Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

"I had no idea that there was something hidden in this room..."

Dago stared at the few smoky figures in Buckle's hand, paused, unsure of what to call them.

Those little things are not physical flesh and blood life, but more like the product of the accidental collapse of certain rules and elements in a specific high-concentration environment. They shuttle between Barker's pale fingers, as if they are drifting in the gap between reality and the spirit world.

"Dust Spirits".

Barker picked up where he left off, saying calmly, "You'll naturally get to know them once you've lived here long enough. They're very shy. It took me fifteen years to gradually become able to have some simple interactions and conversations with them."

Fifteen years...

Dago pursed his lips, a barely perceptible tremor flashing deep in his pupils.

Fifteen years may be just a blink of an eye for immortal beings, but for wizards in their rising period, it is enough for a new generation to replace the old, and enough for a glorious school of thought to be reduced to ruins.

In this cramped attic, fifteen years of solitude were exchanged for "simple interactions" with these insignificant elemental creatures?

No, that's not all.

Dago quickly corrected his judgment.

Indeed, there are no geniuses or powerful people in this world without a reason.

Barker's ability to advance to the third circle of wizards and obtain the prestigious title of "Four-Colored Crystal" before the age of fifty is not only due to his outstanding talent, but also inseparable from the abundant top-tier resources provided by the Thorns Circle.

This kind of "irrigation" is often accompanied by a price that is hard for ordinary people to bear—absolute loneliness and an almost self-torturous analysis of the truth.

This is the ascetic chamber of the Thorn Ring Dharma, a core node of the lineage's imprint.

Every inch of air is filled with energy particles so dense they are almost liquefied, and every breath is a cleansing and baptism for the soul.

Because of the coordinates of a Worldstone, Dago narrowly escaped death during the crisis of the Old Revival Society, and was thus exceptionally granted the right to enter the meditation chamber and use part of the inherited imprint space.

This is a blatant exchange of interests, using a coordinate powerful enough to trigger a dimensional war in exchange for a ticket to a higher level.

During his time here, Dargo has felt his abilities growing rapidly in all aspects; this is truly a haven for wizards seeking tranquility.

Here, as long as you can endure loneliness, even a pig can evolve into a magical beast.

But Barker has lived in this place for at least fifteen years.

What does this mean? It means that he not only has amazing patience, but also a massive, suffocating amount of resources to support him in wasting his time here.

The will of the French Ring's top brass that this represents, as well as the "weight" that Barker himself carries, makes Dargo feel an invisible sense of oppression.

A sense of感慨 arose in Dago's heart, and after thinking for a moment, he said, "Whatever."

Barker lowered his head slightly, making a sound as soft as a mosquito's buzz. He was talking to the dust sprites in his hands in a language that Dago couldn't understand, like strange whispers or some kind of high-frequency oscillating syllables.

It was a variant of the ancient Elvish language, possibly even mixed with dialects from certain elemental planes. Each syllable required extremely precise mental control to be uttered, otherwise it would cause a disturbance of the surrounding energy particles.

Soon, the dust sprites, following Barker's command, vanished like smoke, disappearing back into the shadows of the old bookshelf and the cracks in the floor, as if they had never existed, merely a hallucination of distorted light and shadow.

"If you want to communicate with them, remember to keep your voice down, otherwise you'll frighten them. Dust sprites can understand our language, but it will be much easier to talk to them in their language."

Buckle paused, his eyes, which seemed to be covered by a layer of gray, showing no emotion, just as he was facing a corpse on the dissection table or observing a cell under a microscope.

"On the bookshelf on the 53rd floor to your left behind you, there is an introduction to the Elvish language of the Dust Elves. If you are interested, you can take a look. It won't take long to learn it."

Barker looked up and spoke to Dago in the tone of someone who had been through it all.

He was clearly teaching Dargo something, yet he didn't come across as annoying, displaying an exceptional level of refinement that Dargo had never encountered from anyone else.

This kind of self-restraint does not stem from politeness or goodwill, but from "ignoring".

When a wizard stands high enough and sees far enough, he no longer bothers to show arrogance to ants, nor to be stingy with his fellow human beings, because knowledge is merely a tool to him, and sharing tools does not diminish his reserves.

At this moment, the dust sprites that had left earlier returned, bringing with them even more dust sprites.

They emerged from the void, their bodies translucent, and one could even see the subtle energy flow within them.

Several tiny winged figures were stacked together, wobbling precariously while holding teapots, teacups, and trays that were many times their own size, making one worry that they would fall over at any moment.

Dargo instinctively reached out to steady the wobbly teacup at the very top—a biological instinct.

"stop."

Barker whispered a warning to Dago: "Don't try to help them, or you'll only anger them and they'll ignore you for a long time."

The dust sprites are the housekeepers of the attic. They are enthusiastic about serving us; this is their "rule" of existence and their "anchor" for gaining a sense of belonging.

All you need to do is carefully tell them what you need, and then wait patiently.

rule.

These two words exploded in Dago's mind.

In the wizarding world, this is the truth.

Do not use human emotions to measure the logic of alien creatures; that will only bring disaster.

"If you get along well with them, they might even share with you many secrets that happened in this attic."

Barker added, a faint smile curving his lips, as if recalling some interesting past event, or a predecessor who had perished here.

Dago watched as a large group of dust elves laid out everything on the long table. They brought steaming hot tea, brewed with the "Tranquilizing Flower," a special herb of the ascetic chamber, which could quickly restore mental energy.

There are also sugar cubes, cream, honey, salt, and snacks such as waffles and fruit tarts that can be added.

Each food item exudes a faint energy radiation; this is not just afternoon tea, but also an alchemical elixir to replenish bodily functions.

Soon, these little elves had prepared a rather sumptuous afternoon tea.

He listened to Barker's words, his expression shifting slightly, and he couldn't help but say, "You really know them."

"learn?"

Barker watched quietly as a gray-winged dust sprite clumsily poured water into the cup in front of him. The movements were mechanical and precise, yet they also had a strange charm.

He picked up his teacup, gently blew away the steam, and said calmly, "Of course, I spend more time with them than anyone else in the Dharma Ring."

To decipher their language logic, I dissected 326 dust spirits and analyzed their energy spectrum after they dissipated, finally determining the frequency to communicate with them.

Understanding is built upon deconstruction.

Dago's grip on the teacup tightened slightly.

He heard no bloodshed in Barker's bland words, only a natural thirst for knowledge.

And, that deep sense of loneliness.

It seems that being highly regarded by the tower masters of the French Ring is not all good news.

The so-called "four-color crystal" and the so-called "genius" are nothing more than turning themselves into a precision instrument.

Dargo could almost picture the lonely wizard boy spending his days and years in this narrow, quiet room, meditating and practicing, facing the dissection table, or engaging in some kind of cold "communication" with the dust figures hiding in the cracks of the floor and bookshelves.

This kind of life is enough to drive any human being with normal emotional needs insane.

But for wizards, it is a shortcut to the truth.

A brief silence fell over the room, broken only by the crisp sound of a teaspoon striking the glass.

Dago needs to break this oppressive atmosphere; he needs to understand his situation and the changes in the outside world—this is related to his survival strategy after he leaves.

"How's the situation outside now?"

Dargo gently stirred the snow-white sugar cubes in the red tea soup with a small silver spoon, watching them melt in the vortex, like small organizations disappearing in the face of great forces, and casually asked Barker.

In fact, he was not completely ignorant of the outside world. Although he was "imprisoned" here and could not leave for the time being, he still had communication devices on him and would occasionally contact Bernal, Violet, and others.

But those connections were intermittent and fragmented; he needed a higher-level perspective.

Sitting face-to-face with Barker, he wondered if he should take the initiative to start a conversation to break the quiet and slightly awkward atmosphere, and at the same time try to extract some real information from this "key figure".

Which aspect are you referring to?

Barker didn't look up, concentrating on cutting a waffle.

"The Revival of the Past".

Buckle paused, the knife and fork making a soft clinking sound on the plate. He lifted his eyelids and glanced at Dargo, his eyes seemingly assessing whether Dargo was qualified to know more.

After a while, he replied, "After the list of the Old Revival Society was announced, the missions to hunt them down have been issued continuously. There are also wizards from other forces getting involved, and bloodshed and fighting are happening every day."

This is not just a fight, it's a carnival.

From Barker's brief description, Dago discerned one word—"chaos."

The situation regarding the old revival society has gradually spiraled out of control.

What started as a siege of the Revival Society by a few major forces has now evolved into a resource plundering war sweeping across the entire south.

The resources of the forces damaged by the Old Revival Society—magic stone mines, potion gardens, mortal kingdoms they belong to, and treasured knowledge—have become highly sought-after by many.

The rules have been broken, or rather, the unspoken rules have come to the surface.

Many forces, under the pretext of eliminating the remnants of the old Restoration Society, have begun to plunder and eliminate dissidents in other people's territories.

Some even went so far as to "disguise" themselves as members of the old Revival Society, wearing masks and black robes, openly murdering and robbing.

This is a gluttonous feast; the weak are flesh and blood, and the strong are knives and forks.

"Six major powers, oh no, now it should be said to be five major powers."

Barker spoke calmly, as if he were talking about the weather, "The Water Palace was completely disbanded last month."

The Water Palace, once an invincible large organization renowned for its plant-based witchcraft, has thus become dust of history.

"Even the Thorn Ring has absorbed a small number of Water Palace wizards to join."

Barker added, "Of course, they have to hand over all their core heritage and resource inventory as an 'entry fee' before that."

That's reality. There are no permanent allies, only permanent interests.

The regions surrounding the five major wizarding powers are already in complete chaos, and this turmoil continues to spread to more distant areas, like a plague.

Amidst the turmoil, powerful wizards rose to prominence, earning awe and fame by stepping over countless corpses; while established wizards fell, turning to ashes in a despicable sneak attack, their souls departing for the Silver Sea.