Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

Ron looked down at the moth on the back of his hand, its wings fluttering slightly, and for a moment he didn't know how to react.

From an academic perspective, this precisely proves his theory—that Nari's emotional imprint on himself is indeed deeply ingrained.

That kind of almost obsessive love has become a kind of "default background noise".

Therefore, the first frequency that the moth catches is Nari's.

But from a personal perspective... being fussed over by a moth the size of a palm seems incredibly eerie.

"puff!"

A laugh that she couldn't quite suppress escaped from Acelia's mouth.

Dragon Soul curled himself up into a ball, trying to suppress the rising laughter, but the effect was not ideal.

The moth remained oblivious, still engrossed in Nari's channel.

It even started "inspecting" Ron's fingers.

Two antennae extended from the moth's head and gently rubbed against his fingertips.

The touch was ticklish, with a wonderfully warm temperature.

This move... he was all too familiar with.

This is clearly Nari's standard procedure of "checking" his physical condition with tentacles every time they meet.

Even the last unnecessary "tap" on the base of the finger, which Nari calls "stamping to confirm that the baby is not sick," was completely copied.

"Hmm, pulse is normal, body temperature is normal, and magic circulation is normal..."

As the moth "inspected," it muttered to itself with a touch of criticism:

"It's alright, at least I didn't get myself into a situation where I needed emergency care."

"Why are your fingers so cold? Did you forget to warm up the lab again? What if you catch a cold? Although even the Great Wizard doesn't catch colds..."

"enough."

Ron finally couldn't help but interrupt.

He worried that if the moth continued like this, Acelia would laugh herself to death.

The dragon soul's current state has deteriorated from "barely holding on" to "intermittent twitching".

Occasionally, a muffled groan could be heard, as if someone was laughing with their face covered by a pillow.

"Have you... finished laughing?"

"I didn't... I didn't laugh..."

Acelia's voice was broken and her breathing was unsteady:

"I was just... performing a self-check on my respiratory system."

"You are a soul, you don't have a respiratory system."

"..."

A burst of unrestrained laughter, which could no longer be suppressed, echoed from the depths of his mind.

"Hahahaha... 'Stamped confirmation that the baby is not sick!' Hahahaha..."

"You, a great wizard... were humiliated by an insect using Nari's voice... Hahahaha..."

Ron was somewhat helpless.

However, Acelia's outburst at this moment provided an unexpected variable.

Because in the next instant, the moth's wings suddenly trembled.

The sticky purple writing on the wing membrane began to fade away as if the tide were receding.

The handwriting became sloppy and unrestrained, with inconsistent spacing, and in some places it was even deliberately written in an inverted or rotated style.

It's like someone who can never sit still, scribbling on a serious piece of parchment.

The channel has been switched.

Ron astutely identified the triggering condition:
Aseria's unrestrained laughter shattered the last vestige of solemnity in the space.

The “lack of solemnity” is precisely the most comfortable breeding ground for the king of absurdity.

"Oh dear~"

The moth's voice changed tone.

That cloying maternal care vanished without a trace, replaced by a frivolous and exaggerated tone:

"Little Ice Cube is secretly laughing again~"

Aseria's laughter stopped abruptly.

Speaking of which, your laughter...

The moth's antennae twitched playfully:
"Its screams are even worse than those of the Soul-Eating Monsters on the seventh level of the Abyss!"

Each word was drawn out, with an upward cadence at the end, as if singing a song deliberately out of tune.

Deep within his consciousness, the dragon soul, who had just been laughing so hard he was doubled over, suddenly froze.

"……What did you say?"

Moths have absolutely no instinct to "detect" danger signals; they simply play whatever signals they receive without considering the consequences.

"I'm saying..."

It continued to flutter its wings merrily, its mischievous tone growing even more pronounced:

Your laughter—it's like this—

It began to perform.

Two translucent wings suddenly began to vibrate, the frequency constantly rising, twisting, and overlapping, ultimately producing a sound that was... extremely difficult to describe.

This is a precise imitation of Azalea's laughter just now.

After a deathly silence...

"Kill this damn bug."

The Dragon Soul looked at the moth as if it were an inanimate object: "Now, immediately, right now."

Ron, of course, did not make a move; something else caught his attention.

The moths are switching channels again.

Aseria's rage was indeed tinged with murderous intent.

The writing on the wings suddenly contracted as if burned, disappearing completely in a fraction of a second.

In their place came a somber, deep red.

The moth stopped all movement.

The wings stopped vibrating, the antennae stopped waving, and even the buzzing of the abdominal diaphragm disappeared completely.

The atmosphere in the entire experimental space underwent a fundamental transformation at that moment.

Ron couldn't quite describe what that feeling was like.

Every nerve in my body is screaming the same signal: danger.

The moth spoke, uttering only one word.

"……die."

The Void Remains instinctively deployed its defenses.

Reason told him that this was just a moon-level moth replaying a recording, nothing more.

However, the "power" contained in that word far exceeded the upper limit that a Moon-level creature should possess.

"...The mark of that mad king is so deeply etched?"

A somewhat puzzled voice came from Aseria.

Ron did not answer; his attention was entirely focused on switching channels to suppress the moths.

The spiritual energy transformed into countless fine threads, peeling away the resonant base of that deep red frequency layer by layer, and then flowing into the depths of the soul to begin the healing process.

The process was not easy.

Although the mark of the Blood King is thin, it is incredibly resilient.

It resides in a very deep level of Ron's soul, probably formed when the Blood Spear pierced his ethereal body.

The impact was so intense that even a brief contact with the ethereal body was enough to leave a mark on the very foundation of the soul.

The blood-red writing still retained an unsettling "gravity," and after a while, the red finally began to fade.

Ron secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

The experimental value of moths was thus validated for the first time.

The fact that it helped me find and heal the piercing scar left by Aiden alone made all the materials consumed in the summoning worthwhile.

As he was sorting through the data in his mind, the moth moved again.

New writing appeared on the wings.

This time, the color is a warm silver-gray, and each character perfectly displays a well-trained composure.

Ron's eyebrows twitched slightly.

He recognized this "temperament".

The moth opened its mouth, and its voice transformed into a gentle, refined male voice:
"Professor Ralph, your handling of the situation just now was very appropriate."

"However, if you would allow me to offer a small suggestion..."

Ron raised an eyebrow.

He immediately understood the triggering logic for this channel switch:

The process of suppressing the frequency of the Blood King just now was essentially a highly strategic operation.

Quickly assess the threat level, select the optimal intervention path, and precisely control the intensity to avoid backlash...

This "calm strategic approach" resonates precisely with the frequency of another imprint on the soul.

"Please speak."

Ron responded accordingly.

He wanted to see just how much Antigonus's mark could be restored through this moth.

"The mark of the Blood King is so strong..."

The moth's silver-gray handwriting flowed slightly:
"This means that your recent confrontation with Him is more profound than you realize."

"We suggest you regularly engage in mental cleansing."

"certainly……"

His tone had become more mercenary:

"If you need related services, I happen to have some suitable solutions."

"The essential oils produced by Cuihuanxing, when used in conjunction with meditation, have a significant effect on mental trauma."

"Regarding the price, considering your partnership with us, we can offer a very attractive discount..."

Ron couldn't help but laugh.

"...Alright, alright, you're just a moth, and you're trying to sell things?"

The moth, of course, doesn't respond to such questions; it simply faithfully reflects the frequencies in the brand.

In Antico's philosophy, turning every interaction into a business opportunity is clearly a deeply ingrained principle.

Ron shook his head and recorded the observation data for this period as well.

"Antigone is indeed a cunning old fox," he silently commented to himself, appraising this top wizard.

Before the afterglow of the Antigonid Channel had completely faded, a fifth color had already appeared on the moth's wings.

“Ron…”

The way it's addressed is completely different from the previous channels.

Do not underestimate the marks that remain on your soul.

The moth's voice flowed slowly: "Every mark is a door."

"What you see on the other side of the door is not necessarily what you want to see."

The weight carried by this statement is unlike anything seen on any previous channel.

Nari Channel is a personality simulation; the nagging "Did you not eat properly again?" applies to any context.

The same goes for the Hector Channel; it simply can't help but joke, and even a casual joke doesn't have a specific target.

Needless to say, the threat word in the Blood King channel, if deconstructed, is more like a cat's instinctive hiss when threatened.

He was wary of Aiden, but Aiden was just as wary of him.

While Antigonus Channel offers detailed and logically clear content, it's essentially just social rhetoric.

This part about Selna, however, is exceptionally precise.

"Every mark is a door," which is highly consistent with the cutting-edge theory in wizarding civilization about "the interaction between the undead and external forces."

"What you see on the other side of the door is not necessarily what you want to see"—this is a warning with a clear direction.

It's as if the speaker knew exactly what was behind those doors and deliberately chose this subtle way to convey it.

This passage doesn't resemble a "personality simulation"; it carries a wealth of real information.

At this point, the moth fell completely silent.

Ron also put down the recording crystal in his hand.

After archiving the last set of data in his mind, he looked down at the quiet moth on the back of his hand.

It looked so quiet, so harmless.

"Let's call it 'The Voice of Kings'."

The moth did not react to the name.

It has no self-awareness, and of course, it cannot identify with or reject a name.

With so many witch kings and "singers" close to them residing on its body, it would be a disservice to the luxurious lineup on its wings not to use this name.

Moreover, the name itself is prestigious enough.

In future academic reports, I can say, "My experimental observation tool, 'Voice of the Kings,' shows..."

By any measure, it's far more sophisticated than "The moth I raised said..."

A sneer came from the depths of his consciousness.

“‘The Voice of Kings’? ‘The Madhouse’ would be a more fitting name.”

Ron did not refute.

He glanced at the moth's wings.

The last words of countless deceased people continue to be spoken without ceasing.

It's about regret, about longing, about those words that were never spoken.

Above these last words, several voiceprints with a terrifying presence were superimposed.

Gentle, playful, brutal, shrewd, compassionate... the voice of kings, or perhaps an asylum.

I think both names are correct.

...The western section of the small chessboard, square γ-17, is set as a wasteland stretching for hundreds of kilometers.

The atmosphere was mixed with a trace amount of necromantic energy, at a very low concentration, just enough to blur the boundaries of the spirit world and make it permeable.

In the center of the wasteland, an experimental tower built of obsidian and silver fir wood rose from the ground.

The tower is not tall, only three stories high, but each story has a rune isolation array with different attributes embedded in it.

The bottom layer is used to store materials and summoned items, and the air is filled with the bitter smell of preservatives;
The middle layer is the core experimental area, where the six-pointed star array and a large number of observation crystals form a complete data acquisition network;

The top floor was transformed into a simple study—just a table, a lamp, and a chair, nothing more.

He prefers to think about problems in quiet places.

At this moment, the "Voice of the Kings" is resting on a moonstone base on the desk.

Ron didn't look at it.

His gaze fell on the well-worn handwritten copy of "An Introduction to the Boundary Between Life and Death" on the table.

This is a simplified version that I reorganized from memory.

He would pause for a moment every time he read the sentence Barnabas wrote in the introduction:
"Life and death are like day and night; they appear to be opposing forces, but in reality, they are unified."

He used to think this was just a nice philosophical statement, but now he doesn't think that way anymore.

Thanks to the unique environment and time flow of the small chessboard, he had ample time to systematically learn the new discipline of necrology.

The systematic study of necronomics proved to be far more difficult than I had anticipated, but also far more interesting.

The difficulty lies in the fact that every fundamental skill in this discipline requires the practitioner to have an extremely precise perception of the boundary between "life" and "death".

A tiny difference can make all the difference:

If the spell leans towards the "life" side, it will fail.
If the attack leans towards the "death" side, the practitioner may suffer a backlash.

It's like dancing on a knife's edge.

What's interesting is that when he truly delved into the underlying logic of this discipline, he discovered that it resonated deeply with all his previous research.

The core concept of Narrative Potions is that "everything has a narrative."

The core concept of necromancy, at least in Barnabas's system, is that "everything has an echo."

From birth to death, the traces of a life never truly disappear.

They have simply moved from the "bright side" of the material world to the "dark side" of the spiritual world.

The echoes generated by the sound waves in the canyon, even though the original sound has disappeared, the echoes still propagate and carry the information of the original sound.

This realization completely changed Ron's view of necromancy.

He realized that many necromancers, who were demonized by historical records, did not pursue anything such as "desecrating the dead" or "breaking the rules of nature."

What they seek is to interpret the echo.

Deciphering the messages left by death is like an archaeologist interpreting inscriptions in ruins.

The only difference is that the inscriptions deciphered by the necromancer are engraved on the soul.

He had been studying the most basic technique, "spirit perception," since he began in the land of quicksand.

Therefore, after some review, you can begin learning the next memory retrieval technique.

This technique holds a very high position in traditional necromancy because of its extremely wide range of applications.

To be able to accurately read information from a decaying soul is no less difficult than deciphering words on a burning parchment.

You can't be too slow, otherwise you won't be able to read anything once the paper burns out; nor can you be too hasty, otherwise too much intervention will accelerate the burning.

You need to read the information just in time, before it disappears, without interfering with its natural process of disappearing.

The park's archives contain a large number of experimental manuscripts.

One of the files, numbered PA-3307, caught Ron's special attention.

The author of the archive is Alexander, the "merciful alchemist" who participated in Eve's treatment through a historical projection.

This ancient alchemist also made significant contributions to necrology and is known as the "father of the anatomy of the soul".

His research methods were extremely bold, combining the perception-interaction model of traditional necromancy with the then-emerging precision rune measurement technology to develop a systematic soul anatomy.

Alexander wrote in the manuscript:

"The structure of the soul is much closer to that of the body than we think."

"In mortals, the core of this is called the 'obsession with life,' which is the desire to live."

"In a wizard's body, it has another name—'magic core' or 'hollow core'."

Ron's finger stopped on the page when he read this part.

If the structure of the soul is indeed so similar to that of the body...

So, is it also feasible to understand it through the lens of narrative potionology?

Every medicinal herb has its own story.

Its growing environment, the four seasons it experiences, and its competitive relationship with other plants... these narratives determine the medicinal properties of the herb.

Similarly, every soul has its own narrative.

Its memories, emotions, choices, regrets... these narratives determine the attributes of its soul.

"Soul Narrative Studies?" Acelia muttered. "Are you creating another new discipline?"

"It's just an idea."

“Every time you say ‘it’s just an idea,’ it means you’ve already written the outline of the paper in your head.”

Ron did not deny it.

The practice of negative energy transformation techniques went much more smoothly.

Perhaps because the Void itself contains the pillars of chaos, its affinity for negative energy far exceeds that of ordinary people.

"It's like grinding small red chilies into chili powder," he thought to himself during a moment of quiet reflection.
"Although it is still spicy in essence, the amount can be controlled more precisely."

The Soul Anchoring Technique is another story; Ron failed countless times.

Each failure was accompanied by the complete dissipation of the test subject's soul fragments and a significant depletion of his own mental energy.

Through repeated attempts, he gradually figured out the trick.

The key is not to forcibly fix the soul, but to give it a "reason to stay".

“You are using the ‘homecoming instinct’ to anchor your soul.”

The dragon soul's tone was filled with complex emotions.

"Because being forced to stay versus staying voluntarily has completely different effects."

Ron answered.

“Yes,” Acelia’s voice softened, “It is indeed different.”

Once Ron had mastered the basic necromancy techniques to the "proficient" or even "master" level, he finally had the energy to deal with what he really wanted to do.

If we re-examine the Voice of Kings from a necronomical perspective, it is simply a perfect probe.

It is a spirit creature formed from the last words of the deceased, and naturally has a resonance channel with the spirit world.

Previous experiments have shown that it can capture the high-level imprints on the surface of the soul and reproduce them in the form of sound.

But that's only its ability in a passive state.

If you actively "connect" it to the spirit world and use its natural resonance channel as an amplifier and filter for your own perception of the spirit world...

Alexander once attempted to create a "soul container".

A device capable of preserving complete soul information outside of a living organism for an extended period.

He failed.

It wasn't a technical failure; in fact, his theoretical framework was surprisingly complete.

The failure lies in the materials; in the Third Age, there was no known substance that could hold soul information for more than seven days without decaying.

Alexander wrote on the last page of the manuscript:
"We have exhausted all our learning in our lives, yet we still cannot find the answer."

The subtlety of the soul cannot be forged by metal or stone, nor can it be locked by runes.

Perhaps only some kind of 'living thing' that exists between life and death can become the dwelling place of the soul.

Although this idea is absurd, it is the only hypothesis that I was unable to verify before my death.

I record this for posterity; if anyone in the future happens to read it, I hope they will not laugh at it.

When Ron first read this passage, he felt an indescribable emotion.

Because the "living thing between life and death" described by Alexander is essentially the same thing as the ultimate goal pursued by generations of wizards since the founding of necromancy.

From Barnabas to Alexander, and countless other researchers of the "Tree of Life" school who were exiled, executed, or forgotten.

What they really wanted was never any undead, vengeful spirits, or skeleton legions.

Those things are merely byproducts, detours leading in the wrong direction.

What they really want is a "resurrection at the lowest possible cost".

More accurately, it is a method of preserving and reconstructing the soul cleanly and completely without distorting the form of the deceased.

Barnabas's Soul Anchoring Technique is now capable of forcibly fixing a dissipating soul to a physical vessel.

But the price is that the soul will gradually become rigid, losing emotions and memories.

Alexander's concept of a soul container went a step further, aiming not only to "fix" the soul but also to "back up" it.

But he couldn't find suitable container material.

This may have originated from the theory of "soul anchors," which later led to the development of higher-level undead life forms such as the "Undead."

However, both of these conditions are too demanding.

For thousands of years, countless successors have followed the path of Alexander, only to all run into the same wall.

Until Ron read another record in the park's archives.

The author is unknown, leaving only a code name – “Gardener”.

The fragment contained only a few lines, yet it startled him:
There are trees in the spirit world.

Its roots are planted in the dreams of the dead, its trunk stands at the crossroads of life and death, and its leaves drink the morning dew and exhale the twilight.

This tree is neither alive nor dead; it is both alive and dead.

I once witnessed one of its branches in the depths of the spirit world.

I tried to break off this branch and almost lost my life, but I only managed to get one seed.

The seeds were the color of bone ash and cold to the touch; I have never been able to make them germinate in my entire life.

Perhaps, what it needs is not soil... (The fragment ends here)

Ron filled in the gap in the gardener's sentence.

What it needs is not soil, but a sufficiently rich, pure, and non-aggressive necromantic aura.

This kind of environment almost doesn't exist in the main world.

The necromantic aura in the main world is either too faint to awaken the seed;
If it's too strong or too violent, it will directly corrode the seed structure.

But on square γ-17 of the small chessboard... Ron can precisely control the concentration, purity, and "personality" of the necromantic aura.

He invented the word "personality" himself.

Traditional necromancy only focuses on the intensity and concentration of the necromantic aura, never considering its "emotional inclinations".

But the mindset of narrative potionology told him that all energy has a "narrative," and the aura of the dead is no exception.

The necromantic aura from the battlefield is full of violence, the necromantic aura from the plague carries fear, while the necromantic aura from natural aging is... very quiet, as still as an autumn leaf falling.

This is exactly the kind of quiet he needs.

Therefore, after learning about the "Gardener's" records from the Paradise Archives, he spent a considerable amount of time searching for this plant in the spirit world.

His spiritual perception, amplified by the voice of the kings, allowed him to explore a range far exceeding that of ordinary people.

But the spirit world is vast and boundless. Even the perception of a great wizard is like trying to find a specific fish in the ocean at night with a flashlight.

The opportunity arose during a profound test of the voices of the kings.

He discovered that when the moths were playing those last words, a fractal pattern resembling a "root system" would occasionally appear on their wing membranes.

They are fleeting and can be missed if you're not careful.

Ron initially thought it was data noise.

However, after repeated observations, he discovered that these "roots" only appeared when a specific type of last message appeared.

Those last words about "reluctance to part".

"I want to see the sunrise again."

"Tell my child that his father loves him very much."

"If there is an afterlife... never mind, this life is already very good."

Whenever such last words flowed on the wing membrane, those roots would emerge.

It seems that somewhere deep in the spirit world, something is responding to this "reluctance to part".

Following this clue, Ron used the voice of the kings as a navigator to project his spiritual perceptions toward the directions the roots pointed to.

In the deepest part of the spirit world, in a region that ordinary wizards could never reach in their entire lives.

There is a tree, or rather, the "echo" of a tree.

It no longer exists.

Perhaps at the very beginning of the spirit world, this tree truly grew at the boundary between life and death.

But the long years have worn it away, leaving only a very faint outline.

It's like a footprint left by a person in the snow; the person has gone far away, but the footprint remains.

Ron could not break off its branches, much less reap fruit from an "echo".

He took a different approach, using a soul anchoring technique to lock onto the core frequency of that "echo".

Then, using the voice of the kings as a medium, this frequency is "translated".

This process is extremely dangerous.

The intensity of the deep spirit realm is such that even a great wizard's spiritual power would be consumed at an alarming rate at that depth.

When his consciousness was forcibly bounced back into the material world, Ron already had something in his palm.

A grayish-white seed, the size of a fingernail, cold to the touch.

It is exactly the same as the description of the "gardener" in the fragment.

"It was worth it."

"Worth it my foot." Acelia's voice was tinged with lingering fear:
"Forty-seven seconds. If you had thirteen more seconds, you probably wouldn't have made it back. Do you understand?"

"So I kept it to 47 seconds, leaving 13 seconds for reaction time, which was more than enough."

"..." Dragon Soul remained silent for a long time.

"You'll ruin yourself one day," she finally said.

“But not today.” Ron held up the seed in his hand and examined it.

Beneath the grayish-white surface, something was faintly pulsating.

Extremely faint, like a baby's first heartbeat in the womb. (End of Chapter)