Chapter 32

Mordo's voice was not loud, yet it pierced through the rustling of pages turning in the room. "It has to be honed day after day."

His fingertips rubbed lightly against his knee, and Zhao Yu could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric.

He raised his head and met those scrutinizing eyes.

"Talent is only the key that opens the door,"

Mordo continued, "without sweat to nourish it, it won't live long."

"I'll remember that."

Zhao Yu said, his throat slightly dry. "Master Mordo, I understand what you mean."

Mordo leaned back in his chair, its wooden legs making a faint sound against the floor.

His expression relaxed somewhat, like ice slowly melting in **.

"Very good."

He said, "with that kind of drive, you'll go far."

After a brief pause, he spoke again. "Tell me what you've learned."

Zhao Yu swallowed, tasting the scent of old books in the air on his tongue.

"I need to see,"

Mordo said, drawing a circle in the air with one finger, "what kind of clay your hands are suited to shape."

As Ancient One's right-hand man, Mordo had spent long enough in the Sanctum to see far too many young people walk in, then leave with their heads hanging low.

Of those he had taught, some had become sorcerers, while others had never even touched the threshold.

Ancient One had entrusted Doctor Strange to him. That was both trust and responsibility.

Now Zhao Yu sat before him.

Rumor had it that this kid was absurdly clever, but Mordo had seen too many "geniuses"

smash themselves bloody against a truly towering wall.

He had both confidence and patience enough to grind this pebble into a blade.

When Zhao Yu heard the words "new magic,"

his back straightened instinctively.

"Master Mordo, I've learned..."

His voice sounded very soft in the spacious room. "Magic Shield, and..."

He listed the names one by one, as though taking scattered copper coins from his pocket.

At first, Mordo's hand rested on the table, his body leaning slightly back, his eyes carrying the calm composure of an evaluator.

But as Zhao Yu continued, that hand gradually clenched, his nails digging into his palm.

The first spell was basic.

The second was basic too.

The third was still acceptable.

Then he heard "Vishanti's Sacred Sword"

.

The words were like a stone crashing into water, shattering the calm on Mordo's face.

His pupils contracted, the corner of his mouth twitched, and a vein throbbed on his forehead.

Three expressions—astonishment, shock, and disbelief—took turns appearing on his face, as if someone had overturned a palette of paint over it.

The earlier spells were merely things first-year students ought to learn.

But Vishanti's Sacred Sword?

That was a sword only a handful of sorcerers could even wield.

How had Zhao Yu picked it up?

"Stop."

Mordo's voice rose half a pitch. "That's enough."

He stared at Zhao Yu, his gaze seeming ready to strip away the other man's skin and see what was hidden inside.

"These things,"

Mordo lowered his voice, "where did you learn them?"

He swallowed and continued, "Apprentices shouldn't be touching these."

"Much less—mastering them."

Master Mordo's breathing caught in his chest for a moment.

He had seen many apprentices called geniuses—those who could draw a complete Shield of the Seraphim in three months, those who successfully opened a Portal on their first attempt, and even those who could correct deviations in spell pronunciation by instinct.

But the young man before him made a crack appear in his understanding of the word "talent" for the first time.

"Zhao Yu."

Mordo's voice was lower than usual, as if suppressing something. "I originally prepared seven progressive teaching plans."

At some point, the snow outside had stopped.

The white breath exhaled by the apprentices practicing basic gestures in the courtyard condensed into fleeting clouds in the cold air.

From the distant scripture hall came the lingering echoes of a copper bowl being struck, one note after another, falling heavily into the silence.

Zhao Yu merely stood there.

His robe sleeves hung neatly at his sides, while faint traces of the energy that had danced at his fingertips during the demonstration remained. It was a hue between orange-red and dark gold, brightening and dimming with his breathing like the pulse of some living creature.

"Now, it seems,"

Mordo turned and took a dark brown leather scroll from a wooden rack, "those plans can be burned for warmth."

The scroll crackled dryly as it unfurled.

The runes on it had not been written in ink, but branded using a mixture of melted mithril and dragonblood resin. Every stroke bore a dull dark-red sheen under the dim light.

Mordo's fingers brushed over those raised patterns slowly, as though touching some dangerous creature.

"Crimson Chains."

As he spoke those words, every candle flame in the room tilted fifteen degrees to the left. "A required lesson for advanced sorcerers, and one of the least frequently used spells."

Zhao Yu's gaze fell upon the circular pattern ** the scroll.

It was a sealing formation made of three nested rings of incantations. The outermost ring was a variant of Ancient Sanskrit, the middle layer bore markings in long-lost Atlantean, and the innermost ring consisted of pure energy-guidance tracks—no words, only scorch marks left behind by light flowing across the leather.

"Why is it rarely used?"

He asked.

Mordo raised his eyes.

Something flickered in those eyes that had experienced countless dimensional battlefields, like an undercurrent beneath ice. "Because it's too slow."

The sorcerer pressed his thumb to the edge of the scroll, where the leather had been worn pale. "From gathering energy to taking shape, it takes 3.7 seconds. In actual combat, enemies won't give you 3.7 seconds."

He suddenly tossed the scroll into the air.

There was no chant, no gesture.

Thirteen dark-red beams burst from the scroll's runes. They twisted, intertwined, and wove through the air, eventually forming a chain as thick as a wrist.

The links were not regular circles, but structures made of countless fine barbs biting into one another. At the tip of every barb seeped a scarlet glow like scattered stars.

The chain hovered between them, slowly rotating.

An extremely faint hum arose in the room, as if countless metal wires were vibrating at once.

"Do you see?"

Mordo's voice was calm. "The complete formation process took 3.6 seconds.

I practiced for seventeen years before I beat the standard time by 0.1 seconds."

Zhao Yu did not answer.

His gaze was fixed on the spinning chain links, dark-red specks reflected in the depths of his pupils.

After roughly five breaths, he suddenly raised his right hand—not the opening stance sorcerers commonly used, but as if he were about to grasp something invisible, his five fingers slowly closing.

In the first second, the air around his fingertips began to distort.

In the second second, dark-red particles seeped from the distortion like droplets of blood leaking from a wound.

In the third second, the particles stretched into threads—seven, nine, thirteen.

At 3.5 seconds, the threads entwined into rings, each one locked into the next.

The sound of the chain falling was soft.

It landed on the stone floor with the "sizzle" of wrought iron plunged into cold water, then dissipated into a wisp of red smoke.

Mordo stood where he was, the scroll already back in his hand.

He stared at the spot where Zhao Yu had just stood. A ring of charred marks had been left on the stone surface there, in the exact shape of a perfect circle.

It began snowing again.

A snowflake drifted through the window lattice and landed on the sorcerer's shoulder without melting.

"3.5 seconds."

Zhao Yu said.

His breathing was slightly uneven, and a fine layer of sweat had appeared on his forehead, but his eyes shone astonishingly bright. "I shaved off 0.2 seconds."

Mordo slowly rolled up the leather scroll.

He did so carefully, ensuring every rune was properly wrapped inside, as though burying something dangerous.

As the scroll closed, it made the dull sound unique to leather rubbing together.

"You're wrong."

He lifted his head. Snowlight shone in through the window, bleaching half his face pale. "You only took 2.9 seconds."

From the courtyard came the chants of apprentices practicing spells, youthful and orderly, like tender shoots breaking through the soil in early spring.

Those sounds passed through the corridor and falling snow, becoming blurred and distant.

Zhao Yu looked at his palm.

His fingertips were still trembling faintly, not from exhaustion but from the aftershock of excessive energy condensation.

He could feel something rushing through his veins. It was not blood, but something hotter and more restless than blood.

"Continue."

Mordo placed the scroll on a stone platform beside him and turned toward the depths of the room.

His shadow stretched long beneath the candlelight, winding across the stone floor like another chain. "This time, try to keep it active for ten seconds.

Remember, a chain is more useful alive than dead—it will seek out an enemy's weaknesses on its own."

The snow fell harder and harder.

The world was wrapped in pale silence. Only this room, and the dark-red light being born within it, pulsed once, then again, in the stillness.

When the dark-red spell of the chain was displayed, the young apprentice's lips curled down slightly.

Mordo noticed that subtle change in expression.

He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "Don't underestimate it.

According to the records, this spell's rank isn't low."

He paused and swept his gaze across the apprentice's face. "It won't hurt you to learn it."

The explanation began.

Syllables flowed steadily from the older sorcerer's mouth, each gesture accompanied by a particular pause.

There was only his deep voice in the room, along with a faint clinking sound from outside the window, like metal lightly striking metal.

At that very moment—

Some invisible ripple quietly descended.

The apprentice could feel something being stirred in the depths of his mind.

The once obscure rune arrangements suddenly became clear and distinguishable; the fog enshrouding those concepts rapidly faded away.

A progress indicator advanced at an astonishing speed in the corner of his consciousness.

He raised his eyes toward the sorcerer who was still explaining.

Mordo happened to lower his gaze and meet those widened eyes.

His heart stirred, and a long-lost sense of satisfaction quietly rose within him.

Even someone this gifted could show such a focused, astonished expression?

His explanatory tone became more forceful without him realizing it, and his gestures grew broader as well.

Good.

It seemed this lesson was proceeding rather smoothly.

The curve of Mordo's lips rose a little higher.

It seemed he had worried too much earlier.

This young man's speed in comprehending magic was far from earth-shattering. It could even be called somewhat ordinary.

That faint concern had now vanished like smoke.

The situation remained firmly in his grasp.

Teaching a student like this did not seem difficult at all.

Zhao Yu's gaze rested on Mordo's face, and a trace of surprise passed through his heart.

This sorcerer truly deserved his reputation as the Sorcerer Supreme's right-hand man. His experience was indeed seasoned.

In only a short while, the newly born power within Zhao Yu had already swelled to the brink of overflowing.

A faint chime, perceptible only to him, rippled through the depths of his consciousness.

"Enlightener's Aura envelops your Crimson Chains. Your cultivation progress has been greatly accelerated."

"Crimson Chains has reached Tier One."

As his gaze swept over the words that had appeared, genuine delight surfaced between Zhao Yu's brows.

This speed was far beyond what he had expected.

The study of high-tier magic had always been time-consuming. For ordinary people to merely glimpse the path and enter the first tier often required half an hour or even longer.

But how long had it been? Only a few minutes.

Yet he had already gained an initial grasp of an advanced spell.

More importantly, this was no ordinary advanced spell.

Its roots ran deep in the immense power of a certain dimensional demon god.

Magic derived from such sources was usually obscure and profound, extremely difficult to learn.

Yet under Mordo's clear and methodical guidance, he had crossed that threshold with astonishing speed.

Zhao Yu mused to himself that this mage might well be the most capable "help" he had at present.

.

Mordo lowered his gaze and saw Zhao Yu's focused expression, as though he were immersed in profound thought.

The smile at the corner of his lips deepened, and his tone grew gentler, carrying the patient guidance of someone teaching step by step.

"There's no need to worry, Zhao Yu."

His voice was steady. "The workings of the Crimson Chains are nowhere near as complicated as you imagine.

With your talent, mastering it is only a matter of time.

Relax your mind and gradually feel the rhythm within it."

At that moment, he truly looked like a tireless and devoted teacher.

The faint smile that appeared on Zhao Yu's face made Mordo's heart tighten for no apparent reason.

Before he could voice his reassurance, he heard the young man speak in a respectful tone.

"Master Mordo,"

Zhao Yu said, "I haven't encountered any difficulties."

Mordo looked at him.