Leaving

That night, Borne's mind was stuffed with a multitude of memory fragments.

It was a familiar sensation, yet this time it was far more brutal; fragments of memories from his past life on Earth were churned together with strange yet familiar magical runes, making Borne feel as though his entire brain had been filled with a thick, sticky paste.

He did not know how much time had passed, but when Borne finally opened his eyes, his head still felt dizzy—much like a hangover the morning after, with his skull throbbing and swollen. It felt as if he had suddenly understood a great many things, yet simultaneously knew nothing at all.

Every time he tried to recall what had happened in his dreams while he was unconscious, a sharp pain would shoot through his head.

After calming himself for a long while, Borne called out for a maid and ordered her to bring fresh water for him to wash up, which made him feel significantly better.

Upon asking the servant, he learned that he had only slept for a day and a night. Borne breathed a secret sigh of relief; no cliché, dramatic plot twists had occurred. After a simple meal, Borne was led to the castle's study.

The study had already changed; a table and two chairs had been placed in the center of the room. One of the chairs was noticeably higher—this one was prepared for Borne.

There were many more books in the study now. The surrounding shelves were completely filled, and there wasn't even enough space left, so books were stacked directly on the floor, making the entire room appear somewhat cramped.

The Count was already sitting by the table, with a thick grimoire floating in front of him.

The grimoire emitted a faint white light, making it impossible to see the content written upon it.

Borne hurried inside to pay his respects, not forgetting to glance at the items nearby.

Distinction Between Spells and Divine Magic

Origin of Dwarven Runes

Evolution of Elven Script

There were even some peculiar runes that Borne somehow understood the meaning of, though he did not yet realize what was wrong with that, his attention instead being captured by the book titles.

What the hell was this?

Borne was completely bewildered, a faint, ominous feeling rising in his heart...

"Sit."

"Yes, Grandfather."

Borne climbed onto the high stool and waited quietly for his grandfather's next instruction.

"Borne, do you know what an Arcanist is?" the Count inquired.

Borne's expression tightened. He pondered for a moment before saying uncertainly, "A creator of miracles? A transcendent being?"

"Magic is power! This world is filled with miraculous magical elements, and the existence of an Arcanist is to perceive the truth of the world."

As he spoke, a small flame appeared on the Count's hand.

"Such spells must first be understood by learning the working principles of the Weave. These spellcasters directly manipulate the warp and weft of the Weave to create the desired effects; Sorcerers and Wizards also use what is called magic."

"Meanwhile, the spells of Clerics, Druids, Paladins, and Rangers are called Divine Magic, Elven magic, or Nature magic. These spellcasters connect to the Weave through faith or oaths, borrowing the sacred power of the gods or the great might of nature to cast them."

A third party?

An intermediary?

Borne tilted his head, puzzled. "Doesn't that make them just like merchants? Magic is the commodity."

"Hmm...?"

Faced with this sudden question, the Count was stunned. In all his memories, no one had ever used such a perspective to understand Divine Magic.

It was simply too vivid, and he couldn't help but burst into laughter.

An Arcanist needs to look at problems from different angles and discover things others have never thought of.

He realized that his grandson possessed the fundamental qualities required to become an Arcanist!

He couldn't help but look at him with increasing satisfaction, his heart filled with relief—at last, there was a successor!

He ruffled little Borne's hair and said kindly, "Yes, Borne, you must remember: in the future, you must not say such things again, and certainly not in front of such people."

"Why?"

"Because those 'great merchants' have many thugs, and even your grandfather cannot beat them."

"Uh, alright..."

Grandfather's words made perfect sense; he was left speechless.

"Then what do they use to 'pay'?"

His grandfather whispered, "Faith!"

"Faith?"

"Shh! That, too, cannot be spoken of."

"Alright, I understand."

Borne spread his hands helplessly; it seemed that anything involving the gods was a major taboo.

"Good, where was I? Ah, yes—every magical effect created here is the result of the warp and weft of the Weave being tangled, twisted, folded, and otherwise shaped."

As he spoke, a web composed of magical energy manifested before Borne. As the Count's fingers slid through the air, it transformed into flickering flames, stones, or bolts of lightning...

In the days that followed, young Borne spent almost all his time studying various theoretical concepts, most of which were merely conjectures or theoretical frameworks.

Yet, the core of it all pointed toward a fundamental shift in thinking.

Although he hadn't learned a single magical incantation or spell rune, Borne could feel his own mana undergoing a strange transformation. His perception of magic had become "sharper," as if a rusted, broken-down machine had been oiled and was now running much more "smoothly."

In the world of D&D, aside from martial classes—such as high knights or warriors—some individuals also practiced techniques to cast spells, but they were generally limited to the third or fourth circle, reaching the fifth at most. A typical example would be the Paladin.

Commonly known as: the "Healer-Knight."

Only Mages and Sorcerers were truly called spellcasters. However, the vast majority of spellcasters spent their entire lives trapped in a fixed cycle, relying on textbook incantations and mana measured with rigid precision.

What the Count emphasized most during these days was that one should become the master of magic, rather than its slave.

Simply put, one must understand the essence of magic instead of merely following the techniques of predecessors. There were too many "magic photocopiers" in this world. Even at Giles Academy, there were many such people who blindly piled up the quantity and destructive power of their spells without understanding the principles of the spell-forms; they didn't even have a half-baked understanding of how a Magic Missile was constructed.

These spellcasters who could only replicate and never innovate made up the vast majority of the world of Toril.

An Arcanist is one who creates and improves magic!

The Count looked at Borne and said, "You must always remember the core of an Arcanist! The paths of others have an end; only the path you carve out yourself is truly yours, and only then will you have an infinite future. An Arcanist explores the truths of the world, and even if one's understanding is wrong, it is still one's own—and truth itself is never immutable."

Borne did not speak, listening intently. Even with the memories of his past life, they were merely the thoughts of a civilization from another world. They might be helpful later on, but as a beginner, he knew he should follow the guidance and study diligently.

Borne did not know how precious the time of a high-level Arcanist was. The fact that the Count spent seventeen or eighteen days specifically explaining the most basic theories to him showed how much he valued Borne; if the other students at the academy knew, they would likely go mad.

Having his past-life memories, Borne was somewhat puzzled, yet he understood the importance of this. If this were a Xianxia world, this would surely be what they called "Foundation Establishment"!

Through ten days of intensive reinforcement, Borne gradually digested the "memories" in his mind, and he grew even more awestruck by the miraculous nature of the Ioulaum family's "enlightenment."

It was practically an alternative "cheat code." This kind of "knowledge infusion" was similar to the racial inheritance memories of dragons, allowing him to skip the initial stage of learning to read and understand over a dozen common languages and scripts of Faerûn. Borne could only conclude that this was truly, well... magical.

And clearly, possessing such family secret techniques was not a patent exclusive to the Ioulaum family!

Tomorrow morning, the Count would return to the royal capital, Seventon. Naturally, Borne would be going with him; continuing to stay in this "countryside" would be a complete waste of time. As for Borne's opinion...

It was completely ignored.

Viscount Gordon was even less of a factor; the moment the Count's expression darkened, Gordon instantly cowered. His eldest son was already a lost cause, and the Count had already begun grooming Borne as the next heir.

This small, rural place could not cultivate a spellcaster. Furthermore, being an Arcanist required not only the accumulation of vast amounts of gold but also an academic atmosphere, the collision of ideas, and professional instruction.

Viscount Gordon did not follow the Count into the city; with the High Knight present, the Count was quite at ease.

According to tradition, the High Knight's daughter, Cecily, should have gone with Borne.

But Cecily was too young and had not yet held her oath-of-fealty ceremony. Moreover, bringing along a toddler who had only just learned to walk would only be a distraction for Borne.

Hearing this decision, Borne felt a slight sense of relief.

That night, Borne directed the maid to pack their belongings in advance. He knew that starting tomorrow, he would be heading to the most spectacular place in the world for the next few thousand years.

The royal capital of Netheril—Seventon!

Although Netheril was currently just a small nation, and the title of "Arcanist" was only whispered among the upper echelons of neighboring countries, once the floating cities took flight and the empire soared, that place would become the center of the world!

At night, Borne did nothing in particular, having the guards carry torches as they walked around the castle, inside and out.

Halfway through, Viscount Gordon joined him, and the two chatted as they walked. During their conversation, they even brought up the subject of Borne's mother.

Gordon had always loved her deeply, even going so far as to fall out with his own father and run off to the countryside. The whole story could have been turned into a grand emotional epic.

It had been several years since Borne's mother passed away, and Gordon had never found a stepmother for Borne.

This place held too many memories; every stone in the castle carried a different recollection.

The two walked and laughed, not at all like a father and son.

To the guards, they looked more like friends who could talk about anything.

When the first rays of dawn appeared and the darkness retreated, the bustling sounds of the countryside fields returned; for most commoners, it was the start of another busy day.

At the castle gate, several carriages were already prepared for departure, and the servants had finished loading the necessary supplies.

The carriages were clearly quite luxurious, unlike the ordinary ones the Count had arrived in. The horses were fine Gaul horses, and the carriages were emblazoned with the family's unique crescent moon emblem.

A gust of wind blew, and Borne felt a slight chill. It seemed he wouldn't be eating any delicious charcoal-grilled salted pork knuckles this coming winter.

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