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In a small room full of silence and darkness, a boy struggled to slowly prop up his upper body from the bed, and let out a low cry of pain. Severe sleep deprivation made his head gross. He shook his head vigorously, trying to banish his sleepiness, but the thin arm that supported him almost bent.

The early spring hours are still very cold. The boy lifted the thin blanket, hugged the torn cotton jacket that was finally warmed by his body temperature, and rolled out of bed. The bed creaked and rattled like a smothering scream—if anything just made of a pile of wood could be called a bed.

He lifted the corner of the curtain beside the bed.

Because today is the "day of the meteorite fall", the master was even more obedient last night, which caused him to suffer with him, and he went to bed at one o'clock in the morning. The icy moonlight shone through the forest and fell on the white mist that flickered above the ground. It was very late at night, and he judged that he had only slept for about three hours, and there was still some time before dawn.

Sleepy.

Thinking about whether he would die suddenly due to lack of sleep at the age of fifteen, he grabbed the placket of his clothes with his left hand and shivered, and the other hand slowly stretched forward, lowered the volume to the lowest and said, "Shimmer technique......"

A white light close to the color of moonlight appeared in the palm of his right hand, flickering and dimming, illuminating the immediate vicinity in the direction of the palm.

The lowest-level spell of the light system can't even illuminate the entire small room with the boy's weak mana, but it can still illuminate his appearance.

Thin boy with short dark brown hair unkempt like a bird's nest. He would have disappeared immediately even if he was thrown into the crowd, but if there was any characteristic, the dark circles under his eyes caused by severe sleep deprivation were exaggerated. Whether it is his cheeks, neck, or arms, every position highlights his thinness, not a sense of weakness, but the kind of malnutrition. There were several bruises on the forehead, neck, and near the backs of the hands.

The tiny room, with its worn-out furniture, firewood and waste paper, was not much bigger than a toilet, and the smell of mold was everywhere. The room in the small warehouse, the bed with firewood, and the cotton jacket full of patches are quite commensurate, but they don't match the boy's flashing eyes that don't admit defeat.

He gently pulled a few short sticks of wood from the pyre that was used as a bed, reached into the dark compartment inside, and carefully pulled out a hardcover book. Dark purple wooden book cover, bronze edging, nearly 100 pages thick, the title of the book is "Illusion Spell Coping Strategies", which is full of pictures and texts, and the views are profound and unique.

The boy curled up on the bed wrapped in a blanket, reading a book by the faint source of magic light. The room was silent again, except for the whispering of breathing and the occasional page turning.

It was the happiest moment of his day, and the only moment that made him feel like his dream of becoming an archmage was continuing.

This book is not for him.

It's a lot of money. The boy who looked like a beggar had such a good book in his hand, of course, stolen from the master's study. Anyway, it's going to be returned, and it's not found, so it shouldn't be stealing.

His master, the Prophet, was a master of foresight, and if he was discovered, he would have been beaten violently. He hadn't missed a crack in more than a year, and although Foreknowledge wasn't invincible, it did take some skill to steal a book from the study of a top-level Foreknowledge archmage.

Although the boy himself has the qualifications to use hallucinatory magic, as a scum mage, he should read the textbook more than the advanced magic strategy books. But there were no textbooks in the Prophet's study.

Nor did the prophet teach the boys any magic.

After all, the illusion class should not become the apprentice of the top archmage of the prophetic class, it is not the right way at all. When he thought about why he had become the Prophet's apprentice, the boy was filled with anger. If he wasn't afraid of being beaten, he would never have called that old bastard master, bullshit.

It is intended to be light.

While reading the esoteric book and thinking about such a thing, his mana was also exhausted. The light emitted by the palm of the hand gradually dimmed and disappeared. Lifting the corner of the curtain, the forest was already a little hazy. Judging by now, it should be past five o'clock.

It's time to do something.

There was no stove in the room, let alone a clock, and he used exactly an hour of exhausting his mana to keep the time, and it was all up to him to get up. In the already limited sleep time, squeezing out another hour to secretly read a book is honestly very burdensome on the body. There is no way, otherwise he will never get closer to his dream, even a little.

He got up and hid the book back in the pyre.

Open the door.

Behind him is a moldy warehouse of miscellaneous goods, but in front of him is a clean, tidy, comfortable and rich living room. Intricately carved mahogany dining tables, intricately drawn plates and rugs, silver chandeliers made from up to a dozen magic crystals...... Every time he opens the door, the boy feels like he has stepped into another world.

The old bastard of the Prophet is not only the best in magic, but also in terms of wealth. This is just a secluded wooden house in the deep forest, and the mansion of the old family is as glorious as a castle.

The boy pouted and gritted his teeth as he passed by the living room and walked to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Needless to say, being a top-level archmage is respected, and he is also very wealthy. But the only guys work here. Of course, it was not that he could not afford to hire a servant, but that the prophet was forced to hide here. It's in the woods off the beaten track, and there are no more than three people in the world who know the location of this place, at least that's what the boys think.

The old liar who has come to this step of the field from the pit boy to the present, and the teleportation emperor who is responsible for personally delivering the goods here, they are both friends of the prophet when he was young. There's also the daughter of the Teleportation Emperor, who occasionally joins her father... He even came to deliver the goods in place of his father.

While thinking about this, the boy tiptoed to start a fire to boil water and cook.

Despite having a magic prop for lighting a fire, he tried to use the "spark technique" to ignite the confetti to set the firewood filled with firewood into flames. Truth be told, it's one of the few spells he has left.

He opened a large stone chest, picked up a large piece of venison from the cold temperature of ice magic, placed it on a cutting board, and expertly cut it into cutlets as he swallowed his saliva. Then, standing in front of the wood-burning stove, he set up a pan and poured olive oil and several spices, and the meat was put into the pan and stir-fried. Put on a plate, then chop some vegetables and throw them into another pan to blanch. Finish it all on a plate, garnished with bright red fruit and scattered herbs.

The water also boiled.

He began to make porridge with rice and washed and chopped herbs, while baking some white, soft bread in a metal box fueled by fire magic.

These magic items for daily life are rare in big cities, that is, only people of prophetic status can get their hands.

What we did this morning was the same as usual, and everything went well. He couldn't help but smile bitterly, the way he cooked seemed to be getting away from the archmage in his mind. However, looking at this day, there is still some time before Master gets up......

Suddenly, the boy heard a rush of footsteps outside the kitchen, and rushed straight to this place, which couldn't help but make his heart tighten.

Bang knock!

The kitchen door was pushed open and slammed against the wall.

The person who entered the door waved his staff and slammed it into the boy's shoulder.