Allen turned and left. His footsteps echoed across the second floor of the workshop, gradually fading into the distance.
Behind him, Draven Craig remained rooted to the spot. The purple halo radiating from the Energy Shield cast shifting shadows across his pale face.
"Who the hell... is that kid?" Draven muttered, his voice dry.
Only when the workshop's front doors snapped shut, sealing off the light and sounds of the outside world, did Draven finally begin to recover from the sheer shock of being completely read.
What just happened? He, Draven Craig—an Advanced Apprentice of the Alchemy School and a future Official Wizard—had his pride and confidence utterly dismantled by a freshman who had enrolled a mere two months ago. And it had only taken a few words.
He looked down at the newly signed Magic Contract resting on his workbench. On the parchment, their two names glowed with faint Magic Power, binding them together in an unprecedented way. He recalled the hand Allen had extended: steady, firm, and entirely devoid of emotion. Then there were those deep blue eyes, so unnervingly calm they sent a chill down his spine.
He was supposed to be the Hunter. He had laid a trap, ready to snare useful prey. Yet, not only had he failed to trap the boy, but he had also been dissected and analyzed in return. In the end, he had willingly allowed himself to be led by the nose, signing an agreement that demoted him from master to mere partner.
"Damn it!" Draven slammed his fist into the metal table with a heavy THUD. However, his anger flared for only a brief second before sputtering out, replaced by a wave of helpless exhaustion.
He had to admit that Allen was right. Every single word had struck a nerve. His research on the Soul Harmonization Potion, which had cost him countless amounts of money and effort, had long since hit a bottleneck. After a brief period of Magic Power resonance, his test subjects invariably suffered severe Spiritual Power backlash and model collapse. This was the exact consequence of what Allen called "drinking poison to quench one's thirst."
He had been pouring more and more funds into the project to mask the fundamental flaws in his research direction, desperately hoping for a miracle. Allen was that unexpected miracle. Only, instead of proving Draven right, he had arrived to pronounce his death sentence—and then handed him a survival guide.
"Personalized Spiritual Power model optimization..." Draven muttered, mulling over the concept. A flicker of struggle flashed through his eyes; the prospect Allen had painted was simply too irresistible.
If they could truly provide customized support plans for every apprentice—and perhaps even Official Wizards... It would no longer be a petty business of hawking a few potions. It would become a massive industry touching the very essence of a Wizard's power. It would bring him the funding he needed and allow his research to continue.
"I just have to... take a gamble," Draven said, slumping exhaustedly into his chair and carefully tucking the agreement away. Now, he could only pray that Allen Wesren truly possessed the abilities he claimed. Otherwise, Draven hadn't just lost his dignity today; he had wagered his entire future.
The day after the agreement was signed, Allen's Basic Rune Mutual Aid Group issued an internal announcement: the group would be expanding its enrollment limit from twenty members to fifty. At the same time, their services received a major upgrade. In addition to the weekly group tutoring and specialized Q&A sessions, all members would receive a preliminary diagnosis of their personal Spiritual Power model, conducted personally by Allen Wesren. Furthermore, they would be granted the opportunity to purchase customized supplementary potions, provided by the Advanced Apprentice Draven Craig, at a discounted rate.
When news of this announcement leaked, it sent shockwaves through the freshman class.
Who was Draven Craig? He was an Advanced Apprentice just one step away from becoming an Official Wizard and the owner of the H District Alchemy Workshop. The potions he sold were notoriously expensive—and undeniably effective.
And now, Allen Wesren's study group had actually established a partnership with him?
The freshmen who had previously hesitated over the fifteen Magic Stone monthly fee, or those who simply hadn't been selected by Allen the first time around, could no longer sit still. Draven's name alone served as a powerful endorsement of credibility. This meant that joining Allen's group wouldn't just grant them personal guidance from a "genius"; it would also give them access to the resources of a top-tier upperclassman. The value for the price was ridiculously high.
Within half an hour of the announcement's release, Allen's personal terminal received over a hundred applications to join the group.
Leaning back in his chair in his dorm room, Allen reviewed the analysis reports and recommendation tags generated one by one by DSeek. Like a masterful chess player examining a chaotic board, he meticulously selected the pieces that best fit his strategic layout.
His priorities were clear. He selected "cash cows" with high spending potential who could provide steady cash flow for Draven's potion business; "samples" with textbook problems who could be advertised as successful case studies; and "nodes"—students with a degree of influence who could spread word-of-mouth reputation throughout the freshman cohort.
Ultimately, the thirty new slots were swiftly finalized. When the acceptance list was published, the wails of the rejected and the cheers of the accepted echoed through every corner of the freshman dormitory zone. Overnight, Allen's Learning Mutual Aid Group transformed from a small, elite circle into an influential organization of fifty members among the freshmen.
At the same time, the scattered copycat groups that had popped up around the academy instantly felt an immense, crushing pressure. Their groups had three to five members at most, charged five to ten Magic Stones, and offered only vague guidance. Against the "regular army" formed by the alliance of Allen and Draven, these "guerrilla forces" didn't stand a chance. Within days, they vanished without a trace, and the market was swept completely clean.
Kael, a study note peddler, stared at his latest sales report, his face so dark and stormy it looked as if it might drip water. The sales of his study notes had plummeted by seventy percent this month. The freshmen no longer needed his outdated knowledge; what they craved was Allen's personalized guidance that yielded instant results.
"Draven, that idiot! I can't believe he actually partnered with a freshman!" Kael cursed under his breath. He had assumed Draven would treat Allen as a competitor and suppress him, just as he would have. He never expected the older student to join forces with the enemy.
"Chief, what do we do? Allen Wesren is operating under Draven's banner now. We can't touch him at all," a lackey standing beside him said anxiously. "And I heard their new partnership model is a massive success. Draven's workshop has been hiring constantly lately. Several apprentices working part-time in the Alchemy Workshop Zone are saying that Workshop No. 17 has more orders than they can handle."
Kael didn't reply. He merely stared out the window in the direction of the A-7 Public Practice Room. Twice a week, fifty apprentices gathered there.
They were no longer in their previous state of helpless confusion. Instead, under Allen's guidance, they were methodically practicing various Force Field shaping and Rune construction exercises. The sheer aura generated by their collective, synchronized progress sent a palpable wave of dread straight to Kael's heart.