“The fate guided YOU, not ME,” said Angor without opening his eyes.

“Hey, Milk, I saw your fight. You’re so good!” White Bear still sounded joyful as ever.

“Don’t call me ‘Milk’.”

“Baron, was that an alchemy weapon? Nice! Did you get it from Master Prome?”

“What’s it to do with you?” Angor opened his eyes this time and inspected the man in front of him from under his hood.

The man was still in his white bear costume and was wearing the same smiling face. However, he was holding a short, black-painted magic cane this time.

Angor sighed in his mind. Why did this guy keep buzzing him?

“I’m just curious. In Brute Cavern, there are only a handful of people who own alchemy weapons, and people have already squeezed every last bit of information out of them. But your weapon only showed up for the first time. It didn’t look like any of theirs.”

“So what?” Angor grew impatient. “Again, what do you want from me?”

White Bear kept smiling. “Our fate intertwined, so I’m destined to meet you again.”

“You crept up on me yourself. Don’t give me that fate nonsense.” Angor waved a hand. “If you’re not going to talk, just leave me be. I have matches coming up. I have to rest.”

Hearing these, White Bear took his cane and walked away, still smiling.

When the figure of White Bear finally disappeared into the crowd, Angor frowned and wondered what was the deal with that man.

After meditating for about ten minutes, Angor heard footsteps again. They sounded heavy this time when compared to White Bear’s footsteps.

Angor looked up in frustration and realized it was Blackjack.

The man was heavily bandaged up. Neither his top-hat nor his monocle was there. Angor could clearly see his short, grayish-green hair and handsome face this time.

“You—” Angor opened his mouth and immediately realized he was “Baron Milk” for the moment, so he only let out a snort in the end.

He waited for Blackjack to speak first.

“I lost the match and I admit it. But I warn you! Don’t you tell my secret to anyone, or I’ll make sure to mess up your life, even if it costs mine!”

The words sounded firm and determined. But Angor still did not know what Blackjack meant. Secret? Was it about Blackjack’s dressing style which he copied from Sunders?

Angor checked Blackjack carefully. Without his hat, the short gray-green hair looked almost exactly the same with Sunders’ own hair. Also, Blackjack’s face kinda looked familiar.

“Don’t tell me he’s the professor’s bastard son?” Angor quickly thought about a touching love story in which a bastard son sought to be accepted by his stern father by mimicking his father’s clothing and character. However, the merciless father completely disregarded his effort, which caused the son to develop a twisted mindset and found joy in torturing newbies…

After warning Angor, Blackjack limped away on his walking cane.

“Sigh… poor son.” Angor looked at Blackjack’s pathetic figure and concluded the story he just made up.