Martin learned that Henrik's job was chopping wood. He had to cut enough wood each day to eat. He had been doing it for three years. At first, he ate only once every three or four days, surviving on water. Now, he could eat once every two days.
Henrik told Martin that servant monks had to work for ten years. Only when they could eat three meals a day without fail and had completed their ten years would they be taught basic holy magic.
Full disciples were different. They had masters, did no labor, had private rooms, and spent all their time cultivating. There was also a third type—someone like Raymond, who became another monk's assistant. Such people did no labor and could learn some basic magic, but they were essentially servants and would never amount to much.
As for aptitude, Henrik explained that everyone had some degree of holy light affinity, but the amount mattered. Someone with strong affinity could learn a spell in a year that would take a weak person ten years or even a century.
Human lifespans were short. Mediocre people could never achieve much. That was why monasteries valued aptitude above all.
That month, Martin drank the bead-infused water every day. His body grew stronger, and his energy seemed limitless. He went from filling the ten vats in six days to filling them in three days. But to avoid suspicion, he still got up before dawn every day and walked slowly to the spring. Others noticed he finished in three days, but they attributed it to his diligence.
That month, most servant monks came to know Martin. They looked down on him and said cruel things. Martin ignored them. He knew they were twisted by their own suffering. Before he came, they had been the lowest. Now he was even lower because he had gotten in by trying to kill himself. They took out their frustrations on him.
He smiled coldly. He knew fighting back would only make things worse. The strong ruled here. Many servant monks were stronger than him, and some even knew basic magic. He would only get hurt.
But Martin was not weak. He remembered every insulting face, waiting until he grew stronger to repay them.
He went about his business, ignoring everyone. He carried water and secretly studied the stone bead.
He tried soaking the bead in different liquids: spring water, dew, sweat, even blood. He found that dew worked best. Morning dew on the bead was most potent, night dew less so, and dew collected from other objects and then used to soak the bead was even weaker. Spring water was next. Blood and sweat had almost no effect.
To avoid attention, he found several small wild gourds, hollowed them out, and used them to collect different types of dew. He did not keep them on him. He hid them in different places in the mountains, retrieving them only when he needed to collect dew. He carried only a gourd of spring water, which he drank when tired.
He also noticed a strange phenomenon. When dew formed on the bead at night or in the morning, most of it disappeared, leaving less than a tenth. Martin could only guess that the bead absorbed the dew—a strange thought, but he had no other explanation.
One evening, Martin finished filling the last three vats and said to the yellow-robed youth, who was meditating, "Brother Lewis, I need to go home. I won't be here tomorrow."
Lewis opened his eyes, glanced at Martin, and grunted.
Martin did not mind. Henrik had told him that servant monks could go home three times a year. They had to apply to a certain elder, who would give them a holy rune for travel.
Martin remembered that his father's birthday was approaching. He wanted to go home. He left the work area and walked toward the elder in charge of servant monks.
St. Helman's Abbey was divided into five auxiliary courtyards and one main courtyard. The five were named after elements: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water. Servant monks lived in the auxiliary courtyards. Full disciples and elders mostly lived in the main courtyard. Martin had seen the main courtyard from a distance and envied it. Now he stood outside its gate and called out, "Servant monk Martin Lynn requests an audience with Elder Augustine."
A young man in white robes sauntered out. He looked at Martin with a haughty expression. "You're Martin?"
Martin recognized the white robes as signifying a higher rank. He nodded.
The young man curled his lip, glanced at Martin coldly, and turned back inside. Martin followed silently.
Soon, he was led to a garden full of herbs. The young man said lazily, "Uncle Augustine, a servant monk is here to see you."
He then stood aside.
An old voice came from the garden. "Leave us. Servant monk, come in."
The young man smiled faintly and left.
Martin was nervous. He pushed open the garden gate. The moment he stepped inside, a strong herbal fragrance hit him. He looked back at the gate, surprised that he had smelled nothing outside.
"Stop standing there. Give me your name," the voice said impatiently from a room in the corner.
Martin quickly said respectfully, "Disciple Martin Lynn. My father's birthday is tomorrow. I would like to go home."
"Ah, you're Martin. Hmph. Those who cultivate the holy light must cut worldly ties. With such attachments, you will never enter the holy path," the old voice scolded.
Martin frowned and could not help saying, "I have not yet learned any holy magic. How can I be considered a cultivator?"
There was a long silence. Then the voice said impatiently, "Three days. Go and return quickly. Here is a rune that can be used twice. Stick it on your legs, and it will greatly increase your speed." A plain yellow paper floated out of the window and landed at Martin's feet.
Martin picked it up and put it carefully in his robe. Henrik had told him that all servant monks who went home received such a rune. The abbey's purpose was simple: by showing off holy magic through these returning monks, they encouraged more children to come for testing.
The rune was very low quality. Its only advantage was ease of use. It increased speed for mortals. But even full disciples liked to collect them, as they could be traded. Servant monks treasured them; some pretended to go home just to collect them.
Martin left the main courtyard, thought for a moment, and went back to his room. He packed his things, said goodbye to Henrik, and went down the mountain.
The stars were bright. Martin had planned to leave the next day, but he did not know how fast the rune would make him, and he did not want to miss his father's birthday, so he decided to travel through the night.