Chapter 13: Spell Slots

The concept of "dual cultivation of magic and martial arts" was nothing but a joke in Nether. The human lifespan limited the possibility of diverse development; even the long-lived elves rarely achieved mastery in two different fields. To excel in a single domain was already exceedingly difficult, but Bohn knew that, for future arcanists, longevity would not be an issue at all. A true grand arcanist would consider two or three hundred years of life as still young.

But that presupposed Bohn could live that long. As for methods currently available to extend his life, he could either become a lich upon reaching the end of his natural span, or change profession to become a druid. The former held no appeal for Bohn, who cared nothing for necromancy. As for becoming a druid, that path was now almost exclusively reserved for elves; it was nearly impossible for a human to become a druid. The Iolum family did possess a partial legacy of the tradition, but inheriting it came at a great price, with endless troubles to follow, not to mention that after becoming a druid, one had to endure a series of schisms. In the long run, it simply was not worth the cost.

The path of the Monk was an excellent choice, but there was no true inheritance available—only a half-baked breathing technique. Still, this did not dampen Bohn’s resolve. He was young and had plenty of time to seek out a true lineage.

As for the Count's "Longevity" Enstone, it was unique and non-reproducible, far too dependent on rare materials and luck, so Bohn dismissed it from his mind immediately.

Thus, Bohn requested swordsmanship training from the old steward, Walker, who was quite astonished by the request. Each day, Bohn’s studies were already scheduled to the very limit of his mental endurance. To add martial training atop that—was he courting death?

Though the study had a fixed magic circle to help focus and concentrate the mind, it was only an aid. Knowledge still had to be understood and absorbed by Bohn himself. Before reaching the rank of high mage, a spellcaster remained rather frail. Some trained in protective techniques, while others recruited followers for defense.

The tradition of the Iolum family was to raise house retainers as close as brothers, supporting and accompanying each other for generations. Since Bohn had chosen the path of the spellcaster, his guardian, Cecily—daughter of Sir John, the captain of the knights—would undoubtedly walk the path of the guardian knight.

Bohn had no need to practice martial skills himself; it would only distract him from his studies. His talent was not exceptional, either. Though arcanists valued knowledge and wisdom above all, a gifted individual would always go further. He had barely learned to walk, and already wished to run. The Count refused him outright, not even considering the request.

Bohn, however, was undeterred. That very night, he waited outside the Count’s door. The two had a "heart-to-heart" conversation; what they discussed in that hour, no one ever knew.

Yet, the next day, the Count summoned a tutor from the Academy—a master swordsman, tasked with teaching Bohn tactics after he completed his daily coursework.

The tutor was reluctant to teach tactics to a child so young—he doubted any boy could endure the training. But the vice-dean’s offer was too generous to refuse, so he "shamelessly" accepted.

Most people doubted Bohn would last three days. Yet, to everyone’s surprise, he persevered. Even the tutor was astonished, shifting from perfunctory to earnest, then to genuine respect. The very servants of the manor began to view Bohn with new eyes.

Bohn, however, noticed none of these changes. The daily "torment" of mind and body left him falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. His breathing technique ran uninterrupted, sustaining him through sheer will. The only motivation was the faint but tangible strengthening of his "qi"—if not for his powerful spirit, he would barely have sensed it. Still, this was proof he was on the right path.

At last, one day during sparring with the tutor, Bohn felt his "qi" overflow, and in that instant, he was "transcended."

The tutor was utterly dumbfounded, staring at Bohn as he stood motionless in the midst of breaking through. The man’s mouth twitched; inwardly, he felt as if thousands of wild horses were stampeding past.

Wasn’t this boy a spellcaster? How could he, in the midst of training, suddenly condense a "Seed of Power"?

The Seed of Power, also known as the Seed of Life, was the hallmark of a warrior advancing to professional status. Some mages did cross-train as martial professionals, but only after becoming high-level wizards, to improve survivability and mobility.

Yet, a martial professional becoming a mage? He had never heard of such a thing.

If memory served, this boy was the vice-dean’s only grandson, his magical aura unmistakable. How could he, during training, condense a Seed of Power?

Had his own teaching suddenly become so brilliant? Elsewhere, this would be a dazzling achievement on his résumé, but since it happened with the vice-dean’s grandson, it was hardly something to celebrate.

The vice-dean was a high arcanist, and Bohn himself had the talent for spellcasting. To force him into the path of a martial professional was, in the tutor’s eyes, a shadow over his future.

He looked at his own hand, then at the boy. The Seed of Power was not yet stable—should he, before it solidified, disperse it and "correct" the "mistake"? But failure to advance could severely harm the body; on the other hand, if he didn’t act now, the child’s future might be ruined. The tutor hesitated, conflicted, when suddenly he felt a chill down his spine.

"So powerful..."

The surge of energy came and went quickly, snapping the tutor back to reality. He turned to the old steward.

"Mr. Reyes, let’s call it a day. The young master may not be feeling well." The old steward smiled and motioned for the servants to leave, then quietly said, "You needn’t worry too much; this isn’t your fault... And I hope you’ll keep your promise..."

"Yes... yes? Of course, I understand." Tutor Reyes replied hastily, then left with the others. As he exited, he glanced nervously over his shoulder at the old steward.

"That aura..." Reyes swallowed. "So this is the heritage of nobility..."

Bohn, meanwhile, was completely unaware of the changes around him, immersed wholly in the newfound "power." The "qi" seemed to surge through his body, giving him the feeling of having mastered some legendary skill.

Although he didn’t know what the inner strength of martial arts novels was truly like, this "qi" felt at least eighty percent similar to the descriptions he’d read.

Before, the "qi" generated by his breathing technique could only move along fixed routes in his body; now, at last, he could guide it with his thoughts, though it was not yet fully obedient—perhaps only practice would tame it.

His ability to truly master "qi" this time was pure luck, a blind cat stumbling upon a dead mouse.

With all lines of inheritance cut off and no information available, Bohn had only his own wits to rely on in mastering this power. The Iolum family had no records on the subject; perhaps other families did, but for now, he had no way of approaching them.

The only useful information came from his memory’s description of "qi."

"Only through sustained, brutal training can one master the energy of qi!"

But what constituted "brutal" training?

After repeated attempts, Bohn realized it was nothing more than self-abuse...

Damn it...

First mental exhaustion, then, finding it insufficient, he brought in a tutor for physical training—a double torment. Unexpectedly, it had worked.

Bohn couldn’t help but grumble inwardly: "Are all those monks masochists or freaks for practicing such a stupid method..."

He could scarcely believe he’d endured both mental and physical torment.

"Clearly, I must have brain damage..."

A powerful current of heat coursed through him, a sensation of rebirth—Bohn felt, for the first time, the world’s clarity.

World favorability +1?

"Could it be that I’ve advanced to Monk?"

"What’s the first Monk skill again?"

Bohn was a bit dazed...

Monks had many marvelous abilities, which in tabletop or video games existed as literal skills. In reality, however, these "skills" weren’t activated with a click; rather, they resembled the perfected abilities of a body developed to the utmost, akin to the mystical powers attained through Buddhist or Daoist practice—a state where the body instinctively gained new abilities.

A mind as calm as still water, transcendence—these qualities didn’t just appear at the peak of cultivation; they existed from the beginning, though less pronounced, and once energy and level sufficed, their power would be obvious.

Now, Bohn’s breathing technique had become almost instinctive; even during meditation, his body continued it automatically.

With this new advancement, his "qi" felt different—not only stronger, but somehow alive, as though it had developed consciousness.

At present, Bohn could only control it to "wander" through his body for training. The improved breathing technique also hastened his physical recovery and strengthened his stamina.

As "qi" circulated, Bohn could clearly sense even his subtle internal injuries slowly healing.

"It seems my judgment was absolutely correct..."

...

Bohn’s advancement caused no great stir in the manor; in fact, it was as if no one cared. The next day, classes resumed as usual, and Tutor Reyes continued his training routine.

Bohn noticed nothing amiss; the only change was that the pace of lessons had quickened considerably, and Tutor Reyes had grown even more "attentive." Yet the hardship remained; this was no novel where the protagonist’s breakthrough meant instant victory. Bohn had only just "broken through," and, being so young, his skill and power were still far inferior to the tutor. Fortunately, after his "breathing technique" breakthrough, both his stamina and mental energy recovered rapidly. Monks seemed "born" to endure such hardship, and Bohn soon adapted to his packed schedule.

This grueling process continued for a full two years!

No rest days, no so-called holidays, not even sleep—Bohn replaced sleep with meditation, used his breathing technique to restore his strength, and spent all remaining time studying and training.

Bohn was now seven years old; years of training had transformed his once sickly body into one strong and robust, his development far outstripping that of his peers, his strength rivaling that of an ordinary warrior.

He ate four meals a day, consuming all manner of expensive meats and vegetables for the vast nutrition he required. Every so often, the Count would give him a potion to ensure his intense study and training did not harm his foundation.

...

The Iolum family manor.

Third floor study.

This was Bohn’s private sanctuary. The spacious room was filled with books and notes, containing only a bed and a desk cluttered with homemade rulers, compasses, and other tools.

Bohn was wholly absorbed in his task, drafting plans on a meter-square piece of parchment, frequently reversing and revising the diagram. Stretched across the parchment was a geometric magic circle of his own design.

After Elwood had left, the Count would regularly bring different spellcasters to teach Bohn, each with their own field of expertise—even wizards and priests.

Wizards were mankind’s earliest spellcasters, whose art relied more on the properties of plants and animals than on true magic. Priests, more miraculous still, sang their gods’ praises nine times out of ten, never missing a chance to extol the wisdom and greatness of their deities to Bohn.

It reminded Bohn of fanatics from his previous life—the most hopeless kind.

Odd as they were, their magical theories were eye-opening. Many were self-contradictory and mutually hostile, but Bohn found that each possessed unique insights within their own specialty. To outsiders, they might seem absurd or even anti-human, but to Bohn, they were pioneers.

Just like scientists in a superstitious age, they might err or wander astray, but their spirit was worthy of emulation.

As Bohn’s pen moved faster and his eyes grew brighter, even the lamplight could not mask the brilliance in his gaze—a radiance born from the surge of his spirit.

Some spellcasters’ eyes would glow when casting powerful magic.

As his diagram neared completion, Bohn felt himself drawing closer to the Weave. When the final line was drawn, the parchment glowed with mysterious light, rising slowly from the desk as Bohn’s magic and spirit boiled over.

Strangely, he felt especially calm in that moment, as if his consciousness were being tugged elsewhere—a sensation he found familiar.

"Is this the Weave?"

He followed the pull in his mind and once again entered the Weave. The parchment ignited with magical flame, leaving not even ashes behind.

Within the Weave, Bohn’s awareness sketched a strange magic circle high above the "world"—the very geometric array he had just designed. As the diagram was finished, it rapidly shrank to a point and merged with the "seed of the Weave." Only then did Bohn realize the Weave was composed of innumerable spells.

Abruptly, he was "ejected" back. In truth, only a few seconds had passed from entering to leaving the Weave. As his consciousness returned to his body, Bohn immediately sensed something different: his once brimming spirit now had a far larger vessel, and had increased significantly.

His magical power, too, had doubled—and even more, it had "evolved."

Yes! There was no other word for it: a qualitative transformation, one that would continue for some time.

As Bohn reveled in these changes, the Count had already appeared beside him. The moment Bohn touched the Weave, the Count had sensed it. Seeing Bohn’s advancement, the Count could barely suppress his joy.

He set a warding barrier and summoned the guards. "Stand watch at the door. No one is to approach!"

When Bohn returned to himself, he immediately noticed the barrier.

"Grandfather has been here... Of course..." He was no novice anymore. The Weave was the world’s source; creating a new spell would inevitably trigger the Weave, and thus alert his grandfather.

Bohn raised his right hand, conjuring a globe of light that illuminated the entire study, outshining even the lamp. This was his first spell.

"Light Sphere!"

Exactly.

As the name implied, the spell was like a lamp—no offensive or defensive power, simply illumination.

It was not a powerful magic, perhaps even "useless," but its significance was profound: this was the "initial spell," known in Nether as—Arcana!

By advancing as a spellcaster through the initial spell, Bohn could now formally be called an Arcanist.

This was the reason for the Count’s great excitement.

"So this is an Arcanist?"

"Upon advancement, my magic has doubled and continues to grow—so this is why Arcanists are so powerful. No... wait!"

As Bohn conjured more spheres, a dozen or more whirled around him, casting dazzling light throughout the study.

"So... I see... No wonder Arcanists are so strong. Hm? What’s this feeling..."

Again, the familiar sensation returned.

World favorability +1!

Bohn felt as if a weight had lifted from him, leaving him relaxed and light, and at the same time, he received feedback from the Weave.

Four cantrips, two 1st-level spells.

These were spell slots!

But this didn’t mean he was limited to that number. Rather than "spell slots," it was more accurate to call them "currency"—the equivalent the Weave provided to spellcasters each day.

Normally, a caster would spend one unit of currency (a spell slot) to obtain one spell slot from the Weave—this was the usual method. Priests received more through the "alms" of their gods.

The whole process was a kind of trade, and Arcanists were masters of "transactions"—a single coin could be split multiple ways. Just as now, Bohn’s dozen or so spheres of light had used less than half his spell slots.

When Bohn left his room, the old steward Walker was waiting at the door.

"Master, the banquet is ready. Everyone awaits your arrival."

...

When Bohn entered the hall, now set for a banquet and filled with people, all eyes turned at once. Someone began clapping, and soon the entire hall erupted in applause.

Standing in the distance, the Count smiled, while those around him displayed expressions of amazement, envy, disbelief, and jealousy.

One after another, guests introduced themselves and offered toasts. Not knowing exactly what was happening, Bohn quickly adapted; his manners and poise surpassed even most present, perfectly representing a scion of a great noble house.

From their words, Bohn understood that the banquet was in his honor, to celebrate his advancement.

He had not expected to keep his achievement from his grandfather, but he hadn’t imagined the Count would treat it with such importance. Clearly, he had underestimated the status of Arcanists in Nether.

...

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