Hart looked up at the sign overhead, and the sea of flowers that stretched out behind it.
He took a slow breath, uncertain whether he should go in.
Wizard aptitude was divided into five tiers—Tier One being the highest, Tier Five the lowest.
As an apprentice who had been at Silent Heart for nearly a year now, Hart was painfully aware that he possessed Tier Five aptitude. With such poor potential, he was basically destined to never become a full-fledged wizard. Even if he somehow forced a breakthrough by sheer luck, he'd still end up as nothing more than bottom-rung cannon fodder.
In short, a complete loser.
So within the academy, his treatment was only marginally better than that of ordinary people with no magical aptitude at all.
For someone as proud as he was, that was hard to accept.
'Weren't we all supposed to be gifted prodigies? So how did I end up just filling the ranks?'
Right now, staring at the sign above him, Hart knew exactly what lay beyond it—one of the restricted zones of the Silent Heart Academy, a place the outside world called the Sea of Deathblossoms.
It was said that one of the academy's most powerful guardians resided within—a being even the Head of the Academy couldn't do much about. At the very least, its power was equivalent to that of a Tier Five wizard.
Hart didn't really understand what being a Tier Five wizard entailed, but that didn't stop him from knowing one thing: compared to himself, the guardian was unimaginably powerful.
This place was so sealed off that not even a mouse could sneak out alive. Birds flying overhead would be forcibly dragged down unless they flew high enough. Even among members of Silent Heart, those who entered typically came out half-dead—except for a rare few high-ranking instructors, no one left completely unharmed.
Thinking about the looks of quiet disdain his fellow first-years gave him, Hart swallowed hard—then finally lifted his foot and stepped into the sea of flowers.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, he felt nothing unusual. It was no different from walking into a regular flower field.
The only difference was the fragrance—it was far more intense. Compared to the faint floral scent from outside, inside the aroma was so thick it felt like it clung to his skin. It was the only scent that existed here.
He sniffed the air instinctively, and for a moment felt tempted to pick one of the blossoms.
But when he looked at the red mist curling around the petals, unease surged up in him. His instincts screamed don't do it. Best not to touch them.
And more than that—ever since stepping inside, a strange awareness had emerged within him. He somehow just knew which path to take to meet the one who ruled this place.
It was a weird feeling, like someone had stuffed instructions directly into his brain.
He understood this was the work of the guardian—and he felt a hint of relief. At least the warning sign wasn't just a prank. If it had been, he'd probably already be dead by now.
After walking through the seemingly endless red flower sea for a while, he finally saw something different—though to be fair, it was still a flower. Just… an enormous one.
It looked like one of the red blossoms, only scaled up several thousand times. It swayed gently with the breeze, massive and otherworldly.
Guided by his inner sense, Hart knew this was where he would find the being he sought.
Before he could speak, the giant flower slowly opened. A slender figure appeared, reclining atop its central bloom.
A voice spoke:
"What is it you seek?"
As Hart met those golden vertical pupils, he felt as if his heart was gripped in an invisible vice. His vision blurred, breathing became difficult, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
Seeing Hart's reaction, Orsaga clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. 'Another zero-score apprentice, about to faint just from making eye contact—utterly pathetic.'
After years of scavenger living, Orsaga had absorbed the souls of thousands of magical beasts daily. Though he hadn't advanced in rank, his bloodline had undergone two passive evolutions thanks to his system. His body had begun displaying traits of much higher beings.
One of those traits was this: the souls of weaker beings would suffer a kind of allergic reaction just from looking directly at him—dizziness, blurred vision, difficulty breathing.
He called this effect "Weakling Repellent."
Normally, if he didn't intentionally amplify it, anyone with a soul slightly stronger than average should be able to resist it. Even a low-tier apprentice should be able to look him in the eye without passing out.
But this one in front of him—clearly no better than an ordinary human—was already on the verge of collapse just from a glance. Not even a proper apprentice yet.
Truly, a waste of space.
As Hart teetered on his feet, Orsaga sighed and crossed his legs with a helpless expression.
'As useless as he is, he's still my first fat sheep... Guess I'll give him a little leeway.'
He silently deactivated his Weakling Repellent ability.
Ironically, this passive power didn't cost him anything to maintain—but suppressing it required him to expend energy.
As Hart's breathing steadied and the dizziness faded, Orsaga said calmly:
"Trash. Raise your head. Look me in the eyes and tell me your wish."
Hart hesitated.
He wasn't too happy about being called "trash"—that part, he really wanted to protest.
But the saying went: a man under a roof must bow his head. Apparently, that principle transcended worlds and races alike, because Hart instinctively swallowed his frustration and focused on survival.
Trembling, he opened his mouth and stammered:
"I... I want to become a powerful wizard. So I hope... I can have better wizard aptitude..."
His voice was weak, full of hesitation.
He didn't even know whether this being had the ability to change his aptitude. And even if he did, Hart wasn't sure he had enough value to be worth the effort.
Which begged the question—was this pathetic kid really worth anything?
Ordinarily, modifying someone's organs and granting them higher-tier aptitude wasn't impossible, but it was far from easy. Regular wizards simply couldn't do it.
If they could, there wouldn't be so few wizards in the world.
But Orsaga specialized in this sort of thing. Back in his previous world, his Plague origin could create zombies, abominations, and other horrors with ease. Now, reshaping a human's organs or building magical pathways in someone's body was practically child's play.
But was Orsaga the kind of demon who did good deeds and helped people for free?
Of course!
A diligent scholar. Honest businessman. Tireless evangelist. Helpful citizen. Medical genius. Professional recycler.
Orsaga's name wasn't famous for nothing.
Under Hart's nervous gaze, Orsaga finally responded in a flat tone:
"I can grant your wish. Now, let's talk about the price."
Hart swallowed hard.
He suddenly had a very bad feeling.
This was going to cost him. Big time.
Maybe… he should run.
__
T/N:
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