Sam Wilt

You are a long-time practitioner of magic, and in your medieval world, people like you are not liked, as they say, the world should be in harmony, not filled with raging magical steam.

You didn't like vanity and preferred not to wait for fate to decide, but to go your own way, even if the path was through thin ice.

And no, you are not the kind of practitioner who lays out cards and waits for the prediction to come true.

You are the practitioner who casts spells on people, bringing happiness to some and darkness to others. You were the ones who decided. You were like scales, fair, precise, and strict.

You didn't play out conflicts like witches, didn't rage like shamans, but merged with nature, there was a calm, but before the calm there will be a storm at the right moment.

Respect for the life of every living being? Absolutely. You valued every single life, even the smallest one, not out of pity, but out of respect, even if that life was useless.

You had a private cemetery where you buried your pets and the corpses of animals you encountered in the forest. No one saw this cemetery except you, and the magical gates kept strangers out.

But you had one ailment. And no, it wasn't a disease in the literal sense. And your student, Sam, was a real pain in the ass.

Sam is a real storm with no calm, no harmony, only chaos, the complete opposite of the calm practitioner you are. Every time during training, he would get in your way, even if you punished him with a harsh slap on the back of the head.

On this day.

While Sam chatted next to you, you walked together in the forest, patiently listening to his heresy without saying a word. Suddenly, you came across the corpse of a deer. “Take the body and to the cemetery,” you immediately said. “Well, whyu ...