For thirty days, the sailors aboard the sea vessel had remained obedient under the threat of force. Yet Ikidan, their leader, had never dared to let his guard slip.
Perhaps for now, his crew—each possessing the might of a knight—was far stronger than these apprentice sorcerers, who as yet knew nothing of true magic. But what of the future?
Once these apprentices truly mastered sorcery, they would be able to slay any knight with the barest flicker of power. They held within them boundless potential for growth—something every one of them understood.
Knights, even those fortunate enough to ascend to the rank of legendary, could never escape the fate of becoming the servant of a greater sorcerer in exchange for more strength.
Just as the legendary knight Baron before them, and even the current legendary knight who served as bosun, had both sworn themselves to mighty mages.
In the end, this was a world ruled by sorcerers.
It was precisely because Ikidan understood this that he knew, despite the fact his band of sailors was far stronger than any small group of apprentices, the latter looked down on them from the depths of their hearts—indeed, they even shunned them.
It was the instinctive rejection of the alien and the different.
Thus, Ikidan never relaxed—least of all when it came to the five so-called "casters" among the apprentices.
Even if the meagre tricks of these "Five Great Spellcasters" were laughable to a true sorcerer, they could still kill an ordinary knight with ease.
And so, when today Amrond announced the formal founding of the Bloodsail Alliance, Ikidan's heart lurched.
This is bad.
Almost without thinking, he drew his blade, ignoring the confused dullards still frozen behind him, and bellowed:
"Damn it! Bloodsail Alliance? Without the consent of the sailors, there will be no alliance today!"
He turned a cold gaze upon the hesitating apprentices.
"Any who dare join—will be slain without mercy!"
Though fear coiled cold in his gut, his face wore the mask of a snarling demon, his glare fixed on the wavering apprentices.
Perhaps in the future he could not prevent them from joining hands—but now, he must. Otherwise, every sailor would be doomed.
Only then did the sailors behind him come to their senses, seizing their weapons and forming a wall at his side, eyes sharp with menace toward the apprentice ranks.
Opposite them, the five casters stood at the fore of their lines, their companions behind them drawing steel, eyes locked upon the sailors.
Amrond fixed Ikidan with a glacial stare.
"Five of your sailors will go into the sea today. With the five of us together, your defeat is certain."
"You're welcome to try," Ikidan replied without flinching.
A cold snort.
"You think these apprentices are the same helpless whelps you met a month ago?"
The blue gem on Amrond's left-hand ring flared. With a murmur of arcane words, a golden sword of light floated before his chest—vanishing an instant later.
A wet thud.
Ikidan narrowly evaded the killing stroke, but blood welled from a fresh wound on his right shoulder. Almost at the same moment, a blur of white darted forth—a doll barely half a meter tall, snow-pure in appearance, yet clutching in its tiny hands a freshly torn, still-beating heart.
It giggled like an innocent girl, yet its eyes glimmered with mischief as it slipped away from the enraged sailors like a child fleeing after stealing candy.
With a hollow crash, Ikidan fell lifeless to the deck.
Elsewhere, Greene and Yorklis struck with flawless coordination. Yorklis intercepted would-be rescuers, while Greene, eyes glinting cold, slid a dagger cleanly across a bound sailor's throat.
A roar—then a fireball blossomed.
Moments later, the remaining sailors were surrounded. Excitement gleamed in many apprentices' eyes—not merely because they had secured three days free of dangerous expeditions, but because this battle had allowed them to glimpse, for the first time, the true might some apprentices could wield.
It was power beyond the reach of knights—mysterious, irresistible.
Five of the weakest apprentices, with twenty-odd supporters, had shattered more than twenty seasoned knights.
Once they reached the Sorcerer's Academy, those who had survived such life-and-death trials would seize upon every method of strengthening themselves, reborn in both body and spirit.
None doubted this.
By battle's end, four sailors lay dead, seven were gravely injured, nine bore lighter wounds, and one was unconscious. The survivors were trussed up like game birds.
The apprentices had not escaped unscathed. Greene was unharmed, but Yorklis bore light injuries, and others had fallen victim to the sailors' desperate last stand.
As more and more apprentices came forward to join the Bloodsail Alliance, the five casters' faces glowed with pride.
"Pity," Amrond murmured, "five too many died."
No one pursued the matter.
The core members, mostly less formidable female apprentices, took down names and explained the duties of alliance membership. Laughter occasionally rang out on deck—rare music after so long under the ship's grim pall.
"Weren't you calling us pigs for the slaughter before? Not so bold now, eh? Hah!"
—
At dawn the next day, the shrill cackle of the Faceless Mask sorcerer split the air once more.
"Well, well… quite the changes aboard, I see. Ten fewer, in fact."
The apprentices stood straighter, their newfound unity lending them confidence. Only Yulin and Bibiliona remained aloof, swaddled in the certainty of their rare talents and easy lethality. They had never tasted the brutal struggle of those at the bottom.
Soram, however—the ever-enigmatic—watched the new alliance with keen interest, eyes drifting often to the five casters.
The bosun's face was dark. Most of the sailors aboard had once served under him; now, they were meat on the apprentices' chopping block.
Then the Faceless Mask sorcerer spoke again, his tone drawn out with mockery:
"Bad news…"
Faces tightened; bodies shifted apart in wary instinct.
"The bad news is…" he chuckled, "we'll reach the Blackspike Tower Sorcerer's Academy this very evening. Which means, my little friends, those sailors you've captured… will be of no use to you. Disappointed?"
Many a hand itched to strike him down—were it not for the gap in strength.
Yet beneath the irritation stirred an irrepressible excitement. The Academy… at last.
For over a month, each time they had watched another apprentice hurled into the sea, they had sworn silently to master power enough to command their own fates.
The cruelty of their voyage had seared itself into their souls—but it had also tempered them, readying them to walk the sorcerer's path further than most.
That day, they crowded the rails, eyes straining toward the horizon as more and more ships dotted the waters. Faint changes appeared on the line where sea met sky.
By sunset, the bosun's anchor splashed down. After two months on the endless ocean, the vessel had reached a strange port.
And as the apprentices' excitement swelled, countless black crows spilled from beneath the Faceless Mask sorcerer's robe, bearing him aloft.
"Heh-heh-heh… Welcome, little ones, to the great Blackspike Tower Sorcerer's Academy of the Wizard Continent!"