'Magic' and the Price

At last, they were nearing the section where Magic Cores were stored. Blade Tusk waited eagerly for the Old Witch Doctor's explanation.

The Old Witch Doctor seemed to sense Blade Tusk's anticipation. He let out an almost imperceptible sigh and slowly said,

"Power. Dangerous, but useful. Don't want to pass it on, but must."

Blade Tusk did not understand. 'Magic' was such a wonderful power—how could any Troll be unwilling to pass it down?

"Yesterday. 'Price.' Remember?"

Blade Tusk nodded to show that he had not forgotten. He remembered that the Witch Doctor who had unleashed the 'crescent moon' yesterday had seemed somewhat tired afterward.

"The price. Not just 'tired.'"

As though he had come here specifically for this, the old Troll took several 'books' of records from the shelf before them. He sat cross-legged on the ground and gestured for Blade Tusk to sit closer. Only then did he carefully open one of them.

The first page showed a middle-aged Troll with a hunched back—the natural standing posture of Trolls—knotted muscles, and arms longer than his knees.

The second page used the simplest possible strokes to depict a growth record: from a Troll infant, to calf-high, thigh-high, lower-abdomen-high, chest-high, and finally shoulder-high.

The third page was a six-by-twelve dot matrix.

The fourth page abruptly showed a mound of earth.

"Understand?"

Blade Tusk shook his head. The first and second pages made sense on their own, but he completely failed to understand the third and fourth. Still, when he looked at all four pages together, he vaguely had an idea, though he could not quite grasp it.

"Warrior. No big injuries. Long life. Understand?"

The old Troll pointed at the 'growth track' on the second page, then at the dot matrix on the third and the mound of earth on the fourth.

Blade Tusk thought for a long while before finally more or less understanding what it meant.

Simply put, a Troll warrior's theoretical lifespan, provided he suffered neither illness nor disaster, was twelve times the time it took an infant to grow into a full-grown warrior.

"Understand."

Seeing that he understood, the Old Witch Doctor turned to the fifth page. It bore an obvious image of a Troll Witch Doctor.

Then came the sixth page, also the last page of the entire 'book.' It showed a six-by-fourteen dot matrix, with a mound of earth much like the one on the fourth page squeezed into a corner.

Clearly, this depicted a Witch Doctor's growth and death.

"Witch Doctor. Lives longer."

He pointed to the two extra rows in the dot matrix compared to the warrior's and said as much.

Blade Tusk caught on quickly. He understood that a Witch Doctor lived two additional periods equivalent to the time a Troll child needed to grow into a warrior.

"Mm. You smart. Faster than me."

Apparently surprised by how quickly Blade Tusk had understood, the Old Witch Doctor praised him happily.

Blade Tusk felt a little embarrassed. He did not think he was smarter than the Old Witch Doctor before him. He had only understood faster because he had seen more things in his previous life, giving him stronger associative abilities. He had intended to be modest, but after searching his memories for ages, he could not find a suitable expression in Troll Language. All he could do was shamelessly accept the praise.

"Few have talent, but some do. Long lives. Tribe should have more Witch Doctors, but doesn't. Think. Understand?"

After asking, the Old Witch Doctor did not wait for Blade Tusk's answer. He answered himself,

"Dead. Price. Become dirt. Wind blows away."

The Old Witch Doctor had made it clear. Witch Doctor talent was indeed rare, but one or two would always appear among every two or three batches of newborns. And Witch Doctors lived longer, so logically, the tribe should not have only three Witch Doctors now.

Then where had the other Witch Doctors gone? From what he meant, they had paid the price and all turned to sand, scattered by the wind.

Once Blade Tusk fully understood what the Old Witch Doctor was saying, a chill ran down his spine. The heat that had filled his heart since yesterday also cooled.

The Old Witch Doctor nodded in satisfaction at his reaction. He stopped frightening the child and instead began a more systematic explanation.

In short, Witch Doctors classified known Magic Cores according to the price of using them, and that price was lifespan—or rather, vitality.

At the low levels, while one could clearly know that lifespan would certainly be consumed, the cost was comparatively minor in relation to a Troll's vitality. There would be no obvious feedback, so they could only be distinguished as 'a little tired,' 'tired,' and 'very tired.'

At the intermediate levels, the price after use was enough to produce immediate feedback. Based on changes in one's face and physique, it could roughly be divided into three grades: 'aged a little,' 'aged a lot,' and 'aged far too much.'

At the high levels, the price was already severe. Broadly speaking, it could be divided into 'can still live for a while,' 'about to die,' and 'dies immediately.'

Moreover, after using high-level Magic Cores—especially the power of the latter two grades—if the user was not young enough, their vitality might well be insufficient to cover the price, causing them to die in vain. In such circumstances, because the Magic Core could not retain its power, if they did not want the former user's death to be wasted, a successor needed to take over within a very short time—just a few breaths—to keep paying the price and launch the attack.

What Blade Tusk heard sent chills through him again and again. He kept crying in his heart, Magic shouldn't be like this, yet his curiosity still drove him to ask how to use that power.

"Power. Feel it. Enter Magic Crystal. Attack. Warriors can't. Witch Doctors can."

The Old Witch Doctor took a crystal the size of an eyeball from his waist and handed it to Blade Tusk, telling him to try and sense it.

After taking it, Blade Tusk closed his eyes and pondered, imitating the Witch Doctor from yesterday as he tried to experience the 'feeling' the Old Witch Doctor had mentioned.

After a long while, nothing happened.

He looked nervously at the Old Witch Doctor, wondering whether only his memory had been enhanced and whether he actually possessed no 'Witch Doctor talent' at all.

However, the Old Witch Doctor plainly wore an expression that said, 'That's how it should be,' which put him at ease. Blade Tusk then said,

"Feeling. None."

The Old Witch Doctor nodded and replied,

"Talent alone. Not enough. Wait until grown."

"How long?"

"Me. Infant to warrior."

As he spoke, the Old Witch Doctor held up two fingers, indicating that he had waited twice the time it took to grow from an infant into a warrior.

"You. Good talent. Shorter."

After saying that, he first put one finger down. After thinking about it, he felt that was not quite accurate and raised both fingers again. This time, though, he used his other hand to cover the upper half of one finger. Only then did he nod in satisfaction, indicating that it would take about that long.

"Ah, this..."

Blade Tusk was dumbfounded. Even though his sense of the span of time was already rather vague, merely from his own experience, he could tell that the Old Witch Doctor had indicated no short period.

Comparing it to his previous life, from the time he could remember things until reaching his current so-called 'thigh-high' height, it had been at least three or four years, right? And that was only one-fifth or even one-sixth of the time Trolls needed to grow into qualified warriors. If calculated more accurately, it might take even longer.

And that might still need to be multiplied by 1.5 afterward.

Heavens, wouldn't that mean waiting forty or fifty years?

Apparently seeing Blade Tusk's shock, the Old Witch Doctor sighed as well and explained helplessly,

"Warriors train. Power grows. Witch Doctors don't train. Can only wait."

He paused, glanced around at the surrounding 'bookshelves,' and continued,

"Waiting not enough. Must learn. Inheritance more important than power."

After Blade Tusk nodded in response, the Old Witch Doctor ended his broad introduction and began the formal lessons.

And so, the days of learning officially began.

Ordinarily, young Trolls at his stage would already be required to do some supporting work within the tribe, such as helping the Troll warriors responsible for processing food, hides, and similar tasks. But ever since Blade Tusk became a Witch Doctor Apprentice, the tribe no longer required him to take part in such matters.

This was so that Witch Doctor Apprentices would have more time to receive the inheritance. Blade Tusk did exactly that—and intended to do even better.

He decided to first improve the tribe's recording materials. Tree bark was obviously not very reliable.

Sob... How could I get more people to see this? I only have six bookmarks.

Please recommend, bookmark, leave comments, and spread the word.

Also, for a new unsigned novel, how many chapters a day would be appropriate?