Chapter 14: The Spellcaster

The evaluation of entry-level professionals was crude and simplistic, lacking any semblance of technical sophistication. In fact, each region had its own standards, though only the Elves of the Supreme Forest set the most authoritative criteria, which were widely adopted by various races! Of course, few could match the Elves’ meticulousness; becoming a professional was achievement enough—who could afford to demand more? This led to an uneven distribution of ability even among those of the same rank.

In some remote areas, merely casting three different zero-level cantrips would suffice to qualify as an entry-level spellcaster. Elsewhere, meeting certain physical or magical thresholds would do; all were called entry-level professionals. There were countless ways to acquire magical power: through meditative communion with elemental forces, resonance with the magical web, devout worship to deities, sacrificial offerings to nature spirits, and more.

Every race and profession possessed unique paths to magical power, yet all shared a common avenue: the primordial magic, accessed via the magical web. The magical web was like a vast power grid. To draw “electricity” from it, one could either become a skilled “electrician” oneself, or offer “faith” and pray for a deity’s “blessing.” For most, faith was a one-sided transaction—a seller’s market with no option to change suppliers.

Of course, “intermediaries” made it more convenient; with sufficient devotion, priests or paladins—those ordained by gods—could become spellcasters with little innate talent. If one attracted enough divine attention, even the utterly untalented could become the brightest star of the temple.

Ah, but no! They called it divine magic.

The nature of magical power had countless names: divine force, holy power, witchcraft, arcane energy. The core channel was never truly one’s own, always an underlying risk; magic borrowed from deities was already “tainted.” As the spellcaster increasingly wielded “divine power,” their body and soul became marked by the deity. After death, their soul was claimed by the so-called “divine realm.” This was no mere harvesting—it was the whole person, pot and all, taken away!

At this moment, Bowen understood why the gap between condensing the seed of power and advancing to an arcanist was so vast. The family paid little heed to the former, but for the latter, not only did they host a grand celebration, nearly half the noble circle of Nather was drawn in—those absent sent high-ranking representatives, minor nobles fought to attend, all eager to make Bowen’s acquaintance.

All this was because, at the age of seven, Bowen had advanced to arcanist!

Bowen was not so naïve as to believe himself, a newly minted entry-level arcanist, to be extraordinary; it was his potential that made him worth their investment, nothing more.

Yet, though both steps marked professional advancement, their actual levels were worlds apart. To use a simple analogy: the former was a small-scale roadside business, self-funded; the latter had “state” support, policies and perks opening every door—utterly incomparable!

Why so? Simply put: the world favors spellcasters!

More precisely, the world favors those who bring “new things.”

Bowen’s “Light Orb Spell” was not special; frankly, it was quite ordinary—even a magic apprentice could cast several spells to produce light. The real issue lay in Bowen’s use of geometric patterns to construct his spell, which the magical web recognized as an original spell. Normally, spellcasters needed to master three to six spells to advance; original magic allowed Bowen to bypass this, the magical web directly propelling his advancement. Not only did it grant him insight into the magical web, his magical power doubled, and for days thereafter it grew rapidly, his spirit and constitution surging.

This was the benefit of having “the world” on one’s side. Compared to merely condensing the seed of power, which increased strength only slightly and required endless practice to grow, it was laughably weak.

Because an arcanist’s original magic not only let them cast more spells than their peers, their magical power far surpassed others.

And this was just the beginning—the gap would only widen!

This was merely the first advancement; Bowen sensed that upon reaching the middle rank, his magical power would be several times greater than now. When he advanced to mid-level arcanist, his magical power would surely be astonishing…

“No wonder Grandfather’s magical power is so terrifying…”

Bowen swallowed, cursing inwardly, “No wonder arcanists can command wind and rain across Faerun, stand firm against gods—a bunch of overpowered cheats, exploiting the world’s bugs…”

He forgot he was one of them.

Still, Bowen would not abandon his cultivation of “Qi.” Legendary status was a threshold; legendary warriors and monks were nearly invincible. If one mastered the secrets of longevity, time alone would suffice to reach legend!

Every spellcaster harbored the heart of a “muscle king!”

...

In the days after his advancement, Bowen focused intensely on meditation, seizing the world’s lingering “gifts” to increase his magical power. He left the celebration halfway, earning unanimous praise—Bowen’s name topped the “trending search” in Sewenton; salons and gatherings everywhere spoke of Iolum Bowen.

When at last his magic ceased to grow, Bowen stopped, feeling the surging power within. A smile crept across his face; compared to before, his magical power had increased by more than half.

The only downside: after enjoying the brief thrill of rapid growth, returning to the slow, plodding pace was torture—he lost interest in meditation altogether.

“Magic is the fusion of spirit and elements, but what exactly is ‘Qi’?”

Bowen paused his meditation, took up pen and paper, and began sketching at the desk. In his idle moments, he pondered the distinction between the two forces.

He even speculated: if magic could move the world, might “Qi” also trigger the world’s push toward advancement?

Both magic and Qi could enhance the body, but their differences were fundamental.

Magic drew power from without, modeling spells through incantations to unleash destructive force.

Qi sought power from within the human body!

One was macrocosmic, the other microcosmic.

It was certain that the first person to cultivate Qi was also rewarded by the world, but information on Qi was scarce. At present, Bowen was the only one known to have succeeded. Though he had condensed the seed of power through Qi, the seed differed from that of martial professionals.

With too little data and mismatched parameters, further research would have to wait.

Magic was now his primary focus. If he could advance quickly to high-level spellcaster or even high arcanist, he would gain access to greater resources—making the reverse study of Qi much swifter.

It was clear that arcane arts were fundamental; there was no need to rush spell development. Practicality came first; he would choose a main direction to specialize in (there were many schools of magic, with numerous sub-schools, to be explained later).

When Bowen first encountered elements, he realized they possessed consciousness. Elemental beings from the elemental planes were, in the parlance of cultivation tales, “spiritually awakened.”

At his “initiation,” Bowen entered the spiritual body through sensing and communicating with elements, “infecting” them to generate magical power.

This was somewhat like spiritual energy in cultivation novels—absorbed into the body, but compared to those descriptions, magical elements were much weaker.

Aside from slight improvements to the host’s constitution, their main function was to act as a bridge: internal magical elements could resonate with external elements to cast spells.

Over millennia, different races had devised myriad ways to manipulate magic.

“How does magical power exist within the host, and how does it strengthen the host’s body?”

Bowen’s interests were clearly unusual, and this pleased the Count greatly. Those who followed the beaten path would never become arcanists, nor go far.

In exploring the secrets of magic, a fresh perspective often yielded unique rewards. Arcanists mastered power—they did not pursue it. To pursue power was to become its slave!

Unable to answer his questions, Bowen turned to his high arcanist grandfather for help—only to be handed piles of books and told to seek the answers himself!

Bowen: ...

“Well... I was too naïve…”

As the Count said, “My answers are not your answers; even the answers in books may not be correct, and answers are never immutable!”

He then announced Bowen’s “graduation”; daily lessons were no longer required, though martial training could continue—now with family knights rather than academy instructors.

Bowen grumbled inwardly—this educational approach was remarkable: just toss him the books and let him figure things out himself!

He knew geniuses had their own learning methods, but he was not one—his early precociousness was thanks to the advantage of transmigration, not innate genius.

The Count was raising him as an heir, investing high hopes; the recent celebration was not only for Bowen’s advancement, but also a signal to Sewenton’s nobility: the Iolum family had chosen its successor!

As for Viscount Gordon, the Count dismissed him: Who is that?

Hah! He was merely a failed side account; Bowen was the true heir.

Far away in the countryside, Viscount Gordon heard the news and felt a mixture of emotions—his son was too outstanding, making the father obsolete; the feeling was downright infuriating...

The Iolum family was always short-handed; the Count had only Gordon as a son, hoping he’d succeed, or at least produce offspring. But Gordon had tied himself to a single tree, retreating to the countryside. If not for being the only son, he’d have been dismissed long ago.

Sparse family lines had plagued the Iolums for generations; since the Count’s father, each had only one heir.

Compared to other families with dozens or even hundreds of siblings, fierce competition among candidates, the Iolums never needed to choose. The Count, blessed with longevity, skipped Gordon and raised the next generation directly.

Suddenly, Bowen felt enormous pressure—he had overplayed his hand...

Originally, Bowen had thought to lie low in the countryside, set a small goal, train to “max level,” then emerge to crush all challengers.

But reality was harsh.

No system, no golden finger, no resources, no money—how was he supposed to grow strong? Eat dirt? Drink the western wind?

With only scattered memories from his past life, he could barely forge a hammer...

Only those with talent drew attention; only then would the family invest resources. That was why Bowen strove to impress; his subsequent desperation was purely because learning this was Faerun had frightened him.

But now he had overdone it—this was dangerous...

The Count was treating him as a true genius...

There was no turning back. He could only grit his teeth and keep “playing the part.” What could he do—admit he was a transmigrator and had been pretending all along? That would be suicide...

So Bowen summoned servants to carry the books and materials to his study.

“Damn it, I refuse to believe it—armed with the spark of two civilizations colliding, I can’t fake being a genius?”

He encouraged himself, his face set in a determined expression, though to outsiders, Bowen appeared a genius with unyielding pride.

The Count was very satisfied. Youthful arrogance was expected—Bowen was barely more than a toddler, a bit of pride was nothing; proper arrogance aided progress.

That night, the Count returned to Giles Academy; he was seen entering the Headmaster’s office.

Those admitted to Giles were no fools; in recent days, Iolum Bowen had dominated Sewenton’s “headlines,” his name ubiquitous, often compared to the renowned students of Giles. Naturally, the academy’s students knew of him.

A seven-year-old arcanist—unbelievable, but not impossible for the deputy headmaster’s grandson. Envy and malicious speculation abounded.

A high arcanist’s visible movements were themselves intriguing, especially at this moment; the clever ones knew—wolves had arrived!

...

With a new batch of books, Bowen immersed himself in the sea of magic. Unlike the guided lessons before, now he was truly adrift.

The materials were eclectic: several types of Elvish script, seven or eight Dwarven runes, half-finished incantations from unknown sources. In the books, Bowen found notes from at least six different people; sometimes a rune or half-incantation would be annotated with two or three interpretations. Without these notes, Bowen doubted he could even swim—he might have sunk straight to the bottom.

As he read, Bowen forgot his original purpose; the answers he sought were long gone from his mind. When tired, he meditated; when hungry, food was always within reach. With “Qi,” there was no numbness or discomfort—someone ensured food was always at hand.

One day, the Count came to check on Bowen, and seeing his state, nodded in approval.

...

(Seeing the recommendation votes break into double digits, I am deeply moved. Thank you all for your support!)