Walking the Path of a Boss

Shane chose efficiency: fortyfold projected barrages of three-element orbs.

"Starting tomorrow, assist with Multicast: three-element orbs. Begin training."

"Understood. However, before sleeping, the user should exercise. Fifty push-ups and fifty sit-ups each."

"Fine." Ever since Shane had been confirmed to possess talent as a mage, he had not exercised his body. Fifty of each was a little difficult. After finishing, he lay on the bed with aching arms and abs. They would hurt badly the next day.

"Do not worry. This device will help the user regulate his body."

Shane also heard the Eye of Truth say that his physical training was currently in its first stage. The workload would gradually increase, with the goal of making Shane's physique surpass that of the average elf.

Before closing his eyes, he completed the third projected inscription of Arcane Barrier on his bed before falling asleep.

He did not dream that night.

Early the next morning, Shane was awakened by the Eye of Truth. After washing up and eating, he continued toward the Ghostlands. The puppet Taigo automatically sped down the main road while Shane lay in the back seat, practicing magic.

He had renamed the three-element orbs Frostfire Arcane Missiles. They were launched like Arcane Missiles and were roughly as powerful, except what flew out were frost, fire, and arcane orbs.

Inscribing projections was much simpler than Arcane Barrier. After all, it was only the application of a first-circle spell.

"Eye of Truth, don't remind me unless something unusual happens."

"Understood."

Many merchant caravans traveled the road from Quel'Thalas to the Ghostlands. Their final destination was Stratholme in the Kingdom of Lordaeron, where they sold magical items and handicrafts in exchange for gemstones and raw materials. This trade route had prospered for over a thousand years since the Troll Wars. Recently, however, frequent troll activity had made it far less lively than before.

At the puppet Taigo's speed, they would leave Quel'Thalas's borders by afternoon.

"User, two elves are blocking the road one thousand meters ahead. Should we avoid them?"

The Eye of Truth woke Shane from his training. The sun had already tilted westward; it was afternoon. He could just see the border marker, the Quel'Thalin Standing Stone, drawing closer, with more than a dozen carts parked by the roadside.

"Stop and see what they want." Shane glanced over and settled back in the rear seat. The puppet Taigo raced toward the two roadblocks and pulled off a beautiful drifting stop, spraying both of them with dust. Troll activity had been frequent in the Ghostlands lately, so it would be better to find companions for the journey.

"Sir Mage, may we travel with you?" one of them asked.

"You can, but I doubt you can keep up with my speed." Shane said it deliberately. He had noticed the dozen or so carts, all laden with quite a lot of goods.

"Please rest assured, we have our ways." The man smiled.

Shane went along with it and agreed to travel together. The man bowed. "My name is Halduron Brightwing."

Once they entered the Ghostlands, their speed noticeably slowed. The ground was soft, the roads were terrible, and mud clogged the drive wheels. They had no choice but to switch to walking mode. Only then did Shane understand why Halduron Brightwing had smiled.

The dozen carts followed not far behind. Their wooden wheels were much wider than ordinary ones, the secret to their steady progress.

There were seventy or eighty of them along the way, yet no one came within ten meters of him. Shane realized those elves feared him. It was not until they camped for the night that a mage came over to speak with him.

"Have you looked at your appearance?" He was a mage from Quel'Thalin, Modera Flamehawk, with a five-ring badge ostentatiously hanging from his chest.

"Most of them come from low-ranking clans. Those six orbiting orbs above your head, that hair of yours that looks like it's on fire, and the missiles you fire from time to time make you look like an incredibly important figure to them."

"Is that so?"

"Yes!"

Two female elves brought wine and bread. Modera Flamehawk pulled one into each arm. "Want one?"

"No." Shane shook his head.

"What a pity." He headed toward the woods by the road with the two female elves.

After eating, Shane continued practicing. The dozen carts formed a circle around his puppet. The livestock had been placed at the outermost edge, while more than ten people stood guard with swords and bows.

He had inscribed thirty-seven seeds of Frostfire Arcane Missiles. He would soon be finished. A first-circle spell had only three simple steps: origin, paired wings, and rebirth. If the complexity of a fourth-circle spell was a starry sky, then a first-circle spell was merely a corner cut from it.

"Fortyfold projection of Frostfire Arcane Missiles complete," the Eye of Truth reminded him in his mind. He relaxed his control, and two volleys of missiles shot into the sky.

"Are you practicing metamagic techniques?"

Shane poked his head out from the puppet. It was the mage Modera Flamehawk. His face was flushed, clearly suggesting that a fierce battle had just ended.

"Which metamagic technique are you practicing?"

"My first."

"I have successfully learned two metamagic techniques. Two! Perhaps I can give you some guidance."

Shane floated down from the puppet.

Modera Flamehawk had his two female attendants spread out a carpet and even lit incense before inviting Shane to sit.

"The metamagic techniques I practice are Icy Veins and Arcane Power."

"My metamagic technique is Multicast."

Modera Flamehawk's expression turned ugly. After holding it in for a long while, he finally said, "Your mentor really loves you."

"Your mentor loves you too!"

His expression became even uglier. "You definitely aren't an ordinary elf. The metamagic technique generally passed down to apprentices starts with Icy Veins, followed by Arcane Power."

He then noticed the six rotating orbs above Shane's head. "How long have you maintained that?"

"As long as I'm awake, I keep it up."

Modera Flamehawk was deeply shaken, all interest in talking gone. He took fine wine from his magic pouch, drank several mouthfuls, then rallied. "Avril, Lumina, hurry and soothe the wounds in your master's heart. Your master has encountered a monster."

The two female elves looked apologetic as they helped Modera Flamehawk into their tent.

"What happened to Modera Flamehawk's male elven body? Is he like that because losing a contest of strength between males gave him a sense of defeat?"

Shane did not want the Eye of Truth to establish another conversation task, so he remained silent. He noticed the information hidden in Modera Flamehawk's words. Could differing metamagic techniques be the difference between ordinary people and bosses in his previous life?

"Sir Mage." With Modera Flamehawk gone, Halduron Brightwing came over. He was cautious before Shane, but not fearful. He said that several days ago, the sentries had discovered witch doctors among the trolls harassing caravans. That was why they had only dared to cross the Ghostlands with two mages.

Mystery against mystery, caster against caster.

"If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. To be honest, traveling with you puts us all much more at ease."

Modera Flamehawk truly did not seem very reliable.

"I have no requests for now. Why not leave it open until I do?" Shane thought for a moment before answering.

"You will certainly become an important figure someday," Halduron said with feeling.

"You will too," Shane replied.

"Then I will not disturb your rest, sir. Farewell."

The Ghostlands were far from Shadowmoon City, and the Sunwell's radiance was weak here. At night, the temperature was far lower than in Quel'Thalas. After finishing his physical exercises, Shane cast a constant-temperature spell on himself and slept atop the puppet.