Sudden Realization and Sharpness

There is no absolute strength or weakness in spells; it depends on how they are used, and when.

Baangte had heard those words more than once, along with countless similar sayings. There were even extreme examples of spells used outside combat achieving astonishing results—such as that powerful nation which had once been capable of halting Third-Ring wizards in their tracks, only to crumble and fall apart within a few days because of the simplest Zero-Ring spell: the Phantasmal Sound Spell.

Baangte had learned the Phantasmal Sound Spell after hearing that story. He had truly followed his mentor's teachings and tried things one by one, like the apprentices around him, attempting to step into the broader world of spells.

Yet in the end, all those attempts had only confirmed his original answer again and again.

He still liked the feeling of being filled with power. That was what he excelled at, what suited him best—just like those days buried deep in his memories, the days he could never forget, when he had thirsted for strength. Those days when he had been the strongest knight the Grotto Domain had seen in a hundred years. Though that Grotto Domain had not been large, and he himself admitted that ruling one was like a little bug that had fallen to the bottom of a cup of water.

Still, he could not forget that feeling. It was not the extravagant pleasure of indulgence; he simply liked fighting that way. Not by using those interesting spells, such as the Phantasmal Sound Spell. "Interesting spells" was a category in his own mind. Though some spells were not particularly interesting, as long as they could not simply and directly satisfy him deep down, he tossed them into that category.

The wizard's path was limitless. That was something his mentor had also said.

One late night, after he had figured all this out, even his meditation seemed to become more efficient.

His sluggish path began to flow smoothly, and he advanced with unstoppable force to become a Level Five wizard apprentice, until his mental power reached its limit.

Just like his fists, and his longsword.

His lack of interest in those amusing spells did not mean he was rigid. The mysteries of spells could likewise be experienced from another perspective.

Black claws, seemingly formless yet immensely lethal, clung one after another. There were clearly only seven or eight of them, yet they surged forward in a crowd like a black, man-eating beast, rolling in like ocean waves. Every claw that landed on an ordinary person would bring horrific consequences. Broken bones and torn tendons would be a wishful fantasy; more likely, flesh and blood would be gouged away in an instant and scattered across the ground.

Baangte stood like a reef. His calm expression lent his already upright figure an air of standing with his feet upon the earth and his head beneath the heavens.

It was an utterly disdainful aura, one that did not place the terrifying spell before him, nor the other wizard apprentices—including a fellow Level Five apprentice at the limit—in his eyes. Yet on Baangte, such disdain did not seem like arrogant conceit. He was simply too calm. Unlike the frivolity of arrogance, his indifferent calm carried the crushing weight of a mountain.

Baangte knew many people spoke of his forbearance. Only after thinking carefully did he realize that he had never truly seen those people at all.

His field of vision was narrow—so narrow that he could see only his own path, and the obstacles standing in the way of his wizard's path. As for people and matters that did not even count as obstacles, he forgot them in the blink of an eye. They were not worth drawing his sword for. Rumor had it that many people bore grudges against him, but he could not recall any of them, because he had never regarded things that way. In his eyes, everything beyond the path was a trivial matter.

Only the path to transcendence could not tolerate the slightest ambiguity.

And now, a fool whose name he would originally have forgotten soon enough had reached his hand onto Baangte's path to transcendence.

Baangte looked at the smiling man with a long snake coiled around him.

"I've never liked the term 'limit wizard apprentice.' Reaching the limit of mental power and having a few modified spells you're good at isn't enough," Baangte said, raising both hands as different spell fluctuations flashed over his body in an instant. "True limits are like this... which is why so many people aren't worthy of calling themselves that."

First-Ring Spell—Stone Fist Spell!

His fists became as hard as rock. It was not merely that they turned to stone; his strength also increased immensely. Moreover, that increase did not conflict with the Zero-Ring Strength Spell and Strength of the Savage Bull. That was precisely what Baangte wanted. Through modifications to his solidified Strength Spell, he had long since almost completely resolved the weakening effect that occurred when it was enhanced alongside Strength of the Savage Bull.

The tide of black claws formed from shadow was shattered by Baangte's punch. An invisible ripple seemed to coil around his fist.

Green mist swirled outward in all directions, clearly revealing the figures of the two men within.

The smiling man's smile had already vanished the moment he recognized the First-Ring spell.

Baangte directly ignored several black claws that had launched sneak attacks against him.

The Zero-Ring Air Armor displayed strength far beyond its original limits upon his body.

"I can fuse the Lesser Ak Rejection Spell with Air Armor, even integrate them with the swordsmanship I excel at. Even if you know Air Armor as well, you still won't be able to stop my Stone Fist and my blade..."

With a flick of his wrist, Baangte drew a snow-bright longsword from his storage pouch and stepped forward at the same time.

This was also the first time he had moved his feet since standing before this man.

"How can you cast a First-Ring spell so easily? Do you possess one of those legendary wondrous items?"

After losing his smile, the man did not panic much. Instead, his expression filled with confusion.

"Do you think this snake will make me hesitate?" Baangte spun his sword in a flourish, invisible power rippling along the blade.

At last, a trace of tension flashed across the man's face. He slowly backed away, while more than a dozen black claws made of shadow gathered at his side into a massive claw nearly as tall as a person. At the same time, spells such as Air Armor began appearing over his body, and with a turn of his hand, he withdrew a black scroll from his storage pouch and gripped it tightly.

"As advice before your death, witnessed by my sword," Baangte said, staring directly at the retreating man without pressing forward step by step, "I do not have a wondrous item, and that snake has nothing to do with the insectfolk. Your efforts were doomed to be wasted. But you were right about one thing: that snake is a clue I found while searching for a wondrous item. And besides..."

"I don't need to be that close to cut you down."

Baangte seemed to have found the opening he had waited for. Gripping the sword in both hands, he stepped forward. As his waist twisted, the longsword was already sweeping down in a slash.

The longsword was delivered in the most standard posture. Perfect force, perfect timing for the downward cut—every movement had been carved into his bones. When the sword came down, its tip was still a palm's breadth away from the retreating man. Yet with the slash, a force of rejection that did not belong to him erupted from the man's body. The long snake was pushed away, instantly no longer tightly coiled around him; the form-fitting snake armor became a loose, billowing robe.

But the man no longer had the strength to care. A bloody line emerged at his temple. The massive black claw and all manner of spells had failed to stop that stroke. He spat out a mouthful of bloody foam, and part of his body began to slowly slide away. From his temple to the waist and abdomen on the other side, that sword which had seemed not to strike him had cleanly cleaved him diagonally from the crown of his head, leaving behind only a neat mark that spoke of the slash's razor edge.