Magic Missile

Thinking of this, Du Pont finally relaxed. As the adrenaline faded, he felt a trace of weakness, while the pain in his arm became increasingly unbearable. He could not help heading to Butcher's quarters to see if there were any healing potions or bandages.

Butcher had said he could use anything freely. Du Pont was not that familiar with him, but he truly had no choice now.

There were all sorts of miscellaneous things in the room, along with several herbal preparations. After checking them over with the system, he chose two useful items.

Herbal Balm Essence

Description: A herbal ointment made primarily from myrrh. It stopped bleeding, reduced inflammation, and slowly healed wounds.

Bandages

Description: Clean bandages. With the proper technique, they could stop bleeding relatively quickly.

Using the small spoon nearby, Du Pont scooped out some ointment. He kept sucking in breaths as he applied it.

The system had verified it, so the ointment was naturally not fake. Still, it hurt like hell when he put it on.

Grimacing, he finished applying the ointment. The wound gradually turned cool, and the blood stopped flowing. The pressure on Du Pont immediately eased; at last, he no longer had to worry about it worsening.

Using both his mouth and his hand, he wrapped the bandage twice around his left arm. Looking at the limb, which resembled a mummy's arm, Du Pont felt utterly exhausted. He pulled over the thin wool blanket and quickly fell asleep on the wooden bed covered in animal hides.

What he did not notice was that beneath the notification saying he had gained 100 Experience Points, there were two more messages.

You gained some insight into using two weapons: the Short Spear and dagger.

You gained some insight into the special ability: Rage.

The scent of pine resin still lingered in the wooden house, mingling with the fresh fragrance of grass breaking through the soil outside and seeping up through the cracks in the floor. Sunlight filtered through the warp and weft of the linen curtains, stamping warm grid-shaped patches onto the coarse wool blanket. As the shadows of the trees swayed, they resembled little golden carp swimming through the light.

Du Pont groggily opened his eyes. Looking at the somewhat unfamiliar ceiling, he sighed, glanced at his raised arm, and struggled to sit up.

Boulderstone's home was simple, but the things he used were obviously quite valuable, far better than the junk in Du Pont's dormitory. Even this goose-down pillow was clearly freshly stuffed, making it exceptionally soft.

Looking at his damaged robe, then at Boulderstone's faded linen shirt, Du Pont thought that when he passed through that village on the way back, he should see if they had any new clothes. If the price was right, he would get a change of clothes and stop making do with this ragged junk.

He used a spell to freshen himself up, but Du Pont still felt somewhat lightheaded. After washing his face and touching his forehead, he found that it was not burning hot, though it was still a little too warm.

He seemed to have a slight fever, but his body showed no other reaction. It probably was not a serious problem.

The wound on his left arm had become much more comfortable. Normal movement was no issue, but whenever he exerted force, it still burned with pain.

Ugh, it wasn't really infected, was it?

Fortunately, the worst had not happened. His default system panel showed no new abnormal statuses. He was merely physically and mentally exhausted from blood loss and excessive tension. The constitution he had only just recovered to -2 had dropped back to -3.

That irritated Du Pont. Ever since he had transmigrated here, his health had never been good. Still, when he looked at the 100 Experience Points he had earned, he could not help smiling.

556/2000. He was one step closer to advancing.

Murder and arson brought golden belts. The rewards from going out and hunting a strong gray wolf had already surpassed what he gained from spending a day studying at school. If he learned Magic Missile and could strike first, dealing with two at once would not be a problem. As long as there was enough prey, he could advance within a few days.

Du Pont was not just bored and indulging in fantasies. This was entirely possible.

Though he had been extremely awkward fighting just one gray wolf earlier, that was because none of the spells he had learned were particularly suitable for combat.

Reality was not a game. A Magic Missile striking the fur of such a beast would seriously wound it even if it did not kill it. It would not be like in a game, where something could still run, jump, and charge right into his face with only a sliver of health left.

Of course, if he could pose such a threat, then beasts and other people could do the same to him. It seemed that besides Magic Missile, he also needed to learn Shield Spell. Then, even in a close-quarters fight, he could withstand a little more punishment.

It was fair to say that this had gone from cozy tabletop roleplaying to a Souls game.

No sooner thought than done. Du Pont took a Magic Missile scroll and his spellbook from his waist pouch and began copying it down.

As a level-two mage, copying a first-circle spell into his spellbook was no longer difficult. An ordinary apprentice only needed to activate the spell models recorded in the incantation. Once all the spell models had been memorized, it became nothing more than laborious work. When he could skillfully master and rapidly combine the models, the spell would be learned.

Normally, though, that still took a considerable amount of time. Spell practice was tied to actually casting spells, and as a level-two mage, he only had three first-circle spell slots. There was barely any opportunity to practice.

If he went into battle while still unfamiliar with the incantation, he might end up casting while reading from his spellbook. Not only would that look ridiculous, but distraction could also make him miss a hidden enemy and lose his life to a flying arrow.

There was no helping it. Without spell slots, a mage was little different from an ordinary person. Just like Du Pont now, he could basically only be considered a physically stronger ordinary person. Faced with a dangerous enemy, he could do little but run.

There was another issue with learning spells from scrolls. Trying to memorize every spell model with only one scroll was practically impossible. Without a mentor to explain tricks for casting and forming magical circuits, learning naturally proceeded much more slowly. He would need to spend more money and burn more scrolls, otherwise forcing a half-understood spell into existence could cause serious problems.

A failed spell was not too bad; at most, it wasted a spell slot. But getting a magical circuit wrong and causing a short circuit that exploded and killed the caster outright was entirely possible.

Fortunately, the system that only knew how to lend money and collect interest had a miraculous training ground. There, he could cast spells freely without worrying about spell slots. Since he did not feel like copying scrolls and had nothing else to do, this was the perfect time to try it.

Opening a Magic Missile scroll, Du Pont cautiously fed in a thread of mental power. The incantation Missilia Magica slowly lit up. The spell models hidden within it began to flicker, and the parchment slowly started to burn.

Du Pont frowned, his quill rapidly copying the text. Yet even with his utmost concentration, he only managed to copy half of it before the parchment turned to ash.

Four gold coins were gone just like that.

Just then, three pale blue spheres shot out like meteors. They followed Du Pont's finger toward the large tree in the courtyard, but just before they struck, he shifted his thoughts. The Magic Missiles flew into the sky, eventually vanishing when their arcane energy ran out.

Although he had only copied half of it, Du Pont had already had the system record all the spell models for him, so he did not need to worry about wasting another scroll. Yet as he looked at the sky, he faintly sensed that something was wrong.

At first, he had merely wanted the Magic Missiles not to blast several holes in the tree, so Boulderstone would not think he had cheated when he returned. But actually managing it still surprised him.

Magic Missile was a spell that always hit. It flew so fast it was nearly instantaneous; wherever one looked, it directly struck the enemy, dealing a special kind of force damage.

Yet as long as one was prepared, a first-circle Shield Spell could cancel out Magic Missile. One could also use cover to keep the caster from seeing them and avoid being struck by the missiles.

But he really had made the Magic Missiles change direction just now. Did that mean their guaranteed-hit effect came more from flying fast enough, rather than being guaranteed by some rule?

Du Pont thought about it for a while, but he still felt as though something was missing. Unable to figure it out, he wrote the idea in his spellbook and calmly checked the system's record from earlier.

He was only a novice apprentice. Thinking about all that nonsense was useless. Mastering the spell quickly and becoming proficient in using it was what mattered most.

However, just as Du Pont entered meditation and practiced diligently, finally finding the rhythm, he heard someone cursing outside.

Boulderstone was back.