Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

In a fleeting moment of thought, Dago found himself in a vast, golden desert.

There was no one around, and overhead was a blazing sun that was so bright it was blinding.

He wandered aimlessly through the desert, not knowing where he should go.

Dago felt parched, his throat felt like it was on fire, and his body was utterly exhausted.

This kind of fatigue is illogical.

As a formal wizard, his physique was far beyond that of ordinary people, and his ability to retain water was comparable to that of drought-resistant creatures in the desert.

But this yellow sand seems to be stripping him of his moisture and vitality from a conceptual level.

The cells are wailing, the soul is drying up.

Every step taken feels like a fight against the world's rules of rejection.

Just as Dago was about to collapse from exhaustion...

His consciousness began to blur, and black noise appeared at the edge of his vision.

That's a sign that your mental energy has been pushed to its limit.

Suddenly, a large, broad hand reached out from behind him and steadily supported his swaying body.

There are no energy fluctuations.

There were no spatial ripples.

This hand appeared abruptly yet naturally, as if it were part of the laws of the world.

Dago turned his head with difficulty and, in the blinding sunlight, saw a tall, thin figure wearing a large gray robe.

The other person was wearing a hood, so their face was not visible.

Dago had no idea where or when this person had appeared.

For a very long time, he was the only one walking in this desert.

This guy seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

Or perhaps he had been silently following behind him all along, but he hadn't noticed.

But at this point, Dargo didn't have the energy to think about these things.

The instinct for survival overwhelmed the wizard's desire to explore.

"Thanks."

Dago managed to steady himself. The hand that was transmitting power was not only a source of strength, but also a sense of "stability" and order.

The gray-robed man who supported him did not speak.

A gentle yet slightly admiring gaze fell upon him from beneath the hood.

"After all this time... you're still the first person to get here."

It was an unusually youthful voice, clear and bright, carrying a sense of returning to simplicity after seeing through the vicissitudes of life.

Dago felt a sense of familiarity, as if he had heard it somewhere before.

But in the current environment, this sound could only remind him of an oasis.

That is the yearning for life, the primal impulse for "existence".

"Is there any water?"

Dago's chapped lips moved slightly, and a hissing sound came from his throat, like a bellows being pulled.

He finally couldn't help but speak, his voice so weak that he could barely hear it himself.

The man in the gray robe thought for a moment.

He then asked, "If there's no water, is something else acceptable?"

His brain, seemingly encased in rusted metal, was still working, pondering the meaning of the gray-robed man's words.

The gray-robed man in front of him had already released his grip on Dago's hand and taken two steps to the side.

His steps were light, leaving no footprints in the sand.

He pulled something out of his pocket.

Slowly, it sank into the soft yellow sand beneath its feet.

Then, an unbelievable scene unfolded, violating the ironclad rule of plant growth cycles.

Dago watched helplessly as the flat expanse of yellow sand began to rise.

Then a golden sapling sprouted from the gravel and grew rapidly.

Time seemed to be fast-forwarded at that moment.

In the blink of an eye, it grew into a lush, golden tree.

The tree was entirely golden, as if it were made entirely of gold.

Every branch and every leaf was dazzlingly golden and incomparably magnificent.

Yet it lacks any metallic coldness, instead radiating a vibrant life force.

Only two fruits grew on the golden tree, and they were also golden in color.

They hung heavily on the branches, even gleaming with a golden sheen.

"alright."

The man in the gray robe clapped his hands and made a satisfied sound.

It was as if a trivial work of art had just been completed.

Then, standing on tiptoe, she carefully picked the two golden fruits from the golden tree.

The movements were gentle, as if afraid of disturbing the sleeping spirit within the fruit.

He casually handed one to Dago.

"Eat up, it tastes good."

His tone was as relaxed as if he were sharing afternoon tea in his neighbor's backyard.

It seemed that Dago was somewhat hesitant.

That's a wizard's instinctive wariness of the unknown: there's no such thing as a free lunch, especially not a golden one.

The gray-robed man picked up his own golden fruit, put it to his mouth, and took a crunchy bite.

The crisp sound echoed through the desolate desert.

A rich aroma wafts out along with the golden juice.

That's not just any fruity aroma; it's an "enticement for the soul."

Dago smelled the scent, and his Adam's apple bobbed violently.

He could no longer resist and took a big bite of the golden fruit in his hand.

Without any obstruction, the moment the peel burst open, a massive torrent of energy erupted.

The fresh, sweet juice quickly moistened Dago's mouth like a clear spring.

Despite its golden texture and luster, it tastes a thousand times better than real fruit.

That is the tangible experience of "satisfaction" of the soul.

When Dago had completely eaten the apple, leaving only an inedible golden core.

He has fully recovered.

Physical strength, mental strength, everything.

"call--"

Dago, now revitalized, let out a long sigh of relief.

Dago couldn't wait to run to the shade of the golden tree.

This is the only sanctuary, shielded from the radiation of that malevolent sun.

He plopped down on the soft, yellow sand and glanced at the golden fruit pit in his hand.

The teeth marks were still visible on it, proving that what had just happened was not an illusion.

Then he looked at the gray-robed man who had been quietly watching him.

The figure gradually became clearer in his perception, overlapping with a certain existence in his memory.

A strange light suddenly shone in his eyes.

He addressed the grey-robed man, "Thank you for the golden fruit, Melville."

Dago pronounced the name word by word.

His tone was firm, without the slightest hesitation.

Yes, once his brain started working again, he finally remembered why the gray-robed man's voice sounded familiar.

Because he had heard it countless times, every time he used "Melville's Dream Sphere"!

That is the spiritual imprint of the creator remaining within the jewel.

As for where he is now

Dago looked around at the unreal desert and sky.

It must be in the spirit world or a dream.

It's like the dream of inheritance experienced when fusing with "Desperate Winter Dragon".

That's a projection from the depths of the subconscious, a communication at the level of the soul.

He had seen the ancient overlord who wielded frost and despair in his dreams in the spirit world.

What a magnificent and terrifying existence that was.

So it's not unusual to quench your thirst in the desert with a fruit from a golden fruit tree.