Ancient Wizards: A Little Progress Every Day

Inside the Arcane Workshop, this dagger is labeled "A Cursed Masterpiece".

The name of the forger has long been washed away by time. It was retrieved from a sunken ancient ruin. Beneath its rusty appearance, there is a will that is extremely eager for blood.

When Farin took him out of the secret vault, he signed a contract that would make him spend the rest of his life paying off the debt.

This was his trump card, which he originally intended to use in the final battle to cut through Michael's shield or pierce Gale's heart.

But he miscalculated.

It could even be described as a huge, ironic misjudgment.

The "Forbidden Blade" was forced to be drawn in the second round.

Ironically, the attack that sacrificed most of his life essence only resulted in a gash less than ten centimeters long in his opponent's ribs.

At this moment, the fleshy buds at the opening were writhing and intertwining wildly.

Like a group of hardworking white larvae, they filled the wound with their breath, leaving only a light pink tender mark.

Dago caught the message stone that was thrown to him with one hand, his fingertips tracing the cold surface of the stone.

His grey eyes were fixed on Farin's trembling hands, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly: "What's the name of this magical artifact?"

"Jergani's jealousy...we'll have a proper talk about that another time."

Farin's voice was like two rough pieces of sandpaper rubbing together, each word accompanied by a spasm in his lungs.

He looked truly exhausted; his voice had become incredibly hoarse. After uttering a few polite words, he hurriedly left the scene.

That silhouette exuded a desolate air, as if a hero had lost his will to live.

Dago slowly stepped down from the platform, and the stone pillars beneath his feet trembled violently.

With the clicking of the gears, the stone pillar rose again, lifting him closer to the sky.

The wind whipped his robes, making them flutter loudly.

Above his head, the gray cloud that was his spiritual energy phenomenon had now expanded to a terrifying extent.

Layer upon layer, thick as lead, they almost obscured half of the sky above the stone pillars.

The clouds surged and rolled, creating an astonishing sight.

However, a barely perceptible shadow crossed Dago's eyes as he stood at the center of this massive spectacle.

Such a vast accumulation, such a terrifying spiritual foundation.

If it were anyone else, even someone of mediocre talent, their true spirit's phantom should have been reflected in the clouds by now.

But his gray cloud was still just a cloud.

Chaotic, heavy, and lifeless, there was no sign that it would reveal any unique characteristics.

"Soul characteristics..."

Dago sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and shut out the noise and the raging wind from outside his mental barrier.

In the wizarding world, the soul is not an ethereal concept, but a high-dimensional substance that can be observed and measured.

It is the carrier of consciousness, and the lever that moves the rules.

The so-called soul characteristics are the fulcrum of this lever, the unique imprint left on the soul level by the wizard's personal will and the school of magic he practices.

When mental energy is condensed to the point of steel and soul energy is as vast as the sea, a wizard can use these markings as a mold to cast his own "true spirit".

Once the "True Spirit" is forged, it represents a qualitative leap from "the one who borrows fire" to "the one who controls fire," marking the first leap in the level of life.

This is also the main reason why ancient wizards would regard the four rings as the first watershed, extending the distinction between "formal" and "miraculous".

"What exactly does my soul look like?"

Dago began practicing the Gray Sun Meditation Method.

The complex tendrils of thought begin to converge, and the restless emotions are peeled away layer by layer.

He entered a deep meditative state of "winter stillness".

The world rapidly faded in his perception.

The clamor of the wind faded away, the tactile sensation of the stone pillar disappeared, and even the sound of his own heartbeat was blocked out.

His consciousness seemed to transform into a heavy lead weight, sinking into an absolutely still, icy lake.

sink.

It continues to sink.

Passing through the superficial clutter of thought, overcoming the subconscious undercurrents, it plunges into the deepest recesses of the soul.

Gradually, in the endless darkness and deep cold, a light appeared "before" Dago's eyes.

It was a strange and complex ball of light, suspended at the bottom of the Lake of Souls, emitting a faint, cold glow.

He struggled to paddle in the "lake," slowly approaching the light.

As the distance closes, a sense of intimacy arises spontaneously, like a wanderer returning home or an infant returning to the womb.

That was "himself".

Dago extended the tendrils of his consciousness and gently "embraced" the ball of light into his arms.

boom!

In an instant, countless fragmented streams of information exploded in his consciousness.

There is no logic, no timeline, only a torrent of pure emotions and images.

That was the weariness he felt from struggling to make a living on Earth, and the loneliness he felt as he typed on the keyboard alone late at night.

Immediately afterwards, the image shattered and then reformed.

The resentment he felt as his predecessor, "Dago," was met with indifference in the wizard's tower was expressed in his silent roar from the pain on the experimental table.

It was a gloomy, obsessive, and slightly self-deprecating gray memory.

But this is not all.

Deep within the ball of light, in its gray core, lurks a chilling, eerie blue.

That was the afterimage of a giant beast.

It has no specific form; it is merely a pure, ancient, and tyrannical fragment of will.

It roars, it yearns for destruction, it emanates a chilling despair capable of freezing the soul.

Desperate Winter Dragon, Behemoth.

Three completely different wills, like three different metals, were forcibly fused together.

They are entangled and repulsive, yet under the pressure of some external force, they barely maintain a fragile balance.

"Is it because my soul... is too complex?"

A sudden realization dawned on Dago, like a bolt of lightning striking the night sky.

The soul is about purity and unity.

Only purity can lead to resilience; only unity can lead to sublimation.

His soul was like a piece of porcelain that had been repaired and pieced together many times.

The initial fusion at the beginning of his transmigration caused his soul, as an outsider, to become entangled with the remnant soul of his predecessor, directly lowering the purity of his soul and blocking the conventional path to becoming a formal wizard.

That's the foundation being tilted.

Then, in pursuit of power, he "recklessly" introduced Beheilite's bloodline.

That ancient fragment of will, like a drop of ink falling into clear water, brought immense power but also caused a second "contamination" of the soul.

"If this problem isn't solved..."

"Becoming a formal wizard might be the end."

Dago's mood sank to rock bottom.

He looked at the mottled, fragmented ball of light and felt an unprecedented sense of unease.

It's not as simple as just removing impurities.

This is similar to trying to completely separate the milk and coffee in a cup of already mixed coffee and milk.

The slightest mistake could result in the disintegration of the soul and the loss of consciousness.

"Perhaps the answer lies in Isidore's legacy? Or perhaps in Undine..."

Dago forcibly suppressed the anxiety in his heart.

Now is not the time to hesitate; at least, his current combat strength is enough to crush those of the same level.

First, secure the top spot and obtain that legendary inheritance; perhaps then everything will turn around.

He prepared to exit meditation and rethink his next battle strategy.

Just then—

"Buzz—"

A strange tremor pierced through the barrier between the material and spiritual realms without warning.

It doesn't feel like sound; it's more like a ripple that acts directly on the level of rules.

This shockwave ignored Dago's mental defenses and the absolute focus of [Winter Silence], reaching deep into his soul.

It was as if an invisible hand had roughly scooped his consciousness up from the bottom of the lake of his soul and hurled it back into reality.

Dago suddenly opened his eyes.

His blue pupils contracted sharply, his body tensed instinctively, and he entered the highest level of combat readiness.

He was still wondering what kind of power could cause such a terrifying soul resonance.

Even his self-protection mechanisms during deep meditation completely failed?

However, when his gaze focused and he saw the scene before him clearly, all his doubts instantly turned into deep shock.