Over the next week, Aldric threw himself into training. He spent hours each day practicing with his abilities, pushing himself to the limits of his endurance. The manual Marcus had given him was invaluable, providing detailed instructions on techniques and exercises.
He learned to filter the constant stream of thoughts and emotions that bombarded him, to focus only on the information he wanted. It was like learning to hear a single conversation in a crowded room—difficult at first, but easier with practice.
He learned to create more complex illusions. He could now make himself appear to be wearing different clothes, or change the color of his hair, or make small objects seem to appear or disappear. The illusions weren't perfect—they wouldn't fool anyone who looked too closely—but they were good enough to be useful.
He also learned to read deeper thoughts, to probe beneath the surface and access memories and hidden emotions. This was more difficult and more draining, requiring intense concentration and a delicate touch. Push too hard, and the target would sense the intrusion and react with alarm or hostility. But done correctly, it was an incredibly powerful tool.
Aldric practiced on the patrons of the Copper Bell Inn, reading their thoughts and emotions without their knowledge. He learned about their lives, their secrets, their fears and desires. A merchant who was cheating on his taxes. A soldier who was planning to desert. A woman who was secretly in love with her employer.
He filed it all away, building a mental database of information that might prove useful later.
But training wasn't just about magic. Aldric also worked on his physical conditioning, running through the streets of the capital each morning, building his strength and endurance. He practiced with his knife, learning basic combat techniques from a former soldier he'd befriended in a tavern. He knew that magic alone wouldn't be enough to protect him. He needed to be capable in all areas.
He also continued his work at the Copper Bell Inn, serving drinks and cleaning tables in exchange for reduced rent. Mrs. Keller had grown to tolerate him, even grudgingly respect him. She didn't know he was a mage—he kept his Weaver's Mark hidden beneath his sleeve—but she recognized that he was more capable than the average noble brat.
One evening, as he was wiping down tables after the dinner crowd had left, Mrs. Keller approached him.
"You're different from the other boys who've stayed here," she said. "Most of them are gone within a month, either dead or crawled back home to their families. But you... you're still here. You're surviving. Why is that?"
Aldric considered his answer carefully. "Because I'm willing to do what needs to be done. And because I don't have anywhere else to go."
Mrs. Keller nodded slowly. "That's honest, at least. You know, I've been running this inn for twenty years. I've seen a lot of people come and go. And I've learned to recognize the ones who have a chance of making it. You're one of them, Aldric. You've got a brain in your head and steel in your spine. Don't waste it."
"I don't intend to," Aldric said.
She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Good. Now finish cleaning those tables and get some rest. You look like you haven't slept in days."
She was right. Aldric had been pushing himself hard, sleeping only a few hours each night, driven by a relentless need to improve, to advance, to climb higher. But he was beginning to feel the effects—exhaustion, irritability, difficulty concentrating.
He needed to pace himself. This was a marathon, not a sprint.
That night, he allowed himself a full night's sleep. And when he woke the next morning, he felt refreshed and clear-headed for the first time in days.
He spent the morning practicing his illusions in his room, then ventured out into the city to test them in real-world situations. He made himself appear to be an old man, hunched and frail, and walked through a crowded market. No one gave him a second glance. He made himself appear to be a woman, adjusting his gait and posture to match, and strolled past a group of guards. They didn't even look at him.
The illusions were working. He was getting better.
By the end of the week, Aldric felt confident in his basic abilities. He could sense thoughts and emotions reliably, create convincing illusions, and even plant simple suggestions in people's minds—nothing complex, just gentle nudges that made them more inclined to do what he wanted.
He was ready to start using his powers for profit.