Level Five

Level Five was like a drop of water falling onto a pitch-black surface.

The stillness was broken.

Ring after ring of white ripples spread outward.

Countless multicolored points of light emerged from the dark edges, continuously merging into the white ripples. Inside the cabin, a beeswax candle burned quietly, occasionally flaring with a tiny flash and giving off an almost imperceptible crackle.

Ronan sat quietly on the bed, his eyes closed and his expression peaceful.

Along the edge of the wooden bedframe beneath him, a line of small words stood out clearly—

The soul is the destination of immortality.

"Bzzzz—"

Accompanied by a strange tremor, an invisible, transparent force seemed to burst outward from Ronan.

His robe billowed without wind, and the candle on the table went out at once. Darkness lingered for several seconds before a flame was lit again, its dim yellow glow illuminating Ronan's handsome, clear-cut face.

"Phew—"

Ronan blew out the match in his hand, unable to hide the delight in his eyes.

He blinked and summoned his Character Panel.

Name: Ronan Damien

Age: 16

Talent: Non-attribute Affinity

Strength: Level Five Wizard Apprentice (1%)

Skills: Basic Meditation Technique (Expert 122/800)

Energy Missile (Expert 635/800)

Charged Weapon (Proficient 45/400)

Rune Inscription—Cleaning (Skilled 135/200), Shine (Beginner 81/100)

Ascetic Body Forging (Skilled 75/200)

Basic Swordsmanship (Beginner 21/100)

Level Five.

He was finally a Level Five Apprentice! Ronan looked over the panel again and again before finally closing it in satisfaction.

Strength was the foundation of everything.

At a time when the situation was so turbulent, every bit of increased strength gave him an extra measure of security.

"Unfortunately, Low-Level Spirit Concentration Potions probably won't have any effect on me anymore."

Ronan sighed softly.

He did not think he could break the ironclad rule that five bottles of Low-Level Spirit Concentration Potion would max out one's drug resistance.

Nor did he want to try again.

To be honest, by the fifth bottle, the effects of the Spirit Concentration Potion already felt far too poor for its price.

"If I take potions from now on, it'll have to be Mid-Level Spirit Nurturing Potions. Those things aren't cheap—normally, when prices haven't gone up, they already sell for fifty Low-Level Magic Stones. Now..."

Ronan estimated that they would cost at least one Mid-Level Magic Stone.

He really could not afford them at this stage.

"I should save up some money first. I can also take some time to settle down and use meditation to consolidate my rapidly increased Spiritual Power."

Ronan thought to himself.

He had not expected to fall into poverty again so soon. It had to be said, the potion-guzzling path was not something people from ordinary families could afford.

It burned through money far too quickly.

With his pockets empty, his motivation to earn money was especially strong.

Having just broken through, Ronan was full of energy and in excellent condition. He was about to study the Protection rune some more.

But he had barely sat down at the workbench when he heard someone softly calling his name beneath the tree outside.

"Ronan... Ronan..."

Ronan's expression shifted. He quickly grabbed the One-Handed Sword hanging on the wall and tucked it at the most convenient spot on his waist, then carefully concealed it beneath his robe before stepping outside.

After autumn arrived, the fireflies that had once flourished in the forest at night had become much fewer.

Standing at the entrance to the treehouse, Ronan narrowed his eyes and studied the figure below holding an oil lamp.

Only after confirming the person's identity did he head down.

He casually grabbed a yellowing vine, used it twice for leverage, then let go. Ronan landed steadily on the ground with an easy, graceful posture.

Old Wells looked up slightly, giving Ronan a deep look with an astonished expression, as though he had to get to know him all over again. But he said nothing, merely speaking in a low voice. "Follow me."

After saying that, he turned and left.

Old Wells carried the lamp and led the way, with Ronan following closely behind.

The two wound their way along the dim forest path without speaking.

When they reached a narrow trail—

Whoosh!

A violent rustling suddenly came from ahead, as though something had torn through the bushes.

Ronan's heart jumped. His hand went straight to the hilt of the One-Handed Sword beneath his robe, and he and Old Wells stopped almost at the same time.

The disturbance ahead abruptly ceased as well.

Ronan inhaled softly, stepped past Old Wells, met his gaze, then slowly moved forward.

He was prepared to cast at any moment.

After taking a few steps, Ronan halted. The hand gripping the sword hilt beneath his robe gradually loosened.

With an impassive expression, he looked at a male wizard standing several meters away, laden with bags and bundles. One hand tightly clutched a short wand like a dead branch, its tip giving off a faint white glow.

His face was pale and covered in sweat. He was clearly terrified out of his wits.

Old Wells came up, took one look, and sighed softly before slowly stepping two paces aside.

Ronan moved aside as well.

The male wizard looked as though he had been granted a pardon. He hurriedly gathered his things and sprinted past them, unconcerned with how disheveled he looked.

Another one secretly moving out at night.

Ronan watched the male wizard, merely a Level Two Wizard Apprentice, vanish into the darkness.

Recently, there had been fewer and fewer people in the Treehouse Area. With autumn arriving, the place had even begun to look somewhat desolate.

News of the Black Wizard Land's invasion had thrown everyone into a panic. The lower-ranking wizards living in the Treehouse Area were gritting their teeth, selling off their possessions, and moving into town.

Afraid of running into trouble, many chose to move in secret at night.

These days, Ronan would wake up almost every morning to hear that so-and-so who lived somewhere had emptied out their home and disappeared overnight.

"Let's go."

Old Wells urged Ronan onward in a low voice.

Ronan nodded and continued on. This time, he walked ahead of Old Wells, following his directions.

After roughly twenty minutes, the two finally reached their destination.

In a clearing near Old Wells's home, a bonfire had been lit. Five or six figures stood around it, and when they saw Ronan and Old Wells approaching, all their gazes turned toward them.

"Ronan Damien."

Old Wells set down the oil lamp, pulled back his hood, and introduced Ronan to the group.

"A Level Four Apprentice... and one of us."

Ronan cooperatively nodded to each person by the bonfire. A chubby youth with short blond hair and slightly babyish cheeks spoke with delight, "Great! With Ronan and Linas here, our little group is much stronger."

The people beside the blond youth clearly agreed, smiles appearing on their faces. Aside from the faint awe they showed toward Ronan, their eyes also turned in unison toward someone else.

Ever since Ronan's conflict with Eugene, the Nose Ring Wizard, at the last gathering, his name had spread throughout this small stretch of the Treehouse Area. Ronan was not surprised that some of those present knew him.

What intrigued him was the other person named Linas.

Following their gazes, Ronan's expression immediately sharpened.

Linas was a tall, thin young man with an indifferent expression. His gray hair was braided into thin plaits and tied behind his head, giving him a somewhat arrogant air.

But he had reason to be arrogant. He was actually a Level Five Apprentice, and he had not been present at the previous gathering.

There's a Level Five Apprentice in the Treehouse Area? Old Wells even managed to recruit someone like this? Not bad.

Several thoughts flashed through Ronan's mind.