Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

Chapter 578 As Long as I Am Alive
“I’ve always been here, Hector.”

Salcardo, the king of records, has a voice as flat as reading a dictionary:
"Or rather, I exist wherever any 'story' takes place."

"Because my job is to make sure the 'story' doesn't go off track."

He slowly walked toward the miniature universe that had trapped the "Star Domain Lord".

The quill pen drew invisible lines in the air:

"And you, my dear old friend, while your 'prison of logic' is ingenious, it has made a fatal mistake..."

He stopped and turned to look at Hector, his face still expressionless:

"You are too engrossed in the absurdity of the 'process' and have neglected the importance of the 'result'."

“You have trapped the ‘Star Domain Lord’ here, preventing His invasion of the main world.”

"But have you ever considered that this 'prevention' itself is a spoiler?"

Hector's pupils contracted slightly.

"What, you want me to just watch my descendants die?"

"Do not."

Salcardo remained indifferent as he answered, his quill continuing to write something in the air:
"I just want to get the 'story' back on track."

“Cassandra St. Menge, what is her 'script'?”

He did not wait for Hector's answer, but answered his own question:

"An ambitious conqueror made a fatal mistake at the height of his power, ultimately meeting a tragic end."

"This is a classic story that conforms to all the rules of drama."

"And you, Hector, your intervention has disrupted the integrity of this story."

"You've turned a 'tragedy' into a 'comedy'."

His quill pen drew the final stroke in the air:
“I cannot allow this to happen.”

As soon as the words were spoken, subtle changes began to occur throughout the entire dimension.

These changes, taken individually, are insignificant.

However, when combined, these elements can produce a fatal consequence at some point in the future:
The "Star Domain Master" will break free from the constraints ahead of time.

Not immediately, not tomorrow, but at the "most appropriate" time.

"you……"

Hector tried to stop him, but found himself unable to move.

He suddenly realized that his current "state" had already been "defined" by Salcardo with his quill pen:
"The Absurd King Saint Hector is currently focused on maintaining the prison and has no time to deal with other matters."

This "definition" was written into the "underlying code" of this dimension.

Once written down, it becomes a "fait accompli".

Hector could indeed break this definition immediately, but that would require a tremendous amount of power.

But most importantly...

Once He forcibly breaks through, it is tantamount to admitting to all the "audience":
“I care deeply about my clan and my descendants, so much so that I’m willing to pay a huge price for it.”

This would make His descendants "hostages" in the eyes of all enemies.

The King of Records walked to the edge of the miniature universe, his quill pen lightly touching the void.

A "setup" has been written into reality:
"During his imprisonment, the 'Star Domain Lord' successfully separated a wisp of consciousness by analyzing the structure of the 'Logic Prison'."

It transformed into a 'seed of order' and attached itself to a certain vessel in the main world.

Once this "setting" is established, it will create the "process" in reverse.

The reality of the main world will automatically "adjust" itself to match this already "predetermined" outcome.

A "coincidence" that shouldn't exist will happen;

An "anomaly" that would normally be noticed will be ignored;
A "wreck" that should have been destroyed will survive...

Salcardo's quill pen continues writing:
"The vessel for this 'Seed of Order' is Cassandra's flagship, the 'Monarch'."

"It was disguised as a 'remnant of a failed alchemical experiment,' a 'technical blunder,' or a 'minor energy anomaly.'"

Every word is distorting reality.

Every stroke of the pen foreshadows a future tragedy.

Salcardo finally stopped writing when the last "setting" was written.

He turned to look at Hector, who was trapped by "definition," his face still expressionless:

"Don't blame me, old friend."

"I was just doing my job to make sure the 'story' came to the way it should."

"You can create countless 'variables' and make the 'process' full of surprises."

"But the 'ending' must conform to the script."

"This is the rule."

As he finished speaking, Salcardo's figure began to fade.

He was leaving, returning to the place where the "King of Records" should be: on the edge of stories, writing the fate of all things with a quill pen.

But just as He was about to completely disappear...

"rule?"

Hector suddenly laughed.

In that laughter, there was only a pure, unbridled joy:

“Salcardo, you’ve forgotten something.”

"What I'm best at is adding 'Easter eggs' after the 'ending' is written."

“You can control the ‘script,’ but you can’t control the ‘audience’s’ reaction.”

Salcardo remained silent for a long time.

In the end, He simply said softly:
"Then let's wait and see."

"Let's see who has the last laugh: the 'script' or the 'improvisation'."

His figure vanished completely.

The entire dimension returned to silence.

Only Hector remained, along with the "Star Lord" who was still trapped in the "Logic Prison," frantically calculating.

Hector glanced at the miniature universe, then at the direction of the main world.

He knew that Salcardo had succeeded.

That "seed of order" has already been implanted in reality.

"Ugh……"

He sighed, and the lollipop turned a bitter gray:
"It seems I've really been outmaneuvered this time."

"But..."

The corners of His mouth once again curved into that signature half-smile, half-crying smile:
"Now that the 'script' has been written, let me take a look..."

"Could that little guy with the 'blank ticket' possibly rewrite a 'comedy' ending before this 'tragedy' even begins?"

The bells jingled.

The clown's figure disappeared into the folds of the dimension.

………………

And in that starfield ruin where countless warship wrecks floated.

The wrecked hull of the flagship "Monarch" is slowly tumbling in the cold void of space.

That once magnificent giant ship, a symbol of the conqueror's glory, is now nothing more than a broken skeleton.

The main gun turret was torn apart, the bridge was melted, and the energy core had been extinguished...

But deep inside this "corpse," in a small, almost completely overlooked corner of a storage compartment.

A faint, firefly-like glimmer of light is quietly growing.

The light was so pure it was breathtaking.

There was not a trace of impurity, not a wisp of chaos, only absolute, suffocating "order".

It exists quietly, like a seed, waiting for the right soil, the right temperature, and... the right time.

Around it, the "setting" that Salcardo meticulously wove with his quill pen is coming into play:
Every search and rescue team that passes by will subconsciously overlook this corner;

All energy scans will identify it as a "harmless technological residue";
All consciousness that attempts to approach it will be "persuaded" by a gentle, almost imperceptible force:
"There's nothing noteworthy here, let's go look around."

It has a name.

A real name known only to a very few.

【Gospel】.

It will grow.

It grows slowly, gently, and inconspicuously.

It will permeate every corner of wizarding civilization and appear at the most "reasonable" moment in the place where it is most "needed".

It won't destroy anything.

It will only "improve".

"Perfect" those "imperfect" rules;

To “perfect” those “flawed” lives;

To "perfect" those "chaotic" emotions...

………………

The emerald pavilion was bathed in the gentle afternoon sunlight.

The Virginia creeper weaves a vibrant green tapestry on the exterior wall, swaying gently in the breeze, each leaf reflecting dappled sunlight like scattered gold.

In the second-floor reception room, Eve was enthusiastically sketching something on a piece of parchment.

Her eyes were filled with the joy unique to young girls.

On the table was a map showing the newly opened shops in Shuguang Harbor.

"Cecilia, look at this place!"

Eve pointed to a location marked with Elvish script on the map:

"Stardew Pavilion is said to have been opened by elven craftsmen from the Emerald Forest."

Their jewelry uses specially made crystals that change color depending on the wearer's mood!

Cecilia stood behind her, holding a tray with refreshments.

Her expression conveyed submission:

"Your Highness, your cultivation progress has been quite good recently. You really should relax a bit."

"Right, right!"

Eve turned around, her eyes sparkling:

"And I want to buy my mentor a gift."

He's been so busy helping us prepare for the assessment that he's neglected his own research quite a bit..."

Her voice suddenly stopped.

As the door was gently pushed open, Ron appeared in the doorway.

But today, he exuded a somber aura.

His eyes were as dark as an abyss, and his facial features were taut like a tightly strung harp string.

Even the way he walked conveyed a sense of suppressed urgency.

"tutor?"

Eve's smile faded, and the girl keenly sensed that something was wrong:

"What...is wrong?"

Ron didn't exchange pleasantries, nor did he even sit down.

He walked straight up to Eve, placed his palm on the map, and pushed it aside:
“Eve, from today until your ascension ceremony is complete, you must remain in the Emerald House. You are not to leave even for a moment.”

These words were like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the joy in the girl's eyes.

"Wha...what?"

Eve was stunned; she had never seen Ron speak in such an unquestionable tone.
"But Professor, I just want to go shopping and buy some small things..."

“Cancel,” Ron interrupted her.
"Cancel all travel plans until you complete your promotion."

An eerie silence fell over the reception room.

Cecilia tactfully retreated to a corner, and Caroline peeked out from the kitchen before quickly shrinking back in.

Both Moon-level witches could feel a suffocating sense of oppression permeating the air.

"why?"

Eve stood up, her purple eyes fixed on Ron:

You must give me a reason.

Although her tone remained polite, it already carried a hint of dissatisfaction.

Ron took a deep breath.

He knew that simply telling her "just listen to me" wouldn't convince this grown-up girl.

He needs to give a sufficiently convincing reason.

"Your [Key Potion] is 'Perfect' level."

Ron's voice became slow and solemn, each word as if carved on a stone tablet:
Its power comes from your own 'wholeness'.

True wholeness encompasses your body, mind, emotions, and all your perceptions of the world.

He walked to the window, his back to Eve:

"During this crucial period before promotion, your mental energy must remain absolutely pure."

You need to complete the final preparations in a stable, familiar, and safe environment.

“On the streets of Dawn Harbor, thousands of emotions flow every moment.”

The merchants' shrewd calculations, the nobles' arrogance and vanity, the common people's anxiety and unease...

These mixed emotions and streams of information will seep into your perception like pollutants.

He turned around, his gaze calm:
"Your bloodline makes you extremely sensitive to emotions, which is a natural gift."

However, at crucial moments for promotion, this talent can become a weakness.

If your mental energy is disturbed by external factors, the potion's effectiveness will be greatly reduced, and it may even lead to unexpected consequences.

This explanation sounds impeccable.

Reasonable, professional, and full of technical details.

Cecilia and Caroline both nodded in agreement, clearly convinced.

But Eve didn't.

She stood quietly in place, her eyes fixed on her mentor's face.

Time seemed to freeze.

After a long silence, she finally spoke:
"Mentor, you are lying to me."

Ron's pupils contracted slightly.

"The reasons you gave sound very reasonable."

Eve's eyes revealed a penetrating power that transcended her age:

"But you've forgotten that my bloodline talent is the ability to sense emotions."

She stepped forward and looked directly at Ron:

"Your current emotions are... fear, anxiety, protectiveness, and a deep sense of... helplessness."

What are you afraid of?

This sentence pierced through the carefully crafted rhetoric like a sharp blade.

He was silent.

Because he suddenly realized that he had been treating Eve as a “protector” all along.

But they forgot that this girl was no longer the same as before.

She endured the torment of demonic possession, learned the true meaning of absurdity, passed three trials, and concocted a perfect-level magic potion.

She has already acquired the initial qualifications to face the truth.

"Yes or no……"

Eve's voice began to tremble:
"Something happened to Mother?"

The air seemed to solidify at that moment.

Even the ivy on the wall stopped swaying, and the entire Emerald Building fell into a deathly silence.

Cecilia and Caroline turned pale; they suddenly realized they had overheard a secret they shouldn't have.

The two tried to back out, but found their legs felt like lead.

Ron looked into Eve's eyes.

Those amethyst-like eyes no longer held the innocence of a young girl; only a cruel clarity remained.

“I’m not stupid, mentor.”

Eve's voice became terrifyingly indifferent:
"I've noticed that all the recent battle reports from the front lines have become very similar."

“‘The Vital Line has collapsed again,’ ‘Enemy morale is low,’ ‘Victory is just around the corner…”

She recited the newspaper headlines word for word:

“But I’ve been reading these words for three whole months.”

"In three months, there has been no 'substantial' progress in the battle."

“Vital neither surrendered nor fought back. Motherland neither returned in triumph nor requested reinforcements.”

Her voice began to tremble:
"The entire war was as if it had been paused."

Everyone is saying, "We're about to win," but nobody is saying, "When will we win?"

"Communication control, prohibition of private correspondence, frontline personnel are prohibited from leaving their posts..."

Eve's tears finally fell:
"Mentor, tell me, is this what victors should look like?"

Ron felt as if his heart had been struck by a heavy hammer.

He never expected that this seemingly innocent and naive girl had already sensed that everything was amiss.

She was just waiting, waiting for someone she trusted to give her an answer.

Ron slowly closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, there was no longer any deception or concealment in them, only honesty:

“Eve, I can’t tell you exactly what happened.”

On the one hand, it's because I myself don't fully understand the whole picture, and on the other hand...

He sighed:
"Some truths, once known, can become a curse."

"But what I can tell you is..."

Your mother is indeed in trouble, very trouble.

Eve swayed slightly, and Cecilia quickly stepped forward to support her.

"So..." the girl's voice was hoarse, "So you want me to hide?"

"Rather than hiding, it's more accurate to say that we're getting stronger."

Ron walked up to Eve and placed his hands on her shoulders:
“Eve, even if you knew the whole truth now, you couldn’t change anything.”

"What can truly change the situation is never anxiety or panic."

His voice became firm: "It is power."

"Complete your promotion and become a true wizard."

Only when you possess basic strength can you protect yourself, or... have the opportunity to protect those you wish to protect later.

"This is what your mother would most like to see."

These words struck Eve like a powerful punch, hitting her where it hurt most.

She remembered her mother's parting words:

"Eve, become a powerful wizard. In this world, only the strong have the right to choose."

Tears blurred vision.

Eve bit her lip hard to stop herself from crying out loud.

After a long silence, she spoke in a trembling voice:
"I...I understand."

"I will stay in the Emerald Mansion."

"I will focus on preparing for the promotion."

She raised her head, her eyes reflecting a resolute determination through her tears:
"Then, I will become strong enough."

"So powerful that no one can hurt me or the people I care about anymore."

Ron gently patted her shoulder:

“Very good, this is the little princess I know.”

He turned to leave, but stopped at the door:
"And Cecilia and Caroline."

The two Moon-level witches shuddered.

"From now on, your primary task is to protect Eve's safety."

Ron's voice turned cold:
"Any suspicious person attempting to approach this building will be killed on sight, without any questioning."

"Yes, Instructor Ralph."

The two straightened their backs and answered loudly in unison. The door closed gently.

Ron's figure disappeared into the depths of the corridor.

Eve stood alone by the window, looking down at the bustling streets she had originally planned to visit that day, below the floating city.

Those exquisite shops, bustling crowds, and lively hawking sounds now seem so distant.

"Mother……"

Her hand pressed gently against the windowpane, the sound so soft it was almost inaudible:
"wait for me."

"I will become stronger."

"Will."

………………

When Ron walked out of the Emerald House, the sun had already set.

The orange-red afterglow spilled onto the streets of Dawn Harbor, giving this ancient city a warm golden hue.

The magic lights along the streets began to light up one by one, and the hustle and bustle of the night market gradually replaced the busyness of the daytime.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the emotional turmoil caused by the conversation he had just had.

Just then, the communication crystal in my arms suddenly vibrated.

The key point is that the frequency of this tremor was extremely unusual.

It was brief, urgent, and carried a certain irresistible force.

Ron frowned and took out the crystal.

His pupils contracted sharply as the crystal's light spread through the air.

It was an invitation card that was completely black.

Passersby quickened their pace instinctively, as if they wanted to stay away from this invitation that exuded an ominous aura.

The silver runes slowly reformed, solidifying into a cold, formulaic text:
"By order of Acting Station Master, Archmage Nettile Brown..."

Given that the current battle situation on the Vital front has entered a critical stage, the Abyss Observatory needs to redeploy its strategic forces.

This is to notify all members of observation stations in the Central Region and surrounding areas who are not on emergency missions.

Three days later at noon, I must go to the sixth-level space base station to attend the plenary strategic meeting.

Those who are absent are considered to have automatically relinquished their position as observers.

—Abyssal Observation Station Executive Department

The last line of text, the silver runes turned dark red, like congealed blood.

Ron stared at the invitation, his eyes growing deep.

"Strategic forces reallocation..."

He pondered the wording in his mind, a cold smile curling at the corner of his lips.

What a high-sounding excuse.

Strategic deployment is essentially a purge.

Nytil Brown, the newly crowned Archmage, seeks to seize control of the observatory while Cassandra is out of contact and power is in a vacuum.

She will purge those loyal to Cassandra, install her own cronies, and redistribute resources and power.

This forced conscription was her first act.

Ron could almost foresee what the meeting would be like:
Nitil will sit in the main seat and, under the guise of "wartime needs," propose a series of seemingly reasonable but actually self-serving proposals.

Those voices that attempt to object will be suppressed under the guise of "putting the overall situation first."

Those who try to remain neutral will be forced to take sides.

Those forces that once stood with Cassandra will be defeated one by one during this meeting.

The really bad thing is that...

As Professor Yutel's student and having a close relationship with Cassandra, he was bound to become a target of "special attention".

Nitil will test his stance, challenge his attitude, and may even set some carefully designed traps for him.

They forced him to take a stand, forced him to choose sides, and forced him to hand over something as a "pledge of allegiance."

"Three days..."

Ron muttered.

He gripped the black invitation card tightly in his hand.

reject?

That would be tantamount to directly declaring a break with the new acting station chief, and placing oneself on the opposite side of the entire observation station system.

join?

That would mean stepping into a battlefield full of traps, where a single misstep could lead to utter destruction.

No, I have to go.

Ron made a decision quickly.

His gaze sharpened like a knife:

"To back down at this point means to be passively attacked."

I must actively engage with this situation to understand the true power structure within the observatory.

"Only by knowing yourself and your enemy can you find a safe course in the chaos of the future."

The night breeze swept by, taking away the last vestige of magic from the invitation's surface.

The invitation turned to ashes and vanished in the wind.

But that heaviness, like a massive boulder, pressed down on Ron's heart.

He looked up at the night sky.

The stars still shone brightly, but in his eyes, each star seemed to have become a chess piece on a chessboard.

"Three days later..."

He walked toward his estate:
"Then let me see what kind of game this newly appointed great wizard wants to play."

………………

In the study late at night, the lamplight flickered.

Ron sat at his desk, piled high with ancient books, sorting out his thoughts.

He knew very well that during this sensitive period, any direct communication was like lighting a torch in the dark.

Worse still, this eagerness to seek refuge at the first sign of crisis is itself a sign of weakness.

Those "audiences" hidden behind the dimensional curtain.

Whether it's the King of Absurdity or any other being of equal rank.

Their standard for judging a person is always based on the wisdom and courage they demonstrate when facing difficulties.

Rather than the speed at which a request for help is made.

"I need a knife."

Ron's gaze fell on the heavy books on the bookshelf:

"A knife hidden in its sheath, seemingly harmless, but capable of slitting a throat at a critical moment."

He recalled the only realm in the wizarding world that was both sacred and public, a realm that no power dared to easily intrude upon:
academia.

This is a temple of pure reason.

The pursuit of truth transcends factions, and the debate of knowledge supersedes power.

Even the great wizards must bow to academic rules.

We must speak with logic and evidence, not violence and threats.

Ron stood up and pulled out several monographs on the construction of the undead from the bookshelf.

A plan gradually took shape in his mind.

In the last moments before dawn, before the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon, Ron finally put down his quill.

On the desk lay an abstract of a newly completed academic paper.

The ink on the parchment was not completely dry.

He did not choose to submit it to a public journal like Deconstruction.

Although those places have a wide influence, they are also easily seen as attention-seeking.

Instead, he activated the special privileges that came with his Moon-level wizard status.
This abstract was submitted to a higher-level internal academic platform, accessible only to Moon-level and above wizards:

"The Court of Truth Preprint Library".

This is a sacred space for scholars to share cutting-edge ideas, seek collaborations, and initiate academic debates.

Its most important characteristic is:
All submitted content is under the absolute protection of the "Court of Truth".

No one, including the Grand Wizard, has the right to remove the academic viewpoints contained herein.

All they can do is respond, argue, or supplement in the same academic manner.

This is the ironclad rule that has allowed wizarding civilizations to continue for several eras:
Knowledge can be questioned, truth can be challenged, and opinions can be criticized.

But it cannot be suppressed by violence.

Ron took a deep breath and pressed his handprint onto the confirmation rune.

A silver light rose from the parchment, transforming into countless tiny rune tadpoles that disappeared into the air.

He knew that from this moment on, this summary had entered the core database of the "Court of Truth."
It will be permanently recorded, permanently made public, and can never be erased.

And that carefully crafted title, full of puns and allusions.

It will also appear before all wizards with access to the "Preprint Library":

A Preliminary Exploration of the Potential Structural Erosion Risk of Unstable Flame-Based Virtual Structures to "Historical Heritage" Type Special Magical Facilities Under High Pressure Environments

Every word in this title has been carefully considered.

It must be academic enough to be subject to review through the "Court of Truth".

It also needs to be sharp enough that all those in the know can understand its true meaning.

"Flame-based unstable virtual structure".

Anyone with a discerning eye can immediately tell who this statement is referring to.

Neytil Brown's ethereal form, unable to maintain a complete human shape and existing only as crimson flames, is extremely rare in the entire wizarding world.

Calling it "unstable" is itself a provocative statement.

In the study of skeletal structures, the word "instability" is often closely associated with negative evaluations such as "defects," "risks," and "imperfections."

"High-pressure environment".

On the surface, this describes some kind of extreme physical or magical condition.

In fact, anyone with even a modicum of political acumen can discern that this is a veiled reference to the tense power dynamics within the current observation station.

"Special magical facilities related to historical heritage".

This statement is more accurate.

It points directly to the core facilities of the observatory that are deeply intertwined with Professor Utter's undead and carry historical significance.

Especially that "submersible device".

That was the masterpiece that Utter poured his life's work into, and one of the most valuable assets of the entire observatory.

“Structural erosion risk”.

This is the most direct warning in the entire abstract.

It suggests that Nitil's fire-attribute undead may have irreversible destructive effects upon contact with these sophisticated facilities.

From a technical perspective, this is a legitimate academic concern.

After all, Yutel's ethereal remains are geared towards "stability" and "records";
Nytil's ethereal remains represent "burning" and "destruction".

The two fundamentally different forces do indeed present compatibility issues.

From a political perspective, this was a precise, subtle attack.

In a public setting, and in the most dignified manner, it questioned the legitimacy and rationality of Nettile's takeover of the observatory.

The most ingenious part is the phrase "preliminary exploration".

They left Ron with a way out.

If someone questions him, he can simply claim:

"This is just a well-intentioned academic conjecture, and a responsible risk warning."

I raise this question in the hope of sparking a discussion and finding a better solution.

Does academia no longer even offer the freedom to raise questions?

This defense is impeccable.

Because it stands on the most sacred principle of the wizarding civilization: "academic freedom".

Any attempt to suppress such questioning would only appear cowardly and authoritarian.

Ron leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

The knife is already drawn.

Although it won't immediately slit anyone's throat,

It will simply hang there quietly, reminding everyone:

Some are watching, some are recording, and some are questioning.

This questioning is also protected by the sacred authority of the "Court of Truth" and can never be erased.

Meanwhile, in the land of shifting sands.

Yellow sand filled the sky, like a golden curtain obscuring the entire expanse.

The newly appointed High Wizard, Salamander, stood quietly at the highest point of the Sand Sea School.

He wasn't wearing his signature dean's robe, which was adorned with lava patterns.

He was dressed simply in coarse cloth clothes, just like the ones he wore during his time as a stonemason.

Barefoot, stepping on the scorching hot metal floor.

The intense heat that would burn the skin of an ordinary person was as gentle as morning dew to him.

His gaze pierced through the distorted heat waves, fixed on the endless sand dunes in the distance.

There was not a trace of the joy one would expect from a great wizard breaking through to the top in his eyes.

There is only a sense of vicissitude that blends into this harsh world, and a deep-seated loneliness hidden beneath it.

Just a few months ago, he was struggling under the invisible ceiling of the Dark Sun level peak.

At that time, he had already touched the threshold of becoming a great wizard, but he always lacked the opportunity to take that final step.

Now, that power, as deep as the ocean and as brilliant as the stars, flows quietly within him.

With each breath, I could feel the pulse of the entire desert resonating with my own heartbeat.

This is the power of the great wizard.

Transcending the mundane and touching upon the rules, it is enough to rewrite reality on a large scale.

Salamanda slowly clenched her fist.

Lava gathered at his fingertips, the air began to burn, and tiny cracks appeared in the space around him.

The giant loosened his fist, letting the intense heat dissipate in the wind.

He could feel the familiar, gentle aura mixed in with that power.

That was the scent of an old professor.

"professor……"

He meditated in his heart.

This strength, this even longer life.

For him, it was less a blessing and more an exquisite cage.

A gentle yet cruel curse.

He closed his eyes, letting the tide of memories overwhelm his consciousness.

What comes to mind are scenes from my life before I turned twenty-five.

Every morning, his wife would prepare a simple breakfast for him.

Black bread, goat cheese, and a small bowl of vegetable soup.

He would place a kiss on her forehead, then shoulder his tools and head to work at the town's quarry.

When he returned home in the evening, the children would circle around him, showing him the "treasures" they had found that day with their little hands covered in mud.

At dinner, the family sat around a small wooden table.

The wife would complain that vegetable prices had gone up again at the market, and the children would argue about whose stone was prettier.

He only needed to sit there quietly, listening to these trivial chatter, to feel a sense of satisfaction welling up from the depths of his soul.

Life back then was ordinary, income was meager, and there was no promising future in sight.
Yet it was the most peaceful and happiest time of his life.

until……

Until Professor Utter arrived.

Salamanda opened her eyes, which were slightly moist.

Three hundred years had passed before he achieved the Dark Sun level and became the Dean of the Sand Sea School.

He buried several generations.

From wife, to children, then to grandchildren and great-grandchildren...

He personally erected a tombstone for each person, knelt before each grave, and wept uncontrollably.

Now, he has gained the power of a great wizard, and his lifespan is at least two thousand years.

That's enough for him to bury dozens more generations of his descendants.

It was enough for him to watch the bloodline of his entire family dilute and dissipate over the long years.

In the end, only the vague memory of the legend that "an ancestor once became a great wizard" remained.

"This is hardly a blessing..."

Salamanda's voice was as hoarse as sand rubbing against a stone wall:

"This is clearly the gentlest, yet also the cruelest form of punishment."

"It makes you powerful, but you can't use that power to change the natural laws of birth, aging, sickness, and death."

Just then, a faint fluctuation of magical energy interrupted his thoughts.

It was an automated push notification from the "Truth Court Preprint Repository".

One of the posts was marked as the highest level of alert by him.

Salamanda waved.

A semi-transparent light screen appeared in the air, displaying the abstract of the newly submitted paper.

His pupils contracted slightly when his gaze fell on the title.

A Preliminary Exploration of the Structural Erosion Risk of Unstable Flame-Based Virtual Structures to "Historical Heritage" Type Special Magical Facilities under High-Pressure Environments

He understood the true meaning of the abstract at a single glance.

Nitil.

Observation station.

The legacy left by Teacher Utel.

And Ron.

"This boy"

Salamanda smiled with relief.

When this young man was training in the quicksand, I secretly took good care of him.

Back then, although he was the dean and held a high position, he was far from being as transcendent as he is now after being promoted to Grand Wizard.

He was willing to take care of Ron partly because the boy was indeed incredibly talented.

On the other hand, he could always see the shadows of his children when they were young in Ron.

Intelligent, energetic, with eyes sparkling with anticipation and longing for the future.

That vitality, that flame that refused to be ordinary, had once burned in the eyes of his children.

unfortunately
Unfortunately, the relentless passage of time eventually extinguished those flames one by one.

Now, he sees Ron as a younger person who needs his care.

Just like he cared for his own children back then.

Moreover, Ron was also the last and most promising student of Mr. Yutel.

Salamanda still remembers the secret message exchanged between her and her teacher before the latter left.

In the silver light, Yutel's weak voice carried an undisguised weariness and reluctance:
“Salamanda, although your power is extremely violent, you have a rare and kind heart.”

“Ron is talented enough, but he’s taken too risky a path.”

He will encounter many difficulties and dangers.

"As his teacher, I can only accompany him this far."

"So, for my sake, if that child is in trouble, try your best to help him."

That was the old professor's instruction to him.

It was also a passing elder's final concern for the younger generation.

Salamanda was holding the communication crystal when she choked up and couldn't speak for a long time.

Finally, he simply nodded vigorously and agreed in a hoarse voice:
"Professor, don't worry."

"As long as I, Salamander, am alive, I will not leave him alone."

(End of this chapter)