Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

The late autumn morning fog had yet to dissipate as Old Allen, accompanied by Jack and Horn, set off on the road to Monte Castle.

In an era of short life expectancies, Old Allen, at nearly seventy years of age, was naturally chosen as a representative due to his seniority.

Horn was selected for his literacy, while Jack himself couldn’t say why he’d been chosen—perhaps because he was always so eager to help his neighbors.

Along the way, Jack carefully supported Old Allen, while Horn carried a small bundle containing a wedding gift the farmers had all chipped in for.

A jar of homemade honey.

"This road is much harder to travel than when Lord Sylvan was here," Old Allen said, leaning on his elmwood cane and carefully avoiding the mud puddles. "It used to be paved with gravel. It wouldn’t get this muddy even when it rained."

Horn nodded. "The army’s passage tore up the road. I hear the new Lord plans to repair it after spring. Right now, everyone’s busy with the wedding preparations."

On both sides of the road, in fields ravaged by the war, farmers were busy clearing away rubble and mending fences.

If they didn’t clean up now, it would be even harder once the cold of winter set in, and they wouldn’t be able to sow their crops in time come spring.

Seeing Old Allen’s group, they all stopped their work to greet the elder respectfully.

"Grandpa Allen, what do you think this new Governor will be like?" a young farmer asked curiously.

Another farmer, who was tilling his field, chimed in, "I heard he’s marrying the sister of the former Lord Sylvan, the original heir to the domain. If the Duval Family can take charge again, maybe our lives can go back to how they were."

Old Allen gazed at the distant silhouette of Monte Castle, barely visible through the morning mist, his eyes profound. "A marriage is like a spring seed. Whether or not it grows into a good crop depends on how it’s cared for later on."

As they passed through a patch of scorched forest, Old Allen suddenly stopped.

He pointed to an old oak tree by the roadside that had been struck by lightning, his voice choking up. "Lord Sylvan planted this tree himself when he was a boy. Back then, I was a groom in the castle stables. I often saw him sneak out to water the seedling."

Horn sighed softly. "Yes, and back then, you were the youngest groom in the castle."

Jack silently supported the old man, feeling the slight tremor in his arm.

The closer they got to the castle, the more pedestrians they saw on the road.

Representatives from other villages and towns had also arrived. They greeted each other, all talking about this sudden wedding.

"I hear the bride is a lady of the Duval Clan," said a representative from a northern village. "It would be wonderful if we could return to the days when the Duvals ruled."

Old Allen shook his head slightly and said to Jack in a low voice, "A political marriage is like a new patch on old clothes. In the end, what matters is whether it’s comfortable to wear."

By the time they finally reached the castle gates, the sun was already high in the sky.

The guards carefully inspected everyone’s invitations, their attitude reasonably polite.

Gazing at the familiar castle courtyard, Old Allen couldn’t help but recall his younger days working here.

"What is it, Uncle Allen?" Jack asked with concern.

Old Allen pointed toward the stables. "That’s where I used to work. Back then, it housed the warhorses of the Former Baron, Lord Rotton, and Lord Glen."

Horn added, "I know. The old Baron Duval’s Castle had three Official Knights. But it’s not bad now, either. As the Lord, Lord Monte also has three Official Knights under his command. At the very least, the domain’s military strength is much greater now than it was in Lord Sylvan’s time."

The castle was festooned with lanterns and streamers as servants bustled about, decorating for the wedding.

Old Allen and his companions were led to the guest area, where many other representatives of the common folk had already gathered.

Though the furnishings here were not as luxurious as in the nobles’ section, the clean, tidy long tables and chairs covered with plain tablecloths were a far cry from the farmhouses they lived in.

Everyone spoke in low voices, their words filled with anticipation for the future.

Old Allen sat quietly in a corner, gazing at the castle’s familiar stone walls, his heart a swirl of emotions.

Suddenly, his gaze fixed on the nobles’ section, where a stooped figure with white hair was walking out. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Old Allen rose to his feet unconsciously and called out, "Master Arthur!"

Arthur turned his head in surprise, a flash of astonishment crossing his wrinkled face.

He studied Old Allen’s wrinkled face carefully, his voice raspy. "Allen? You’re still alive?"

Old Allen didn’t find the question disrespectful.

After all, Arthur came from the station of a Knight’s Attendant, a respected position, and the years had left their deep marks on both of them.

The old man looked sorrowfully at Arthur’s white hair and stooped frame, his voice thick with emotion. "Master, how did you also get... so old?"

Arthur heaved a deep sigh, a shadow passing through his eyes as if he were recalling the unpleasant memories of his interrogation by the Church Court.

He waved his hand, which was covered in age spots and trembled slightly. "It’s better left unsaid."

Old Allen hesitated for a moment, but couldn’t stop himself from asking in a hushed voice, "And Lord Luca?"

Arthur shook his head, his white beard trembling slightly, but said nothing.

Old Allen silently lowered his gaze, his hands falling limply to his sides.

Seeing this, Arthur couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow as well.

He took a few steps closer, his voice low. "I remember you used to tend the warhorses for Lord Glen, and later you cared for Lord Luca’s mount." He tried hard to recall, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening. "Back then, you seemed to be good friends with that John fellow. You also used to go hunting with Murphy, whom I thought highly of."

At these words, the wrinkles on Old Allen’s face seemed to deepen, and tears welled up in his cloudy eyes.

He raised a trembling hand to wipe the corners of his eyes, his voice choked. "John passed away twenty years ago. As for Murphy..." The old man’s voice suddenly became a near-whisper. "The first time we planned to go hunting together, he was... by a tiger... At the time, I was just glad that Murphy had held the tiger back, giving me a chance to escape... Oriane above, I have sinned!"

Perhaps it was due to his advancing age, but Old Allen had grown increasingly devout.

He shakily raised his hands and slowly made the sign of a crescent moon embracing a star across his chest.

His movements were slow and solemn, his slightly chapped lips moving as he prayed devoutly to Oriane, the God of Stars and Truth. "May the merciful God forgive my sins, and allow me to enter the Celestial Kingdom after death, instead of descending into Hell."

Arthur quietly watched Old Allen pray, his own thoughts turning to the events of the past year.

The Church Court’s interrogation, the change of lordship over the domain, the passing of old acquaintances.

Then his mind drifted back over decades of memories.

A complex expression appeared on his wrinkled face, and he, too, involuntarily raised a trembling hand and made the same gesture.

And so the two old men stood amidst the bustling wedding reception, praying together to their God in a forgotten corner.

...

In the master bedroom of Monte Castle, Murphy stood before a full-length mirror, allowing two maids to adjust his formal attire.

The deep blue velvet jacket, embroidered with silver thread patterns, lent his otherwise ordinary face an air of nobility.

"All of you, out," Murphy ordered faintly.

The maids bowed and exited the room in silence.

Just then, another maid entered with her head bowed.

She wore a gray woolen long dress with a white linen apron over it and a matching headscarf.

Though her attire was simple, it could not conceal her exceptional beauty.

A few strands of jet-black hair escaped from the edge of her headscarf. Her black-jade eyes were downcast, and her delicate features were especially captivating in the sunlight.

Murphy’s gaze sharpened abruptly. "Margaret, what are you doing here?"

The young woman lifted her eyes, looking aggrieved, a sheen of moisture in her dark pupils. "Master, you’re supposed to call me Maggie..."

"I’ll call you whatever I damn well please." Murphy’s voice grew colder. "Are you the master, or am I?"

Margaret pressed her lips together, her long eyelashes trembling slightly, but she didn’t argue further.

"Weren’t you supposed to be in the Royal Capital? Why are you here?" Murphy scrutinized her.

"Can’t I attend my master’s wedding?" Margaret said, stepping forward slowly, her fingernails, painted a silvery white, reaching gently for Murphy’s lapel.

Murphy grabbed her wrist, his grip so tight it made Margaret gasp softly.

"Don’t get any funny ideas," he warned.

"I was the one who helped Miss Aurora get her marriage annulled by the Church Court..." Margaret murmured, aggrieved. "Doesn’t that earn me even a little tenderness?"

Murphy’s gaze turned glacial. "What did you call her?"

"Master..." Margaret suddenly switched back, a blissful expression on her face. She writhed her wrist slightly in Murphy’s grip, as if enjoying the pain.

"Remember your place." Murphy released her, his tone frigid. "Here, you are nothing but a slave."

Margaret caressed her reddened wrist, her fingertips tracing her skin with a lingering touch. A shimmer of obsession spread through her dark eyes.

She took half a step back and bowed her head respectfully. "Yes, Master."

Just then, the door was pushed open again.

Murphy frowned and looked over at once. Margaret also turned, and both their gazes locked onto the newcomer.

The person was dressed in the same gray woolen long dress as the other maids, her brown hair neatly tucked under a headscarf, revealing a delicate, pretty face.

"My Lord, I’ve come to..."

...

TAP, TAP, TAP.

The soft sound of footsteps echoed in the stone corridor as Celeste, wearing soft-soled shoes, walked toward the Governor’s bedroom.

She was dressed in the same gray woolen long dress as the other maids, her brown hair neatly tucked under her headscarf.

Ghostly Touch urgently needed a large number of fresh Wandering Souls as provisions for the journey to the New Realm, and this wedding, which had gathered so many nobles and commoners, was the perfect opportunity.

A direct massacre at the feast would be too conspicuous and inconvenient. Poisoning the food and drink was the best course of action.

After all, at such a lively event, the crowd was dense, allowing the poison to spread more quickly among the guests and silently reap more souls.

Before administering the poison, however, she had to ensure that all the key knights and officials of the domain were under control, preventing anyone from using Magic or other means to call for help from the Church Court in time.

’Although, as a Third-Class Wizard Apprentice, Celeste really couldn’t understand what there was to be wary of when dealing with an ordinary person, even a Great Knight. Still, the habits she had developed over her long time in Ghostly Touch compelled her to carry out her mission with caution.

’Still, her heart had already drifted to the distant New Realm, imagining herself building her own Wizard Tower there, becoming a lofty and revered Grand Wizard.

Celeste stopped before the carved oak door, took a deep breath, and adjusted her headscarf to make herself look like an ordinary maid.

She gently pushed open the door, her prepared words already on her lips.

"Lady Aurora, I have come to..."