Wizards, too, had joy, anger, sorrow, and delight—ordinary emotions, at least for low-ranking wizards. But when trouble came, they also had considerations unique to wizards.
A scholar had once put forward an unusual view from an interesting angle: when a person set foot upon the path of wizardry and continued onward, gaining a long and enduring life, certain subtle changes would occur along the way. Though wizards differed in temperament and appearance, as time passed, they would develop a kind of convergence, as if they were no longer a group of extraordinary individuals, but a species—like the subterranean beasts by the roadside, only more peculiar; a peculiar species bound together by knowledge.
As a young wizard, Ruger believed he had not yet fully adapted to these so-called wizardly considerations.
But he believed this red-skinned wizard would agree to his demand rather than act on impulse.
Though the other's embrace looked fervent enough, the surging malice within it was astonishingly foul-smelling.
But reason would overcome this overwhelming hospitality. This fellow would have his own considerations.
Ruger smiled as he looked at the figure concealed within a mass of blood-red light.
Though he could not see clearly, he knew that figure was looking at him as well.
All he had to do now was wait—wait for the vortex of flesh and blood at his feet, whose spread he did not know, to come to a complete halt; wait for the hulking Mahama to complete his advancement; wait to return to the Cavern World and rest properly.
Along the way, he had collected quite a few things: Demon hearts and blood, little curved horns, and the like.
Once he returned, he could attempt his first spirit-fur cultivation.
As Ruger indulged in his imaginings, the enormous vortex of flesh and blood spun rapidly, while