But soon, Leon pushed those thoughts aside and shifted his attention to the strength of this new body. That was what truly mattered to him.
Surviving over twenty years in the apocalypse had left Leon with an almost fanatical belief in the power of magic. Without it, he wouldn’t have lasted even an hour in that era: ferocious sand beasts, relentless heat, and deadly void storms laced with lethal radiation—any one of them could have ended him in an instant.
What kept Leon alive back then wasn’t a privileged upbringing or grand ambitions—it was the raw magical power he held in his own hands.
Leon didn’t care how dire this body’s circumstances were, nor how much debt it had racked up. At the end of the day, being a ninth-level mage apprentice simply wasn’t enough. If Matthew Merlin were a true archmage, who would dare show up with an eight-thousand-gold contract demanding repayment? Eight thousand gold, eighty thousand—if you’re willing to pay, someone still has to be brave enough to ask for it…
After a thorough examination, Leon found that this young Matthew Merlin was actually quite decent. Ninth-level apprentice might not sound impressive, but his foundation was solid—probably thanks to sheer diligence. He’d already accumulated enough mana to reach the critical point of forming a Mana Vortex; the only thing holding him back from becoming a full mage was his lack of control over his own magic.
Well, that makes things a lot simpler…
During those twenty-plus years in the apocalypse, Leon was constantly scheming how to squeeze out more mana, always calculating how to use every last drop in the most crucial moment. After all that time, his mastery over magic had reached a level most would find hard to believe.
In fact, Leon wasn’t alone—every mage in that mana-starved era was the same. They’d brave the lethal radiation of void storms and endure days and nights in scorching deserts, all for the sake of extracting just a pitiful trace of magic from the void.
Growing up in such an environment, Leon’s ability to control mana far surpassed that of the mages here—he was leagues beyond this era. What Matthew Merlin couldn’t accomplish, Leon considered trivial.
It took Leon about ten minutes to familiarize himself with this brand new body.
Ten minutes later, Leon was certain he understood this new body as well as Matthew Merlin himself ever had. He began to channel his mana—the reserves were already robust, and under Leon’s formidable control, the flow of magic became as smooth and fluid as water...
At first, the current was gentle, like a babbling brook. But as Leon pressed on, the mana began to roil and surge, boiling with restless energy until it became a raging river, howling and crashing, battering against his new vessel.
For most mage apprentices, this is the most dangerous moment. If that wild surge of mana slips out of control, it can consume the apprentice in an instant—at best, their mana scatters and they must start accumulating all over again; at worst, they lose all hope of ever forming a Mana Vortex.
That’s why, despite the countless mage apprentices, so few ever become true mages. Matthew Merlin himself had been stuck at ninth-level for three years, never daring to risk that final step.
But Leon had no such problem...
His control was simply too strong. Leon didn’t even need to try—he just pushed the mana to its absolute limit, letting it crash around like a flood bursting through a dam. Yet his body, guided by instinct and experience, managed everything effortlessly. The torrent seemed wild, but always followed the path Leon set.
In the blink of an eye, a Mana Vortex had formed within him.
Once a mage apprentice reaches this point, they’re usually qualified to don the black robe. A little more time to stabilize the vortex, and their journey is complete—they join the ranks of true mages.
But Leon had no intention of stopping. As if he hadn’t noticed the vortex was already formed, he pushed his mana even further. The newly-born vortex, fragile as a soap bubble, was hammered by the overload and—pop—it shattered...
Leon didn’t even flinch. He simply forced the mana to swirl again, brutally forming another vortex, then smashed it apart with another surge...
This cycle—enough to leave any seasoned mage dumbfounded—repeated more than ten times before the fragile vortex finally stabilized.
Only when no amount of mana could break it apart did Leon allow himself a moment of satisfaction, sending a steady stream into the vortex.
The once-quiet Mana Vortex began to spin, slow at first, then endlessly, eternally. Leon raised his hand—countless runes spilled from his fingers, a violent magical surge filled the room, and even the air seemed to crackle with a faint, sizzling sound...
Even the pickiest mage would have to admit—this was a near-perfect Mana Vortex. Its resilience and explosive power rivaled that of a top-tier mage. More astonishing still, Leon had accomplished all this in mere minutes...
In this era, only Leon could pull off such a feat.
It would be years before other mages even thought to try this method—once their control reached a new height, they’d discover that this seemingly brutal approach not only sped up vortex formation, but also produced results far superior to anything before. After centuries of refinement, they’d get close to what Leon had just accomplished, almost like cheating.
With a wave, Leon scattered the swirling runes. He was just about to further perfect the Mana Vortex when a voice suddenly rang out from outside...
“It’s all laid out in black and white. My dear cousin took eight thousand gold from me before he sailed off, bought into the business, and now he’s ruined it. But those eight thousand gold coins—I expect an explanation. Of course, I’m reasonable. I know you’re broke, so let’s do this: this house is all you have left that’s worth anything. I’ll take a loss and value it at ten thousand gold. That way, you pay off your debt and still have two thousand left over…”
The distant voice was hoarse and grating, like a duck that wouldn’t shut up. Leon, deep in thought about his Mana Vortex, found his mood souring under the barrage of noise...
“All this fuss for a debt—does he have to be so excited?” Leon muttered through gritted teeth, already contemplating whether he should go out and wring that duck’s neck.
He hadn’t made up his mind yet, but the duck came to him. The door slammed open—a three-hundred-pound man stumbled in, followed by an elderly man in his sixties. The two were tugging at each other, locked in a heated argument.
“Let go! I said let go, Perry, you old fool! Don’t think you can act out just because I’m usually polite. Remember, you’re just the butler—you don’t get to call the shots around here!”
“Felix, you know perfectly well about those eight thousand gold coins. That was a gift from the master. Did you ever put up a single copper yourself? Now the master’s gone and you want to steal his house—have you no shame?” The old man clung to Felix’s sleeve, his wrinkled face flushed red with anger and exertion, nearly poking Felix in the face with his trembling finger. “I’m telling you, Felix—unless I, Perry, am dead, you’ll never get this house!”
“Old man, are you threatening me?” Felix bristled at the mention of the past, his embarrassment quickly turning to rage. “You’d better remember your place. Try that again and—”
The two kept arguing, but Leon couldn’t help but interject, curiosity piqued. “And then what?”
“Try that again and—” Felix was midway through his threat when he froze, realizing it wasn’t the old butler who’d spoken, but his nephew—the one everyone claimed might become a mage.
Felix had always scoffed at that idea. That kid, a mage? Look at how much gold he’s burned through over the years—does he seem remotely mage-like?
And now, with Roger Merlin dead, what had Leon done besides beg for a few days’ grace to pay the debt? If he really had the makings of a mage, would he be groveling like this?