Chapter 16: Good Students, Bad Students, and Others

“What mark? Take it out and let me see.”

After Verona heard about Poirot’s misfortune, he became very interested in the mark on his left hand and couldn’t wait to see it.

Poirot obediently held out his left hand. Verona stared at the mark for a long while. To Riley, Dakla, and Rodrick, it was nothing special, but Fred and I were both astonished: we felt uncomfortable all over after just one glance at the mark, yet this fat old man in front of us was staring at it with great relish for quite a while—there really was something to this old man. Especially, he kept stroking Poirot’s left hand as he looked, making clicking sounds with his mouth. It was really… really perverted.

“You say you studied magic?” Just as Poirot was feeling embarrassed, Verona finally spoke.

“Yes, I studied a little.”

“What did you study?”

“Quite a bit—the most basic Firebolt, Whirlwind, Bless, Lock Opening, Summoning, and so on. But I just couldn’t learn any of them.”

“Hahahaha, you actually studied this useless garbage? No wonder you can’t learn anything! Hahahaha…”

“You mean… you mean I could become a Mage?” Hearing the implied meaning in Verona’s words, Poirot was overjoyed. He grabbed Verona’s hand tightly, wishing he could tear Verona’s entire shoulder off. Hearing this, we were happy for Poirot too.

“Well… no, you can’t.” Verona poured a big basin of cold water over the head of the aspiring young magic learner.

“Really? Even you say so. It looks like I’ll never have any connection with magic in this life.” Poirot’s spirits immediately sank, and disappointment spread across his face. “Actually, I should have known a long time ago, but I just couldn’t give up. Thank you. Meeting you today is my great honor. Thank you.”

Just as Poirot was about to turn and leave, Verona said one more thing:

“You are not fated to be without magic, child. You were born for magic.”

“Then why did you say he couldn’t become a Mage?” I really couldn’t stand this fat man’s contradictory babbling anymore.

“He can’t become a Mage because he doesn’t need to. He is a Warlock, understand? A natural messenger of magic?” Verona suddenly raised his voice, trying to give us a huge surprise this way. But he helplessly found that everyone, including Poirot, was staring at him in confusion with ignorant, idiotic expressions.

“You… don’t know what a Warlock is?”

They shook their heads.

“You… have never even heard of it?”

They shook their heads.

“You…”

They shook their heads.

A big water sphere flew over and soaked all of us. Then Verona roared, “I haven’t even asked yet! What are you all shaking your heads for?”

Realizing that he had lost his composure, Verona coughed twice, sat up straight again, and put on the air of a great master: “Although all magic use drives the elements through incantations to generate power, the people who use magic are divided into two types. One type gains power through learning after birth—these are Mages. These people can learn all kinds of different magical powers through study, as long as the spells do not belong to completely opposing schools. The other type naturally contains a specific magical element in their body from birth and can smoothly unleash the greatest power of that element. But at the same time, they find it very hard to learn other magic. These people are Warlocks. The chance of a Warlock appearing is extremely small—almost one in ten million people. Also, because very few people study magic, Warlocks are hard to discover. Even people who study magic may not know that Warlocks exist.”

“Poirot, you studied Evocation magic, Summoning magic, Illusion, Abjuration, and the various other schools, but you just couldn’t learn them. Do you know why? Right, you studied the wrong ones. Among these many schools, you missed the only magic you could learn.”

“What is it?”

“It is Necromancy. That’s right—you are a Necromantic Warlock, and on your left hand is the loyal mark of the dark goddess Tefreelimeilansi.” Verona’s words were like a fireball suddenly exploding, shocking us speechless. I imagined the handsome Poirot spending all day dealing with broken corpses, and I couldn’t help feeling a chill.

“Just as I thought, brothers, I am a cursed man.” Poirot’s face instantly turned pale. He turned to us and said, “Maybe it would have been better to let me die back then.”

“Slap!” A loud slap struck Poirot’s face, leaving a deep handprint. It was Fred.

“Don’t you ever say that again. I told you, even if you were the God of Death himself, we would still be friends.” He said it without any expression, but from his tone I could clearly read firm support.

I patted Poirot’s shoulder to show my agreement.

Verona slowly walked over to us and let out a soft sigh:

“Child, you still don’t understand what gods are and what magic is!”

He paused for a moment and asked Poirot:

“What do you think the God of Death is?”

“He is a demon, a demon king who takes people’s lives, and the ruler of darkness and terror.”

“Let me ask you—have you ever seen old people?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Then have you ever seen an old person so old that they couldn’t walk, couldn’t speak, couldn’t stand, couldn’t sit, or even think, but was still alive?”

No one answered.

“I have. My grandmother was exactly like that. She dragged on for five years, neither dead nor alive. Every day was torture, and her expression was always so painful, for five whole years. But when she died, her face was especially peaceful, with a kind of happiness of release. That was the closest she looked to her healthy self in five years. Let me tell you, the God of Death takes desperate people out of their suffering forever—that is the true mercy of the God of Death.”

“Child, without death, would you cherish your life? Without death, would you cherish your loved one and your friends? If there were no death, could you all guarantee that you would be as righteous and brave as you are now?”

“Don’t be prejudiced against the God of Death, child. Since she is a goddess, she is kind and generous. Being prejudiced against the God of Death is just like being prejudiced against magic—both are foolish.”

“And Necromancy is not as evil as the rumors say. True Necromancy is the magic of communicating with the souls of the dead and guiding them toward a happy end. If you ask me, that is the most noble and sacred magic. Child, although I can’t use it myself, I can teach you. I hope you will go find the true purpose of Necromancy yourself, and I hope you will become the noblest Necromantic Warlock. Now, the door of magic has already opened wide for you. It only depends on whether you are willing to step in.”

Verona’s face shone with holy light. In my eyes, his big round belly no longer seemed so funny.

“I am willing, Master.” Poirot wiped his tears and nodded heavily.

“All right, stay here and become my only student.” Verona stroked Poirot’s head and declared lovingly. Then he turned to me with a strange smile: “Little Jeff, you’re welcome to come visit your friend often, but don’t come empty-handed.”

This unscrupulous mage chose the most touching moment to reveal his true face as a drunken rascal and openly extort me. Even so, for the sake of Poirot’s magical career, I had no choice but to yield.

For nearly half a month after that, Poirot lived together with Verona, the drunken mage, and began his true study of magic. Verona truly deserved to be called a rather high-ranked mage. Although he couldn’t cast Necromancy himself, the materials he had collected were enough to satisfy Poirot’s learning needs. During this time, we sometimes went to see them during breaks in training, and of course I never failed to bring a few bottles of good wine.

During that half month, Poirot’s feelings toward magic went through great upheavals—from the initial stirring emotion, to the excitement of casting his first curse spell, to gradually calm study, then to boredom, and finally to hatred for the drunken teacher Verona’s terrible teaching methods. And, just as I expected, he formed a mortal enmity with Verona.

“Fat old man, you actually stole my money to buy wine! Taste my Bone Spear!”

“You little womanizer, even if this money were given to you, you’d only spend it on flowers and jewelry to pick up girls. It’s more practical to let me drink it. Take my Ice Shard!”

“Ah, fat old man, you actually hit me hard! Back then you used every scheme to trick this innocent young boy into being your student. Now I finally know I was fooled! Return my burning youth to me! Take my Curse of Fear!”

“You little womanizer, back then it was you who begged me with tears and snot to be your teacher. Now you turn around and bite the hand that fed you! Take my Ice Storm!”

“Necromantic Summoning!”

“Crystal Wall!”

“Skeleton Warrior Summoning!”

“Water Elemental Summoning.”

“Bone Prison!”

“Boundless Sea!”

“You know that move too? Ah…”

A figure flew off into the distance…

“How are your studies lately, Poirot?” I asked during one visit.

“Now I know—I really shouldn’t have studied Necromancy back then!”

“What, still worrying about matters of faith?”

“Only a fool would worry about that. Think about it—if I had studied something like Evocation or Summoning, I could make a little cat appear in front of a pretty girl, or shoot out a magical firework. How cool would that be? But instead I had to study Necromancy. I can’t exactly say: ‘Hey, Miss, want to come look at dead bodies with me?'”

“Pfft…” Even the normally steady Fred couldn’t help spraying water all over my face. “Just for such a boring reason?”

“Boring? Watch your wording. This is about the love fate of the great Warlock Poirot—a matter that concerns his lifelong happiness! How could it be boring? However, in order to take revenge for that stinky old man’s malicious deception, I have already carried out a suitable revenge.”

“Did you put laxatives in his wine?” My imagination immediately ran wild.

“That’s too vulgar. I’m a Warlock; I must use great magical power. Look, what is this?”

“It looks like a piece of paper covered with writing.”

“This is a Fireball spell scroll. As soon as you rub it lightly, it will cause a violent explosion in an instant.”

“Will this work on him? You said he’s a pretty impressive mage.”

“Directly attacking that old dead ghost naturally won’t work, but I put one in the pile of toilet paper in the toilet. And he’s in there right now, about to come out. Heh heh… five, four, three, two, one…” A strangely sinister gleam appeared in Poirot’s beautiful eyes.

“Bang!” A loud noise came from not far away. The already not-very-sturdy toilet instantly turned into rubble. Then we saw a big fat figure sweeping across the sky with a miserable scream. He was wearing a loose robe, so we couldn’t tell whether he had had time to pull up his pants, but his two fat legs seemed completely bare—it was a very strange sight.

“Everybody, hurry and look at the flying pig!” Poirot shouted.

“Poirot, you little bastard! I hate it most when people scheme against me in the toilet! You’re just as despicable as that bartender friend of yours. Take my Ice Storm!”

“Serves you right, you old drunkard! Bone Spirit Attack!”

“Ice Sword!”

“Summon Skeleton Soldiers! I summon, I summon, I summon, I summon again…”

“Dawn Goddess’s Forgiveness!”

“Ah, where did you secretly learn that move?”

“Boundless Sea!”

“Damn it, that move again! Ah…”

In all the chaos, Fred and I slipped away quietly…

A few days later, Poirot reluctantly told us that Verona was going to take him out for training. From his expression, we could see this trip was no pleasant task.

Under such harsh training, Poirot would surely improve very quickly!