"So..." Reivan flipped through sheaves of paper, trying to take in as much as he could. "Luck is headed to City Hall without any problems?"

Valter nodded, also using the codename they thought up for Clover Salwyn in case someone with a fraudulent gift was listening in somehow. "One of Luck's watchers must have deduced that he'd run out of funds and was running late for his appointment, so some theatrics were necessary to hand some money over in a natural way... well, the most natural way they could think of at that moment, anyway. But otherwise, there are no problems. Up until the interview itself, that is."

"Well, rather than an interview, it's actually an excuse for the republic to force an oath out of them." Reivan shrugged. As the one who had thought of this whole plan, he naturally did the most research into its plausibility.

And one of his... friends in the republic told him all about the process of becoming a battlemage. Their social standing — or rather, their parent's — allowed them information that even the general public wasn't privy to, and by association, Reivan now knew those things as well.

"Will it be fine, Your Highness?" Valter asked, somewhat concerned. "Him swearing an oath, I mean."

"The republic is all about freedom and whatnot. At least, that's what they say." Reivan tossed the sheaf of papers he was holding onto the table and crossed his legs. "That's why their oaths aren't as... strict and binding as the ones that knights swear to. And there are ways to nullify them afterward too — with the person's cooperation, of course."

"Hm. I always wondered how there were deserters in their ranks even when an oath is extracted out of every battlemage." Valter combed his dark purple hair back and hummed in thought for a moment. "I'm this old, yet I still have much to know, it seems."

"Wisdom does not necessarily come with age, but with experience in a particular field." Reivan quoted an appropriate passage from one of Aizen's classic pieces of literature as he rummaged through his desk drawers for some paper. "It's understandable that a knight wouldn't know much about being a battlemage. In any case, I'm counting on you to retrieve Luck when it's time. And to distract that old man hiding at City Hall."

"Of course, Your Highness."

The purple-haired guardian knight saluted with equal parts confidence and composure.

"Leave it to me."

 

---

 

“Don’t ya have anything smaller than this, mister? Or can I keep the rest as a tip? Is that it? Man, you're too kind! My twelve kids are eating good tonight...”

“No. Gimme that…” Clover hurriedly snatched the valuable banknote off the carriage driver’s hand and counted out the few remaining coins in Ellin’s money pouch. He double-checked that he wasn’t paying too much and handed it over. “Here. Exact change.”

“What? Can't ya give me a bit extra for good service?”

"What good service..."

"Didn't I tell ya all about the greatest places to visit in the city?"

"You only told me about brothels, though."

"What's your point?"

“Get the fuck out of here, already!”

The driver clucked his tongue at Clover’s stinginess before brandishing his reins. Right after, the two horses pulling the carriage whinnied before clopping forward.

‘Charging so expensively…’

Clover made sure to give the driver the stink eye as the carriage rode farther and farther away. It would make sense to pay that much if it was a magitech carriage. But no — the carriage was horse-drawn. In what world did it cost that much?

And that bit about having twelve kids was obviously a lie — the man looked younger than Clover, so that would mean the driver was pumping out kids since before puberty or had multiple wives. Both were certainly possible but there was no way for some pimple-ridden carriage driver to have the charisma to pull them off.

Once the scammer in the guise of a carriage driver rounded a corner, Clover finally turned around and stared up at the tall building that they called the City Hall.

“It's huge…” Clover whistled to himself at the sight, feeling somewhat moved.

In fact, a lot of the structures in the capital were taller than any of the buildings back in his hometown. So it went without saying that the capital’s city hall would be multitudes larger than his hometown’s town hall. Now that he had a moment to look around, Clover truly felt like a country bumpkin completely out of his element.

‘I wonder how much bigger the Capitol is.’

One might think that the capital’s city hall was the most important structure in the republic other than the Spirit Tower, but they were wrong.

The city hall or town hall in every republican settlement dealt with various public concerns. While the Capitol Building was a unique structure that only existed in Arkhana — the Magitechnocratic Republic of Arkhan’s capital city.

It was where the most important politicians gathered to talk about whose penis was shorter or who could take it up the ass farther. They also probably slapped their testicles against each other from time to time, just to change things up a bit.

At least, that was what Clover thought they were doing there. If the current state of the nation was anything to go by, those politicians certainly weren’t working for the good of Arkhan in that place.

‘Cunts. I’m glad I no longer have to vote after this… Biggest waste of my time even when I only did it once. And it costs a few good meals too.’

Clover reached the gates but wasn’t stopped by the armed guards, so he went straight inside and marveled at the towering ceiling before snapping out of it. He approached a woman who seemed to be a receptionist and asked them a question from over the counter.

“Excuse me, miss?”

The woman must have seen him walking up to her since she immediately answered with a smile. “Yes, dear? How can I help you?”

“I was instructed to come here in my letter.” Clover pulled out his acceptance letter and placed it on the counter, along with his identification papers. He slid it across the counter so she could see a better look.

“Ah.” Seemingly surprised, the woman looked him up and down with a doubtful gaze first before her business smile returned. “My apologies, sir. I didn’t know you were a respected test passer.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t notice it since I’m dressed pretty shabbily, huh?”

“N-no, that... That wasn't what I meant...”

‘That stutter tells me everything I need to know.’

Clover understood though. He had donned a clean shirt, of course, but a careful observer would notice signs of deterioration here and there.

Anyone who could pass the hellish written exam was no fool. So if a test passer came to the Capitol for their interview dressed the way he was, it wasn’t because they didn’t have the social sense to put on something decent — it was because that crappy shirt was their most decent attire.

“It’s because I’m poor.” Clover shrugged before grinning. “Hopefully, becoming a battlemage can help alleviate that.”

“O-Of course.” The woman nodded with an awkward smile. “It seems the chilling winds have brought warm tidings for you. Once again, congratulations.”

No matter his origins before passing the test, he would now go on to become an esteemed battlemage. That meant Clover would be free of money troubles unless he indulged in too much luxury.

“Yes. Thank you. So about my interview...” Clover raised a brow inquisitively. “I’m about three hours early, so where can I wait? Or do I have to arrange an appointment...?”

“That won’t be the case, sir. Actually, the interview times are quite flexible in consideration for people who come from far-off places. So it would have been fine to come in early or a little late. As long as it was still within the same day.”

“Is… Is that so?” Clover’s smile twitched at the revelation that he needn’t have allowed the carriage driver’s robbery. “So I don’t have to wait?”

“Yes. The, uh... respected personage upstairs isn't meeting anyone at the moment. Please head on over there and…”

Clover nodded along as the receptionist gave him directions before giving him some kind of badge. Once she returned his documents and the letter to him, he thanked her and strode deeper into City Hall.

 

════ ⋆★★★⋆ ════════ ⋆★★★⋆ ════════ ⋆★★★⋆ ════

 

After navigating his way over to an office on the third floor, Clover knocked on the door and waited for a response.

“Yes, yes. I'm here. Who is it?”

Not even a beat later, a deep and masculine voice, tinged with the vicissitudes of a long life greeted him. Just hearing it caused Clover's ears to ring in pleasant ways he could not explain. It was the type of manly voice that most young lads would dream of having, but never truly acquire no matter how long they wait for puberty to bless them.

Clover cleared his throat, trying to recover some semblance of composure. “Good day, sir. I am Clover Salwyn. And I'm here for my interview...”

“Ah, yes... You're quite punctual, aren't you? Very well then. Please, come inside.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Clover did as he was told and pushed the door open, only to be momentarily stunned when a ball of white smoke came flying straight for his face. He barely drew his wand and deflected the spell out of reflex, but such an unexpected turn of events froze him in place and seemed to have sent his heart into a frenzy.

“A very promising reaction.”

Deeper inside the office, Clover spotted a man who aged like fine wine, smiling from behind a desk. The attacker’s well-crafted wand was no longer pointed at Clover though, and was loosely resting on his lowered hand instead.

"What was that for..." Clover instinctively grimaced. Not only was suddenly firing spells at people dangerous in and of itself, it was also dangerous for whoever attacked if the victim was also capable of using sorcery. After all, there was no telling how the victim would counterattack when their body and mind jumped into fight mode.

And if it wasn't obvious enough, doing such a thing was also incredibly rude — no, it went way beyond rudeness.

Clover held back the curses bubbling up from his throat but he couldn't help but glare at the source of the little "prank".

'Uh... Wait a minute.'

Looking closely, the supposed owner of the office looked like the stereotypical sages of myth. The dandy old man had a long white beard and mustache that both hung down to reach his chest, swept-back ivory hair, and eyes that seemed to glimmer like stars. More noticeable than anything, however, was the deep dark purple robes he was wearing — including the silver decorations on the robe's hems and borders.

‘A Silver Cloak… Doesn't that mean he's an Ascendant?’

Clover gulped, suddenly realizing how important the person in front of him was.

“No need to be so tense, young man.” The elderly sorcerer chuckled. “Just a little jest from a fool with too much time. Even if the spell hit, it would be like a toddler whacking you with a pillow. I was just curious about your capabilities because you apparently had very good grades in Dueling and Magical Application.”

“Uhm… yes, sir.”

“Well, don’t just stand there.” Still smiling, the aged gentlemen beckoned for Clover to come inside and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. “Come. Sit.”

“Right away, sir.” Clover bowed quickly and scurried into the chair the old man indicated, his usual facade of calm and indifference gone. All the anger and vitriol had all but vanished by now. At the moment, he was just a kid in front of a smiling tiger. Or an ant in the middle of a thunderstorm.

‘I… I can’t be blamed for being a bit scared, right?’

No matter what his client’s orders were, the man in front of Clover could obliterate his existence with a sneeze. How could he not be intimidated? Sure, the old man seemed amicable enough, but that changed little.

Power was fearsome.

At this moment in time, Clover’s continued existence hinged on the assumption that the old monster maintained some semblance of humanity.

“Now then…” Unaware of his thoughts, the old man clasped his fingers atop the table. “My name is Dalamar — Dalamar Harkon. You can call me Elder Dalamar, not Mr. Harkon or anything with my last name on it. My father is still alive, spirits be damned. And he prefers using his last name, which I also have, so I am forced to insist that people use my first name to avoid confusion.”

“I-I see... Then, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Elder Dalamar…” Clover once again bowed his head and used the time to calm himself, gulping down a mouthful of saliva before raising his gaze. “Once again, I am Clover Salwyn. And I hope to join your order, Elder.”

“Hoho. You already are one of us, Mr. Salwyn. After a few formalities we'll get out of the way today, that is.”

“Please guide me, Elder.”

“Of course. Now…” Dalamar flicked his wand and it lit up for a moment before a sheaf of documents flew onto the table from somewhere in the room — likely a shelf or something, but Clover couldn't be sure since all of his attention was on the old sorcerer in front of him. “Do excuse me for a moment, Mr. Salwyn. I caught a glimpse before you entered, but I need to closely examine your records.”

Clover nodded with more vigor than he was used to. “Please take your time.”

With just a grunt in response, Dalamar’s wand vanished from his hand as he started to flip through the documents.

“Clover Salwyn. Male. Age twenty-one. Completed compulsory education at Sayal's State Academy. Eventually enrolled in an arcane arts curriculum with a focus on combat magic. Sounds about right?”

“Yes, Elder…”

“And this was your third attempt at the exam, yes?”

Clover paused for a moment to fight his shame but eventually nodded. “That's right, Elder.”

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, young man. Most people would fail even if you had them try ten times. And you did it after three." With a nod in acknowledgment, Dalamar tapped on the table while his other hand ran its fingers across the page. “But according to your evaluations, you barely passed this time.”

“I-Is… Is that so?”

“Yes… Ah, why don’t you have a look for yourself?”

After saying so, the elderly mage deliberately folded up one of the papers and held it up for Clover to see a part of its contents.

 

Comprehensive Evaluation Scores:

[3.1] Academic Results

[5.0] Magical Application

 

“Uhm, this is…” Clover’s eyes ran through the words, but he failed to come up with a response before the aged sorcerer spoke again.

“By the way, five is the highest score that can be assigned. Three is what we consider a passing grade.” Dalamar chuckled lightly before taking back the document and unfolding it. “Your Academic Results and Magical Applications scores were naturally taken from the written and practical exams."

Clover blanched at just how close he’d been to failing again. Certainly, magical theory wasn’t his strongest subject, but with all the studying he’d done over the years, he at least wanted to believe he’d done better.

‘It must have been those fucking essays…’

“Now, before we proceed to oath-taking, I’d like to bring your attention to something.” Dalamar slapped the piece of paper on his hand with a sigh. “Although your practical exam results were more than outstanding, your written exam results barely made the cut. You were a few decimals away from a failing score, Mr. Salwyn.”

Clover nodded with a lowered gaze, his face heating up slightly. “Y-Yes, Elder…”

“And I can tell you this now since you’re already one of us anyway, but that written test is made intentionally hard because whether one gets a good grade in the written portion isn’t of much importance as long as the candidate has a good grasp of the basics. After all, if we send you to war, your enemies aren’t going to fear you because you answered a few test questions right. The exam's difficulty serves a different purpose."

"Wh-what...?"

"In contrast," Dalamar continued. "The application portion holds three times the weight of the written exam.”

"Then that means..." Clover trailed off, thinking about how he'd failed to get into the tower twice even though his practicals didn't improve too much.

"Academics and practical application are not the only aspects we take into consideration, Mr. Salwyn." Dalamar once again sighed, gazing at Clover with what seemed like pity. “Usually, we still end up accepting people even if their exam results are a bit lacking as long as everything else looks good. But that wasn’t the case during your first and second attempts. Do you know why?”

Clover struggled to find the answer for a few moments before shaking his head. “P-Please enlighten me, Elder.”

“This is why…”

Once again, the aged spellcaster held up a document for Clover to see. And from the looks of it, it was the exact same one as he saw earlier.

Except this time, more of the document’s contents could be seen.

 

Comprehensive Evaluation Scores:

[3.1] Academic Results

[5.0] Magical Application

[4.7] Estimated Combat Adaptability

[5.0] Athleticism

[0.8] Sociability

 

“If we take away the topmost and the bottommost part, these are amazing scores. Absolutely remarkable, even. You would be considered a prodigy,” Dalamar said with the warm smile of a teacher. “Perfect Magical Application. And your proctor during the practical portion rated your combat adaptability very highly. And while you’re no Aizenian squire, you seem to take very good care of your body — much more than a normal civilian sorcerer your age does, at least — so you were scored highly in Athleticism as a response. Why, I even think you could immediately try advanced magic power application with a bit more pushing.”

Clover was momentarily flattered, but he knew the elder had more to say.

“But sadly, while Academic Results and Athleticism aren’t weighed very highly…” Dalamar pointed the tip of his wand at the bottom line of the text. “Sociability is. And yours is abysmal, Mr. Salwyn. The lowest I’ve seen in a long while. And I'm quite old, so I've been around for ages.”

“R-right…”

“Do you know how Sociability is scored, Mr. Salwyn?”

Clover bit his lip and nodded with hesitation. “I have some ideas…”

“Well, to make things clear to you, it is how the candidate gets along with the people around him. We are public servants, after all, Mr. Salwyn."

"Right..."

"Additionally, it considers how many friends and acquaintances the candidate has or how well the candidate gets along with the people in their immediate community. You don’t necessarily have to make friends with everybody around you, of course. Simple things such as amicably greeting people you pass by every day work wonders for this score. It’s not that hard to raise to a passing grade. In cruder terms, it is simply a rating that proves you're not an asshole.”

“That’s…”

“Why, your third written exam score didn’t improve much from your second. Even if your Academic Results were halved, the state would have still accepted you if you were a bit less anti-social.”

The old sorcerer’s words reverberated inside Clover’s skull, and for a few moments, the past few months of suffering flashed before his eyes.

‘I… I didn’t fucking know they rated that stuff too!?’

Dalamar withdrew the document once again and sighed with a shake of his head. “The empire's fanatical forces aside, we battlemages are not like the knights of the kingdom, Mr. Salwyn. There are very few instances when a battlemage is sent out on their own, they are almost always deployed in a group. The men and women you will work with will have to leave their backs to you and you will have to leave your back to them. Setting their minds at ease by being someone they can trust is the least someone can do, no?"

Clover could only nod along like a child being scolded. “Yes, Elder…”

"Hence, the ability to cooperate is paramount. I cannot stress this enough, but getting along well with the people around you is very important in this line of work. No matter how individually skilled you are, normal people die when the numbers are stacked against them. Academic ability can somehow be worked on. And if you can’t memorize things, just bring around a spellbook everywhere you go. Problem solved. As for athleticism, we learn sorcery because we are bad at fighting with our bodies.”

Dalamar threw a glance at a certain part of the document he was holding and sighed, once again. “But it is very hard to fix — and forgive my bluntness — a shit personality. Well, you luckily do not have one. You were just a bit anti-social, that’s all. But this still has the potential to be a problem in the future, so I hope you work on this more Mr. Salwyn.”

“I understand, Elder…” Clover nodded again, swallowing his excuses.

Really though, it wasn’t his fault that his client ordered him to act that way.

“Good.” Dalamar tapped his table as he gazed at Clover and smiled. “Well, perhaps I was a bit harsh. Don't take it to heart, I am simply obligated to point out areas of improvement. And from what the investigators found out, you only changed after your mother died. As someone who has also lost many people in all sorts of ways, I can understand.”

“...Investigators?”

“Hm? Yes. Same with politicians, the state has to make sure that all applicants have been born and raised in the republic. We even go up their parents’ ancestry. Obviously, your late father passes with flying colors since he was a respected battlemage who died in service. And it seems that your late mother was found to have a pure Arkhanian bloodline as well. Of course, lineage isn't the only thing they investigate. The past is the past, after all. The tower needs to know if you are going to be an asset or a liability.”

“I… I see…” Clover simply nodded with a forced smile. The last thing Clover wanted was for the elderly mage to think that he had something to hide. Being too agitated over having his background checked might give him away.

“Now, moving on. Mr. Salwyn, there is a note here from last year’s investigators stating that you were an upstanding young man who got along well with those around you up until your mother’s death on top of failing the examinations. That’s why your Sociability is being slightly ignored, in consideration of your situation."

"That is... awfully kind."

"The state is not composed completely of soulless golems, after all — we understand you were just going through difficult times. That’s partly why when your Academic and Practical scores both received passing marks, we decided to accept your application, even though we weren't supposed to.”

Clover breathed deeply, realizing that all his hard work hadn’t gone to waste. “I will… I will try to improve, Elder.”

“I'm glad you understand what we want from you, Mr. Salwyn.”

Dalamar nodded with a wide smile, his eyes even squinting from how his wrinkled face deformed. "Don't think that you were accepted out of pure pity though. Your grit and determination to succeed were big factors. After all, most aspirants stop and give up after their applications fail the second time. But you, Mr. Salwyn, powered through and kept trying. That, to us, means something — or rather, it means a lot to us. Nobody in the council could deny that you would be a tremendous asset to the country if you are nurtured properly."

"Th-thank you, for your kind words, Elder." Clover tried to subtly avert his gaze. Truthfully, if it hadn't been for his client, he may have given up after failing once. But because there was simply too much at stake, as long as he still had the chance to do so, Clover was prepared to keep applying until he passed — no matter how many tries it took.

Whatever it took to satisfy his client, Clover would do it.

Dalamar didn't seem to see anything strange with Clover's actions. And if he did, there were no noticeable signs of it. The old sorcerer simply continued to speak in a kind tone, like a grandfather speaking to a beloved child.

"Now... Death may come for most of us, and even when we expect it, we can’t stop ourselves from being hurt when our loved ones leave us. Believe me when I say that I know your pain. However, it has been years since your mother’s passing, and you are about to start a new chapter of your life. So I hope, with all my heart, that you move on and become stronger. I’m sure that is also what she would want for you.”

“...Yes, Elder.”

Clover lowered his head, trying to maintain an impassive expression for now.

‘No. That’s not what she wants. She’s still alive. And what she wants is for us to reunite.’

To do that, he would have to get this over with.

“Forgive me for my impudence, Elder Dalamar…” Clover looked up, gazing deeply into the aged sorcerer’s eyes with resolve. “But the oath…?”

“Ah, yes. Yes. Can’t forget about that, can we?” Dalamar seemed to take no offense at Clover’s haste, only chuckling in response and taking out a new document. “Forgive me, I get a bit talkative when I'm bored. Perhaps I like the sound of my voice too much? Now, about these documents... don’t you want to review the terms of employment?”

“There is no need.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Because I am determined to become a battlemage. No matter what.”

“Haha. Goodness...” Dalamar reclined in his chair, stroking his beard for a moment before the look in his eyes seemed to warm even further. “You remind me of the days when the blood running through my veins was still hot with passion, young man. Though, some people called me reckless and foolhardy. Very well, I will respond to your passion appropriately.”

The aged sorcerer waved his wand and the countless little runes carved into its surface erupted with light for a moment as documents flew up and arranged themselves in some kind of order before they were bound to a leather cover.

“This has the details of your compensation and other benefits. Review them on your own time.” Dalamar then put his hand forward. “Contracts of paper and ink are not binding enough for our profession. So we must resort to... other means to strengthen our bonds. I hope you understand. If you do, would you give me your hand?”

Clover took a moment to scrutinize the elder’s hand, likening the fingers to the branches of a fallen twig.

Skin, resembling the cracked surface of the ancient grimoires he perused in his hometown’s spell archives. Veins, like meandering rivers on a weathered map, coursed beneath the surface and carried the whispers of a long life’s journey. Long fingers joined by knobby knuckles, each protrusion seemingly echoed the contours of long-forgotten tales.

Despite the offered hand’s frail appearance, Clover knew they contained unspeakable power. And that power caused him some pause.

‘Well…'

Clover took a deep breath and looked up to meet the aged sorcerer’s gaze.

‘Fuck it. Here goes nothing.’

His hesitation didn’t last long when weighed against the years leading up to this moment, or the decades that would follow. With not even a single tremor, Clover offered his hand just as instructed.

“Good. Beware, this will feel a bit... strange.” Dalamar’s words barely registered in Clover’s mind before the old man suddenly reached forward and wrapped his bony fingers around the young man’s right forearm. Then he adjusted Clover's arm so the palm was facing upward. “I assume you know how these work?”

“Yes, Elder.” Clover nodded. He knew what oath spells entailed even though he'd never used the spell. They were one of the spells that showed up on the exam, after all. Keeping his fingers splayed to expose as much of his palm as possible, he stared at it for a good minute before looking back up. “I am ready.”

“Very good. Now, I will ask you some questions. All you need to do is say I swear it on my name. Simple, no? We love simple things. Ah, and remember, for the first time, you must say your name afterward. Your real name. Otherwise, it won’t work.”

“Understood.”

“Splendid, splendid. Let us begin.”

Dalamar lightly pressed the tip of his wand to Clover’s chest as numerous runes glowed before becoming dim, replaced by a different set of runes right after.

The miniature light show continued as the spell’s heartbeat pulsed ten or so times, up until the magic took hold. Clover felt something unfathomable digging into his chest, and then after whatever it was burrowed deep enough, it flowed through his veins and headed for the arm in the aged sorcerer’s grasp, before seemingly bursting out of his callused palm in the form of blood.

“Damn…” Clover groaned in pain as he watched his blood spiral into the air and form the shape of a sphere. Burning embers manifested around it before being sucked into the ball of blood, transforming it into what seemed like a glowing eye the size of a normal eye. The moment the mysterious creature from another world solidified, the pain ceased, replaced by something else — a sensation Clover couldn't quite name.

“Steady, now, young man.” Dalamar then transferred the tip of his wand and slowly pointed it over to the eye, which was gazing curiously at the surroundings. “The fragment of the watcher has manifested. All promises made in its presence must be kept. Yadda yadda yadda, I'm supposed to embark on a big spiel about it, but I'm sure you know how this works, so let's just skip it. What say you?”

“Please continue...” Clover rasped, discovering how dry his lips and throat had become. He cleared his throat and licked his lips.

“Very good. Now, none of the oaths will be too hard to accomplish, so relax. It's part of why we don't have some pretentious ceremony, and it's just me, a bored old man, here as a witness.” The aged sorcerer joked in a placating tone, a benevolent smile on his face. "And this version of the watcher won't hurt a fly. So relax. Don't be afraid of it."

Taking a deep breath to calm down, Clover cleared his throat and nodded, wiping his sweaty palm — the one that didn't have some freaky eyeball hovering over it — on his trousers. "Please continue, Elder."

“Good lad. Now, do you swear to uphold the order’s honor in all actions?”

The moment that the seemingly casual question was asked, the fragment of the watcher stopped curiously looking around, fixing Clover with a sharp gaze instead. Its iris glowed blood red as fiery embers slowly fell away from it, landing on Clover’s palm. He flinched in discomfort whenever some of it did, but he knew that even if he wanted to pull his hand away now, he would not have the agency to do so.

Staring straight at the grotesque creature formed from his blood, Clover spoke in a calm and steady tone. “I swear it on my name, Clover Salwyn.”

“Do you swear to use your power for yourself, your family, and for the good of your countrymen only?”

“I swear it on my name.”

“Finally…” Dalamar’s voice took on a chillier tone all of a sudden, his eyes narrowed into slits as he scrutinized Clover’s face. “Do you, Clover Salwyn, swear upon the watcher that you will protect the secrets of the tower?”

Clover gulped. “I…”

‘Protect the secrets…’

What that entailed, Clover did not know.

He did know that promises made through the oath spells were unlike the contracts men formed with ink and paper — there were no loopholes or wordplay. That was why you could get away with simply worded oaths.

In fact, oaths with simple wording were the most powerful because they could be interpreted in countless ways and, hence, would be very hard to betray.

Clover knew that if he accidentally went against it, he would die.

There were no trials to argue his innocence. No excuses could be uttered. And there would be no courts to file for an appeal.

He would just die.

And that would be the end of his story.