Chapter 133 Preparations Before Promotion

A trace of joy flickered across Mage Roland’s weary face. He first apologized for disturbing his host, then casually sat on the bed—serving as a seat—and poured himself some wine. Despite the long separation, no awkwardness lingered between them.

Taking the wine cup Mage Roland handed him, Shaoke looked at him, puzzled. Mage Roland gave a light shrug and raised his glass in a toast: “To the end of this war—and to the rewards we’ve earned. Cheers!”

After briefly discussing the battlefield, Mage Roland shifted topics and began speaking with Shaoke about the military’s latest reward distribution. “Over a dozen mages in this compound received the same treatment as you. I heard it’s because you all eliminated large numbers of enemies on the front lines.” Having said this, he hesitated—feeling he ought to share everything he knew, hoping it might prove useful. “Moreover, I heard from a Third-Tier Mage in our team that all those receiving rewards are mages who thrive in combat—and most are on the verge of promotion to Third Tier. That’s the primary reason. The enemy kill count is merely a pretext.”

Hearing this, Shaoke sat motionless, stunned. Though he’d made rough guesses about why such valuable items were distributed so lavishly, he hadn’t expected this explanation from his companion.

Silence fell between them. After a pause, Mage Roland clenched his teeth and said, “If you engage in prolonged combat without timely rest, it’ll gradually erode your mental clarity. I think you should get out more—instead of meditating and practicing spells all day in this cramped room.”

“Thank you!” Shaoke admitted he was well aware his current mental state was deteriorating. “Shall we go for a walk?” he suggested.

“To the tavern?” Seeing Shaoke nod, Mage Roland instantly brightened—then touched his gaunt cheek and smiled bitterly. “But look at us now?”

“Yes,” Shaoke replied seriously, meeting Mage Roland’s gaze. “Don’t place so much importance on appearances. Besides—don’t you already have a female mage accompanying you?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the other’s expression darken instantly—and realized he’d struck a raw nerve.

“She’s dead. She died in this accursed battle.” Mage Roland spoke stiffly. “She told me—if we survived this war, she’d consider our relationship once I reached Third Tier.”

Hearing this, Shaoke offered quiet comfort.

Finally, Mage Roland let out a bitter smile. “Truth is, she knew it was impossible between us. Hmm—let’s go now!” With that, he seized his staff and strode outside first.

At this cryptic final remark, Shaoke could only return a wry smile—and follow him to the tavern.

Upon arrival, Mage Roland parted ways with Shaoke, leaving him alone at his usual spot, waiting for the female mage to appear.

Since Mage Roman had yet to arrive, Shaoke leaned back in the high-backed chair, closed his eyes, and drifted into thought. Occasionally, he signaled a server for another drink—using it to pass the time while he waited.

Unfortunately, even as dawn broke, Mage Roman still hadn’t appeared. In the end, Shaoke had no choice but to leave the nearly empty tavern. Pulling his cloak tightly around himself, he walked back to the barracks alone.

Passing the female mages’ barracks, he paused across from the entrance, waiting a while—but saw neither Mage Roman entering nor leaving. Disappointed, he turned away.

For the next several nights, Mage Roman failed to appear at the tavern. Shaoke approached a female mage who knew her there and learned that Mage Roman had been summoned by the military the very night she returned to camp after the war ended—and hadn’t returned since.

Seeing Shaoke’s anxious expression, the mage reassured him: “Don’t worry—I believe the military assigned them to special duties. Haven’t you noticed how few Third-Tier Mages remain here now? They were all called away that same night—and never came back.” She added, “I suspect their own legions arranged transfers through the military. After all, every mage who left was affiliated with a specific legion.”

Shaoke stared at her, confused. He couldn’t fathom why she’d drawn that conclusion—or why she and the others hadn’t been transferred too. Still, he clung to hope that her guess was correct. Thanking her again, he fetched paper and ink, wrote a letter, and entrusted it to her—asking her to deliver it to Mage Roman if the opportunity arose.

In the days that followed, Shaoke devoted most of his time to studying the meditation array required for Third-Tier promotion. His goal was to master this extraordinarily complex formation as quickly as possible—then attempt the advancement itself. After all, his magical space could no longer contain additional spiritual or magical energy; only by expanding that space through promotion could his power increase significantly once more.

Staring at the scroll inscribed with the Third-Tier promotion array, Shaoke attempted interpretation again and again. Yet the mage who’d drawn it was clearly a high-tier specialist in magical energy—causing Shaoke’s reserves to deplete rapidly during each attempt. Often, before he could clearly discern the precise positions of the lines, his magical energy would be exhausted. Though spiritual energy could also be used for interpretation, repeated trials revealed it drained even faster—and yielded far fewer deciphered lines than magical energy alone. In the end, Shaoke had no choice but to patiently repeat the process over and over. Fortunately, after each depletion, he could swiftly take replenishing medicine—indirectly boosting his interpretive efficiency.

Over several days, through repeated, intermittent attempts, Shaoke finally managed to sketch the exact positions of those lines onto paper. Once familiar with their layout, he spent several more days practicing—until he could accurately trace each line using magical energy, successfully completing the full interpretation of the promotion array and memorizing its subtle fluctuations and energy dynamics.

Letting out a long, relieved sigh, Shaoke quickly committed to memory the unique resonances generated by the fully interpreted array—and its complete operational methodology. He then recorded every detail meticulously in his *Spellcasting Log*, preserving it as a reference for his future advancement.

Unconsciously, another three months slipped by after Shaoke successfully interpreted the promotion array. During this time, he visited the tavern only occasionally—hoping to run into Mage Roman. Each time, however, he returned slowly to the barracks alone at dawn.

For the rest of his days, Shaoke either repeatedly interpreted the array to deepen familiarity and refine control over his magical energy—or purified both his spiritual and magical energies. Only in the early morning and evening did he study alchemy and linguistics texts to expand his knowledge base. After all, many of the spellcasting techniques he’d acquired required incantations in specific languages—even after the spell structure itself had reached maximum potency—to add incremental power.

For instance: when casting *Blazing Ray* or *Tearing Vortex*, chanting the incantation in Abyssal not only shortened syllables but also leveraged the language’s inherent empowerment—adding extra force even beyond structural limits. As for the spells and techniques later gifted by the military, Shaoke selected only two or three single-target offensive spells for immediate practice; the rest he copied carefully into his personal *Spellbook*, intending to study and master them thoroughly when time allowed.

On this day—just as Shaoke prepared to finalize arrangements and select a date for his promotion—Mage Roman reappeared, interrupting him once more. “Mage Xueye—Mage Roman is back! I saw her at the tavern. She asked me to tell you she’s waiting for you there!”

Hearing Mage Roland’s news, Shaoke froze momentarily. Though he’d missed her—and grown quietly anxious during her absence—the news of her return stirred not joyful anticipation, but a faint, unsettling sense of loss.

“Mage Xueye—are you stunned speechless? You should head to the tavern now. Right now.” Seeing Shaoke’s calm, unreadable expression, Mage Roland pressed gently. Though he didn’t fully grasp what had transpired between them, he still hoped his friend would seize the chance. After all, a Third-Tier female mage wasn’t easily found.

Shaoke nodded lightly and thanked Mage Roland. Noticing Shaoke showed no sign of moving toward the tavern, Mage Roland sighed deeply—and changed the subject, shifting instead to technical discussions about spellcraft.

After the guest departed, Shaoke lay down on the bed, closed his eyes—and his mind flooded with memories of every encounter with Mage Roman since arriving here: their first meeting, their first conversation, his first request for spell advice; their first hand-hold, their first embrace… her care for him on the battlefield, the books she’d sought out for him—scene after scene. Recalling them, he smiled bitterly—and touched his chest. He remembered Mage Francis Wodun—someone with whom correspondence had grown rare. He realized he’d never truly held them close in his heart. He suspected that, without letters and routine contact, he might have already forgotten them entirely.

After long hesitation, Shaoke decided to postpone his promotion—and go find Mage Roman.

Hastily pulling up his cloak, he grabbed his staff, gathered his belongings—and walked slowly toward the tavern.