Chapter 3: The Quota for Wizard Apprentices

Chapter 3: A Wizard Apprentice’s Slot

Saul extended both hands, trying to receive the potion.

But his right hand was stiff, and his left hand was pure bone.

Seeing this, the woman didn’t hand over the crystal vial. Instead, she uncorked it herself and fed Saul directly.

Saul mechanically tilted his head back and let the woman pour the potion into his mouth.

Being fed medicine by a beautiful woman was usually considered a blessing.

But being fed medicine by half a beautiful woman... wasn’t exactly a lucky encounter.

Still, the potion was truly effective.

As soon as he swallowed it, Saul felt a wave of cold flow down from his throat to his stomach. He stopped shivering, and sensation gradually returned to both hands. Soon, he could even move his right hand freely again.

He felt an itch on his forehead, reached up to touch it—and discovered the scab from his old injury had fallen off.

Only the left hand remained a skeleton, showing no signs of recovery.

“With your current physical condition, your left hand likely can’t be restored,” the woman said casually, setting the crystal bottle on the table. “Unless you become a wizard apprentice.”

Saul gave a bitter smile. “I’m just a servant.”

“So what?” the woman chuckled. “If you’re interested, I have a testing opportunity here. The question is—do you dare take it?”

A test to become a wizard apprentice?
Saul instantly raised his head.

“I want to, milady. I want to become a wizard apprentice.”

“Oh-hohoho~” The woman wasn’t surprised by Saul’s response.

From his earlier willingness to be used as a live test subject, she could already tell—he had decent willpower and courage. Though he felt fear, he could maintain composure.

These were all qualities a wizard apprentice should possess.

Saul waited for her laughter to end, then asked, “Milady, if you help me become a wizard apprentice… what would I owe you?”

“What would you owe?” The woman’s tone suddenly changed. “What do you think you have that’s equivalent to the qualifications for becoming a wizard apprentice?”

Saul froze, slowly calming down from his earlier excitement.

After just a few days as a servant, he was already eager to shed that identity. That’s why he had gotten so excited and had even tried to negotiate.

But her simple rhetorical question brought him back to reality.

He had nothing of value—nothing that could earn him a spot in the test.

Saul fell silent. But it didn’t mean he gave up on becoming an apprentice.

He believed the woman wouldn’t mention a testing opportunity just to tease him.

He had to wait for her to name her conditions.

“Do you really want to become a wizard apprentice?” the woman asked again. “Even if it means becoming like me?”

She suddenly leaned forward—her glass dome head shaking violently. The milky-white liquid inside splashed with bubbles and waves. The eyeball floating within kept knocking against the glass, making thudding sounds.

Saul had seen wizard apprentices before, but none as horrifying as this woman.

But still...

“I want to.” Staring directly at her half-head, Saul replied in a deep, firm voice.

Better to die on the path of pursuing power than to always fear becoming flower fertilizer.

“Good.” The woman nodded in satisfaction.
“In the next few days, a batch of new apprentices will be delivered here. Most likely, seven or eight will already be dead along the way. As usual, they’ll select a few from the servants to fill the numbers. I’ll send your name in.”

“Thank you, milady.”

“Kongsha.”

“?”

“Second-level wizard apprentice, Kongsha. If you pass the test and become an apprentice, remember to choose Mentor Kaz.”

“Understood, Lady Kongsha. My name is—”

“Not necessary.” Kongsha interrupted.
“When you become a wizard apprentice, then you can tell me your name.”

Saul fell silent.

Until he became an apprentice, to Kongsha, he was just a servant—unworthy even of a name.

Brutally realistic.

But inside a wizard tower, status always aligned with strength.

Saul exited Kongsha’s room. The door closed silently behind him.

He looked back—the blood that had pooled outside earlier was now gone. He had no idea how Kongsha had done it.

The candlelight on the wall was now almost bright yellow.

Saul quickly scanned the rest of the hallway.

Nothing obviously dirty remained.

He didn’t have time for more cleaning. As long as there wasn’t anything glaring, the stewards wouldn’t use white gloves to inspect the floor.

Saul turned and raced back with his cart, finally making it into the fourth floor’s corridor just before the candlelight turned white.

Panting heavily, he put the cleaning tools back in the storage room and dumped the trash.

“Barely finished before the steward’s inspection.”

By habit, he tried to wipe his forehead sweat with the back of his left hand—but the hard bone scraped his skin painfully.

“Still no sensation in the left hand. Not even touch.”

He moved a few fingers.

“But I can move it freely now. Is this… the power of magic?”

Accepting that his left hand might stay a skeleton forever, Saul was mesmerized by the strength it now held.

He looked at his right hand again. Though it only looked softer and smoother, he could feel the power hidden within.

He picked up a random stone from the trash bin—and with a light squeeze, it cracked into several pieces.

“This right hand must be the result of a successful experiment. My grip strength is now far beyond that of an ordinary adult male. I guess, in this world, even warriors and knights probably aren’t stronger.”

Just a few extra ingredients—and the effects of the potion changed drastically.

Saul’s resolve to become a wizard apprentice grew even stronger.

With that thought, he left the storage room, walked up to the sleeping quarters, and pushed the door open a crack.

Since he was still checking his hand, he opened the door slowly.

That’s when he heard voices coming from inside—causing him to pause.

“That Saul guy still isn’t back. Looks like he’s really dead this time.”

“Tch, surviving this long after offending a wizard apprentice was already impressive.”

“Sigh. Now that he’s dead, we’ll have to take turns cleaning the hallway again.”

Silence.

Saul’s brow furrowed tightly.

So the hallway cleaning was supposed to be on a rotating schedule?

These guys had taken advantage of his memory loss and pushed this dangerous job entirely onto him?!

After a moment, someone inside spoke again.

“Thinking about it, maybe it's better if Saul had lived. With his memory mostly gone, he could only follow our orders anyway. Now we’re stuck with dawn duty again. Who knows when one of us will randomly die?”

“Who said the dawn task has to rotate?”

“What do you mean?”

“We made Saul clean the halls every day, and the steward didn’t say anything, right? Starting tomorrow, make George do it.”

“He’s not amnesiac. Will he even agree?”

“If he won’t—beat him until he does.”

At this point, everyone in the room seemed convinced Saul was dead, and they began openly discussing who the next unlucky one would be.

“Bang!”

Saul kicked the door wide open.

“Starting tomorrow,” he swept his eyes across the room full of boys, “hallway cleaning will go back to rotating shifts!”

Some were startled. Others looked thrilled at first—then their faces twisted.

One of them was Brown, the strongest and biggest among the servant boys. He was the one who slept on the far left of the bunk bed.

That gave him access to the best light and the privilege of being first in line for food.

He had earned all that through his fists.

And now, this scrawny kid dared defy his rules? Brown cracked his knuckles, determined to teach Saul a lesson about “how things worked.”

Brown marched up and, without a word, threw a punch.

“Smack!”

But his punch was caught by Saul’s right hand.

“Bastard!” Brown hadn’t expected Saul to react so quickly. He tried to pull his hand back and throw another blow.

But soon, he realized—his hand was locked in Saul’s grip. He couldn’t pull away at all.

Since when did Saul have this much strength?

He looked like a ten-year-old!

Saul simply felt the power returning through his right hand.

Tiny fry.

Expressionless, he squeezed a little harder.

“Crack!”

“Aaaaarghhh—!”

Brown immediately collapsed in agony.

When Saul let go, Brown clutched his hand and fell to the floor, convulsing.

---

(End of Chapter)

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