Lance had a long dream.
In it, he stood at the very peak of the world.
Below his feet stretched a dense crowd of people, countless as ants. They prostrated themselves on the ground, shouting something he could not make out.
Solemn wizards in cloaks stood among them, staring coldly into the sky above Lance.
He felt filled with limitless power.
Every chip in his body had been activated.
Then a crack suddenly split the heavens.
An icy voice sounded from beyond it.
"I will take back everything you possess..."
In an instant, every chip was ripped away from Lance.
"No!"
He screamed in terror.
Everyone below merely watched his struggle with cold eyes.
...
Yet Lance knew it was only a dream.
The sensation was strange. He was trapped deep inside it, and everything felt completely real, yet somewhere in his subconscious he understood perfectly well that none of it was real.
Lance curled his lip and swore.
"Like hell. Nobody's taking my stuff away from me."
Then he woke up.
"Brother Lance! Brother Lance!"
Lance opened his eyes to an anxious face.
Irene stood beside the bed holding a candle. In its light, her fair features looked especially delicate.
Lance shook his head hard.
The stabbing pain inside his skull had not disappeared.
The one thing that reassured him was that the Lesser Meditation rune remained perfectly imprinted in his memory.
It felt both unfamiliar and intimately familiar.
Every line.
Every stroke.
Every minute detail.
He remembered all of it with absolute clarity.
"How could you fall asleep now? Do you have any idea how angry Father is?"
Irene looked frantic.
"If you don't go down soon, you might really be thrown out of the castle tomorrow!"
Her words jolted Lance fully awake.
He shot upright and looked through the window.
"Damn it. How is it already dark?"
Irene stared at him, speechless.
"Everyone finished dinner already. They're all waiting for you. Wizard Amman is there, and several other people too."
"When I was in the garden today, I heard the First Madam say Father has an important meeting tonight with the territory's tax officer, the patrol captain, and the others. If you don't hurry, Father may stop waiting and start the meeting without you."
Cold sweat broke out across Lance's body.
He wasted no more time.
After thanking Irene, the two hurried straight toward the first-floor hall.
Fortunately, although the castle was deep and sprawling, Lance's quarters were not far from the dining room.
By the time he arrived, the long table had already been cleared completely.
Viscount Lane still sat there with a cold expression.
Wizard Amman occupied the seat to his right.
Lance glanced around.
Besides his younger sisters and the First Madam, several unfamiliar faces stood nearby, along with the captain of the castle patrol.
Irene was right. My cheap old man really does have a meeting after this.
A trace of fear went through Lance.
He hurried forward.
"Father, Teacher, I—"
"Enough."
The viscount cut him off before he could explain.
Anger and exhaustion filled Lane's face.
He waved a hand.
"Wizard Amman. Begin."
The old wizard nodded.
Everyone present knew what was about to happen.
They had already watched the same thing once the previous night.
A mocking smile flickered across the viscountess's face.
She was an intelligent woman. She knew perfectly well that Lane favored Lance, so she never openly spoke badly of the boy in front of him. Doing so would only make the viscount resent her.
Instead, she spoke in a soft, concerned voice.
"My dear, Lance must have been exhausted by something if he only arrived now. Why not have the kitchen bring him something to eat before he starts?"
Disgust deepened on the viscount's face.
In this castle, other people waited for him.
He did not wait for others.
The First Madam sounded as though she were defending Lance, but in reality she had just reminded Lane that the boy had kept everyone waiting for a very long time.
Lance glanced at the calculating woman and stayed silent.
Nothing he said now would help.
Better to say nothing at all.
"I do not have time to wait for him to dawdle through a meal, spend another hour drawing, and accomplish nothing."
The viscount fixed Lance with an impatient stare.
"Amman. Start now."
Then he looked directly at his son.
"Lance, this is your final chance. Remember: you have only fifteen minutes."
"At the end of those fifteen minutes, Amman will inspect your work personally. If you cannot draw the introductory rune, I will send you to the Church."
"Go back tonight and pack your things."
A flash of delight crossed the viscountess's face.
Her own son was excellent, but Lance had always received more of Lane's affection.
In her heart, Lance was a threat.
If he remained in the castle and the viscount one day lost his judgment and passed the title to Lance instead, the consequences would be disastrous for her and her son.
Lance's consistently poor performance had reassured her.
That, combined with Lane's domineering nature, was the reason she had restrained herself from moving against Lance directly.
It seems I was right to wait, she thought.
The boy is useless.
Tomorrow he'll be sent off to the Church.
The viscountess exchanged a look with Biqi.
Mother and daughter could barely conceal their satisfaction.
The unfamiliar men stood respectfully to one side of the hall, watching Lance with curiosity.
Most people in the territory had already heard stories about the viscount's useless second son.
Still, these were matters of the viscount's household and none of their concern.
Their duty was simply to remain loyal to the powerful lord of the territory.
"All right, Lance. Don't be nervous. Relax and write normally."
Wizard Amman took out a clean sheet of beast hide.
The viscount supplied him with such materials anyway, so Amman felt no particular reluctance about using one for the man's son.
Lance nodded.
He took the black swan quill from the old wizard. Its tip had already been dipped in magical ink.
Then he stood before the beast hide.
The atmosphere in the hall seemed to freeze.
Everyone watched him.
Some gazes held contempt.
Some held jealousy.
Others held disdain.
A few still carried hope.
Irene rested her chin in her hands and looked at Lance worriedly.
'What will happen if Brother Lance still can't write it this time?'
Lance held the quill above the hide.
Then he did nothing.
Seconds passed.
Minutes passed.
Five minutes later, Biqi, seated beside her mother, finally muttered, "What is he doing? If he can't write it, he should just stop pretending."
The viscount said nothing.
From his expression, however, it was obvious that he had already abandoned any hope for his disappointing son.
The viscountess took Biqi's hand and silently warned her to stop talking.
Now was the time to behave.
Lane was no fool. If mother and daughter said too much, their gloating would only irritate him.
There was no need to kick Lance while he was already falling.
The gazes around the hall gradually turned to pity.
A nobleman's son, born to privilege, was about to be sent away to the Church's ascetic camp.
What a miserable fate.
"Lance, you have three minutes left," Amman reminded him.
Lance nodded as though waking from a dream.
Everyone watching could only shake their heads.
The viscountess, meanwhile, continued playing the considerate stepmother.
"Lance, are you feeling all right? If you're unwell, perhaps you should wait a little before trying again."
Lance smiled.
"Thank you for your concern, First Madam. I'm fine. I was only lost in thought."
'Lost in thought?'
Everyone was speechless.
'At a time like this, he could still stand there daydreaming?'
Calling him useless no longer seemed sufficient.
Even the viscount let out an irritated snort.
The captain of the castle patrol sighed inwardly and turned his face away.
He had personally watched Lance collapse the previous night while trying to write this same rune.
He had no desire to witness such a miserable scene again.
Then, without warning, Lance lowered the quill.
He began to write.
The hall became as quiet as a forest at dawn.
The only sound was the soft scratch of Lance's quill moving across the beast hide.
Three minutes later, his time ran out.
At the same moment, Lance stopped writing.
A smile flashed across the First Madam's face.
She turned toward the viscount.
"My dear, Lance is still young. If he is going to the ascetic camp tomorrow, why not have Mingde accompany him? He can protect Lance on the road."
The viscount said nothing.
He rose from his seat and prepared to leave.
At that exact moment, Amman accepted the beast hide Lance handed him.
The old wizard stared at it.
Then his eyes widened in disbelief.
"Lance... you actually wrote it?!"
Everyone froze.
The viscountess reacted fastest.
Her face instantly turned an ugly, liver-dark shade.
Lance merely shrugged.
"Father, I think I'm a little hungry."