Before dinner, Sean retreated to the castle study and sketched detailed descriptions of coal, oil, and saltpeter deposits on parchment. The eastern coastal desert of the Elven Forest, a vast 180,000 km² expanse larger than the Laine Duchy, was likely rich in petroleum, with saltpeter possibly hidden in the plateau behind. He dispatched a page to deliver the list to the mercenary camp, promising extra rewards for discoveries.
Back in the hall, Anduin had finished recruiting officers, and Lucio arrived just in time for dinner, drawn by the aroma of "royal cuisine." The meal, featuring dishes from Sean's "divine recipes," was a hit—even the flame imp hovered jealously over the hearth, though it couldn't eat.
After dinner, Sean led the Secret Keeper, now calling herself Kyle, to his chambers. "Let's start, Kyle! I'm ready!" he said, eager to learn magic.
"Calmness first, Lord Sean," Kyle smiled, her violet eyes steady. "Spellcasting is a delicate balance. Excitement risks backlash."
As a Black Iron Upper Rank wielder of water magic, Sean had never cast a spell—the mage guild's meditations lacked practical incantation methods. Kyle began with basics: "First, connect to fire elements through your core… no, wait—you specialize in water. Let's try Water Bolt instead."
She demonstrated Flame Strike first, conjuring a blazing orb in her palm. Sean tried to mimic her, but faltered: "I can't channel fire. Show me water magic."
Kyle adjusted, sketching the Water Bolt pattern in the air. "Visualize the flow, then speak the words: 'By water's vow, by thy name, by my flesh—Water Bolt!'"
Sean practiced for half an hour, failing repeatedly. Then, on his 37th try:
"By water's vow, by thy name, by my flesh—Water Bolt!"
A shimmering projectile condensed in his palm, then shot forward with a whoosh, slamming into the oak window with a thud. The wood cracked, water dripping from the impact.
"I did it!" Sean cheered, leaping up. Kyle clapped softly.
But the noise drew attention. A page knocked nervously, followed by Henry ,who peered past Sean into the room, spotting the soaked window and Kyle's elegant form.
"By the Light, my lord! What happened here?" Henry gasped, eyeing the damaged window.
"Just… a loose latch," Sean lied, waving them off. Henry lingered, glancing between the wet wood and the blood elf mage, misunderstanding blooming in his gaze. Young lords will be lords, he thought, ushering away curious servants.
Sean sighed, locking the door. In Laine, magic was viewed with suspicion—especially for a "Son of the Light." If the Church or nobles learned he wielded arcane power, his authority could crumble.
Kyle tilted her head. "Does it matter, Lord Sean? Magic is a tool, like a sword or a plow."
"Not here," Sean said, staring at his damp palm. "Here, it's a curse. Promise me—we practice in secret from now on."
Kyle nodded, her voice gentle. "As you wish. But one day, this world will learn: magic is neither holy nor heretical. It simply is."
Sean smiled, though unease lingered. His first spell had tasted of triumph… and danger. Some secrets are worth keeping, he thought, glancing at the cracked window. For now.