Chapter 28

A question surfaced in his mind—

Why had every one of these mages decided he could never learn it?

He did not have absolute confidence either.

But the problem was...

He had the system behind him.

"Your Vishanti's Sacred Sword training progress has been updated."

"Vishanti's Sacred Sword has risen to Level 1."

The string of notifications emerged from the depths of his mind, clear as if someone were speaking directly into his ear.

The magical structure of the Sacred Sword had already been firmly imprinted upon his consciousness.

In other words, he could now cast this spell.

"Master Kaecilius."

When Zhao Yu spoke, his voice carried a hint of embarrassment.

"Actually... I already know it."

Kaecilius had just been about to say, "You don't need to hurt—"

But the words caught in his throat.

His eyes flew wide open, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Y-you... said what?"

"Master Kaecilius, I said I have already mastered this magic."

Zhao Yu repeated himself.

"What?!"

Kaecilius's voice abruptly rose, nearly cracking.

"How is that possible?!"

His palm slapped the table, making the water in the cup tremble.

"How could you possibly have learned Vishanti's Sacred Sword?"

"That spell places tremendous demands on spiritual power. Only true mages possess spiritual power of that intensity."

"You're only an apprentice right now—"

He stared fixedly at Zhao Yu, his breathing quickening.

He stopped and turned sideways.

"Is that true?"

Kaecilius narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze sweeping across the young face before him.

"Master, how would I dare deceive you?"

His voice was respectful, but his fingers had already reached toward the empty space at his waist.

He pulled.

The air tore open with a crack.

Platinum light poured from the rift, flowing along his arm and condensing into the shape of a sword.

It was not ordinary metal.

Light.

The blade itself was made of light.

It hovered in the air like some living thing, emitting a low hum.

The radiance fell across the ground around them, scattering fine, pale sparks like lava, yet carrying an icy aura.

The instant those sparks touched the ground, they vanished.

As though they had never existed.

Yet the oppressive force permeating the air could not be ignored.

"Vishanti's Sacred Sword..."

Kaecilius's voice seemed squeezed from his throat.

"Impossible."

His fingers were trembling.

He recognized this magic.

This sword.

This light.

Only someone who had truly mastered that power could make it take form.

And that power...

Had taken him ten years.

Ten years.

Day after day.

Night after night.

His fingertips had grown calluses, his lips had cracked from chanting spells, and even in his dreams, runes spun endlessly.

Only then had he finally touched the edge of that door.

But this person before him.

This kid who had not even known what magic was half a month ago.

Was now holding what lay beyond that door.

As casually as if he had picked up a branch from the ground.

A chill began creeping down Kaecilius's back.

It was an emotion he had never experienced before.

Not anger.

Not jealousy.

Something deeper, something seeping out from the marrow of his bones.

He remembered the way those extraordinarily talented senior apprentices had looked at him when he had first entered the academy.

He had not understood it then.

Now he did.

That look contained this feeling—

"Why you?"

"Why not me?"

He wanted to shout it.

But something seemed lodged in his throat.

Only his heart pounded against his chest, once, then again, as though it would break his ribs.

He stared at the sword.

At the falling sparks.

At Zhao Yu's utterly calm face.

"You..."

His voice was hoarse.

"How did you do it?"

He asked.

But he knew he did not want to hear the answer.

Zhao Yu still stood where he was, while Kaecilius clenched his knuckles until they turned white.

The fury surging up from his chest nearly burst through his throat and turned into a fist—he forcibly swallowed it back down.

His gaze fell on the young face across from him, and the muscles at the corners of Kaecilius's mouth stiffened like frozen leather.

"Fine. You go first."

"The training ground is waiting for you."

"Yes, Mentor."

Zhao Yu lowered his head slightly, his voice carrying the proper restraint of an apprentice.

Kaecilius watched him turn around the corridor corner, his back disappearing beneath the dim yellow lights.

That form of address—"Mentor"

—had sounded perfectly normal just moments ago, but now it felt like shattered glass lodged in his ear canal.

Every syllable had thorns.

He could not help wondering whether Zhao Yu was deliberately rubbing salt into his wounds.

Someone who had only started less than half a month ago.

The concentration of magic power in his hands was already nearly equal to Kaecilius's accumulation after more than a decade of grueling effort.

How was that praise? It was clearly salt in an open wound.

Kaecilius had never been someone who could swallow this kind of humiliation.

The fire ten years ago had taken his wife and son. He had come to Kamar-Taj as an empty shell, believing magic could fill the void in his chest.

And indeed, those spells and those runes had once allowed him to see light again.

But now.

That light had gone out.

Zhao Yu's existence was like a mirror—revealing that his struggles of more than a decade had been nothing more than an ant running in circles.

Sweat, sleepless nights, repeated failures... before talent, all of it was lighter than dust.

"I can't stop here."

The words squeezed out from deep in his throat, carrying the resentment he had ground between his teeth.

"They're still waiting for me."

His fingers began to tremble, not from fear, but because a vague thought was crawling up from the depths of his consciousness—like vines wrapping around his bones.

He knew where the locked books in the library were.

Those forbidden tomes, which the Sorcerer Supreme had forbidden anyone from reading, held the key to surpassing his limits.

But one matter stood in his way.

Ancient One had long seen through the fire in his heart.

Zhao Yu was still standing before him, not having left yet.

Kaecilius nearly smashed his fist into the table—the rage had burned its way to his throat, only for him to force it back down again.

His gaze landed on the young man's face. His mouth twitched as he squeezed out a few words. "Enough. Go to the training ground first."

"Yes, Mentor."

Zhao Yu's voice carried proper restraint.

Kaecilius watched him turn away, his footsteps gradually fading down the corridor.

That form of address—"Mentor"

—had sounded pleasant just moments ago, but now it was like a thorn piercing his eardrum.

Every syllable reminded him that this apprentice had caught up to more than a decade of his hard work in only half a month.

Ironic?

Too ironic.

Kaecilius had never been someone who could swallow this kind of humiliation.

The fire ten years ago had devoured his wife and son. He had come to Kamar-Taj as an empty shell, believing magic could fill the hole in his chest.

And indeed, those spells and those runes had once allowed him to see the light again.

But now.

The light had gone out.

Zhao Yu's existence was like a mirror, revealing that his struggles of more than a decade had been nothing but running in circles.

Sweat, sleepless nights, repeated failures... before talent, all of it was lighter than dust.

"I can't stop here."

The words squeezed out from deep in his throat, carrying the resentment he had ground between his teeth.

"They're still waiting for me."

He recalled the locked books in the library—the forbidden tomes the Sorcerer Supreme had prohibited anyone from reading.

They held the key to surpassing his limits, the power that could bring his wife and son back to life.

But one matter stood in his way.

Ancient One had long seen through the fire in his heart.

The librarian's voice echoed through the empty hall. "Master Kaecilius, the Sorcerer Supreme has issued an order. You are not allowed to touch those books."

He was loyal to Ancient One and carried out every one of her commands.

But he was merely a senior mage, not particularly powerful.

At that moment, he failed to notice the icy aura pouring from the man before him, or the violent rise and fall of his chest, like an enraged beast.

"Then die."

The instant the roar exploded, a golden chain shot from his palm and wrapped around the librarian's neck.

The man did not even have time to cry out before he was hoisted high into the air, dangling beneath a beam.

No one else dared step forward to stop him.

He walked to the row of bookshelves sealed with iron chains, tugged with his fingers, and the chains snapped apart.

Opening the volumes Ancient One had called **, he watched the words burrow into his eyes like living creatures.

"So that's how it is."

His voice was very low, like a breath forced from the depths of his throat. "So this is the so-called forbidden power... I've been fighting against something like this all along?"

He raised his head, flickering candlelight reflected in his pupils.

"Ancient One."

He ground out her name, his teeth making a faint creaking sound. "You liar."

He recalled the vague chill clinging to her body—it wasn't holy light, but lingering traces of the Dark Dimension.

Rip.

He tore out several yellowed pages, stuffed them into his robes, then turned and left the library. His footsteps gradually faded down the stone corridor.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the sanctuary, Zhao Yu suddenly looked up, as if he had sensed something.

He stared at a patch of empty space on the ceiling, his lips moving slightly.

"Oh, hell... did that guy betray us?"

Kamar-Taj's stone walls seemed quieter than usual.

For three days, the only sound outside Zhao Yu's door had been dust settling. Even that familiar feeling of being watched had vanished.

That master who often came by used to push open his door without warning. Now, like smoke scattered by the wind, he had disappeared without a trace.

Zhao Yu did not feel disappointed.

He sat cross-legged on the **, rolling magical particles in the air between his fingertips. That was far more interesting than stepping outside.

The accumulation of the past few days had caused a noticeable change in the magic within him. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could sense those spell patterns crawling along his bones.

The defensive layer of Magic Shield was as solid as congealed mercury, the texture of having repeatedly practiced it to level five.

Multiple Mirror Dimensions could simultaneously fold six or seven layers within his mind. At level four, he could almost fool every novice mage in simulated battles.

With a slight movement of his fingers, the outline of Vishanti's Sacred Sword briefly formed in his palm—this sword was only level two, and the light along its blade was still somewhat rough.

He let out a breath and stared at the floating numbers in his field of vision.

The section labeled Host recorded: Mage Apprentice, eighteen years old.

Magic Shield was level five, its progress bar just past halfway; Mirror Dimension was level four, with progress just over twenty percent.

As for the low-level spells listed below, their levels had long surpassed five, yet their cultivation speed had slowed to a crawl, like a snail crossing a stone slab.

The higher he climbed, the harder it became to absorb magic.

Zhao Yu rubbed his wrist, recalling when he had first mastered shield magic. Back then, he could make the progress bar jump several percentage points in a single day.

Now, Vishanti's Sacred Sword was stuck at level two, every attempt like slicing frozen meat with a dull knife.

Still, its power was indeed satisfying.

Last night, he had tried using the sword to split an iron block in the practice room. The blade sank half an inch in, and the flying iron filings carried a scorched smell.

If he had used those low-level spells instead, they would have left no more than a shallow scratch.

That was the value of high-level magic—the same investment of levels brought wildly different returns.

Birdsong drifted in from outside the window, while sunlight spread diagonally across the floor tiles.

Zhao Yu closed his eyes again, pressed his palm to the ground, and felt the lingering magical traces in the cracks between the stones.

Those subtle tremors told him that Kamar-Taj was still functioning. It was just that everyone had tacitly avoided his room.

Fine. This was the perfect chance to push Vishanti's Sacred Sword's progress bar a little further.

Footsteps still echoed through the corridor, and the curve of Zhao Yu's lips had yet to fully fade.

He was already quite satisfied with this cultivation speed.

"Seriously, what are those masters even busy with?"

He muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously tapping against his knee. "They haven't shown their faces in so long."

It was not their faces that he missed.

What he missed was something else—the feeling of magic flowing through his body as smoothly as a stream.

Even the lowest-ranking master, as long as one stood nearby, could raise his cultivation efficiency by an entire level.

What a pity.

Those people seemed to have vanished altogether.

Then came a knock at the door.

"Knock, knock, knock."

Zhao Yu's eyes lit up.

The thought had barely crossed his mind before someone arrived.

He immediately stopped meditating, crossed to the door in several strides, pressed his palm against it, and pulled it open with force.

The person standing outside was Wong, whom he had not seen for several days.

But Wong's expression was wrong.

There was not the slightest intention of exchanging pleasantries on that face. His brows were drawn low, his lips pressed tightly together, and his whole body was like a stone pulled taut.

"Master, what happened?"