A Cruel Joke

An unprecedented sensation gathered in her hand.

It was like a gentle breeze brushing against her face—something within her body seemed to flow along her skin to her fingertips, then, like droplets converging, it gathered in her outstretched right hand, finally collecting at the tip of the wand.

In fact… this feeling brought a faint tickling sensation to Yalian’s hand—not the kind that made you want to scratch, but something soft, gentle, and comforting…

In an instant, Yalian focused her mind, and the gathered arcane patterns surged toward the black box.

The box… slowly lifted up, as if a giant invisible hand had raised it into the air…

That was Ogu’s magic.

Yalian carefully controlled the box’s direction, rotating it continuously, changing its orientation mid-air.

Then, just as carefully, she guided it back, returning the gilded-lettered side to its original position, and gently placed it down.

She succeeded…

She had successfully used arcane arts for the first time… something she had never even dared to imagine…

It was as if something had finally filled the emptiness within her.

“Very successful, you…” The dwarf smiled slightly, wanting to encourage her, but seeing her silent, he stopped midway, thinking of another way.

This was something worth celebrating.

He stepped closer, wanting to pat her head, but although Yalian was small, she was still a little taller than him…

So he had to stand on tiptoe to reach her head.

The scene looked a bit awkward—as if a child was patting her head.

But the feeling… was warm.

Like a current of warmth flowing through her entire body.

“……” The light in Yalian’s eyes seemed to fade—she froze.

“Hm? Silly child, what are you thinking about…?” He gently stroked her head like an elder comforting a child, a little puzzled.

Yalian lifted her head.

Her eyes regained their brilliance, sparkling like stars as she looked at him, blinking.

She looked… adorable.

But…

She was crying.

She simply didn’t want to show it, so she tilted her head upward.

“…………” The dwarf suddenly felt a strange sense of heaviness, as if her pain became his own.

It wasn’t sympathy born of shared fate—they were strangers after all.

It was simply human nature.

When something beautiful is damaged… destroyed…

Anyone would feel uneasy.

Yes—that was exactly how he felt.

Her tears made his heart ache faintly.

He said nothing, only continued to stroke her head.

“No, it’s okay. Thank you, uncle. I’m not that kind of child!~” she said, her voice slightly choked, yet strangely cheerful.

“Then why are you crying?” he asked with a faint smile.

“I’m just too happy.”

Whether she was pretending or not, she roughly wiped away her tears with her sleeve.

Magic… was something unreachable.

For ordinary people, they might never use magic even once in their lifetime.

For a mage, casting a Holy Light spell was as simple as turning on a portable lamp—effortless.

But for those without talent… they might never be able to cast it at all.

A single spell became the dividing line between ordinary people and mages.

So many were separated by just that one spell.

And those who were excluded… turned to cultivating battle energy instead.

Mages were born standing above warriors.

There was always a sense of superiority.

And it was undeniable—warriors were simply ordinary people rejected by magic, trying foolishly to climb up through brute force.

Because of one Holy Light spell, a gap formed between mages and warriors.

Over thousands of years, that gap widened into an unbridgeable chasm.

Most people, upon realizing they could cast Holy Light, would be overjoyed.

The brighter the light, the greater their talent.

It was also the simplest way mages tested themselves.

Later on, more precise tools would replace it—but that was another story.

But for a beginner…

What does it feel like to cast their first spell?

Some laugh wildly, like madmen, laughing for an entire day.

Others… laugh until they cry.

Yalian, shedding tears quietly—this was already normal.

If anything, her silence would have been more terrifying…

“What did you feel?” the dwarf asked, now relieved.

This wasn’t sadness—it was joy.

He should be happy for her.

“It felt… comfortable, warm. The magic flowed through my body to the wand tip—numb, like being gently touched by a mother’s hand,” she said, her eyes shining brightly.

“That’s good…” he murmured with a smile.

But no one knew…

That wasn’t the only reason she cried.

For so many days…

She had been drowning in helplessness.

When she woke up, three years of memories were gone.

She had fallen into confusion and despair.

Ken had said she was rescued from an auction house…

That thought terrified her.

Had she become someone else’s possession? Something to be bought and sold?

That was her greatest fear.

That helplessness… that despair of being at others’ mercy.

When she saw the assassins, she wanted to save those who had hurt her…

But she could only watch.

Watch them be killed.

Despair, pressure, fear—layer upon layer crushed her, trapping her in darkness.

She had tried…

Practicing battle energy, trying magic—yet for an entire month, she felt nothing.

As if she didn’t belong in this world of magic and power.

Like an outsider.

Like a puppet, controlled by others, losing herself piece by piece.

But now…

A single spark can start a prairie fire.

As long as she worked hard, what could she not overcome?

Her tears were joy.

A deep, genuine joy…

Like a seed of ambition taking root in her fragile heart…

Leonardo…

She would have her revenge.

“Use your full strength. Strike that box,” the dwarf said, wanting to test her talent.

He stacked the boxes neatly in front of her.

“Okay!” Yalian responded immediately.

She wanted to know how strong she was.

She focused her mind and struck at the pile of boxes…

She was certain they would be sent flying.

This time, she gave it her all.

“……”

The boxes trembled slightly… as if about to fall…

But then… they stabilized.

They stood firm.

The top box wobbled briefly… then returned to its place.

Like a roly-poly toy… mocking her.

“Try again…” the dwarf said quietly, his tone tense.

Yalian focused again and cast her power…

But…

The boxes did not move.

Only the top one fell.

The dwarf glanced at her silently.

Her face was pale…

As if she had exhausted herself.

“It’s okay!” he reassured her.

He removed some boxes, leaving only five, stacking them into a pyramid.

“Try again!” he urged anxiously.

He couldn’t believe it…

Even an ordinary dwarf beginner could dent a wall with arcane force.

Yet she… couldn’t even topple a few boxes.

He had expected her talent to be average at worst…

But this… was beyond expectation.

In the end, she only managed to knock them down when there were just three or four left.

“I-It’s okay…” he said, his voice trembling.

Yalian saw his reaction…

And instantly understood.

The goddess had played another cruel joke on her.

Giving her hope…

Only to take it away.

At that moment…

The seed of ambition within her…

Was crushed before it could even sprout.

She had become a joke.

Arcane power…

Could only move a single box.

That force… probably wasn’t even equal to an adult’s strength.

Arcane arts had become a joke.

In an instant…

It felt as though she had fallen into an icy river.

Enough humiliation…

She wanted to go home.

She set the wand down and turned to leave.

“I’m sorry…” the dwarf said apologetically.

“But… the wand has already recognized you as its master…” he added awkwardly.

He wanted to help her…

But even he was powerless.

Yalian turned back.

Their eyes met.

Her eyes were red and swollen…

She was holding back her tears.

“Maybe it’s fate. The phoenix feather chose you… so it’s yours,” he said.

He picked up the wand and walked over, placing it in her hands.

“It’s yours now… I’ll cover the cost.”

Yalian looked at the wand in her hand…

Tears fell uncontrollably.

She turned and ran out…

She wanted to go home…

But…

Did she even have a home…?