Ruger felt his mental power draining rapidly. In his Mental Power Space, it was as though an invisible pen were tracing a wondrous Spell Model high overhead. His mental power drove the pen and served as the invisible ink it forcibly drew upon. All he had to do was keep that ink flowing steadily without letting his mental power fluctuate too much.
A Zero-Ring Spell Model generally had only twenty nodes.
Stinking Skin had nineteen. Just as he began to feel a little tired, the Spell Model was finally complete. It drifted through his Mental Power Space, turning over and over like a strange kite.
On closer inspection, the Spell Model shifted within certain bounds, just as the runes did. Or perhaps a Spell Model was simply another kind of rune: more complex, but not some strange creation produced by deliberate work in a single complex direction.
Ruger studied it for a long time before leaving his meditative state.
Building a Spell Model this quickly consumed mental power fast. The scroll had warned him to be in peak condition before opening it.
Only after resting enough did he eagerly begin meditating on the runes.
He traced the six runes in sequence with practiced ease, his mental power steady as a trickling stream.
He drew faster and faster, losing himself in the process. Before the first rune showed any sign of fading, he had perfectly completed the sixth.
For an instant, his Mental Power Space seemed to stand still. Then it began expanding outward. An invisible repulsion between the six runes pushed the space wider, while the space's resistance and constraints pressed them toward the center. The six little things drew closer and closer. Beautiful Light Threads emerged between the runes, intertwining wherever they touched.
The entire Mental Power Space shuddered.
Invisible ripples spread outward as the Demonic Mark took shape, continuing until the space stopped expanding and trembling.
A dark red Demonic Mark rested at the very center of his Mental Power Space, like a wound left by claws tearing through flesh. Up close, it consisted of countless tiny runes that constantly shifted while its overall shape remained unchanged. It seemed the original six runes had been broken into innumerable pieces in that instant.
He opened his eyes, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and could not stop a smile from spreading across his face.
From his newly stabilized Mental Power Space came an insistent, indescribable emptiness. Something was missing, as though his soul were no longer whole.
It was like a hunger rising from his soul.
The moment he felt it, he knew what he had been waiting for had happened.
It was the Zero-Ring Spell Slot formed by the meditation method as his Mental Power Space expanded. It lay at the very top of the space. Once he embedded his chosen Spell Model there, he would feel whole again and be free of that sense of loss.
That was why a solidified spell was so special. It could even become as natural as instinct.
He steadied himself and entered meditation once more.
The Stinking Skin Spell Model had already been drawn upward.
The process went surprisingly smoothly, proof that the spell was highly compatible with him.
The instant the spell finished solidifying, he fell into a momentary daze.
His gaze crossed an unimaginable distance and came upon a place far away. A great white tree stood there alone, with five thick branches and not a single leaf. One glance at the white tree filled him with a sense of holiness. Somehow, he felt it was the purest, most sacred thing in the world.
In an instant, he came back to himself.
The completed Spell Model settled into the invisible place that had been missing. His soul felt whole, and an indescribable comfort washed through his body and mind.
It was as though another star had appeared in the vault of his Mental Power Space.
He gazed up at it, feeling as if he were creating an illusory world of his own, with the Demonic Mark a canyon beneath its starry sky.
He left his meditative state.
As he stood and stretched his limbs, he could not wait to cast a spell for the first time in his life.
All it took was a thought.
The Zero-Ring Spell, Stinking Skin, took effect as naturally as an instinct. It was as effortless as breathing. Thanks to its high compatibility and its solidification in the spell slot, he felt neither the slightest awkwardness nor any cost from casting it.
Once cast, Stinking Skin began consuming mental power to sustain itself. He closed his eyes and felt it for a moment. It seemed he could keep the spell running forever.
Grinning, he twitched his nose twice.
Gradually, he frowned. His movements grew more pronounced, shaking loose tufts of fur from his face.
In this bizarre place, even if the Kobolds did not have the keenest sense of smell, they were certainly among the best.
"Was it because of the compatibility?" That was his only guess.
He felt none of the torment described in the Stinking Skin Spell, none of what its caster was supposed to endure.
There was only a faint smell he could not put into words.
It was neither foul nor fragrant. It did not sting his nose, yet he remained aware of it at all times. He racked his brain trying to describe what made it so peculiar, but got nowhere. The sensation did not seem limited to smell alone.
Maybe very few people solidified this spell, he thought.
That would explain the lack of records. Unlike with Mental Boil, the Inheritance Scroll mentioned no special changes after solidification. In his case, solidifying it in a spell slot was one factor, and its high compatibility might be another. Together, they had given him a deeper grasp of the spell.
Then he thought of the tree he had seen while solidifying it.
Why would a supposedly foul, stinking spell show him a holy, strange tree in some unknown place?
He sucked at his teeth and paced, kicking two little stones out of his way.
The more he thought about it, the less certain he felt about the spell's effects.
He wanted to go out and test it against a strong Kobold, someone like Big Silly Hum, who had become a guard.
Before that, he decided to deal with the storage bag.
He rested for a while. Once he had judged his condition, he picked up the Inheritance Scroll for Arcane Imprint and slowly unrolled it.
An imperceptible fluctuation that only mental power could detect passed through it, and another Inheritance Scroll crumbled into dust.
Now that he was officially a Level-One Wizard Apprentice, his Mental Power Space was more stable and his mental power more concentrated. The Arcane Imprint Spell Model had only fifteen nodes, so the process went without a hitch.
The completed Spell Model drifted above his Mental Power Sea, circling the Demonic Mark suspended in the void.
A normal Spell Model that had not been solidified had to be infused with mental power each time it was cast. Gestures and incantations helped adjust mental power to match the model's fluctuations more closely, speeding up the infusion.
Feeling the drain on his mental power, he chose to form his Arcane Imprint on the back of his hand.
Zero-Ring Spell: Arcane Imprint.
Every caster's Arcane Imprint was unique. Like a name, it stayed with them for life.
At the caster's will, the spell could mark a target's surface with a personal symbol, visible or invisible to others. It could expose petty schemes involving fakes or substitutions, and it could also track a target. Within a certain range, the caster could sense the mark's approximate direction.
More often, Arcane Imprint was used for contracts.
Contracts between Wizards, or those made when binding magical pets, all required Arcane Imprints. A Wizard would not casually leave his name behind; most signed contracts with an Arcane Imprint instead, and the laws recognized it just the same.
That was why this spell was among the three that had to be learned first.
The caster could not control the pattern as the imprint formed, nor could he change it afterward. It was like an abstract reflection of who he was in this world.
"Just don't give me a bone. And definitely don't give me a dog-face mark..."
He watched the imprint take shape with anxious eyes. Only when it was more than halfway formed did he relax a little. He parted the sparse fur on the back of his hand, revealing two interlocking rings. Crisscrossing lines filled their center, the spaces between them outlining a flower that had yet to fully bloom.
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