Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

Chapter 612 Welcome back
The door opened, and the afternoon sunlight poured in like a golden waterfall.

Ron squinted, adjusting to the change in light from the dim hall to the bright outdoors.

Eve followed closely behind him, her left hand instinctively gripping the hem of her clothes.

Then, they saw that scene.

The square was packed with people.

The stone steps in front of the main hall extend all the way to the street corner at the end of the road.

Hundreds and thousands of figures stood silently like pilgrims, without any noise or commotion, not even a whisper.

This silence was more powerful than any cheer.

Ron paused slightly in his steps.

He had seen many scenes—at academic conferences at the abyss observatory, his colleagues would politely applaud;

At the end of the Golden Ring test, the examiner will formally award badges.

During Nytil's welcoming ceremony, the wizards of the observatory will line up as a matter of duty.
However, these people in front of us are neither officially assigned nor have any official duties to perform.

They simply came, stood here, and expressed some indescribable emotion in the most primal and pure way.

“Mentor…” Eve’s voice trembled, “These people…”

“They’re waiting for me,” Ron said softly. “To be precise, they’re waiting for an outcome.”

At the very front of the crowd stood a group of young people dressed in simple apprentice robes.

Their robes were covered with mottled marks left by potion experiments.

The purple stuff is the juice of "Star Grass", the brown stuff is the residue of "Crimson Flame Vine", and there are some stains of indeterminate color mixed in, like an abstract painting smeared on the fabric.

A female apprentice who looked to be in her early twenties had severely swollen and red eyes.

She held a well-worn notebook in her hands, with the words "Narrative Potions Practice Manual" scrawled on the cover.

When Ron's gaze swept over her, she suddenly bowed deeply, the movement so large it almost broke her back.

“Associate Professor Ralph…” her voice choked with emotion, “Thank you.”

Two simple words, yet they carry immense weight.

Ron knew what she was thanking for.

The reduced cost of potions due to the "pure formula," and the previously unattainable opportunities for advancement, suddenly ignited a spark of hope in the laboratory late at night.
He nodded without saying anything and continued walking forward.

The crowd automatically parted to make way.

The movements were so synchronized they were almost uncanny, as if they had rehearsed countless times beforehand.

In reality, it's just an instinct.

When a truly respectable person appears, people will naturally make way.

Along the passageway, Ron saw more familiar and unfamiliar faces.

There were elderly wizards with graying temples, their hunched backs bent by the years, yet they were trying their best to straighten up.

Tears welled in the eyes of one of the elderly men, and his lips moved as if he were silently reciting a name—Yutel.

There were middle-aged explorers, their robes adorned with various medals and insignia, the metal reflecting a cold luster in the sunlight.

But these decorations, symbols of honor, now appeared dull and lifeless, as their owner bowed his head in a student-like manner.

There is also the newest, younger generation, children who grew up listening to the legend of the "Golden Generation."

Ron, Chloe, Oscar, Eve—these names have been repeatedly sung over the past two decades.

Eve followed closely behind her mentor, witnessing all of this.

A complex mix of emotions welled up in her chest—pride, gratitude, and a hint of hidden worry.

I am proud that my mentor has received such recognition;

I was moved that these complete strangers were willing to express their gratitude in the most sincere way;

However, there is also a vague concern that once this torrent of "public opinion" takes hold, its immense power and uncontrollable direction will be beyond even the mentor's complete control.
"What are you thinking about?" Ron's voice suddenly rang out, interrupting her thoughts.

"I'm thinking," Eve hesitated for a moment before finally saying it:

"Is this kind of support a blessing or a curse?"

“Both.” Ron’s answer was concise yet profound:

"Public opinion is like water; it can carry a boat, but it can also capsize it."

Today they support me because of 'narrative potionology,' but if I make a mistake tomorrow, the same people will not hesitate to turn against me.

"Then, Professor..."

“So we can’t afford to make mistakes.” Ron’s tone was frighteningly calm.
"At the very least, we can't make mistakes that would disappoint them."

The pressure implied in those words silenced Eve.

Those who stand in the spotlight bear a weight far beyond what others can imagine.

Every decision, every word, and every action will be scrutinized, interpreted, and judged by countless eyes.
That wasn't glory; it was more like a gentle shackle.

The two finally made their way through the crowd and reached the edge of the square before boarding the aircraft.

………………

The aircraft stopped in front of the office of the Court of Truth.

Above the gate hung the emblem of the scales of truth—but at this moment the emblem looked somewhat comical, because one side of the scales was clearly tilted.

Clearly, the aftermath of the "smashing the scales" incident continues to unfold.

Ron pushed the door open and entered.

The service hall was empty, with no staff behind the reception counter, only a "service statue" standing quietly.

The design of this golem is rather conventional:

It has a humanoid body, is made of metal, and has a blue crystal core inlaid on its chest, representing "online".

As Ron and Eve approached, the golem's head mechanically turned ninety degrees:

"Welcome to the Seventh Office of the Court of Truth. What service do you require?"

"Retrieve the sealed items." Ron took a document from his pocket:
“Discipline Elder Elwin has approved the application.”

The golem took the document, and its lensed eyes began to scan every character on the paper rapidly.

The scan lasted a full thirty seconds, and then the golem raised its head:

"The application materials have been confirmed, but according to Article 417 of the Regulations on the Management of Goods, the following procedures need to be completed to retrieve the sealed goods:"
First, fill out the "Application Form for Retrieval of Sealed Items" (Form α-117);
Second, fill out the "High-Risk Goods Liability Declaration Form" (β-223 form);
Third, fill out the "Confirmation Form for Inheritance of Virtual Remains" (Form γ-009);
Fourth, wait for the archives department to review the application; the estimated time is three to five business days.

Fifth, after the review is approved, it needs to be signed by two witnesses of Moon Rank or above;

Sixth, proceed to the underground warehouse and, under the supervision of the safety officer, open the sealed storage compartments.

The golem listed twelve steps in one go, each precise down to the punctuation mark, as if it were the result of some kind of sophisticated programming.

Eve's face gradually turned ashen.

She knew all too well what these "compliance procedures" meant—delays, obstruction, and ultimately, disgust.

Even though the King of Absurdity has made his stance clear, and even though the Elders of Discipline have compromised, the massive bureaucratic machine continues to do everything in its power to create obstacles.

This doesn't really qualify as defying authority; it's more like a retaliatory act.

Just as Eve was about to have an outburst, Ron raised his hand to signal her to calm down.

"What will happen if I take the item now?"

The golem's eyes flickered, as if calculating the answer to the question:

"Violating the procedure will invalidate your application, and you will need to resubmit it."

The words have not yet fallen.

"Snapped."

There was a crisp sound.

It wasn't a huge explosion, or even a noticeable sound, just a soft cracking or breaking sound.

The golem froze.

The blue light in its eyes began to flash wildly, flickering on and off like a short circuit.

Then, a completely different sound came from its vocal organs.

"Oh dear, the process is too complicated!"

"So, let's make 'compliance' simpler!"

The moment the words were spoken, everything in the service hall went wild.

The folders neatly arranged on the counter suddenly popped up on their own, as if flipped open by an unseen hand.

The quill pen leaped from the pen holder and scribbled rapidly on the document at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye.

The speed was ridiculously fast; the "scratching" sound of the pen tip rubbing against the paper was continuous, like a downpour hitting the roof.

In less than three seconds, the "Application Form for Retrieval of Sealed Items" was completed.

Next came the "Declaration of Liability for Highly Dangerous Items," the quill pen moving like a blur, precisely filling every blank space on the form.

Ron and Eve's signatures appeared where the "applicant's signature" was required.

Then comes the seal.

The drawer behind the service counter slid open automatically, and the various official seals neatly stacked inside popped up as if on command.

They lined up in the air and landed on the documents in sequence.

"Thump, thump, thump," each thud left a bright red mark.

It moved at a speed as fast as a machine gun firing.

The "access lights" hanging on the wall, representing different departments, were originally mostly displayed as red (rejection) or yellow (busy).

But at this moment, they all turned green.

"Archives Department - Approved!"

"Security department – ​​No objections!"

"Regulatory authorities have approved and released it!"

"Warehouse department—ready!"

A series of synthesized mechanical voices emanated from the communication crystal on the wall, overlapping to form an absurd "chorus".

Deep inside the service hall, the metal door leading to the underground warehouse emitted a low rumble.

The door locks were unlocked sequentially—first the physical bolt, then the magical seal, and finally the access verification.

Each step was completed at an incredible speed, and the whole process was as smooth as a dance that had been rehearsed countless times.

The metal door slid open slowly to both sides, revealing stone steps leading underground.

The magic crystal lamps on both sides of the stone steps lit up one after another, as if laying out a carpet of light for the VIPs.

Then, an even more comical scene unfolded:
The sound of mechanical movement came from deep within the underground warehouse.

A square metal box had sprouted two mechanical legs that were temporarily pieced together from the structure.

It wobbled up from the ground, each step unsteady, like a toddler just learning to walk.

That unsteady gait inexplicably exuded a kind of silly and adorable charm.

When it reached Eve, its mechanical legs suddenly retracted, and the entire box sat down on the ground with a "thud," like a puppy waiting to be petted by its owner.

The entire service hall fell into a deathly silence.

The program serving the golem clearly couldn't understand what had just happened.

Its eyes blinked wildly, and its vocal organs emitted a series of electrical noises:

"Process anomaly detected, re-verifying error"
Unable to identify current state. Warning: System logic contradiction. Requesting superior instructions.

No matter how it requests, there is no response.

Because at that moment, all the other staff members in the office, including the junior clerks who were hiding in their respective cubicles processing documents, were standing there dumbfounded.

They witnessed the "efficiency frenzy" just now, and saw all the normal procedures completed "compliantly" within a dozen seconds.

That extreme sense of absurdity was like an invisible slap in the face to every bureaucrat who tried to use "procedures" to make things difficult for others.

An elderly archivist, his hand trembling, pointed to the stasis chamber that had already "sat down," his lips moving several times before he could utter a sound:
"This...this is the will of the great."

No one dared to speak.

Because everyone knows who just made the move.

Eve crouched down and gently stroked the stasis chamber with both hands.

The runes on the surface of the box became brighter when she touched them, as if responding to their master's call.

"Let's go, mentor."

The two turned and left the service hall.

Behind him, the service golem continued to repeat the error code as if talking to itself;

The archivists remained rooted to the spot, as if petrified.
The green traffic lights were still flashing merrily, as if celebrating the arrival of some festival.
The aircraft restarted and glided towards the Emerald Mansion.

Inside the private room, Eve clutched the stasis chamber tightly, her gaze fixed on the receding scenery outside the window.

Ron closed his eyes to rest, his fingertips lightly tapping the armrest.

“Mentor,” Eve suddenly spoke up, “Why do you think our ancestors helped us like this?”

“Because He hates ‘rigidity’.” Ron opened his eyes:

"The bureaucratic system has become ridiculously rigid, using 'processes' to cover up incompetence and 'compliance' to shirk responsibility."

This phenomenon provides excellent material for the concept of 'absurdity'.

"So His intervention wasn't to help us, but rather..."

“To mock the system that He has long since grown tired of,” Ron added.

“We just happened to be in the right place and became props in His ‘performance’.”

Eve nodded as if she understood.

In this world ruled by the great, the will of ordinary wizards is certainly important.

Ultimately, however, what determines the overall trend is often the power struggle between those in high positions.

All these "chess pieces" can do is try to find a space to survive and grow in the cracks.

The aircraft began its slow descent.

That three-story building still looks the same as it did twenty years ago:
The exterior walls are entwined with vines, roses bloom on the second-floor terrace, and an owl statue lazily sunbathes on the roof.
Everything felt so familiar, as if time had stood still here.

The aircraft landed in front of the small building, where the Dark Sun-level wizard Diaz had been waiting for a long time.

“Associate Professor Ron.” Diaz gave a standard wizard’s salute.
"Welcome back to the Emerald House. Eve has often mentioned you over the years, and it is truly an honor for this old man to meet you today."

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Diaz.” Ron returned the greeting, “Thank you for protecting Eve all these years.”

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Diaz very tactfully took a few steps back.
"Then I won't disturb your reunion. Please feel free to call me if needed."

After saying that, he turned and disappeared through the side door, leaving the entire space to them.

Pushing open the door of the small building, a warm atmosphere wafts out.

"Associate Professor Ron!"

Two surprised voices rang out at the same time as Cecilia and Caroline came out of the kitchen.

The two Moon-level maids initially wanted to approach, but upon sensing the profound and terrifying aura emanating from it, their excitement was immediately replaced by shock. Cecilia's mouth gaped open, her eyes filled with disbelief.

She remembered clearly that more than twenty years ago, at the "Elemental Carnival Night" in the Land of Shifting Sands, she had competed against this young Moon-level wizard.

Although Ron was excellent at that time, he was still within their comprehension range.

And now.
The aura emanating from this person has now surpassed the level she can comprehend.

That kind of gap is like a mortal looking up at a god, giving rise to a sense of despair and powerlessness.

"You...you've already...you're at the Dark Sun level?" Caroline stammered.

"It was just a short while ago."

The two maids exchanged a glance, both seeing disappointment in each other's eyes.

That was the melancholy of realizing that people who were once evenly matched in strength had now gone down completely different paths.

"I'll go prepare some refreshments." Cecilia quickly composed herself. "Associate Professor Ron, please wait a moment."

“And your favorite cupcakes,” Caroline added. “I even learned a new baking method.”

The two maids busied themselves skillfully, quickly serving up exquisite tea and snacks before politely bowing and taking their leave.

The door closed gently.

In the large living room, only the crackling of the fireplace and their breathing could be heard.

Eve took off her formal purple gown and changed into a simple, casual long dress.

She sat down on the carpet, hugging her knees, just as she had twenty years ago when she was an apprentice.

Ron sat on the sofa, picked up his teacup, and took a small sip.

The aroma of Star Dew Tea fills the mouth, bringing a long-lost sense of familiarity.

“Eve.” He put down his teacup, his gaze falling on the stasis box sitting quietly on the coffee table:

"There are some things I feel it's time to tell you."

The girl looked up, her purple eyes reflecting the glow of the fire.

“Regarding Professor Utter’s illusory remains,” Ron’s voice turned serious.

Do you know why that demon god was so determined to obtain it?

Eve shook her head.

She only knew that the inheritance was important, but she was never clear about its true value.

“Because…” Ron paused for a moment, seemingly choosing his words carefully:
"It records complete observational data from the last epoch restart."

These words struck Eve like a thunderbolt.

She stood up abruptly, looking at her tutor in disbelief:
"You mean the restart of the era? That...that legend that only exists in the oldest books?"

“It’s not a legend,” Ron said with certainty. “It’s real history.”

He stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Eve.
Professor Yutel's undead body is essentially a 'black box'.

It records all observational data from the end of the Third Age to the beginning of the Fourth Age, including the complete process of that 'reboot'.

"This is the deeper reason why the Court of Truth dares not deal with it casually and why the three great witch kings want to protect it."

"Because those data revealed certain truths that should not be widely known."

Eve's breathing became rapid.

“But Professor,” she began with difficulty, “where did you learn all this from?”

Ron turned around and looked at her.

Those deep eyes held too many secrets.

"There are some things I can't say right now." He didn't answer directly.

Eve fell silent.

She understood what her mentor was implying.

Some truths can only be understood through personal experience; any prior notification may be dangerous.

“Eve.” Ron walked back to the sofa and sat down again.
"My return is just the beginning; the road ahead will be a hundred times more dangerous than before."

“I want to reach the level of Grand Wizard, or even…” He paused for a moment, “a higher level.”

"And you, as my student and the heir of the Crown Clan, will also be caught up in this storm."

He looked at Eve, his voice low yet powerful:
"Are you afraid of it?"

A brief silence fell over the living room.

The fire in the stove was still flickering, and the dew in the teacup rippled slightly.

Eve looked into Ron's eyes, which were even deeper than they had been twenty years ago.

She suddenly laughed.

It was a relieved and resolute smile.

Eve stood up, walked over to Ron, and extended her hand.

Dark purple magic began to surge in his palm.

"Mentor, do you remember?" Her voice was soft yet firm:

"Those words you told me twenty years ago when I almost got lost in the illusion of 'Paradise'."

Ron took her hand.

The two magical forces resonated the moment they touched, like two different melodies finding a harmonious point of convergence.

“‘Knowing it’s all in vain, yet still dancing.’” Eve said, emphasizing each word.
"Isn't this the 'absurdity' that's uniquely ours?"

"Since the world itself is a meaningless performance, I would rather stand in the center of the stage and dance this dance that is destined to end with you."

Ron was silent for a moment, then chuckled softly.

"Then, get ready."

He grasped Eve's hand in return, feeling the strength and determination emanating from her.

"The next 'performance' is about to begin."

………………

In the underground chamber of the Emerald Mansion, Eve and Ron stood side by side, gazing at the stasis chamber made of special crystal.

Inside the box, a faint silver-gray light floated in mid-air.

This is the illusory remains of Professor Uther, the last legacy of a deceased great wizard.

"Twenty years."

Eve's voice was soft, yet it sounded exceptionally clear in the echoing chamber:

"I waited a full twenty years before I was finally able to touch it."

She reached out and gently stroked the surface of the box with her fingertips.

The icy touch was like touching death itself, causing her to tremble involuntarily.

Ron stood beside her, silently watching the ball of light.

He could sense that the knowledge and power contained within the illusory remains were still astonishingly vast.

Even after twenty years of sealing, even though the master's soul has traveled far away...
"tutor."

Eve suddenly turned around, her purple eyes staring directly at Ron.

"Please use this first."

“Eve…” Ron began, about to say something.

"Please don't refuse."

The black-haired princess took a deep breath, as if convincing herself, or perhaps stating a conclusion she had already thoroughly considered:
"I am well aware of my current strength."

She laughed self-deprecatingly.
"A wizard who hasn't even broken through to the Moon Rank is simply incapable of bearing the remnants of the ethereal structure."

Forced fusion? That's tantamount to suicide.

"If it stays in my hands, it will be a dangerous decoration at best."

Eve's voice carried a sense of relief:
"not to mention"

“You are a ‘historian’.”

Only in your hands can Grandpa Utter's legacy truly realize its value and continue to create meaning for the world.

It won't gradually gather dust and decay like an ancient book left untouched on a shelf.

“I believe this is what Grandpa Yutel would have wanted to see as well.”

He dedicated his life to passing on knowledge; how could he possibly want his legacy to become a 'sacred object' that can only be worshipped but never used?

At this point, Eve's voice lowered:
"Besides, if it were you, perhaps you could let Grandpa Yutel take another 'look' at this world."

"Let him know what the seeds he once sowed have grown into."

"Let him know that even though death has come, the legacy continues."

The last few words were almost choked out.

"it is good."

Ron's answer was concise and solemn.

He didn't offer any hypocritical excuses; he simply reached out and pressed his hand on the activation rune of the stasis chamber:
"On the day you advance to the Dark Sun level... note that I said 'that day,' not 'if that day ever comes,' I will personally return it to you and teach you how to truly integrate it."

This is both a promise and an expectation.

Eve bit her lip and nodded.

Ron turned to look at the illusory remains, and his magic began to surge.

"Buzz—!"

The entire secret chamber was filled with a terrifying power!

The phantom of the [Threshold of Darkness] rose up from behind Ron.

The enormous humanoid figure, woven from starlight, chaos, and lightning, nearly burst through the already cramped space.

Eve instinctively took a few steps back.

Even though she had seen this ethereal body many times, she still felt a chill every time she faced it directly.

[Threshold of Darkness] The perpetually shrouded black veil on the "head" trembled slightly, as if it were "sensing" something.

Ron activated the advanced trait [Deep Echo].

This is a trait gained when the [Historical Research] skill was advanced to the Proficiency level before it was integrated into [Chronological History].

It allows users to resonate with history on a deeper level, thereby awakening those "echoes" that should have been dormant forever.

Ron's mental power acted like a key, carefully inserted into the "historical keyhole" of the illusory remains.

The moment the spiritual energy entered the illusory remains, it felt an eerie stillness that seemed to freeze everything.

This is the essence of "death".

When a life truly ends, the "void" left behind by its soul will spontaneously absorb all the energy, emotions, and even the life force of the observer around it.

It's all to fill that void that can never be filled.

[Threshold of Darkness] The door to the chest opened slightly, temporarily suppressing this extreme "sense of nothingness".

"Respond to my call, Professor."

silence.

Eve held her breath, afraid that any sound would interrupt the ceremony.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.
Just when she thought the ritual had failed, the remnants in the stasis chamber suddenly trembled slightly.

Immediately afterwards, silvery-gray mist began to seep out from the cracks in the crystal case, like a sigh that had been suppressed for too long finally finding an outlet.

The mist slowly spread, condensed, and outlined in the air, gradually forming a human figure.

It was Professor Utter.

He was still wearing that scholar's robe, and habitually holding a roll of parchment in his hand.

It was as if he had just stepped out of his study, ready to go to class.

At first, the old man seemed somewhat dazed and confused, as if he had just woken up from a long slumber and didn't quite remember where he was.

But soon, that confusion was replaced by familiar wisdom and gentleness.

Yutel's "gaze" swept across the secret room.

His gaze fell on the dumbfounded Eve, and finally settled on Ron's somewhat tired face.

The old man sighed helplessly:
"I knew it."

"I was tormented by you little rascals when I was alive, and now that I'm dead, I can't rest in peace either."

Yutel shook his head:
“Ron, your way of ‘respecting teachers’ is truly unique.”

"What, are you really going to drag this old man out of the dustbin of history to 'work overtime'?"

These words were spoken in a lighthearted and humorous manner, yet the carefree and open-mindedness they conveyed made one want to both laugh and cry.

"professor!"

Eve could no longer hold back.

She rushed forward, wanting to throw herself into the old man's arms like she did when she was a child.

Then she missed her target.

My hand passed through Yutel's image without any obstruction, only feeling a chill that penetrated to the bone, as if I had put my whole hand into the depths of a glacier.

Eve staggered to a stop, frozen in place.

The secret room fell into a deathly silence.

Only her rapid breathing echoed, each breath feeling like it was tearing her lungs apart.

She slowly turned around and looked at her hands that had just passed through.

The chill still lingered in my palms, and a thin layer of frost had even formed on my fingertips.

At that moment, reality struck her like a heavy hammer blow—the old professor was really dead.

What he saw before him was merely a "shadow" possessing his memories, personality, and some of his traits.

She was no longer the Grandpa Yutel who could pat her on the head and correct her when she made a mistake.

He is merely a historical echo that has been forcibly awakened.

"I'm sorry, child."

Yutel's projection turned around, apologetic smile on its face.

He raised his hand, intending to pat Eve's head as well, but stopped just before he touched it:
"I'm very 'sensitive to cold' now and can't resist the enthusiasm of young people."

This self-deprecating pun made Eve dare not approach any further.

He could only stand there, gazing greedily at that familiar face.

　Sorry it's a little late, there will be another update after midnight.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)