"What you just witnessed," Mr. F began, his voice calm but with an underlying intensity, "was a soul being used to brew a potion. The magic I practice is known as soul magic, and it's because of this that I was able to alter your memories."

Betty and Albert exchanged uncertain glances, the weight of his words sinking in. Soul magic—something that neither of them had heard much about, if at all.

Mr. F continued, his tone unwavering. "Many people on this continent believe that soul mages are enemies of society, a threat that must be eradicated. But those are lies, spread by the Church of Light. Soul magic is merely a different path of magic, no more evil than any other."

Albert's curiosity wrestled with his growing unease. "Mr. F," he asked hesitantly, "what exactly is a soul?"

Mr. F nodded, appreciating the question. "A good question, Albert. The soul is what defines a person, what makes them who they are. Every person has a soul, and it is what guides their decisions, their path in life. If you take 1,000 people who have lived the exact same life, given the same experiences, they will still make different choices when faced with the same decision. Why is that? It's because the soul is a part of the equation—a part that shapes who they become."

Albert's eyes widened in confusion. "So, does that mean you... consumed something like a person?" His voice trembled slightly, the moral implications of Mr. F's magic hitting him hard. Though Mr. F had said soul mages weren't evil, the idea of consuming a soul still gnawed at Albert's conscience.

Mr. F, sensing Albert's discomfort, responded evenly. "Soul mages believe that a soul is just another form of energy. Tell me, Albert—what happens to a soul after death? Where does it go? Is it reborn, or does it simply return to the cosmos from which it came? You can't equate souls with human life. They're not the same. My magic seeks to uncover the mysteries of the soul. The fact that I can use them in potions is just one facet of what we do."

Though Albert tried to absorb Mr. F's words, he still felt an uncomfortable weight in his stomach. Betty, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, her voice steady. "Albert, let me ask you—do you trust Mr. F with your life?"

"Of course," Albert replied immediately, without hesitation. "He's already saved me more than once. He's the reason I'm still here."

Betty smiled. "Then that's all that matters. We have no reason to doubt him. Whatever path our master walks, I trust that it's not one that will harm us. And even if people think soul magic is dangerous, he's shown us nothing but kindness. He's given us every reason to believe in him."

Albert looked into Betty's eyes and slowly nodded. She was right. Whatever doubts he had, Mr. F had always acted with their best interests at heart.

"I'm sorry for doubting you, Master," Albert said softly.

A rare smile crossed Mr. F's face, a sign of the trust he was extending to them. He had the power to alter their memories again, to erase any lingering doubts if he had wanted to. But he had chosen not to. Their trust was real, and that was enough.

"It's late," Mr. F said, pulling a few bedrolls from his spatial pouch. "Rest for now. Get some sleep. I have more work to do."

Albert and Betty gratefully took the bedding, spreading it out on the floor. "Aren't you going to sleep, Master?" Betty asked.

"Later," Mr. F replied. "There are still things I need to take care of."

With that, he turned and left the treehouse, leaving his students to rest. They understood that he needed time alone and, exhausted from the day's events, they quickly fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Mr. F stepped outside, his thoughts consumed by the next phase of his plan. Tonight, he would begin the process of transforming ordinary plants into magical ones, a feat few mages could accomplish. Using the ritual, he hoped to grant the plants not just magical properties, but souls—making them rare and extraordinarily valuable.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

He approached a dying vine that had been overtaken by fungus, its life hanging by a thread. Had Mr. F arrived just a week later, the plant would likely have perished. Drawing a small diagram with 145 intricate nodes in the soil beneath the plant, he infused it with nature magic, activating the ritual. The next step was the most critical—integrating a soul.

From his soul lantern, he carefully selected a Rank 3 soul, one powerful enough to sustain the magic. Following the precise steps of the ritual, he watched as the soul was drawn toward the plant, merging with the diagram's energy. As the soul made contact with the vine, it dissolved into radiant strands of light, which the plant absorbed.

The entire process took less than five minutes. Mr. F watched intently, waiting for some sign of success. But at first, nothing happened. Assuming it would take time for the soul and the plant to fully integrate, he moved on to the next plant.

Hours passed. By the time he reached the twelfth plant, something stirred in the air. He returned to the first vine and saw a remarkable sight: the fungus had begun to heal, the infected areas fading. The leaves of the vine rustled softly, as though acknowledging Mr. F's presence. It had worked. The soul had taken root.

But Mr. F's satisfaction was tempered by the realization of how inefficient the process was. There were millions of plants on this mountain. At five minutes per plant, he knew the task would take far too long.

An idea sparked in his mind.

Expanding his earlier ritual, Mr. F carved an enormous diagram across the mountainside, a vast grid that connected hundreds of plants. For hours, he funneled magic into the diagram, but even after an hour of relentless effort, he hadn't amassed enough energy.

Mr. F began drinking regeneration potions, yet even as the first light of dawn broke across the horizon, he hadn't gathered enough magic. His exhaustion was palpable, but he pressed on, determined. When his students awoke, they found him in the midst of his ritual, summoning vast amounts of magical energy.

"What kind of powerful spell is Master preparing?" they wondered, but neither dared to interrupt.

Betty and Albert approached him cautiously, and Albert spoke up. "Master, we were thinking of going into the city to buy some essentials—beds, blankets, supplies."

Mr. F paused, considering their request. With a flick of his wrist, he infused a nearby wild dandelion with magic. The once small plant expanded and grew, thickening, until it towered over them at three meters tall. The dandelion shimmered with power, its petals glowing faintly, radiating an aura of strength.

"This dandelion should be as strong as a Tier 4 or 5 beast," Mr. F said calmly. "It will accompany you and protect you until you reach the outskirts of the city. Be sure to leave it outside when you enter the city—do not draw unnecessary attention. Retrieve it when you're ready to return."

Both Betty and Albert nodded obediently, still marveling at the sheer size and power of the plant. They thanked their master and set off toward the city.

With his students gone, Mr. F returned to the ritual. Hour after hour, he poured his remaining energy into the process, feeling the weight of every spell. By evening, his body was trembling with fatigue, but at last, he felt the magic pool to an adequate level.

Taking a deep breath, he looked around the mountain. Betty and Albert had not yet returned, but there was no time to wait. His task could not be delayed any longer. With a final surge of power, he enclosed the entire mountain in a transparent dome. It shimmered faintly, a barrier designed to keep souls trapped within.

Mr. F then reached into his soul lantern, releasing every Rank 1 to Rank 3 soul he had gathered during the battle for the city. Thousands of souls poured out in a brilliant, eerie cascade of light. These were the remnants of beasts and creatures that had perished, too many to count—over 10,000 in total.

It wasn't enough to transform the entire mountain, but it would suffice for about 1% of the plants.

The souls scattered, desperate to escape the dome, but they found no way out. Slowly, they began to absorb the nature magic emanating from the mountain, drawn irresistibly to the plants below. One by one, the souls descended, integrating themselves into the flora. The process took around thirty minutes, each soul being absorbed by a different plant until there were no more left to roam.

Now all Mr. F could do was wait.

He made his way back to the treehouse, checking to see if Betty and Albert had returned. But the house was silent. The absence of his students gnawed at him, and concern began to creep into his mind. With his work on the mountain complete for the time being, he decided to search for them.

Summoning his magic once again, he flew swiftly toward the city, honing in on the faint magical signature he had left in the dandelion plant. His flight was quick, unhindered by the terrain below.

When he reached a spot just two kilometers outside the city, his heart sank. The towering dandelion, once vibrant and full of life, now lay in ruins. It had been severed cleanly in the middle, its golden petals strewn across the forest floor like fallen soldiers.

Mr. F's face darkened, his expression turning grim. This was no mere accident—something, or someone, had destroyed the plant. And if the dandelion was gone, it meant Betty and Albert were in danger.