A year ago, Harold met someone who changed his life—a dying mage, an obscure mage, a rare dual-class mage on the continent, a hidden dark mage skilled in necromancy yet possessing a profound understanding of the light school of magic. The moment he saw Harold, the dying dark mage seemed to be revitalized as if he had taken a miraculous elixir, shining with a final burst of brilliance, pouring all his lifelong knowledge into Harold. Harold himself could not understand why this mage, who had always been unknown on the continent, possessed such vast and boundless knowledge, yet remained so obscure. After all, on this restless continent, it was easy for a mage to gain wealth and fame, but at least Harold had never heard of this seemingly unremarkable mage.

Only three months later, the mage left this world forever. When he departed, he was very peaceful; at the very moment he passed, Harold even noticed a satisfied smile at the corner of his teacher’s mouth. For the first time, Harold, who had long forgotten what it felt like to be moved, experienced true sorrow, and in that moment, even his long-dead tear ducts seemed to show signs of revival.

The teacher had no unnecessary words; apart from daily lessons, he spoke little else, and was extremely secretive about his own origins and identity. Yet when it came to teaching skills and knowledge, he spared no effort. However, all of this lasted only three short months, but for Harold, it felt like a lifetime. Suddenly, infinite knowledge and truths became clear in his once-dull mind, like a gentle stream flowing through his heart. Everything became so harmonious—so this is how the world could work!

“To master fate, one must first master power.” Silently reciting his teacher’s final words, Harold stared blankly at the sky. This sentence seemed to hold a profound meaning; every time he pondered it, he would gain a different insight. Mastery, fate, power—these three words were connected by just a few conjunctions, yet they sparked endless imagination in Harold. What is fate? Whose fate—is it his own, his family’s, or everyone’s? Power? What is power? Magic or martial skill? Wisdom or experience? Wealth or influence? Or perhaps all of them? Mastery? How does one master it? By any means necessary, or step by step? These questions, mixed with the bright gaze of his teacher before leaving, clung to his heart like vines, impossible to shake off, leaving Harold in a constant state of restlessness.

“Harold young master, the second young master of the Rukes family and the third young master of the Modo family have come to see you.” Although he was somewhat surprised by the second young master’s continued silence since his return, Sanders did not believe he had truly changed his ways. A leopard cannot change its spots, after all, and this second young master was born to a slave even lower than himself. He never thought this fellow carried much noble blood of the Reiser family, but such thoughts could only be deeply buried in his heart, never to be spoken aloud.

Casting a faint glance at the butler who came to report, Harold, after three years of wandering, had developed an unusually sharp intuition, and recently he found his senses growing keener by the day, both to his surprise and delight. He could clearly sense the contempt and disdain deep in the other’s heart, but he didn’t care. Perhaps the title of the three wolves of Seplous had long made everyone detest them, both within the family and among the townsfolk. At the mention of these three names, people would cover their noses. If not for the halo of noble status, perhaps they would have already been torn apart by angry commoners.

“What must come will come sooner or later. Maybe life is just a process, and perhaps savoring all the flavors of this process is the true meaning of life.” Such a strange thought suddenly flashed through Harold’s mind. Even he found it odd how often these peculiar ideas and phrases would pop up, and even at night, he often had bizarre dreams—scenes both unfamiliar and strangely familiar would appear again and again, so that sometimes, even after waking, he couldn’t tell reality from illusion. The rapid growth of his intuition filled him with both joy and confusion. Could it be related to the mysterious crystal he always carried with him?

During those days on the ship, he never slept soundly; every night was a chain of dreams until dawn. Some say that once you wake, dreams naturally fade and you can never recall them, but his dreams felt as vivid as if he had truly experienced them. Even now, the scenes from those dreams remained crystal clear, leaving Harold utterly perplexed and even suspecting his mind might be troubled.

Thinking of this, Harold couldn’t help but touch the crystal he always kept close. But now didn’t seem the time to dwell on it. Harold nodded silently to show he understood, said nothing more, and headed straight for his small courtyard in the mansion.

Watching Harold’s disappearing figure, Sanders couldn’t help but secretly spit on the ground, putting on a facade of seriousness. But could such an act really cover up the filth behind it?