Ruger felt that modifying this spell was not particularly difficult. It might also have something to do with the spell itself. His teacher had preserved its inclusiveness and extraordinary adaptability, leaving it in a marvelous state—a marvelous spell. Of course, such rapid progress was also thanks to his teacher's notes.
Ruger shook his hand, canceling the spell, then transformed his left hand into a vicious oversized claw.
"Did I take a long time?"
Ruger waved his hand as he spoke casually.
Mahama raised his cup and took a sip, yet did not answer Ruger's question.
"My teacher once spoke of a certain kind of people. Most of them did not achieve as much as modern wizards. Their spells may not have been as varied as those of low-rank wizards, and even their understanding of zero-ring spells may have fallen short of today's wizard apprentices. Yet they were worthy of respect, worthy of being remembered by all," Mahama said slowly. "I suppose Lord Ruger is one of them as well. In that ancient, benighted era, there were no ascension rituals, no potions to assist advancement. Relying on themselves alone... they could naturally become wizards. They were pioneers of the benighted age."
Ruger's hand, reaching for his wine cup, trembled uncontrollably.
Perhaps admitting that he had been eliminated in the final round of the trial had been a mistake. He should have said he had gotten lost while suffering from diarrhea, then luckily been brought back alongside the wizard overseeing the trial.
Ruger did not rush to refute him.
On second thought, that seemed even worse.
At last, he managed to pick up his cup and took a fierce gulp.
As the wine went down, it seemed to ease some of his mental exhaustion. This bottle apparently was not from an ordinary