Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

"Even if you can't directly participate in the competition for seats, watching this grand event that brings together all the wizarding geniuses in the entire South will be of great benefit to your future path."

Undine looked at Dago with a calm gaze, her eyes showing a hint of encouragement, but not much.

"Let's set off as soon as possible, Dago. Whether we're heading to the Mechanical Heart or going via the Fairy City, it will take quite a while to get there from here."

In this process, you will witness the true wizarding world—a naked, merciless battlefield.

She simply felt that Dago should go, because it would be good for Dago's training, and building a sufficiently broad perspective was a necessary prerequisite for advancing to a high-level wizard.

But she didn't have any expectations of him, nor did she put any pressure on him.

On the path to truth, everyone walks alone. A mentor can only point out the direction, not walk it for you.

"Undine is really suited to be a...mother."

Dargo silently evaluated Undine in his mind, then shook his head self-deprecatingly.

In the wizarding world, the word "mother" often represents weakness and entanglement, but Undine interprets it in a different way—absolute protection and rational free-range parenting.

Undine meticulously handled all the trivial matters related to his cultivation, allocating resources with precision down to the milligram and creating an environment that took into account the fluctuations of every single energy particle.

After Dago expresses his unwavering belief in something or a certain goal, she will immediately "pour cold water" on him verbally, sounding an "alarm bell" in his ear.

Control his surging passion with cold reality to prevent him from misjudging the risks due to his youth; but in action, do everything you can to prepare him, providing the best spells and tools.

I encourage him, but I never put too much pressure on him.

Dargo sometimes felt that he was quite lucky to have entered the Silver Tower. Undine might not be a very good tower master or mentor—she lacked the domineering presence to command the world and impart core truths.

However, she did not give Dago much guidance in his spiritual practice, but she took good care of him in other aspects of his life.

She was like a perfect logistics manager, clearing away all worries for the soldiers on the front lines.

Living under her "protection," Dago felt comfortable and free.

This feeling was such a luxury in the perilous wizarding world that Dargo had to constantly remind himself not to become addicted to it and not to dull his fangs.

Even now, he doesn't feel much of a sense of belonging to the Thorn Ring; to him, that huge organization is just a platform for exchanging resources.

He felt a great deal of belonging only to Undine.

This is a contract, a contract based on a combination of emotion and self-interest.

........

"Click—"

The brass lock turned, the crisp sound of gears meshing echoing in the quiet corridor.

Dago walked into the brightly lit room.

Looking around, everything was exactly the same as when he left.

A faint smell of dust lingered in the air, a substance called "time" that had settled there.

Under the beam of light, countless tiny dust particles danced erratically due to Brownian motion, proving that no one had cleaned or entered the area during the time the beam was not in its presence.

This is an absolutely private domain, the wizard's lair.

The runes sealed inside the door lock have been removed; they were a defensive mechanism designed to prevent spying, and now they have fulfilled their purpose.

With that annoying, incessant noise gone, Dago was satisfied with everything.

"Come out, Ottilia..."

Dago gently patted the collar of his robe, where there was a miniature pocket solidified using spatial technology.

The dust fairy girl, Ottilia, cautiously peeked her small head out from the gap in her robes.

She looked around with curiosity at everything in her future "new home".

For these elemental organisms, the energy abundance of the environment determines their quality of life.

Although the energy particles here are not as concentrated as those in the meditation chamber, far exceeding those in the outside world, they are enough for her to maintain her stable form.

The elven girl took flight from Dago's collar, flapping her wings and kicking up a trail of dust that resembled gray fireworks.

That was a visual residual caused by the resonance between the frequency of her wing vibrations and the free energy in the air.

All the dust that had accumulated in the room seemed to converge on her, as if drawn by some kind of rule.

The air gradually becomes "fresher," as microscopic impurities are filtered and absorbed.

This is the innate talent of dust elves, and also their position in the wizarding ecosystem—purifiers of the micro-environment.

Where dust sprites dwell, you will never see even a single speck of dust.

Dago watched as Ottilia had a great time in her new environment. "Cleaning games" were a survival instinct for her, as well as a source of fun, and he estimated that this would continue for a while.

He ignored her and went straight to his desk.

He raised a finger, and his mental energy extended out like tentacles. The numerous notes and letters piled up by the door of the room immediately flew towards him like snowflakes, automatically arranging themselves in the air and classifying them according to the timestamps and the strength of the magical fluctuations.

Dago sat down leisurely at the desk facing the window and began to read through the letters one by one.

Three years seemed to have brought him a great deal of change; it was a qualitative leap from apprentice to full wizard, from weak to powerful.

But for the vast majority of long-lived wizards, this is merely an insignificant ripple in the long river of life, not much different from taking a nap in the afternoon.

The envelope in front of Dago contained mostly trivial matters—a discussion on improving a potion formula, an invitation to explore a low-level ruin, or some boring social pleasantries.

After all, people who were close to him, such as Serena and Bernal, would naturally use the more efficient and expensive instant communication method of the communication stone to contact him.

Only those who are not very familiar with him, or those of lower status, would leave him a message using such an old and cheap method as sending a letter.

Dargo quickly scanned the letters, a faint flame flickering at his fingertips, instantly burning any that were read and deemed useless, leaving not even ashes.

Suddenly, he paused for a moment.

He unexpectedly found a note from Barker in a pile of envelopes.

It was a piece of hard, black Nightmare parchment, still bearing Barker's unique, slightly bloody spiritual imprint.

There were only a few lines of text on it, the handwriting sharp as a knife, briefly stating that he had left, preparing to go to the Fairy Ancient City, where he would await his true opponent.

He and Barker had only exchanged a few words and had not left any communication marks. It was a tacit understanding between the strong—not to establish contact easily unless necessary.

He was quite surprised that Barker would give him a special heads-up before leaving the French Ring Road.

This shows that in Barker's evaluation system of "unparalleled geniuses", Dargo has become a "variable" worth paying attention to, someone who is qualified to be a rival.

This is both an affirmation and a challenge.

Dago smiled slightly and put the note into the deepest part of his spatial ring.

He picked up another letter. The envelope had no magical mark, only a plain wax seal, and it came from Baron Heccia.

That mortal world.

He wandered through the southern Emerald Forest, facing life and death countless times in the wizarding world, dancing on the edge of a knife for truth and power.

It's quite a miracle that they haven't lost contact with their secular hometown even now.

Or perhaps, subconsciously, he still retains a trace of "humanity" as an anchor.

Upon opening the envelope, a snow-white, gold-embossed piece of paper immediately fell out.

The paper's craftsmanship might be exquisite in the eyes of ordinary people, but to wizards it appears rough and full of fibrous holes.

Dago picked it up and was shocked to find that it was an invitation to an engagement party, with "Vera" and another unfamiliar name written on it.

Dago paused slightly, and the floodgates of memory were opened a crack.

I realized then that I had been away from home for almost six years.

Six years may only be a few deep meditations for a wizard, but for a mortal, it is a long period of time that can change one's life.

The little girl who used to follow me around calling me "brother," always with a runny nose and asking for candy, should now be a graceful young woman, about to get married and begin her ordinary yet peaceful life.

"They're already engaged..."

Judging from the suffix of the other person's name, he is probably a nobleman, perhaps owning several manors and dozens of servants. This is the ultimate happiness in the eyes of ordinary people.

Dargo gently stroked the smooth, delicate paper with his fingers, feeling its ordinary texture, devoid of any magical fluctuations.

For the first time, the thought of going home to visit my family arose in my mind.

It's not about nostalgia, but about saying goodbye.

Now he is moving forward faster and faster, and the leap in his level of life is making him further and further away from ordinary people.

That home, that territory, has become more and more like a distant dream to him, a memory of a past life.

Dago was worried that one day he would lose all desire to turn back and completely sever this connection.

If that happens, he will become a being belonging entirely to the sky and stars, no longer belonging to the earth.

"We'll consider it after the gathering of geniuses is over."

Dago made a decision.

The pursuit of truth cannot tolerate too much mundane triviality; having embarked on this path, one must endure the inevitable solitude.

Dago carefully kept the two letters, storing them separately, as they represented his remaining social connections and family ties.

Then, with a wave of his hand, a ball of eerie blue flame swept across the table, clearing away the remaining letters and turning all the irrelevant information into nothingness.

Then he took out the three things Undine had given him.

That bottle of "Abyssal Howl" potion, that piece of "Void Worm Molting Skin," and that magical box full of mechanical beauty.

After carefully studying "Melville's Amazing Box," I tried to penetrate the meshing gears with my mental energy, but was repelled by a slippery, strange force field.

The mystery left by Melville was indeed not so easy to solve; it was a product of a different set of rules.

Dargo shook his head, finding nothing, and then focused his remaining attention on two other potions that could increase soul power.

These are real resources, a source of strength.

Dago took both potions one by one.

First, there was that bottle of black "Abyssal Howl".

The medicine was icy cold upon entering the mouth, as if one had swallowed a mouthful of liquid ice.

Immediately afterwards, a violent mental storm exploded in his mental space, and countless mournful howls echoed in his ears, trying to tear apart his soul's defenses.

Dago remained calm and focused, using the Gray Sun Meditation Technique to gradually crush, devour, and assimilate the violent energy.

Next up is the "Void Worm Molting". This thing tastes like chewing on a piece of dried rubber that has been sitting for a long time, with a musty, earthy smell.

But as he swallowed, a warm, powerful force rose up, rapidly repairing the cracks in his soul caused by the impact, and reinforcing and widening them.

It was similar to his previous experience of taking several magical potions that could increase his soul power, but it was more intense and profound.

He closed his eyes, as if he could hear the sound of his soul "growing".

That wasn't the sound of plants sprouting from the soil, but the roar of metal cooling and rocks being reassembled.

His mental strength was being forcibly pushed to its limit, and his sensory tentacles were extending into a more distant and microscopic world.

This is the pain of evolution, and also the pleasure of power.