The Spellcasting Barbarian

"Manus, Potentis, Paro," the brief chant concluded with its final note.

A sky-blue light erupted from his hands, enveloping Zhang Yuan's entire body. It then vanished like a mirage, leaving behind only the faint glow emanating from the caster's robes and body, proof that a successful protective spell had been summoned from the Weave.

Having finished casting, Zhang Yuan eagerly pinched his cheeks and arms. He found the sensation completely alien, as if he were touching through a thick layer of hide or rubber.

What was he waiting for? Pulling out his phone, Zhang Yuan no longer cared about draining the battery and took a selfie of himself.

Hmph, if only I could connect to the internet right now, this would be interesting. Streaming live while casting spells – the views would explode! Then I'd have Fatty Fish read "My Position" for me personally!

With all sorts of wild thoughts running through his mind, Zhang Yuan put away his phone and then took out his Swiss Army knife, making two slashes on the hem of his coat.

The experimental results were satisfactory. Although the surrounding force field couldn't completely block the dagger's cutting and piercing, it did provide significant resistance and deflection.

In actual combat, while cold weapons like longswords were superior to a small dagger, in dynamic movements with constantly changing positions and angles, this level of blocking and deflection should still be quite effective.

Feeling thoroughly pleased after his first magical experience, Zhang Yuan thought, for a guy from a world where magic had mysteriously vanished, what could satisfy his fantasies more than casting a spell with his own hands?

However, as Zhang Yuan came back to his senses, he couldn't help but feel a bit regretful. Although he had become a mage, the entire process relied on casting gestures provided by the system, which felt like instinctual reactions.

To be precise, he knew how but not why. It was usable but unknowable!

He was like a barbarian who had found a gun. He could shoot bullets, but he had no concept or understanding of the firearm itself.

Except here, this barbarian named Zhang Yuan wasn't holding a gun, but the arcane.

"Ah, whatever~" Zhang Yuan let out a long sigh, not dwelling on it any further.

Arriving in a new place, being able to use magic was good enough. What more could he ask for?

Though he knew how but not why, he would press forward in his confusion.

Thinking about those sorcerers who just rely on instinct to cast spells – aren't they making a living that way too? I'll find time to catch up later. The immediate priority is to find a place to stay in this city and survive, to live well.

His inner thoughts roared like thunder, and he walked straight into a door frame.

Rubbing his head, Zhang Yuan straightened his clothes and walked out of the tavern.

With nothing else to do, he found a seat in the tavern, ordered the cheapest Shadow Ale, and slowly sipped it while listening to the various people around him boasting.

A few middle-aged men, dressed like ordinary citizens, were getting quite drunk. They swayed their heads, unable to even hold their mugs steady.

One of them, with a receding hairline, couldn't even grasp the mug in front of him.

"Hey, don't move, don't move, I'm just taking a sip, just one sip." After several attempts to grab the mug and only managing to grasp air beside it, he simply reached out with both arms, cupped the mug with both hands, and drank it down greedily. Burp! With a loud belch, the receding-hairline man promptly slumped onto the table, completely unconscious.

His companions didn't seem to mind, likely used to it, and continued their own conversations.

Another middle-aged man opposite him, with his hair tied up, shook his head and said, "He always brags and shows off, and then we have to carry him home."

A companion beside him chuckled and said, "We're celebrating today, so drinking a bit more is fine. Thanks to the Iron Throne, we who deal in ores and blacksmithing have a lot more say in the Merchant's Guild."

The tied-hair man's spirits weren't high, and his voice was somewhat muffled. "There's no such thing as a free lunch. The Iron Throne is spending such a huge price to consolidate the entire iron and weapon manufacturing trade chain; they must have a special agenda."

His companion was unconcerned. "So what? Doesn't everyone have their own intentions when they do something? As long as we have more gold coins in our pockets, that's enough. Why overthink it?"

However, the tied-hair man's mood didn't improve. Instead, he stared at his companion and said, "How long has it been since the Year of Turmoil? The ambitions of schemers have never ceased. If the Iron Throne can meddle in the entire iron ore and weapon industry today, what do you think they'll want tomorrow?"

Seeing his companion fall silent, he sighed, "Maz, I advise you to have less to do with those people from the Iron Throne. I also don't plan on staying in Baldur's Gate anymore. I'll move my blacksmith shop in two months?"

"What! You're moving? Why?" His companion panicked, jumping up. Sweat poured from his flushed, drunken face onto the floor. "Don't joke, my good Talon. If you leave Baldur's Gate, is there any better business environment in the entire Sword Coast?"

"Who are you going to sell your weapons to? Those nerds in Candlekeep? Or those farmers in Nashkel? You're not going to run all the way to Amn, are you?" Maz pleaded with his companion, anxious not only about his friend's sudden departure but also about his own vested interests.

His weapon shop thrived thanks to Talon providing reliable, high-quality weapons. Without this source, his own shop would likely become no different from any other general store.

Giving Maz a stern look, Talon, understanding his companion's concerns, said, "Don't worry, I'm not going that far. I plan to move my blacksmith shop to the town of Beregost. If you want to resupply from me, it'll just cost a little more for shipping."

His concerns revealed, Maz chuckled sheepishly, slowly sat back down, and continued drinking and chatting without mentioning it further.

Zhang Yuan, who had witnessed this scene, couldn't help but fall into thought. He hadn't expected that Talon, the blacksmith from Beregost, was now in Baldur's Gate and happened to be sitting in the same tavern as him.

Talon wasn't just any ordinary blacksmith. While calling him the strongest blacksmith on the continent of Faerûn might be an exaggeration, in the region of Baldur's Gate and even the Sword Coast, Talon would undoubtedly hold a place among the top figures in the blacksmithing industry.

If the game's stats were to be believed in this world, then Zhang Yuan, who had purchased several high-quality enchanted weapons and armor from Talon in the past, had to look at this middle-aged man with bulging muscles and a ponytail with newfound respect. If nothing else, he was the only one capable of processing Digging Worm shells into lightweight yet sturdy magical armor.

However, what made Zhang Yuan most delighted wasn't this chance encounter with the blacksmith, but another piece of information revealed in their conversation.

I'm actually a little dragon! RUA, YYFSSMDDX