Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

The study door was open, and Ron sat behind his desk, holding a dip pen in his right hand, writing something on a document.

The moment Sheena stepped across the threshold, he looked up, his gaze sweeping over her familiar face.

Like passing by a tree on the roadside, you glance at it habitually, and then continue on your way.

Whether that tree is tall or short, withered or flourishing, has nothing to do with you.

For someone who once tried to use Ron as a "research subject," being looked at in this way is more despairing than being hated.

"sit down."

"Thank you, Professor Ralph."

Sheena sat down on the sofa, her back straight, knees together, and hands folded on her lap.

She brought out the opening lines she had rehearsed countless times:

"Professor Ralph, first of all, please allow me, on behalf of the Tree of Life School, to extend my sincerest congratulations on your breakthrough to Grand Wizard."

The opening line should be a compliment to establish a friendly tone.

"Although it came a little late, the respect for the school of thought has never been absent."

The second sentence is a dignified way to make way for decades of silence.

"The main purpose of this visit is to have some preliminary discussions with the professor regarding the issue of neighborly coexistence on the chessboard."

The third sentence introduces a formal topic, steering the dialogue onto a safe track.

"The Tree of Life School has been operating on public servers for many years, and we have always maintained an open and cooperative attitude towards new members."

"The school of thought hopes that both sides can reach some basic consensus on resource utilization and ecological buffering to avoid unnecessary friction."

Her tone was gentle and fluent, and her rhythm was perfectly controlled.

It should be neither too hasty, which would appear anxious, nor too slow, which would appear arrogant.

Ron was listening the whole time.

To be precise, while he was reviewing the documents in front of him, he was listening to her story with about 20% of his attention.

Occasionally, he would nod.

Occasionally, I'll ask one or two questions.

What are the precise coordinates of Green Tide's current western boundary?

"What is the current expansion rate of the main species that your school of thought has deployed on the public server?"

Most of them are data-related questions that everyone knows about.

Sheena answered each question, but in her mind she was quickly assessing the situation.

The other party's attitude was just as I expected: neither warm nor repulsive.

I'll give her basic respect, but I won't spend a minute more on her.

At this pace, the meeting will end within half an hour.

She would return with the conclusion that "initial contact has been completed and follow-up can be carried out."

Serafina will be satisfied, Darius will not say a word, and Ashe will not be disturbed from her rest.

Everything was going according to plan, and Sheena could almost breathe a sigh of relief.

Just then...

"Ms. Hina."

Ron suddenly called her name.

"It's been almost sixty years since we last met, hasn't it?"

“You treated me to some really nice flower tea at the ‘Vitality Spring’ back then.”

Sheena's face began to lose its color.

"They also gave me several precious books."

"An Introduction to Elemental Resonance Botany" and "Plant Adaptation Mechanisms in Desert Environments"... these are all good books.

He placed the dip pen on the pen holder and casually glanced at the other person.

"Especially that book, 'Illustrated Guide to Ancient Plant Pathology'."

I remember you saying that it was a precious manuscript from the end of the Second Age? Recording many theories and techniques in modern botany that have been lost?

He raised his teacup and took a sip.

"A very interesting book."

Sheena felt her blood draining away from her extremities.

My fingertips were icy cold, but my palms were damp with a thin layer of moisture.

"Professor Ralph..."

She opened her mouth, as if to say something to defuse the situation.

But in reality, Ron was not threatening her, nor was he coercing her in any way.

He casually mentioned a "past event" during a break from drinking tea, speaking in a relaxed, casual, and nonchalant manner.

Just as she was thinking this, the air in the study suddenly became a little thicker.

The other party released a slight amount of energy, which could not even be described as "applying pressure".

But to Sheena's broken, nascent form, this insignificant aura was like a raging storm.

The witch used all her willpower to maintain a semblance of composure, biting her tongue to use the pain to anchor her fading attention.

"It seems your health condition... is not ideal."

Ron's voice carried just the right amount of "concern".

But to Sheena, every word seemed to be wrapped in a thin layer of ice.

"Would you like my servant to prepare a cup of herbal tea for you?"

"No...no need."

Sheena's voice squeezed out from her throat:
"Thank you for your concern, Professor. It's just that I haven't been getting enough rest lately, and I'm feeling a bit tired."

"Ah."

Ron nodded, his gaze returning to the documents on the desk.

Sheena sat on the sofa, her back soaked with cold sweat, the fabric clinging to her skin, cold and sticky.

At this delicate stalemate...

"Buzz!"

The communication crystal on the desk lit up.

Ron glanced at the contact icon displayed in the crystal and raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Excuse me, I need to take this."

He gestured to Sheena to "please wait" and prepared to activate the communication crystal.

Sheena's eyes lit up, and she immediately seized this golden opportunity.

"Professor Ralph," she said before he could answer the call.
"It seems you have important matters to attend to, so I won't bother you any longer."

"Today's exchange has been very thorough. I will compile the follow-up details into a written document and submit it to your team."

She stood up and bowed to Ron.

The more you need to escape, the more composed you should be.

"it is good."

Ron nodded and did not try to stop him.

………………

Stepping out of the study and through the corridor, you will soon arrive at the foyer.

Sheena, who had been on edge for so long, relaxed a little.

Just then, a voice came from the other end of the corridor.

"...The herbs must be delivered by next Wednesday, otherwise the distribution there will be delayed again."

"I know, I know, I've already urged them several times. Those herbal medicine merchants are very slippery..."

The voices of two young women carried the relaxed rhythm of casual conversation.

One high, one low; one sharp, one gentle.

As the footsteps drew closer, two figures emerged from around the corner of the corridor.

Sheena already recognized the silver-haired maid walking in front of her.

The other person was holding a tray with tea set and snacks on it.

Walking beside her was a young woman with chestnut hair.

The chestnut-haired woman was also dressed in a maid uniform, holding a box of sweets in her arms, and had a smile on her face.

This maid looks so familiar.
Sheena stopped in her tracks, and their eyes met in the corridor.

Cecilia was the first to notice the unusual atmosphere. She slowed her pace and glanced back and forth between the two of them.

Caroline spoke first: "Ms. Sheena...?"

Her tone was surprised, but not fearful.

This attitude made Hina somewhat uncomfortable.

Sixty years ago, Caroline had to be careful even when breathing in her presence.

He kept calling her "Lady Sheena," each syllable tinged with trembling and humility.

Caroline.

Sheena called out the name.

"haven't seen you for a long time."

Sunlight streamed in through the side window, casting a bright band of light on the floor between the two people.

The band of light separated them into two distinct sides—one side backlit, the other facing the sun.

Caroline looked at her, her gaze spreading outwards in circles before finally settling into calm.

"Yes, it's been a long time."

The maid nodded slightly, then politely stepped aside to let the guest pass first.

Sheena quickened her pace, crossed the front hall, and walked out of the manor gate.

The cast iron door slowly closed behind her with a dull thud.

After he left the door, the corridor was quiet for only a few seconds.

"Caroline." The silver-haired maid tucked the tray to her side and crossed her arms.

"Was that woman one of the people who participated in modifying your body before?"

Caroline's gaze was still fixed on the closed door when she heard this, so she turned around and smiled slightly.

"Yes, it's her."

"You're just going to let her go like that?"

Cecilia's lips curled down, her displeasure undisguised.

"If you ask me, we should at least embarrass her a little, right? Even if we don't lay a hand on her, we should at least say a few words to her..."

"and then?"

Cecilia was taken aback.

"Those things did happen."

Caroline glanced down at her stomach, her fingertips lightly tracing the fabric of her uniform:
"There are indeed some of their souvenirs here."

"But she's not having an easy time right now either. You should have noticed it sooner than I did: her nascent ethereal form is almost completely disintegrating."

"So, you think she's already been punished enough?"

Cecilia's tone softened a bit, but she was still sharp-tongued.

“It’s not that ‘enough punishment’.”

Caroline clutched the box of pastries tightly and walked towards the other end of the corridor:
"I'm living a good enough life now."

"His Highness treats me well, the professor takes good care of us, and Sister Ailan and Little Dai'er are also very easy to get along with..."

"With these things, why bother with those others?"

Cecilia stood there, watching her figure disappear around the corner of the corridor.

The silver-haired maid clicked her tongue, straightened the tray, and muttered something.
"You have such a broad mind..."

………………

Blue Garden.

Sheena knelt before Serafina, her hands placed neatly on her knees.

The thrones, woven from countless arms, were empty; Serafina was not sitting on them today.

"Go ahead."

The bright-eyed witch spoke in a gentle, as-usual tone.

Hina began her report.

"The manor's defense nodes are deployed at an extremely high density, with sophisticated camouflage techniques that blend well with the environment."

Professor Ralph's attitude was generally open, but he maintained a clear sense of distance.

There was no obvious hostility shown during the conversation, nor was there any deliberate avoidance of any topic.

These are all facts, but the specific wording when Ron referred to "Illustrated Guide to Ancient Plant Pathology" has been omitted.

"The daily operations of the manor are overseen by a few maids; the system is efficient but the staff is minimal, and the internal atmosphere..."

She hesitated for a moment.

The image of that oil painting in the corridor flashed through my mind—a steel sculpture with a raised hand.

"The interior atmosphere is simple and practical, without excessively luxurious decorations or displays that deliberately show off wealth."

Emotional judgments are of no value to Serafina.

What the Bright-Eyed Witch needs is data, coordinates, and "hard information" that can be used to formulate the next strategy.

So, in the end, Sheena said:

"Overall, this visit has established initial contact channels."

Professor Ralph is open to the concept of neighborly relations within the chessboard, and further cooperation can be pursued through written communication.

Serafina turned around and scrutinized the witch kneeling on the ground.

Sheena maintained her submissive posture as she gave her report, her eyes slightly lowered and her breathing even.

She maintained this posture for many years, so long that it almost became a part of her body. "Hmm."

Serafina nodded.

"Well done."

It's a simple sentence, without that creepy "gentleness".

Hina breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she had managed to get away with it.

"You will continue to be responsible for subsequent contacts."

Serafina walked back to her desk and opened another document:
"Don't send too many letters; sending a written letter about once every six months is enough."

"The content is mainly academic exchange, occasionally interspersed with some of our Green Tide ecological data... well, only the 'selected' ones."

"clear."

"Go."

Sheena stood up, bowed to Serafina, and turned to walk towards the exit of the secret chamber.

The door closed behind her.

At the same moment, the vine-covered walls of the Azure Garden swayed gently, letting out a long, languid yawn.

The fragrance of flowers remains, as does the stench of blood.

Business as usual.

………………

In the public server of the small chessboard, time flows in an almost cruel way.

To the outside world, it has only been a few months;

For the miniature planet inside, however, it has undergone nearly a century of dramatic changes.

Tribes rise and fall, species flourish and become extinct, and the island chain drifts constantly amidst the chaos of war.

In this bottle-shaped planet created by the Creator, everything is repeating the cycle of the real world at an accelerated pace.

The circle of great wizards is neither too big nor too small, but the efficiency of information flow is quite high.

The slightest movement in the small pond will cause ripples to spread outwards, reaching every inch of the shoreline.

"Ron Ralph is in the game."

This news was repeatedly chewed over, dissected, and savored over the next few days, appearing on countless communication channels, in casual tea parties, and even in routine briefings by intelligence agencies.

The reactions can be broadly classified into two categories.

The first type is cautious observation.

Vinard is debugging a complex nanoscale disassembly device.

Although he cannot participate in the small chessboard as a leader and has his own square, he is one of the core members of the "Iron Tide" team.

Upon hearing Ron's message, his blue eyes flashed twice, but his hands did not stop moving for a moment.

"As expected."

He said to Alistair beside him:

"The great wizards who have obtained the qualification for the small chessboard but have not yet entered the game are either doing their preparations in their private cubicles or are simply not interested in the arena at all."

"Ralph clearly belongs to the former category."

He inserted the device parts into the groove with a crisp "click":
"Just pay more attention to the southwest quadrant. There's no need to actively seek out other people's information or deliberately avoid intelligence sources."

The second type of reaction carries a subtle expectation.

An anonymous high-ranking wizard posted the following comment on the academic exchange channel:

"Six years have passed since this season started, and now that he's entering the game, he only has fourteen years left in the window of opportunity."

In a competitive environment like public servers where 'management' is paramount, arriving six years late is tantamount to cutting off one's own arm.

"Either he has some trump card that we don't know about, or he doesn't care about the rankings at all and just treats that place as another laboratory."

This comment garnered considerable support but also attracted several rebuttals.

One of the most striking statements reads as follows:
"Don't jump to conclusions. The last rookie who was underestimated by everyone was Cassandra."

The comment section then fell into a brief silence.

The name Cassandra is a heavy ballast in any context, enough to sink even the most frivolous discussions into deep waters.

However, when all eyes were focused on the southwest quadrant of the arena, what they saw was... nothing at all.

To be precise, this was during Ron Ralph's first year after officially joining the team (outside of the time frame).

The only thing he did was plant a few gray-white saplings on the hills at the boundary between the gray zone and the green tide.

that's it.

There was no large-scale release of species, no militarized territorial expansion, and not even the most basic resource collection points were established.

There were only a few short, grayish-white woody plants.

They quietly take root in the ochre-red soil, their leaves so translucent they are almost invisible, trembling and swaying precariously in the wind.

It's like someone casually placed a few chess pieces on the board and then forgot about it.

The onlookers were puzzled.

"What on earth is he doing?"

This question has been repeatedly raised in the great wizarding community, but a satisfactory answer has never been obtained.

Some speculate that he is "testing the waters".

Using inexpensive test subjects to explore the ecological rules of the arena and accumulate data for subsequent large-scale deployment.

Some people think he's "setting up a smokescreen".

Those grayish-white shrubs are just a decoy; the real species are hidden in some inconspicuous corner, waiting for the right moment to make a splash.

Some people even asserted that he was just "doing it for fun".

A newcomer, lacking sufficient understanding of the arena's cruelty, treats it as a second private space.

Only a very few observant people with keen eyes noticed some of the details.

A great wizard, renowned for his precise calculations, wrote the following in his analysis log:

"Ron Ralph's initial deployment location was not randomly selected."

“That hilly area is located at the intersection of the three forces of the Gray Domain, the Green Tide, and the Iron Tide.”

From a geopolitical perspective, this location is advantageous in both directions:

Eight hundred kilometers to the north lies the expansion front of the Green Tide, twelve hundred kilometers to the east is the border mining belt of the Iron Tide, and behind them lies the vast gray territory, providing ample escape routes.

"What is even more noteworthy is the lighting conditions."

The area near the equator has one of the highest average annual sunshine hours in the entire server.

His choice of this location may be related to the physiological characteristics of the species he introduced.

"But the problem is that even if the location is chosen very well, if only a few trees are planted in a year, the pace of development is far too slow."

There are still fourteen years left until the end of the season.

Based on the current rate of expansion of the green tide, the hills will be covered by the edge vine community by the third year at the latest.

"He either has a way to achieve rapid population expansion before then, or he doesn't care about being swallowed up by the green tide."

"Or perhaps, he's waiting for something."

At this point, the great wizard stopped writing.

What are you waiting for?
He had no answer to that question.

But a faint intuition told him that Ron Ralph's "slowness" was probably not a sign of incompetence.

Before setting a trap, a hunter will always spend a long time observing the habits of his prey.

………………

Northern Manor.

Cecilia placed a stack of organized intelligence on the table.

"My lord, I have collected information on the attitudes and reactions of the great wizards."

The silver-haired maid turned to the first page:
"To date, thirteen high wizards or their agents have expressed 'concern' about your deployment through various channels."

"Seven of them are the 'wait-and-see' type, simply collecting information routinely without taking any further action."

"The four individuals were the 'probing' type, inquiring about your research direction and species characteristics through academic exchange channels or indirect means."

"The remaining two..."

She glanced at Ron:
“Seraphina of the Tree of Life School, and the rotating Grand Wizard of Iron Tide, your two ‘neighbors’ are paying significantly more attention to you than to others.”

"Any specific actions are being taken regarding Serafina?"

"Aside from those regular letters, there are none for the time being."

Cecilia shook her head:

"The expansion rate of the green tide has not changed abnormally, and the edge vine communities continue to spread southwestward at a natural rate."

Ron nodded, his gaze returning to the lab report in front of him.

"Let's leave those great wizards' teams aside for now and let them go see."

"I don't have time to worry about the audience's reaction."

"The most important thing now is... my creations."

………………

But then again, no matter how perfect the experiment may be.

However, when it comes to real combat, the difference between simulation and near-realistic environments is more than just a chasm.

Unlike the uniform experimental data in the sand table, the information returned by the public server was full of unexpected variables.

First is the awakening time of the Echoing Tree.

Under ideal conditions in γ-17 lattice, seeds can emerge from dormancy in just seven days.

But in the arena, the first seed took a full three months to sprout.

The reason is that there are subtle differences between the local spirit world and the settings in the experimental chamber.

The near-real environment created by the Creator has a naturally formed pattern in its spiritual layer.

Wood has wood grain, stone has stone grain, and when the spiritual roots of the Echo Tree take root in the soil, they must grow along these natural grains, and cannot stretch out freely as they can in the experimental cubicle.

This resulted in a slower growth rate, but it also brought an unexpected benefit.

The Echoing Tree, rooted along its natural veins, has a more stable root system than the one in the experimental grid, and its integration with the surrounding spirit world is also greater.

“Natural things are ultimately more resilient than man-made things,” Ron wrote in his journal.

The slow unfolding of the Echoing Tree was a minor matter; on the very first day the Bloodline opened its eyes, a new problem arose.

It's ironic, really.

He spent a significant amount of time designing the ternary symbiotic system in cell γ-17.

The energy cycle, soul backup mechanism, and even genetic stability curve between the physical body, the Echoing Tree, and the star fragments were repeatedly analyzed.

Every technical parameter has undergone hundreds of iterations of optimization, and every data curve is extremely smooth.

But when these vibrant individuals actually stand on that sun-drenched hill, even the most meticulous calculations seem utterly inadequate in the face of reality.

The first batch of blood descendants were released in the form of "adult bodies".

They possess a complete language ability, which they inherited from the vampires' instinctive language library.

They possess basic survival skills—gathering, foraging, and building simple shelters—and these behavioral patterns are pre-programmed into neural networks.

They can also instinctively sense the warmth brought by the sunlight.

As the first rays of dawn fall, those tiny stellar fragments within the body are awakened.

That's all; they know the sun is warm, the water is thirst-quenching, and the food is filling.

They do not know where they came from.

I wonder what connection I have with those individuals around me who have the same amber skin and similar irises with sun halos.

I don't even know if this reddish-brown land beneath my feet deserves to be called "home".

Thousands of the original individuals were scattered across the hills, looking around in bewilderment.

Ron's initial plan was to "let go completely."

Let the descendants explore, develop, and accumulate their own civilization over the long years.

The Echo Tree had been pre-placed in a key location, and the Soul Backup Network was ready at any time.

But the subsequent observation data quickly dealt him a blow.

On the third day after the release, several thousand first-generation species had spontaneously split into more than a dozen small, independent communities.

This division follows the most primitive survival logic: whoever controls the water source and hunting grounds first will have a survival advantage.

On the fifth day, the territorial dispute began to escalate.

Two neighboring communities are in conflict over the right to use a stream.

Pushing, roaring, instinctively baring their claws and fangs.

The aggression deep within the vampire's genes has been activated, but there is no corresponding order to restrain it.

Soon, the first killing between blood relatives occurred.

A lone individual, while foraging for food, accidentally wandered into the "territory" of another community.

Before it could explain, three bone spears flew out of the bushes, one of which pierced its shoulder blade.

Ron watched this scene from the observation room.

The injured bloodline eventually survived.

The star debris accelerated wound healing, and the warmth of the sunlight dispelled the risk of infection.

But from then on, its eyes held a new sense of alienation from its own kind.

"They are now just a group of strangers who happen to look alike."

Ron rubbed his temples.

These first-generation experimental subjects were indeed impeccable in terms of hardware.

But what about the software?

The language was there, but the stories were missing.

I have a body, but no place to belong;

Blood is present, but there is no shared identity or connection.

He realized he had made a huge mistake. (End of Chapter)