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Seeing Ian admit his strength so directly, without becoming angry or arrogant after having his identity exposed, the elder Musa revealed an even more sincere expression of admiration.
He laughed heartily.
"My Lord truly is a straightforward person! Indeed, as you can see, this old man is also, more or less, an Alchemist."
"I've spent my entire life tinkering with bottles, jars, pots, and pans."
Since he had already guessed Ian's purpose for coming, he naturally knew what Ian was interested in.
And those things were also Musa's proudest achievements.
Ian was not surprised that the other party was an Alchemist. After all, anyone capable of becoming close friends with someone like Master Caleb was certainly no ordinary figure in the field of alchemy.
After all, birds of a feather flock together.
Only people with similar obsessions could remain close friends for many years.
"I can tell that you are also an Alchemy Master," Ian offered a small compliment.
But Musa waved his hand, his face carrying an almost pure expression of obsession.
"Master is far too exaggerated a title, My Lord."
"In this lifetime, I never had any grand ambitions. I was simply fascinated by the art of 'eating.' The reason I first studied alchemy was merely to better understand and create delicious food."
"Other people pursue alchemy to turn stone into gold or achieve eternal youth and immortality. I pursued alchemy to make stewed meat more tender, soup more flavorful, and bread more fragrant!"
"Haha! Doesn't that sound utterly unambitious?"
As he spoke, he chuckled merrily to himself.
Hearing this, the corner of Ian's eye twitched slightly. Unable to hold back, he pointed in the direction they had come from and spoke in a strange tone:
"So… your ultimate pursuit of cuisine is reflected in… using frozen meat that could practically be considered antiques?"
He truly could not connect those chunks of meat with labels from decades ago to the concept of "fine cuisine." Even after being "restored" by those magical cauldrons, it hardly seemed worthy of being called the pursuit of culinary perfection.
Hearing Ian's teasing, Musa not only failed to become angry, but instead revealed a meaningful smile.
He gestured for Ian to sit on a stone bench beside the farmland ridge.
After patting the dirt off his clothes, he sat down as well.
"My Lord, the restaurant you visited is my commoner establishment. It is located in the marketplace and serves ordinary people. For them, cost-effectiveness will always come first."
"Being unable to fill one's stomach is far more frightening than eating food from decades ago. Even though we are Wizards, in the land of Africa, there are still many compatriots who struggle to feed their families."
"After all, we're all quite capable of reproducing."
He paused briefly, seemingly realizing he had wandered off topic. His gaze swept across his vibrant vegetable garden, and his tone became distant.
"In truth, those 'antique' ingredients you mentioned were never things I deliberately sought out as products to sell."
"They are merely the… additional gains, or perhaps 'by-products', produced while I was carrying out another matter… one that is far more important."
"And there are quite a lot of them."
"It would be wasteful to leave them unused. And what I hate most in this world is wasting ingredients…"
"Especially edible ingredients."
An almost obsessive sense of cherishment appeared in his eyes.
Looking at Musa's serious expression, Ian no longer bothered dwelling on the logic of "if meat is over a hundred years old, then wasting it hardly matters." Instead, he sharply grasped the key information hidden within the elder's words,
"another far more important matter,"
"additional gains,"
"by-products."
All of those phrases carried deeper implications.
Ian leaned forward slightly, his gaze turning sharp as he looked at Musa.
"So this has a direct connection to whether I can obtain the technology behind those time-reversal cauldrons, correct?"
Ian had also learned the art of conversation. He understood that Musa would never casually reveal such core secrets to a "stranger" he had just met.
And indeed, that was the case.
Musa's deep gaze met Ian's eyes. Within that look seemed to settle decades of hardship, anticipation, and longing.
He slowly exhaled, his voice carrying indescribably complicated emotions.
"My Lord truly possesses keen insight. Yes, I believe we can reach some mutual understanding."
"First, however, I require a bit of help."
"To be honest with you, for the sake of that matter, I once fell into complete despair. I believed that even if I exhausted my entire life, I would never touch the truth."
"But fortunately… Heaven has treated me well."
"Before this old body of mine is buried in the ground, it allowed me to meet you…"
"A Legendary who walks within the Human Realm."
His words were profound and sincere, carrying the relief of a drowning man who had finally grasped a floating piece of driftwood.
And hearing this only made Ian even more certain,
the other party wished to make a deal with him.
A deal that likely involved something deep and exceedingly complicated.
"What do you want me to help you with? Killing someone? Or dealing with some untouchable force?" Ian asked tentatively, his tone carrying a trace of curiosity.
With the strength of a Legendary mage, most problems in this world could seemingly be solved through sheer force.
However, upon hearing the word "killing," Musa shook his head bitterly. A sorrowful and wistful expression appeared on his face, completely different from the excitement he had shown when speaking about food earlier.
"No, My Lord. I do not wish to kill anyone, nor do I intend to become enemies with any force."
"What I seek… is merely the truth behind a matter buried by time. I want to understand an event that happened long ago… a past tied to the fate of two people."
That answer completely exceeded Ian's expectations.
Seeking the truth?
Ian froze for a moment. He had imagined many possibilities, yet he never expected the request to be something that sounded so "simple," while often being the most complicated and mentally exhausting thing of all.
He looked into Musa's eyes, eyes filled with stories and now carrying a deep longing, and seemed to realize something. Yet he did not interrupt, merely waiting quietly.
Musa appeared to sink into distant memories. His cloudy gaze drifted toward the simulated blue skies and white clouds in the distance of the manor, indistinguishable from the real thing.
Then, in a tone like that of someone recounting an ancient legend, rhythmic and laden with profound emotion, he began telling the story of his life.
"That was a very, very long time ago… so long ago that many details have already become blurry. Yet the feeling itself remains as clear as if it were carved into my bones."
"When I was young, roughly around the age you appear to be now, perhaps even younger, I was someone who could never sit still."
"My Professor, a strict yet incredibly knowledgeable old Wizard who has long since passed away, said I possessed cleverness but lacked perseverance, wasting a decent magical talent."
"In order to temper me, and also broaden my horizons, he took me away from the tribe and began traveling across the entire African continent. We crossed the scorching Sahara, traversed the dense Congolese rainforests, camped at the foot of Kilimanjaro, and meditated amidst the mist of Victoria Falls."
This was the beginning of a typical Wandering School Wizard's life journey.
It was completely different from the lives of the House School Wizards.
African Wandering School Wizards and Hogwarts-style House Wizards represented two entirely different paths of magical inheritance.
Hogwarts was a hall of knowledge, emphasizing systematic teaching, textbook theory, and standardized examinations. Students learned "standard spells" in fixed classrooms and cultivated magical plants inside greenhouses. Everything was conducted within safe boundaries.
Magic was broken down into lessons that could be taught.
The growth of a Wizard resembled an assembly line, pursuing "correctness" and "standardization."
African Wandering School Wizards, however, were practitioners of survival.
They possessed no fixed academies. Instead, they followed their mentors deep into rainforests, deserts, and battlefields, learning magic on the edge of life and death.
Their "classrooms" were snake-infested swamps, caves sealed by ancestral spirits, and camps of Centaur tribes.
They did not memorize spells.
They mastered magic through personal experience.
After being bitten by poisonous insects, they learned antidote spells. After witnessing tribal wars, they comprehended protective arts. Some even personally participated in "Bone Engraving Enlightenment" rituals, understanding the fusion between magic and flesh.
House Wizards pursued "control."
Wandering Schools pursued "adaptation."
The former cast spells using wands; the latter often used their own bodies as mediums, engraving runes into bone, swearing oaths through blood, communing with spirits through dance.
Their magic was more primitive, more direct, and also far more dangerous.
There were no O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s.
The only examination was whether you could survive in the wilderness.
In Africa, whether a Wizard was considered "powerful" was not judged by how many spells he could recite, but whether he could summon a thunderstorm with a wooden stick while wandless, or trap ghosts using a formation made from only three stones.
They believed:
Magic did not exist in books.
It existed in the wind, the soil, and every heartbeat and breath.
That was why most such Wizards were stronger than House Wizards.
More importantly, any Wandering School Wizard who survived to adulthood was bound to be formidable, there was no question about it.
Unlike the high survival rates of House Wizards, it was no easy task for young Wandering School Wizards to grow up safely.
The glamorous Wandering School Wizards seen by others were, in truth, merely examples of survivor bias.
Countless more Wizards died during their travels before ever having the chance to display their talents.
Low survival rate.
High upper limit.
That was the Wandering School.
House Schools, meanwhile, possessed high survival rates but lower ceilings.
One could only say that both paths of growth carried their own advantages and disadvantages.
While Ian was contemplating this, the old man continued telling his story.
Perhaps elderly people, whether Wizards or not, all shared the same fondness for rambling?
In any case, Musa spoke endlessly.
"Those days were harsh, but they also allowed me to witness the vastness and wonders of the magical world. I learned many things that could never be taught in schools."
"But deep inside, I still could not muster much interest toward profound magical theories or complicated combat spells."
"I preferred observing the plants and animals we encountered along the journey, tasting the local delicacies of every region, and recording those unique flavors in my own clumsy way."
"Because of that, my Professor scolded me quite a lot, saying I neglected proper pursuits."
"Until… we arrived at a beautiful lakeside tribe on the edge of the East African Rift Valley."
"The land there was fertile, with abundant water and grass, and the people were warm and hospitable."
"It was there… that I met her."
"Armani."
The moment he spoke that name, Musa's voice became extraordinarily gentle, and youthful light flickered within his eyes.
"Armani was the daughter of the tribe's Priest. Just like the meaning of her name, she was like a tranquil yet dazzling pearl."
"Her eyes resembled the deepest waters of the lake, and her smile could melt the frozen surface of Lake Victoria."
"She was not only beautiful, but also an exceptionally talented Wizard, especially skilled in communicating with natural spirits and healing magic."
"The people of the tribe all said she was a child blessed by the Lake Spirit."
The description sounded a little like shameless lovestruck praise.
But put elegantly, it simply meant he loved her deeply enough.
Judging from the old man's tone, he had clearly succeeded in his pursuit of love, becoming a rare anomaly among hopeless romantics, the kind of existence countless others would envy with jealousy and resentment.
"Our meeting was ordinary, yet at the same time, it felt like fate itself."
"At the time, I was by the lakeside trying to use my crude alchemy to extract the essence of a certain aquatic plant. I wanted to see whether it could become a new seasoning ingredient."
"In the end, I messed it up and caused a small explosion, leaving myself covered in soot and dirt."
"It just so happened that she was gathering medicinal herbs by the lake and witnessed the entire thing…"
"She didn't laugh at me. Instead, she walked over, used a Clear Spring Spell to clean me up, and then gently healed the burns on my hands with her warm healing magic."
A nostalgic smile appeared on Musa's face.
"She asked me why I was doing something so dangerous."
"I stammered and said it was for the sake of making delicious food."
"After hearing that, she didn't think I was neglecting proper pursuits like everyone else did. Instead, her eyes lit up. She said she also enjoyed researching how to use local spices and herbs to make food more delicious…"
"And so, by that beautiful lakeside, we began talking. Starting from food, we spoke about magic, our travels, and our dreams for the future…"
"It felt as though we had endless things to say to one another."
"At sunset that evening, the lake was dyed gold by the setting sun, and her profile looked like that of a Goddess."
"At that moment, I suddenly understood something my Professor had once said, words I had always scoffed at before."
"The true power of magic does not lie in destruction, but in creation and connection."
"And the hobby everyone mocked as 'improper' finally seemed to find its true meaning."
How should one put it…
It really did sound like a beautiful story.
But Ian, being a young Wizard with a rather impure and mischievous mind, desperately wanted to ask whether this "connection" was the kind he was thinking of.
Something akin to the relationship between a phone charger and a phone,
the sort of imagery that could only be understood implicitly, not spoken aloud.
"Cough, cough."
Ian felt ashamed of how impure his thoughts were.
Of course,
at the same time, he was also rather pleased by his own rich imagination.
In any case, his guilt did not last very long before he began staring at the old man with an expression Musa could not possibly understand.
Fortunately, that did not interrupt the old man's storytelling.
"We stayed in that tribe far longer than originally planned. Professor noticed the changes in me. Although he remained strict, he no longer urged me to leave."
"Armani and I explored the jungles together, identifying herbs. I taught her some simple cooking techniques and little alchemical tricks I had learned during my travels, while she introduced me to the spirits within the lake and taught me how to listen to the voices of the wind and the earth…"
"Those were the happiest and most fulfilling days of my life."
"We fell in love, and like all young lovers, we swore eternal vows."
Musa's voice gradually grew low and heavy, and the brilliance in his eyes faded away.
It was replaced by profound pain.
"I understand," Ian said softly, his tone carrying a trace of sympathy and realization.
"You fell in love and swore eternal vows… but love is often no match for reality."
"Was it parental opposition? Or tribal customs forbidding your union? Were you forced apart, married to different people, and left with lifelong regret as strangers separated by the ends of the earth?"
He sounded strangely experienced in this matter.
Musa froze slightly, clearly not expecting such a guess.
Meanwhile, Ian had already immersed himself fully in the "classic tragedy" he had constructed in his head and continued:
"Or perhaps… fate was even crueler."
"Just as you were about to marry, disaster struck, an enemy tribe attacked, a plague spread, or magical chaos erupted?"
"Your homeland was reduced to scorched earth, your people slaughtered, and she…"
"She also tragically died?"
"And so you carried that pain and regret alone for all these years, burying the memory of your love deep within your heart, whispering her name only in solitude…"
He spoke with such heartfelt emotion that it sounded as though he had personally witnessed an epic love tragedy.
He was nearly moving himself to tears.
Mostly because countless television dramas followed exactly this sort of plotline.
However, the more Musa listened, the stranger his expression became.
The pain on his face gradually transformed into something extremely bizarre,
part shock,
part amusement,
and part helpless disbelief that seemed to say:
"What nonsense is this outsider talking about?"
He remained silent for several seconds before finally speaking, his voice filled with hesitation and incredulity.
"No."
Ian blinked.
"What?"
"There was no parental opposition, no forced separation, and no disaster."
Musa slowly shook his head. The profound pain in his eyes strangely faded a little, replaced by a nearly tender nostalgia.
"We later… got married."
"During the first rainfall of the rainy season, the ancestral spirits witnessed our vows."
"Three years later, we had a son who loved to smile just like his mother…"
This development truly caught Ian completely off guard.
"..."
'So after saying all that, the old man was simply showing off his happy marriage?'
(End of Chapter)