Chapter 8: Instant Magic Mastery

Bennett sat across from the bound wizard, his curiosity piqued. The aftermath of the tavern brawl had revealed more questions than answers, particularly regarding the wizard's casting abilities. "You used fireballs without chanting," Bennett pressed, his voice firm yet laced with academic interest. "How is that possible?"

The wizard's eyes narrowed, faint respect flickering in their depths. "You expect me to answer?"

Bennett raised an eyebrow, his patience limited. "Answer, and you live." His tone left no room for doubt.

The wizard hesitated, then relented. "I didn't use any spells. Those were pre-cast fireballs, stored in scrolls."

"Scrolls?" Bennett's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of his knowledge. "You mean magic scrolls?"

"Yes," the wizard admitted grudgingly. "They're pre-cast, stored magic. You trigger them by breaking the scroll."

Bennett's eyes gleamed with understanding. "So, it's not real spellcasting?"

"For basic fireballs, no," the wizard sneered. "True magic is more involved."

Bennett's mind buzzed with the implications. If even a lowly wizard could wield such power, what unimaginable feats lay beyond? His heart raced with forbidden excitement, a burning hunger for deeper truths.

But the wizard's words were a rude awakening. "Stay away from magic," he warned. "It's not child's play."

Bennett's smile was faint, yet undeterred. "Too late." His eyes locked with the wizard's, a silent promise of relentless pursuit.

Chapter 8 (Part 2): The Sorcerer's Secret

Bennett sat cross-legged, his eyes intent, as he sifted through the confiscated scrolls. The wizard, bound and glaring, watched in silence, his pride wounded. "Explain," Bennett demanded, his voice sharp. "How did you cast those fireballs without incantation?"

The sorcerer hesitated, swallowed hard, then spoke with a begrudging honesty. "Those were pre-cast scrolls. Each scroll contains a spell stored within. When you wish to cast it, you destroy the scroll, releasing the magic instantly."

Bennett nodded, his young mind racing. "So these scrolls are like tiny, portable spells. I see."

"Yes," the wizard replied tersely. "But they're only for the basics—fireballs, shields. Advanced spells require live casting."

Bennett's interest was piqued. "So if someone uses these scrolls, they can cast without knowing the spell deeply?"

The sorcerer sneered. "It's an application of stored power, nothing more. The user doesn't need to understand the magic to release it."

Bennett's eyes gleamed with a growing comprehension. "And so someone like you, lacking in true magical prowess, can still wield destructive power."

The wizard bristled at the implication. "I may not be a master, but I'm no less skilled."

Bennett raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk curling his lips. "True," he conceded. "But what happens when you run out of scrolls?"

The wizard's expression darkened. "Then it's your knowledge that matters."

Bennett's curiosity, however, was far from sated. "I suppose you have other methods... tricks perhaps?"

The sorcerer's eyes narrowed, his defiance evident. "Some skills one keeps to oneself."

But Bennett was relentless, persistent in his pursuit of answers. "I can assure you, It won't take much longer."

The sorcerer fell silent, his pride and resentment colliding in a silent storm.

As Bennett continued his examination of the scrolls, his mind teemed with questions—each one a thread in the fabric of his growing understanding of magic. The wizard's evasion and guarded responses only deepened his fascination, serving as a beacon of intrigue in his academic journey.

Yet, amidst his relentless pursuit, the sorcerer watched with a mix of respect and resentment—a prisoner of circumstance in the face of relentless inquisitiveness.

Chapter 8 (Final Excerpt)

A small pouch, confiscated from the mage's robes, yielded a handful of unevenly cut gemstones—precious to commoners but mere vessels for storing magic to spellcasters. Bennett pocketed them without hesitation.

Next came two parchments inscribed with rudimentary A spell. His eyes lit up.

Though he'd devoured countless tomes on The Theory of Magic, true A spell were never written down. Books offered theories, not practical incantations. Even the simplest *fireball* spell remained absent from texts. This secrecy preserved magic's ancient tradition: knowledge passed only from master to apprentice, never shared openly.

*Like gun control in my old world*, Bennett mused. *Everyone knows how firearms work, but good luck building one from scratch.*

"Now, what's this?"

The final loot: sealed vials of colorful powders. Bennett didn't dare open them—magic users carried everything from healing balms to petrifying toxins.

"As I thought." He leaned forward, smirking at his bound captive. "You're a low-tier mage. That 'instant casting' trick? A shortcut. Talk, and I let you go. Resist, and we'll see how noble I *really* am."

The mage sneered. "You're a noble! Such crude methods dishonor your house!"

Bennett said nothing.

*Honor?*

Since being thrust into this world, he'd felt unmoored—no purpose, no ties. Gone were his past life's dreams, friendships, loves. Here, only magic sparked his curiosity.

Morality? Irrelevant.

Whether as Bennett Ford or his former self, he'd never been a *good man*.