Magical power could be cultivated endlessly, growing stronger with constant practice. A person's talent determined just how fast they could improve, but as long as they persisted in training and had someone to nurture and push them along, they would surely continue growing stronger.
However, people had limits. Whether it was the nature of their perseverance or the inherent limitations of the human body, people ultimately had their limits. Many could no longer advance simply because their bodies could not bear any more magical power.
Timaria was already very powerful. A seventeenth-level mage was far from common across the entire continent. If she went to a small country, she could even be worshipped like a god by its king. In others' eyes, Timaria was incomparably brilliant. Perhaps, in another three or four years, she would reach the eighteenth level and enter the ranks of true powerhouses.
But Timaria herself knew very well that her control over magical power had already begun to grow sluggish, and her body could no longer withstand high-intensity training. Let alone three or four years—even after another thirty years, she knew she would never reach the eighteenth level.
Yet now, Timaria felt as though her body had been strengthened. Her overall physical condition had improved greatly, and her magic circuits had become even more suited to time magic.
With this body, Timaria even felt that she could reach the eighteenth level within a year!
But the pain in her body immediately brought her back to her senses. This was no time for excitement. If she did not kill the person who had forced himself on her, she would never be able to accept it!
Timaria flicked her short hair. The surprise in her eyes had completely vanished, replaced by anger and resentment. Barefoot, she swiftly moved