The Ancestral Master Who Fell Asleep Instantly

"What race's magic was that you just used?"

In the Mythical era, most magic and Divine arts were aimed at killing the opponent. A spell as convenient as the one Rhode had just cast was something she had never seen before.

"It's something I created myself."

Rhode's words shocked Serie once again.

"You created it yourself?"

Creating magic—this was practically a feat achievable only in the realm of demigods. Yet the human before her was far too weak to reach that domain.

What Serie didn't know was that, because the magic and Divine arts of this era were so terrifyingly powerful, creating a new spell with the same destructive force was extremely difficult, requiring at least the demigod realm to be possible.

But as the ages progressed, most people no longer needed such devastatingly powerful magic and would instead research more convenient spells. That would be the true era of great magic.

For now, though, only Rhode could create magic.

"Yes, but I can't create offensive magic yet, so I hope you can teach me some."

Serie stared intently at Rhode. Since this man could cast magic, it meant he had mana within him. She just didn't know if that mana was enough to wield offensive spells.

"Fine, follow me."

A hint of an intrigued smile crossed Serie's face as she led Rhode out of the Elf Forest's bounds to an open area.

"Watch closely."

At this point, Serie naturally couldn't casually cast all kinds of magic and Divine arts like in later eras. What she knew was the Elf race's unique Light and plant-based magic.

Serie raised her hand, and the light in the air began to gather, forming a dazzling arrow of light. The arrow shot out, instantly piercing a massive boulder in the distance.

Then the boulder exploded into fragments, clearly showing that Serie's attack wasn't just a simple piercing.

Rhode's eyes widened.

That power was truly terrifying. He just didn't understand why Serie could cast magic without a staff.

Serie withdrew her hand and spoke calmly: "This is the Elves' main attack method—condensing Light elemental power and then launching it." She looked at Rhode. "How about it? Can you create it?"

This was her test for this man.

If he couldn't even understand and recreate the Elves' most basic magic, it meant he only knew some clever little tricks.

Interesting, but not worth her attention.

Rhode took a deep breath. Thankfully, Serie hadn't started with something like Black hole space shattering, or he really wouldn't have been able to comprehend that.

Since it was the Light elemental power in the air, it was still within his understanding. So Rhode nodded: "I'll give it a try."

He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he replayed Serie's magic-casting movements, including the flow of mana within her body.

Yet his thinking still remained on a scientific level.

If he condensed light, wouldn't it be similar to a laser? But if so, how would the subsequent explosion effect occur?

Serie's attack wasn't just piercing; it also carried a chain of explosive force. So Rhode wanted to replicate it entirely.

He raised his hand, mimicking Serie's movements. The glow of mana gathered at his fingertips, but instead of forming a light arrow like Serie's, it became more of a blurry orb of light.

Then the orb wobbled out and, with a "pop," burst in midair, scattering into specks of light.

Rhode gave an awkward smile: "How about I try again?"

Serie furrowed her delicate brows: "Your mana control is too rough. And why don't I sense any killing intent from your mana?"

Rhode was taken aback: "What killing intent?"

How was he supposed to infuse killing intent into magic? That really baffled him.

"Magic reflects a person's thoughts. As for killing intent—" Serie paused, then raised her small hand and performed the same motion as before.

"Like this."

A strange smile curled at the corners of her mouth. At that moment, Rhode could feel the bone-chilling killing intent radiating from Serie.

It was the first time he had felt such an intense sensation. The killing intent seemed to take tangible form, making him shiver involuntarily.

Then a light arrow brushed past his ear, landing in the distance with an explosion.

"How was that? Did you feel it?"

It took Rhode a long moment to snap out of it. Staring at Serie, who wore a cute smile, his body secretly ran cold.

This was terrifying. Just her revealing killing intent had given him such a dreadful feeling.

Sure enough, in a fantasy world, nothing could be explained by common sense.

He finally understood that magic here wasn't science—it was more like a faith, or rather, the power of imagination.

"I felt it. But having to generate killing intent toward a rock feels a bit too strange."

"In that case, use me as your target to practice."

"Is that okay?"

Rhode hesitated. If he accidentally blew off his own leg, he'd regret it for life.

"Don't underestimate me, mere human."

Serie didn't think this weak human before her could possibly harm her, and since it was just the most basic elven magic, it was even less likely.

Still, just in case, she cast a defensive spell on herself.

"Imagine how you would use magic to pierce my body, even kill me!" Serie's tone was ice-cold, as if she weren't talking about herself.

"No, I couldn't bear to do that."

Rhode muttered a few words, but obediently tried to picture the scene. The offensive divine arts of the Mythical era came with such conditions—how absurd.

Emptying his mind of all thoughts, Rhode stopped pondering science, elements, and the like, and simply believed in the power of faith.

In short, the Power of 'I Reckon'.

I reckon my light arrow can pierce through this little Ancestor before me!

A blinding light coalesced in front of Rhode, a radiance incomparable to the one Serie had conjured when she used her divine arts just moments ago.

Even Serie, who had lived for centuries, couldn't help but feel a pang of dread in her heart.

"Why? Such a shallow killing intent, yet why am I afraid?"

Serie didn't understand, but Rhode gave her no more time to think.

Light gathered before him—not into a single arrow, but dozens. Then it shot forth violently, tearing even the air apart.

Watching so many light arrows fly toward her, Serie finally believed that this human truly had the talent to create magic.

She hastily threw up several defensive spells, but was still blasted away by the sheer number of arrows, collapsing to the ground unconscious.

Ah, the young Little Ancestor—so easy to put to sleep.