Clark was satisfied with the boy's reaction. He glanced at the crystal ball in his hand.
"Come. Let us test your talent. I promised your father I would teach you — but only if you possess magical aptitude. Otherwise…"
Dwight looked up. "What should I do?"
"Place your hands on the crystal ball and hold it tightly. Focus your mind on something — joy, anger, anything. Stir up your emotions with all you have." Clark's tone turned cold again. "Let me see your gift."
Dwight stepped forward silently, placed both hands on the crystal ball, and squeezed hard. It was cold to the touch, yet smooth.
"Concentrate. Now… think. Recall what moves you most. Anger, joy… anything." Clark's stern voice rang in Dwight's ears.
Dwight closed his eyes and began to sift through his memories…
Clark watched as the crystal ball glowed faintly at first, then brighter and brighter!
A look of surprise crept onto the arrogant magician's lips. He stared at the crystal ball, then at little Dwight, and let out a quiet gasp.
Dwight, however, felt far from well. Emotions surged within him as memories of his past life returned… how he had inexplicably arrived in this world, where everything he once had — his ideals, dreams, life, pursuits — had all turned to nothingness. The longer he stayed here and adapted to this world, the fuzzier those old memories grew… though memory faded with time as a natural thing, it still filled him with sorrow, deep sorrow.
Was he a butterfly dreaming he was a man, or a man dreaming he was a butterfly?
Dwight's breathing grew rapid. Some mysterious force within the crystal ball seemed to amplify his inner emotions. His heart pounded, bringing on an indescribable discomfort, as if his chest were being crushed…
Suddenly, a cold hand pressed down on his head. A wave of coolness rushed down from his forehead, forcibly calming his overheated mind.
"That is enough, my child."
Clark's voice was still cold, but he had changed his address from "boy" to "my child" — clear proof that the magician was pleased with Dwight's talent.
"Very good… I must say, exceptionally good. You are not yet six years old, yet your magical aptitude already matches that of a magic apprentice. Your spiritual power is nearly twice that of an ordinary man. Given your age… I am quite satisfied with your talent." A smile even tugged at the corners of the arrogant magician's mouth.
Strong spiritual power? Dwight smiled bitterly inside. That was probably because he had retained his past-life memories after reincarnation. He possessed the spiritual power of two lifetimes.
Master Clark put away the crystal ball and gestured for Dwight to sit.
"Now I shall test your second talent… I will teach you the most basic, simple magic. Meditate carefully, sense the power of nature, and tell me what you feel."
Dwight listened closely as Clark spoke a short incantation — simple, ancient syllables that carried a mysterious air.
"Meditate with all your heart and focus. This is the crucial trial. Many with greater talent than you have failed here."
"What must I do?" Dwight frowned.
"Nothing at all. Simply recite the incantation silently, let your mind wander, and feel your surroundings. Feel cold, heat, sound — anything. It is not difficult."
Dwight did as he was told. He sat down and naturally crossed his legs, a posture that struck Clark as unusual. The magician then pulled an hourglass from his gray robe and set it beside them to time the trial.
The fine sand trickled away. Little Dwight sat quietly for a long while before finally opening his eyes, hesitating. "Master…"
"Oh? What do you sense?"
"I…" Dwight looked helpless. "I feel hungry."
"…"
Clark was dismayed by the answer. Clearly, the boy had outstanding magical talent, but lacked the delicate heart needed to sense the world.
The volume of magic power was important, but not the only measure. Spiritual power could be gradually raised through diligent meditation later on. Those with naturally strong spiritual power only started at a higher point.
The ability to sense the magical elements of nature, however, was the most critical trial of all!
Clark had taught several magic apprentices before. Some had less talent than little Dwight, yet still turned out excellent. One had stood up after less than half an hour of the trial, held out his palm, and summoned a small flame — he later specialized in fire magic.
Another apprentice could hear the voice of the wind in the sky during this trial. That boy chose wind magic.
Clark's finest student had once made the water in a vase float up and condense into a fist-sized, unbreaking sphere simply by sitting and meditating!
In short, anyone truly gifted to be a magician would show all manner of strange phenomena during this first trial. Yet Master Dwight, with his seemingly natural magical talent, was completely unresponsive.
It could only mean… he was simply not meant to be a magician.
"Sigh. What a waste of the natural spiritual power the gods granted him. If he had passed the test, he would have started far ahead of others with his strength."
Clark felt a pang of regret, but the arrogant magician quickly pushed the feeling aside.
Hmph! What use was strong spiritual power alone? In a fight, a strong man did not always beat a weaker one. An ox had great strength, yet was no match for a leopard.
Still… what a waste.
---
When Master Clark stepped out of the room with a gloomy expression, the Count, who had been waiting outside for a long time, already knew the result.
Sure enough…
"Lord Count, I am sorry. Your son has no talent for magic. It seems the gods have not chosen him. I suggest you find another path more suited to him."
Clark could not help adding, "Forgive my boldness… in my thirty-six years of magical study, I have never met anyone quite like your son…"
With that, Clark sighed and turned to leave without even saying goodbye. After a few steps, he suddenly remembered something.
"Ah… if you insist on him becoming a magician, I recommend magical potion-making. A potion brewer is, after all, still technically a magician."
With that, Master Clark waved a hand, scattered a handful of golden powder, and vanished in a puff of flame.
The Count fell into thought, his face dark. At that moment, Dwight walked out of the room and looked quietly at his father.
Count Raymond met his son's gaze for a moment, sighed, and said nothing — but the disappointment on his face was plain to see.
"…in my thirty-six years, I have never met anyone quite like your son…"
Quite like what? An idiot? A fool? A talentless oaf?
The Count sighed in despair.
Yet Clark's arrogance, and his unfinished sentence, had misled the Count.
In truth, the magician had meant: someone with such outstanding magical talent yet utterly unable to sense the natural magical elements — a contradictory anomaly.
But the result, the reality, led the Count to one final conclusion about his son: he truly was an idiot.
It must be said that both the old scholar Rosiat and Master Clark bore some responsibility for this misunderstanding, with their vague words born of caution or temperament.
For while Dwight lacked the talent to be a magician, he was certainly no idiot. On the contrary, his naturally stronger spiritual power made him sharper than ordinary men. His advantage in spiritual power gave him greater energy and a better memory than most.
Yet this boy was now all but labeled an "idiot."
First, a master warrior had deemed him unfit for martial arts. Then, he had driven away a brilliant scholar. Finally, he had left a famous magician disappointed.
Together, these incidents made the little idiot of the Rollin family the talk of the imperial nobility. Even nobles scolding their own unruly children would say, "You can't be more foolish than the little idiot of the Rollin family, can you?"
And so Dwight became a negative example.
What path lay ahead for the young master? The question haunted everyone in the Rollin family… everyone except Dwight himself.