You Can Call Me Ranger!

“You worthless fool! Worthless!”

In the courtyard of a grand estate, young nobleman Edmund was being held down by a couple of servants, his father, Baron Cavendish, shouting in fury as he lashed his son’s back with a riding crop.

Edmund cried out in pain, each strike leaving a bloody gash across his skin.

“One thousand silver coins for a semester to send you to school, to study magic, and this is what you do? You cause trouble, you offend a core apprentice, and now the professor have expelled you! Do you know how Lord Avery laughed at me today?”

“I didn’t offend him! When I hit him, he was just a farmer!” Edmund shot back, his voice full of anger.

“Don’t you dare lie to me!” Baron Cavendish roared, not listening to his son's defense. The result was all that mattered—Edmund had angered a core apprentice, and now he was being thrown out of the academy.

The blows continued to rain down, the riding crop snapping under the force of the strikes. Edmund’s back was a bloody mess, and he soon lost consciousness, collapsing into a heap.

Seeing that his son was nearly unconscious, Cavendish finally stopped, panting heavily. He turned to the frightened maidservants standing nearby.

“Don’t just stand there! Get this useless child off the floor and take him to get treated. Tomorrow, he’s going to apologize to Lord Stark!”

The Baron’s voice was cold and venomous.

The servants quickly hurried over, lifting the unconscious Edmund and dragging him away.

---

“Master Wizard, you’ve brought me a treasure! Emberfang scales! These are rich with high-level fire elements, the kind of material that’s rare to come by. In all my years, I’ve rarely seen something like this!”

Andre, the black market blacksmith, exclaimed as he examined the scales that Oliver handed over.

“I want these added to the staff I had you forge for me, is that alright?” Oliver asked in a voice deeper than his years, masked by the hood he wore.

“Of course, Master Wizard, but such materials will require additional payment—five hundred silver coins.”

Andre’s voice was firm, but a glint of calculation sparkled in his eyes.

“Three hundred,” Oliver replied flatly.

Having already consulted with Professor Arcanus, Oliver knew the fair price for the work. Andre, though stocky and seemingly honest, had the sharp instincts of any businessman, and Oliver knew that the blacksmith was trying to inflate the price.

Andre realized Oliver wasn’t easily fooled, and after a brief pause, he chuckled and agreed.

“Master Wizard, may I ask how you would like to be addressed? This weapon, it could very well be the finest piece I’ve forged in years. I’d like to put both our names on it, as a mark of this work, though if you’d prefer, I could use a pseudonym.”

Arcane Weapons were highly esteemed, and it was a tradition among smiths to leave their mark on their greatest creations. Andre, as an elite blacksmith, wanted to ensure his name would be remembered with the finest work he had ever produced.

Oliver considered the request, then answered.

“You may call me… Ranger.”

“Master Ranger, please return in ten days to pick up your weapon,” Andre said with a bow, though originally the timeline had been seven days. The addition of the Emberfang scales required extra time to refine the magic.

Leaving the blacksmith’s shop, Oliver returned to the academy to continue his studies. He was still practicing his orange-tier magic, working on familiarizing himself with the spells. His goal was to master them before he acquired his staff, as doing so would allow him to progress much faster once he had the proper instrument.

At this point, red-tier spells were no longer a challenge for him, and he was well on his way to mastering three orange-tier spells. Once that was done, he could travel to the Mage Tower to undergo the trial to become a fully-fledged mage.

For now, the threat of the evil spirit seemed distant and far removed from his daily life. His studies took up most of his time, and at night, his success rate with Stone Storm was nearing thirty percent. It might not seem high, but considering he had only been practicing the spell for a few days—and didn’t yet have a staff—it was impressive progress. Once he acquired his staff, he estimated his success rate would jump to around eighty or ninety percent.

At this rate, he’d be a fully-fledged mage in less than a month.

But on this particular night, Oliver wasn’t practicing. He was headed out of the academy when a noble student hurried toward him.

“Senior Stark, there’s a servant waiting outside for you. He says it’s urgent.”

Oliver nodded and walked to the gates of the academy, where he found an older man, near sixty, with a face full of wrinkles, holding the reins of a rented carriage.

The servant was from Gavin, the tavern owner. Gavin, though of noble birth, had fallen on hard times, and now ran a small tavern to make ends meet. His family’s once-great estate was now little more than a shadow of its former self, with only a handful of elderly servants left to maintain some semblance of nobility.

The servant led Oliver to a slightly worn estate, though the size of the manor suggested the family had once been quite wealthy. Rumor had it that Gavin’s family had once been one of the four great lords of the town.

Oliver was led inside, where he saw an elderly gentleman standing by the door, dressed in neat but old-fashioned clothing. A warm smile spread across his face as he greeted Oliver. Behind him, Gavin’s familiar face smiled in greeting.

This man must be Baron Talbot, Gavin’s father.

“Lord Oliver, we are honored by your visit!” Talbot said with a warm tone, guiding Oliver into the estate.

Inside the garden, a small group of nobles were already waiting. Most were minor lords, invited to this gathering, all of them eagerly awaiting Oliver’s arrival as the guest of honor.

Seeing their overly eager smiles, Oliver felt a twinge of discomfort. Was this the world of nobles?

But there was more to this gathering than just pleasantries. Talbot had invited Oliver for a reason.

“Lord Oliver, I’m sure you’ve heard of the troubles in the neighboring town of Penhurst. Their lord, Lady Neville, passed away recently, and there is no heir. Everyone’s eyeing her land…”

Talbot leaned in, his voice lowering as he spoke.

It seemed the Barons were all interested in the land left without an heir. However, without the strength to contest for it themselves, they needed the power of a mage to tip the scales.

Although Oliver was still just a core apprentice, he was a student of the famed Professor Arcanus, whose reputation alone had already led others to regard Oliver as a mage of considerable skill. In fact, with Arcanus about to take up a position at the Mage Tower, Oliver’s status was even more impressive.

With his help, the game for the land could be shifted in their favor. The nobles gathered in the room had all made arrangements, either through their own funds or by reaching out to their families, hoping to secure the land for themselves.