The Wizard: Starting as a Corpse Collector Apprentice and Paying for a Monthly Subscription

The morning sunlight streamed through the towering floor-to-ceiling windows, filtered through the stained glass with a gilded finish, creating dappled, cool-toned light that shone into the spacious, bright classroom.

This is the seventeenth floor of the Wizarding Tower of Kane, the private teaching laboratory of Macley Kane.

A faint scent of incense filled the air; it was ambergris, specially lit to mask the odor of the experimental materials, and each gram was worth 10 purple gold coins.

Compared to Tyrell's dark, damp morgue, filled with mold and the stench of decay, this place was paradise.

At this moment, Tyron was respectfully placing three boxes on the ground, standing beside the huge semi-circular experimental table.

The 23rd floor is the laboratory; this is where classes are held.

He stood tall and straight, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, his head slightly bowed, his gaze fixed on his mentor's gleaming crocodile leather shoes, his posture humble and composed.

Macley was holding a thin mithril pointer, carefully examining Tyron's work.

He had taken a quick look when there were many people around, but now that there was no one else, he observed it more carefully.

The boy's body was placed on the left. His skin was pale but clean, and his wounds had been meticulously stitched up. Even the dirt under his fingernails had been cleaned.

In the center is a pristine white skeleton, each bone radiating a warm, ivory-like luster. The joints are perfectly reinforced and connected with extremely fine brass wires, giving it a refined feel.

On the right is the body of the young woman, her face peaceful, as if she were simply asleep.

"Well handled."

After a long while, Markley put down his pointer.

"Especially this skeleton, the acid washing time was controlled very precisely, without damaging the spirituality of the bone, and the impurities were completely removed."

"Even professional artisans who specialize in specimen preparation may not have this kind of patience."

"This is what students should do." Tyron's voice was calm, without the slightest hint of arrogance.

"It is our honor to save you time dealing with miscellaneous tasks."

Markley nodded slightly, clearly pleased with the answer.

He walked to the sink, washed his hands with expensive cleaning powder, and casually asked:

"The mid-year assessment is coming up soon. How's your review of the theory lessons going?"

Tyron's heart skipped a beat; he knew this was his mentor casually testing him.

In this hierarchical wizarding tower, a casual question from a superior can often be the turning point for a subordinate to change their fate.

He immediately showed just the right amount of awkwardness and shame, scratched his head, and said in an clumsy but sincere tone:

"Teacher, as you know, I'm not very bright, unlike those rich kids who can grasp things instantly. I... I can only use the slow and painstaking methods."

"A stupid way?" Markley dried his hands and raised an eyebrow.

"It's just rote memorization." Tyron lowered his head, as if stating something shameful.

"I've memorized the entire 'Meditation Atlas,' and I'm working on the other books as well."

"Although I still only have a vague understanding of many of the principles, I figure it's always good to memorize them first."

Markley paused for a moment.

You memorized it all?

That was a dry and obscure professional book of over 100,000 words.

In this fast-paced era, most apprentices are trying to find shortcuts.

People who are willing to put in the hard work of taking drugs, using connections, and cultivating relationships are rarer than unicorns.

"And mental strength?" Markley asked again.

"Theory alone is not enough; in the world of wizards, strength ultimately prevails."

Tyron took a deep breath and mobilized the power that had just stabilized in his mental sea.

"My current mental strength is 3.2, and my magic control is... around 1.4."

Upon hearing this data, Markley paused in his hand-wiping motion.

He turned around, his sharp eyes fixed on Tyron, as if trying to see through his soul.

"3.2?"

Markley's voice carried a hint of undisguised surprise.

As his mentor, he was very familiar with Tyron's file.

When he enrolled six months ago, this ordinary boy had a pitiful mental strength of only 1, making him the worst performer in his class.

Under normal meditation efficiency, without the aid of expensive potions, reaching level 3 in six months would be the limit.

But now, he has actually reached 3.2?

That extra 0.2 is proof that you are stronger than a normal person.

After all, managing apprentices involves not only learning but also the arduous task of collecting corpses.

Markley was silent for a moment, then a hint of appreciation appeared in his eyes.

"Diligence can make up for lack of talent; it's an old saying, but it's really effective. It seems you're not as dull as I thought."

He glanced at the clock on the wall; there were still ten minutes before class started.

Originally, according to the rules, Tyron should have gone back to his classroom on the first floor to attend the lecture after delivering the goods.

But looking at the humble yet resilient apprentice before him, and then at the perfectly crafted teaching aids on the experimental table, he realized that this was a remarkable achievement.

Markley suddenly made a decision.

"Magnus".

"Yes, mentor."

"You stay," Markley said casually, as if it were a trivial matter.

"Stand in the corner and listen to the lecture."

Tyron suddenly raised his head, his pupils dilating rapidly as he entered a state of focused concentration.

At this moment, he doesn't need any acting skills.

Because this was truly the opportunity he had been dreaming of!

In the Wizarding Tower of Cain, knowledge is strictly hierarchical.

Apprentices like Tyron, who are at the bottom of the class, can only attend open classes with a few hundred people in the auditorium each month.

The lecturers are usually upperclassmen, and the content is rote and boring, without touching on any core skills.

Markley's small classroom is a core disciple class specifically prepared for those who have paid high sponsorship fees or are truly talented, as well as young noblemen from prominent families.

What is taught here is the true essence of magic, practical experience that will never be recorded in books!

This is a privilege of the class, a barrier of money.

But now, that barrier has cracked open for him.

"Mentor...Advisor..."

Tyron's voice trembled, and his eyes instantly reddened.

He bit his tongue hard, the sharp pain stimulating his tear ducts, and two streams of hot tears slid down his cheeks.

He bent over deeply, his forehead almost touching the cold floor, his voice choked with emotion:

"Thank you... thank you for your kindness! I... I will certainly not let you down!"

Seeing Tyron's tearful gratitude, Markley felt a sense of satisfaction from changing someone else's fate.

He waved his hand casually:

"Go, stand at the back, and don't make a sound. How much you understand depends on your own fate."

"yes!"

Tyron quickly straightened up, wiped away his tears, and strode to the back corner of the classroom to stand.

He lowered his head, seemingly submissive, but his eyes, hidden in the shadows, shone with composure and confidence.

"It's done."

"The first step in managing upwards has been successful."