Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

In the center of the secret room, Ron stood alone.

The candlelight cast a deep shadow on his face, dividing it into two halves of light and shadow.

Deep within the soul, the [Threshold of Darkness] begins to awaken.

Ron closed his eyes, allowing the ethereal body and flesh to begin to overlap.

Starlight seeped out from under his skin, and those glimmers climbed, entwined, and wove like living things, eventually forming a nearly transparent "cocoon" on his body.

—Spatial Folding

The next instant, Ron vanished.

Only that lonely burning candle remained in the sealed room.

The flames shook violently a few times, as if some enormous creature had just swept past it.

Ron navigates through the "folds".

When a Dark Sun-level wizard pushes his nascent form to its limit, he can briefly "strip" himself of the real dimension.

It moves within a higher-dimensional "mezzanine" and then re-"embeds" at the target location.

Upon reaching the level of a Grand Wizard, one can go even further and fully enter the imaginary space to fight against enemies of the same level.

Just like Cassandra, who once fought against three "Tree of Life" archmages in the Shifting Sands.

The entire process of spatial folding and movement should theoretically have no impact on the mortal world.

In theory.

Ron overlooked a crucial factor: his Dark Threshold was too unique.

It is itself the anchor point of the three concepts of "observation", "concealment" and "judgment", connecting the pure magic of the astral plane and the primordial chaos of the abyss.

When such a "foreign object" is detached from reality and then re-embedded, it's like cutting a cream cake with a red-hot knife.

The knife itself was very clean, but high temperatures can still leave scorch marks.

………………

In the underground mine, more than twenty miners were digging for magic stone veins under the illumination of runic lamps.

The pickaxe struck the rock face rhythmically, producing a dull "thump-thump" sound.

The sounds of miners breathing heavily and occasionally talking created a unique symphony in the underground world.

"Old Tom, I heard your son is going to take the apprenticeship exam?"

"Yeah, that kid said he wants to be one of those wizard masters when he grows up, ha! I think he's lost his mind..."

The words have not yet fallen.

All the runic lights went out at the same moment.

As if crushed by an invisible giant hand, with a "snap," the world was plunged into absolute darkness.

That darkness was more complete than any night outside.

There is no natural light source deep in the mine. When all artificial light disappears, all that remains is a suffocating "nothingness".

"what happened?!"

"The light! Why is the light out?!"

"Good heavens! I can't see anything!"

Panic spread among the miners like a plague.

Someone fell and hit the rock face, crying out in pain;
Some people frantically searched for spare flints at their waists, only to find that their fingers were too shaky to produce any sparks.

Some people even collapsed to the ground, muttering prayers...

Three seconds, a full three seconds.

Those three seconds felt like three centuries to these mortals trapped deep underground.

Their consciousness began to hallucinate, and they "saw" all sorts of distorted shapes in absolute darkness...

Then, the light returned.

All the rune lamps lit up at the same time, even brighter than before, and the dazzling light made everyone instinctively close their eyes.

"Huh...huh..."

The miners gasped for breath, like drowning people finally surfacing.

But just as they were celebrating their narrow escape, a trembling voice rang out:

"You...you look at the wall..."

Everyone turned their heads.

Then, a new fear gripped their hearts.

The originally gray-brown rock face is now "sweating".

Countless fine water droplets seeped from the top of the rock, converging into small streams that meandered down the wall.

But those "water droplets" are not transparent.

They shimmered with a starlight-like glow, leaving trails of light in the dim mine, a beauty that sent shivers down one's spine.

“What the hell is this?!”

Old Tom accidentally got some on himself.

The liquid was cold, yet it carried a strange "tingling sensation," as if countless needles were dancing on his skin.

"Captain! Is this poisonous?!"

"I...how should I know!" The mine team leader was equally panicked.
"Everyone evacuate immediately! Go find the senior apprentice stationed at the mine!"

The twenty-odd miners hurriedly packed up their tools and staggered toward the mine exit.

Unbeknownst to them, the mine would be completely sealed off by the Alliance of Schools seven days after their escape.

The silvery "dew" was identified as "astral debris," a byproduct that only appears during spatial tearing events.

Miners who accidentally come into contact with the residue will gradually exhibit a faint "magical sense" over the next few years.

Three of them even passed the novice apprentice test, embarking on a wizarding path they had never imagined.

On the border of the Kingdom of Farouk, a caravan is struggling to make its way through a storm.

The rain lashed against the tarpaulin like whips, and the gale tried to overturn the entire convoy.
Lightning streaked wildly through the clouds, tearing the sky into patches of light.

"Damn weather!"

The merchant leader huddled inside the carriage, his cloak soaked through.

His guard, a scarred mercenary, was struggling to control the frightened horse:
"Boss! This rain is too heavy! We need to find somewhere to take shelter!"

"No! If we're even one day later, that shipment will miss its deadline!"

The businessman stubbornly shook his head: "Keep going! I'll give you double the commission!"

The mercenary cursed, but had no choice but to obey his employer's orders.

At that moment, the world stopped.

Raindrops froze in mid-air.

They remained in a falling posture, yet seemed frozen by some invisible force, suspended in the air, densely packed like a crystal curtain.

The lightning stopped in the clouds, the blue and white flashes maintaining their distorted shape, like a scene frozen in time.

The gale disappeared, and the air became as thick as gel, requiring a forceful squeeze of the lungs with each breath.

The horses maintained their running motion, but their hooves remained suspended in mid-air, motionless.

"This this……"

The merchant and the mercenary both froze.

They are capable of thinking and moving their eyes.

But he found that his body felt as if it were filled with molten lead, and all his movements became incredibly slow.

The mercenary struggled to lift his head, trying to see what was happening in the sky.

Then, he saw the leaden gray sky, shrouded in the storm, being "torn open."

Inside the crack, a "primitive black" is revealed, a pure "nothingness" that devours all light and color.

The mercenary stared at the crack, feeling his sanity slipping through his fingers.

He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords were frozen; he wanted to run away, but his limbs wouldn't obey him.

He could only watch helplessly as the crack slowly closed.

It was like an eye blinking.

“Rumble, rumble—!”

Time resumed, and the storm lashed down with double the ferocity!

All the raindrops that had been "paused" resumed falling at the same time, splashing up countless water droplets on the ground;
The lightning, its long-suppressed rage, exploded, and the deafening thunder almost shattered eardrums;

The gale, like a monstrous beast that had been violated, roared and swept across the entire plain...

"Ah ah ah ah ah--!"

The mercenary was finally able to scream; his voice was almost broken.

"Did you see that?! Did you see that?! The sky! The sky has cracked open!"

"Wh...what cracked?!" The merchant was quite frightened, but he couldn't see anything.

Because during those few seconds of time slowing down, only a few "sharp enough" mortals are able to retain some consciousness.

"A black crack! A huge one! Right in the sky!"

The mercenary pointed frantically at the sky:

"Something...something terrifying went through!"

The rest of the caravan looked at each other in bewilderment.

Some thought the mercenary had gone mad, others thought he had been terrified by the lightning, and still others began to whisper that it was an "ominous sign."

However, the caravan no longer had the courage to continue.

They stayed in the nearest village for three whole days until the mercenaries' mental state had stabilized somewhat before they dared to set off again.

And that mercenary will have the same nightmare recurring for the rest of his life:
In the dream, the sky cracked open again, but this time, the "thing" did not pass through.

It stopped, turned its "head," and "looked" at him...

………………

When the strange phenomenon occurred, Ron's figure had already appeared in a small grove of trees on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Farouk.

The moment he landed, the shielding force field of the [Threshold of Darkness] instinctively expanded.

Ron took a deep breath.

Then he turned his gaze to the edge of the woods, to the ancestral home of the Ralph family.

Time, to wizards, is merely a concept of "a resource that needs to be managed".

For ordinary people, however, they are the cruelest executioners.

Ron's gaze swept across the front yard of the manor and he saw a hunched figure.

That was his older brother, Edmund.

Twenty years ago, Edmund was still in good health, spoke loudly, and walked with a brisk pace...

But now that once robust man has become an old man with faltering steps, graying temples, and a severely bent back.

He was laboriously directing several servants to move goods:

"Be careful...be careful of that box, it contains fragile items..."

Ron moved silently along the edge of the woods, extending his consciousness outwards.

He carefully activated the "observation" property of [Dark Threshold].

Like the most precise scalpel, it cuts through the surface of reality and penetrates deep into the manor.

His senses penetrated the stone walls, wooden planks, and curtains, finally locking onto a bedroom deep inside the second floor of the main building.

That was my father's room.

Ron closed his eyes and focused all his attention on that space.

The next second, he "saw" the eldest son lying on an oversized bed, his whole body as thin as a piece of dead wood about to burn out.

The old man was holding a clay figure in his arms.

A rough, unrecognizable clay figure.

That was made by Ron from the clay in the yard when he was a child.

He wanted to be a "brave knight," but because his skills were so poor, the final product was a complete mess, and his older brothers laughed at him for a long time...

Unexpectedly, my father preserved it, carefully dried and varnished it, and placed it in the display cabinet in his study.

The old man now held the clay figure tightly to his chest, as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.

“My Ron…”

The old man's lips trembled, uttering barely audible murmurs:
"You must be having a great time..."

"You've become a great wizard... right..."

Each word required all his strength.

"You child... you just won't come home..."

The old man's fingers gently stroked the rough surface of the clay figure, and tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.
"It's better not to go home..."

"The outside world must be wonderful..."

"It's much more exciting than this small place..."

Before he could finish speaking, the old man fell into a coma.

Even while unconscious, he held the clay figure tightly in his arms and refused to let go.

Ron stood behind the tree, as if he were nailed to the spot.

Time passes minute by minute.

Suddenly, the old man's breathing became rapid.

His body began to spasm, and his hands and feet twitched involuntarily.

"Do not……"

Ron clenched his fists.

He knew this was his last struggle, and death was approaching.

The bedroom door was pushed open, and a middle-aged maid rushed in in a panic:

"What's wrong?!"

She rushed to the bedside to try to help the old man up, only to find that his body was already stiff as a board.

"Quickly! Go and fetch the chieftain! And the doctor too!"

The maid screamed and rushed out of the room.

Ron's consciousness was fixed on his father.

"I have to do something."

Ron gritted his teeth:

"I can't let him leave like this... in such pain..."

"But darling, you can't come near me..."

"I know."

He took a deep breath, and the "Judgment" property of [Dark Threshold] began to activate:
"I will not approach or touch it."

"I just... gave him a dream."

"A white lie that would allow him to leave in peace."

He slowly raised his right hand, and a ball of starlight was gently pushed out.

It penetrated the wall and silently seeped into the bedroom.

It eventually settled between the old man's blurred retinas.

Then, the starlight burst forth.

Old Ralph felt himself falling.

Falling, falling, falling into a warm and soft darkness.

The pain disappeared, the cold disappeared, and the illness that had tormented him for years receded like the tide.

All that remained was tranquility and...a sense of liberation.

"Am I going to die?"

He asked himself the question calmly.

He wasn't afraid; he had experienced everything he was meant to experience and tasted everything he was meant to taste.

The only regret is...

Just then, light appeared in the darkness.

A ray of light, like the first rays of dawn, shone down from afar.

Old Ralph struggled to open his eyes.

In his blurred vision, the surrounding scenery began to change.

Within that light, a figure slowly emerged.

He was a young man dressed in a simple scholar's robe, and he waved to his father.

"Father."

In the hallucination, Ron spoke, his voice clear and real:
"I am back."

Old Ralph's eyes suddenly lit up.

“Ron, my child…” Then, more figures emerged in the light.

Old Ralph's deceased wife is smiling as she looks back at her husband;
His best friend, who died on the frontier when he was young, was patting him hard on the shoulder.

There was also his younger brother, whom he had lost in the noble war, who was shyly nodding to him.
These were his relatives, friends, and comrades who had passed away before him...

All those who left an important mark on his life are gathered together again at this moment.

They surrounded old Ralph, each with a warm smile, each speaking a silent language:
"Welcome home."

"So, you were all waiting for me here..."

Old Ralph's face broke into a childlike smile:

"I thought... I would leave alone..."

He looked at Ron in the illusion, his eyes filled with pride:

"My child, have you truly become a great wizard?"

"Yes, Father."

In the illusion, Ron smiled and nodded:

“I did it, just as you said, I became a great wizard.”

"Great...it's really great!"

The old man's voice grew softer and softer, but his smile grew brighter and brighter:

"I knew it... I knew you could do it."

Then, his heart stopped beating.

He lay in bed, drifting off to sleep with a smile on his face.

He held the ugly clay figure tightly in his arms, looking as if he were trapped in a beautiful dream he didn't want to wake up from.

In the woods, Ron slowly lowered his right hand.

The starlight faded from his fingertips, and the last glimmer of light was extinguished in the night wind.

Goodbye, Father.

Ron's voice was very soft, so soft that it was almost inaudible:
"I'm sorry, I can only tell you one lie."

He took a deep breath, suppressing all his emotions back to the deepest part of his soul.

Reason has regained its dominance.

He is a wizard; he cannot break down here, he cannot let emotions cloud his judgment.

He still has things to do.

Edmund, the eldest brother, burst into the bedroom, followed by the doctor and other family members.

"Father!"

Edmund rushed to the bedside and grasped the old man's cold hand:

"Father, wake up! You can't... Ron hasn't..."

The doctor checked the pulse, then slowly shook his head:
"Please accept my deepest condolences. The Grand Duke has passed away peacefully."

Other family members gathered around; some cried, some prayed, and some just stood there blankly…

Ron saw all of this.

He saw his older brother Edmund kneeling by the bed, pressing their father's hand to his face, his shoulders trembling violently;

He saw his nephew leaning against the wall, tears silently streaming down his face;

He saw the servants, those who had once served his father, also secretly wiping away tears…

This is a funeral for an ordinary person.

"It's time to go, baby."

Nari whispered a reminder:

"The longer you stay here, the deeper the 'traces' you leave behind."

"I know."

Ron took one last look at the bedroom, and at the peaceful figure on the bed.

Then, he withdrew all his power.

The shielding force field of the [Threshold of Darkness] began to contract, condense, and eventually completely converge inward.

Ron's figure transformed into a black lightning bolt and vanished from the grove, re-entering the "folded" state.

Back in the secret room, he took off his cloak, folded it, put it back in his storage bag, sat down at his desk, and picked up his quill pen.

The pen nib lingered on the last line of text for a very long time.

Finally, he slowly drew a red line.

[To be done: Return to the Kingdom of Farouk to examine my father's health; the future of the family also needs to be re-planned.]

"Everyone must eventually part ways."

He slowly stood up and walked to the window.

The night view of the central region unfolds before my eyes:
Floating wizard towers and cities, dazzling magic crystal streets, and colorful flying machines occasionally streaking across the sky...

This is the world of wizards, dazzling yet cold.

"baby……"

Nari's consciousness gently touched him:

"Your emotions are fluctuating a lot right now. Do you need Mom to help you calm down?"

"Need not."

Ron shook his head, suppressing all his emotions back into his heart.

Just then, Nari's tone suddenly became somewhat mischievous:

"Oh, by the way, baby, Mommy's 'little mare' just sent me a message~"

"Euphemism?"

Ron turned around, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Yes, that's right.

Nari's voice carried a certain mischievous pleasure:
"That child has been in the chaotic world for almost thirty years, and now she has finally encountered a problem that she cannot solve."

"She pleaded with her mother through their bloodline, saying that the 'Eternal Night of the Blood Moon' was about to descend, and that 'Aiden was about to completely lose control'..."

The Chaos Apostle waved its tentacles:
"She also said she was willing to offer up all the results of her thirty years of research and asked her 'master' to help her."

Upon hearing this, Ron immediately switched to "work mode".

He walked back to his desk and took out a recording crystal:
"Mom, please send me the complete message she sent."

"Okay~"

Nari's tentacles rippled gently at the conceptual level.

The next second, a flood of information rushed into Ron's consciousness.

Those were Euphemia's experiences over the past thirty years in the chaotic world, which Nari preserved intact in the form of "memory fragments".

Ron closed his eyes and began to quickly review these memories...

………………

In the chaotic world of bloodshed, on the third underground level of Twilight City.

Euphemia looked up, her gaze piercing through the thick layers of rock and steel, as if she could see the entire city.

That gray kingdom that she built single-handedly and painstakingly over nearly thirty years.

I've been in this world for almost thirty years, but if we convert that to the flow of time in the main world, it should only be eighteen years.

For a wizard, this should have been just an insignificant moment in a long life.

Euphemia closed her eyes, letting the fragments of memory reassemble in her mind.

When Euphemia first returned to this blood-soaked land, her first reaction was to feel a long-lost sense of "freedom".

After all, the "bloodline shackles" that once weighed heavily on her soul had become blurred due to Nari's chaotic transformation.

However, the price of this freedom is utter isolation and helplessness.

"Survive first."

Euphemia whispered to herself, then unfurled the blood wings on her back.

During her first week, she hid in the ruins and observed.

She saw how those crazed vampires tore at each other in the moonlight;
They witnessed how human patrols struggled to maintain their lines using silver bullets and holy water.
They also witnessed how a few vampire nobles who still retained their rationality cowered in fear deep within the castle, using heavy iron doors to separate themselves from their crazed brethren.

"The world is collapsing."

She concluded:
"That guy's madness spread like a plague, and everyone—vampires, humans, wizards—was waiting to die."

But Euphemia wasn't the kind of person who would sit idly by and wait for her fate.

In the second week, she began to cautiously approach the small clans on the periphery.

It was under these circumstances that the "Dark Rose Family" came into her view.

This small clan, consisting of only seventeen members, originally belonged to a branch of a larger clan, but lost all its high-ranking vampires under the impact of the Blood Frenzy.

The clan chief is a newly promoted viscount who can't even defend his own territory and is considering moving his entire clan to a human-controlled area to surrender.

"I can help you."

Euphemia appeared outside their stronghold, which was about to be breached by the crazed vampires, her blood wings exuding an aura of majesty:
"In the name of 'descendants of the king'."

When she revealed her identity, all the members of the Dark Rose family were shocked.

Aiden's direct descendants are among the most esteemed members of the vampire clan.

Even though the "King of Blood" has gone mad, this bloodline still represents supreme authority.

"But, Your Highness, why would you..."

The young viscount asked cautiously, his gaze lingering on Euphemia's "somewhat strange" blood wings.

“I was once exiled.”

Euphemia gave a half-true, half-false answer:

"After wandering in the wizarding world for many years, I came into contact with some... things I shouldn't have come into contact with."

But now I'm back, and I'm going to take back everything that's rightfully mine.

This explanation justifies her "abnormal" characteristics and provides a plausible excuse for her later "unconventional" abilities.

The Dark Rose family chose to pledge allegiance.

They had no choice but to either follow this mysterious "princess" or be torn to pieces in the next wave of chaos.

Euphemia spent the following years proving her worth and gradually built her own network of followers.

In fact, there are ways to deal with "madness".

The Industrial Revolution in this world has brought about a large number of chemical pollutants.

In particular, certain heavy metal compounds and organic solvents have unexpectedly interacted with the vampires' extraordinary regenerative abilities.

These pollutants, which should have been deadly toxins, were "integrated" into the cell structure by the regenerative mechanism of the vampires, forming a new and more "stable" form of flesh and blood.

This "stability" was able to isolate Aiden's "madness signal" transmitted through his bloodline to a certain extent!
"It's like inserting an 'impurity filter' into the bloodline connection..."

Euphemia murmured to herself, her quill pen scribbling rapidly in her notebook:
"Contaminants reduce the purity of the bloodline and weaken the bond with the progenitor."

As a trade-off, some of their abilities will be impaired.

For example, regeneration speed is slower and maximum strength is lowered, but in return, it grants resistance to Blood Frenzy!

This discovery completely changed her strategic direction.

If this "contamination" could be artificially and controllably introduced into the vampire body.

That means we've found the key to combating Aiden's insane contagion!

Euphemia devoted herself entirely to the research of the "purification theory of contaminated blood".

The abandoned underground railway network was originally a huge tunnel system dug by this industrial city a century ago to transport coal.

As surface mineral veins dwindled and new technologies emerged, these tunnels were abandoned, becoming havens for rats and homeless people.

Until Euphemia arrived.

With the help of the magic lights, she can see the entire space.

A vast underground space capable of accommodating tens of thousands of people, natural sound insulation, and a complex network of passageways providing countless escape routes...

"Perfect."

Euphemia smiled with satisfaction: "This place will become the cradle of the 'Third Way'."

The construction of Twilight City took five years.

Euphemia used all the resources she had accumulated over the years.

She purchased building materials from the dark market, recruited a team of craftsmen, and had "servants" willing to follow her.

The third basement level of the abandoned military factory, Euphemia's secret laboratory, was filled with a pungent chemical odor.

It was the unique smell of a mixture of copper sulfate, mercury compounds, industrial tar, and blood.

An ordinary person would vomit immediately upon smelling it, but to her it was as familiar as perfume.

In each container on the lab bench, a clump of dark red liquid floated.

Under the illumination of the magic light, the liquids exhibited an eerie metallic luster, resembling rusted molten iron or magma before solidification.

"In the 382nd experiment, the pollutant concentration was increased to 27%, and the amount of chaotic energy injected was reduced to 40% of the safe threshold..."

Euphemia quickly jotted notes in her notebook with a quill pen:
"Theoretically, this ratio should achieve a balance between 'isolating bloodline signals' and 'preserving extraordinary characteristics'..."

She reached out and lightly touched one of the containers with her fingertips.

Chaotic tentacles extended from her palms, probing into the liquid like living things.

The dark red blood immediately began to boil and churn violently, and a layer of silvery-white film appeared on the surface.

"Success?"

Euphemia held her breath.

The light film lasted for a full three seconds, and then... it collapsed.

The blood lost all its color, turning into a lifeless pool of grayish-white liquid, settling at the bottom of the container like stagnant water.

"Damn..."

She gritted her teeth and pushed the container aside.

The reason for the failure is clear:

The high concentration of pollutants, while successfully isolating Aiden's mad signals, also destroyed the extraordinary activity of the blood itself.

Such a product is worthless, not even comparable to ordinary medical treatments.

However, if the concentration of pollutants is reduced, the isolation effect will decrease significantly...

"The equilibrium point, there must exist a perfect equilibrium point..."

Euphemia muttered to herself, only to discover that each of the directions she had explored had a fatal flaw.

Of course, the achievements of these past two decades are not entirely without merit.

She created a semi-finished potion that could suppress "blood frenzy" to some extent while weakening her own power.

This resource is also the core reason why she was able to quickly build up a considerable underground force.

But if she wanted to go further, Euphemia rubbed her forehead:
"No matter which path I take, I need..."

The answer has already surfaced in my mind, so clear that it cannot be ignored:

"I need an expert in potions and bloodlines to lead this research..."

That person could only be Ron Ralph.

Whether it's providing combat support, assisting in research advancement, or participating in spell reversal, the other party is an indispensable "variable."

Euphemia knelt on one knee in the center of the magic circle, her hands pressed to the ground, her forehead against the cold stone slab.

She could feel her blood boiling.

This cross-world connection requires an enormous amount of life force, burning her very essence every second.

But she doesn't care.

"Lord Ron Ralph..."

Her voice traveled through the magic circle, traversing the barriers of dimensions:
“Your servant Euphemia begs for your help.”

The light grew increasingly intense, and the runes in the magic circle began to light up one after another.

"You have just qualified to be pioneers and need to prove your abilities in the field of practice."

"Your research needs materials, it needs extreme experiments that cannot be carried out in the main world;"

"And your ethereal form also needs a real battlefield to forge it, and worthy opponents to hone it..."

"Everything is here."

"A near-Witch King level mad progenitor awaits to be defeated;"
"A world out of control, waiting to be rebuilt or harvested;

"And your servants await... her master's judgment."

As soon as the words were spoken, the magic circle reached its peak brightness.

The entire third basement level trembled violently under the impact of this energy; cracks appeared on the walls, and debris began to fall from the ceiling…

Euphemia could feel her consciousness fading.

The excessive depletion of her life force caused the edges of her vision to darken, and her body to become cold.

However, the information transmission was completed and the connection was successfully established.

Euphemia collapsed to the ground, falling into a deep coma.

Now, all we need to do is wait. (End of Chapter)