Chapter 115: Hubblewick's Awakening

The transformation in Viscount Gordon caught the two men's attention; he seemed like a completely different person, radiating an exceptionally refreshing aura. For Boen, this was the first time he had witnessed such a profound change in someone's demeanor, realizing how much a shift in one's temperament could alter their entire presence.

Gordon’s fresh and ethereal look reminded him of the enlightened monks from the temples of his past life. Without thinking, he blurted out, “Father, are you planning to become a monk?”

Viscount Gordon blinked in confusion.

“Hahaha, no... no, just joking, don’t mind me,” Boen quickly laughed it off. “But Father, what’s happened to you? How did your spirit suddenly elevate like this?”

“Yes, that just now was ‘Qi,’ wasn’t it? The same ‘Qi’ as Boen’s,” the Knight Captain asked, equally curious.

He was well aware of how Boen had activated his Qi. Uncle John had practiced the “breathing method” more times than Gordon, often using it to accelerate his recovery when pushing through higher ranks. Yet, he had never awakened Qi even upon reaching those levels. Gordon, having trained more diligently these recent years, suddenly manifested a spiritual breakthrough. It was one thing not to become a spellcaster, but to awaken Qi—that was hardly magical.

“Well... I’m not entirely sure if it’s ‘Qi.’ It’s hard to explain; I just suddenly understood something…”

Even Gordon himself wasn’t clear on what had happened, but he could feel a potent force within him, distinct from magic and purer in essence. This energy coursed through his body, continuously strengthening him.

Seeing their curious gazes, Gordon tried to articulate the sensation he had during his moment of enlightenment, though in the end, neither Boen nor the Knight Captain fully grasped it.

This was understandable. Every case of spiritual ascension recorded so far was different. Until now, Gordon was the only one to awaken Qi through spiritual elevation. Others either became spellcasters or advanced in rank, each with varied outcomes.

Gordon hadn’t yet learned to use Qi like Boen, likely because it was newly awakened and unfamiliar. Boen secretly scanned him with his chip and discovered that Gordon’s constitution had noticeably improved—and was still improving.

The Viscount’s newfound strength was undoubtedly good news, and Boen generously shared his own experience with harnessing Qi. Although they had yet to find a martial monk, having another person who mastered Qi was promising. Gordon’s awakening further proved that the breathing method was indeed the legacy of the martial monks. If Gordon could awaken Qi, perhaps others could as well.

Boen pondered silently.

Could they find some experimental subjects to test this, deduce the martial monks’ inheritance, and bypass the restriction of the evil creatures? Challenging those monsters was far too dangerous. This wasn’t a game with save points or revivals. Death was final, and worse, dying at the hands of evil entities meant the soul would be devoured. Even if a deity descended, it would be futile.

“Father, how long has it been since you last saw Grandfather?” Boen asked casually.

“The old man?” Despite his recent enlightenment, Gordon felt uneasy at the mention of the Earl. “He’s so busy I barely see him a few times a year. Why bother?”

Ah... Boen had forgotten. The relationship between the three was generationally distant. Gordon approached the Earl like a mouse facing a cat—wishing to keep as far away as possible.

“Alright then, looks like I’ll have to investigate on my own.”

...

Habvik’s talent for alchemy was indeed remarkable. Shortly after obtaining Boen’s alchemical glass formula, he successfully synthesized it. The result was even harder than Boen’s version—ordinary swords and knives could only leave scratches on the hardened glass.

Habvik wasn’t foolish. If he hadn’t realized by now that he had an outstanding gift for alchemy, he must be ignoring reality. Though he preferred being a spellcaster, which was his ideal pursuit, he had no choice but to accept this fact.

“A powerful alchemist must also be a powerful spellcaster, but a powerful spellcaster is not necessarily a qualified alchemist,” Boen said.

“Really?” Habvik asked, somewhat confused.

If anyone else had said that, he would have scoffed, but Boen’s words surely had a reason behind them.

Boen was the founder of the alchemist profession. If he formally became an alchemist, Boen would be his mentor, and all future alchemists would respectfully call Boen their teacher.

“What is a spellcaster?” Boen inquired. “Or, in your eyes, what kind of person qualifies as a spellcaster?”

Habvik hesitated. “Someone who can freely wield powerful magic—that’s a spellcaster!”

“Freely wield magic? Hahaha...” Boen laughed heartily. “Even the legendary master, Dean Concenio, can’t use magic at will.”

“No…”

“I get what you mean. You’ve inherited the Druid legacy, but maybe not fully. Have you noticed that even if you transferred to learn Naiser magic now, how much could you actually master?”

“Even if your talent surpasses Reiman’s, your age limits your magical achievements. You might only have a slim chance of advancement near death. The hope is faint.”

Habvik knew all this deep down but avoided facing it. Boen’s words stabbed at his heart like a knife, raw and painful.

He fell silent.

“Reiman was the top student at Giles Academy. Do you know why he became my agent?” Boen asked.

Habvik shook his head.

“Because I promised to help him become an arcanist.”

Boen’s gaze fixed firmly on Habvik.

“You... you mean you can make me a true spellcaster?” the Ranger asked, trembling.

“No, no, I’m not a goddess of magic. I don’t have that power,” Boen shook his head, pointing at the Ranger. “The only one who can really help you is yourself!”

“Myself?”

Habvik was astonished.

“Normally, even if you studied at Giles Academy for five years, becoming a novice spellcaster would be your limit. The academy admits students at twelve because that’s the golden age for learning. You’ve already missed that optimal period by over a decade.”

“But…”

“But what?” Habvik hurriedly asked.

“You must understand that competition never happens on the same dimensional plane. You lack an age advantage, so you must leverage your strengths, bypass this disadvantage, and surpass others from another angle.”

At that moment, Boen seemed almost devilish.

“Leverage strengths, bypass it?”

Habvik looked at his hands. “Can alchemy really do that?”

“Don’t get hung up on the present; look far ahead. Imagine if you become a high-level alchemist—would casting intermediate magic then be difficult? If you become a legendary alchemist, would magic and arcane arts be a problem?”

Boen’s words felt like magic themselves. As he spoke, the Ranger’s eyes filled with longing.

“Can I... really?”

Habvik stammered.

“Of course! Your alchemical creations are better than mine—even my grandfather praised them. Have confidence in yourself!”

Boen patted his shoulder and turned to leave.

Watching Boen’s departing figure, the Ranger clenched his fist tightly, his eyes resolute.

The alchemy workshop was completed faster than expected, essentially finished by the next day.

Spurred on by Boen’s encouragement, the Ranger pushed himself relentlessly, rapidly completing tasks and dedicating his entire being to alchemy.

Seeing this, Boen found him promising and handed over several books:

“From Basics to Mastery of Geometry,”

“Lectures on Boen’s Physics,”

“The Theory of Ioelum Mass Conversion,”

and more.

In an instant, Habvik was moved to tears, reverently treating these as sacred texts.

Boen glanced at Habvik’s thinning hair. This fellow was probably approaching a midlife crisis.

“Well, balding is good. When you’re bald, you’re strong!”

...

(End of chapter)