Wizard: My skills can be upgraded indefinitely.

If you could only read one fantasy novel in your life, it would probably be "The Wizard: My Skills Can Break Through Infinitely".

The muffled sound of the stone door of the side hall closing behind us had not yet dissipated.

Ian stopped at the fork in the road.

The three roads ahead are unlike any of the previous forks in the road.

There were no scratches, no marks, only an almost eerie "cleanliness".

The dark blue glow on the corridor walls became unusually even here.

So uniform...like mirrors that have been polished smooth.

Gaga perched on Ian's shoulder, its feathers unconsciously ruffling slightly.

"Ian..."

The black raven's voice was low, its heterochromatic eyes fixed on the front, a ghostly light flickering deep within its pupils.

"Something's not right here."

"Something's not right?"

"They're imitating me..."

The little claws of the squeaky bird gripped the fabric of the wizard's robe tightly.

"As I moved, the shadow on the wall moved too, but its trajectory... was half a beat slower than I could remember."

Ian's eyes narrowed.

He slowly raised his right hand, spread his five fingers, and made a simple fist.

His eyes were fixed on the wall.

The shadow, illuminated by the dim blue light, also raised its "hand," with its five fingers spread.

Then, half a second after Ian clenched his fist, he slowly closed it.

This is not a normal reflection.

It's more like... a delayed "copy".

"retreat."

Without hesitation, Ian took a step back.

But it was too late.

The ground beneath my feet softened silently, as if I had stepped into a sticky, viscous substance.

The uniform, dark blue light on the surrounding walls suddenly brightened.

Peeling off from the wall surface and floating, it transforms into countless broken mirrors of varying sizes.

They floated in mid-air, slowly rotating.

Ian's gaze was drawn to the nearest mirror.

In the mirror.

It was him.

He was wearing a cheap cotton T-shirt that had been washed out and was faded, with a frayed collar and oil stains on the cuffs.

His hair was greasy and stuck to his forehead, his chin was covered in bluish stubble, and his eyes were as empty as a dead man's.

The image crashed into my consciousness...

Ian's vision blurred, and he found himself sitting in a creaky old chair.

In front of me was a wooden table with peeling paint, piled high with instant noodle containers, braised beef, pickled cabbage, spicy pork ribs...

The stench of various cheap seasoning powders mingled together, filling the nostrils with the cloying sweetness of industrial fragrances and the pungent smell of preservatives.

The set of past exam papers for postgraduate entrance exams, spread out on the right, is covered with countless red crosses, resembling wounds.

When I touched the edge of the book, my fingers felt the rough texture of cheap recycled paper, and my fingertips were stained with black ink.

The buzzing of an old air conditioner unit came from outside the window, like a saw pulling back and forth in my brain.

The hot air, mixed with the smell of oil from the barbecue stalls downstairs, seeped in through the window cracks and clung to my skin like an oily film that I couldn't wash off.

Ian touched his back; his T-shirt was soaked with sweat and stuck stickily to his skin.

The lower back pain caused by prolonged sitting spreads from the tailbone all the way to the shoulder blades.

Such vivid and distant memories are impacting my mind...

Graduate school entrance exams, jobs, mortgage payments, marriage, childbirth... a production line with a visible end.

Then, on a medical examination report, he saw the words "early stage cancer" and lay in a cheap rental room waiting to die.

Perhaps, even the body will have to wait for the landlord to discover it.

asphyxia.

It's like being pushed to the bottom of murky water; you can see the light on the surface, but you can never float to the top.

The "Ian" in the mirror slowly raised his head.

My gaze pierced through the mirror and met his eyes.

The lips opened and closed silently.

"This is the real you..."

The sound didn't enter through the ears; it resounded directly from the depths of consciousness.

Weak, mediocre, destined to be forgotten.

Ian's heart skipped a beat.

The suffocating feeling brought on by mediocrity is like a cold tide washing over your head.

But the next second, he bit his tongue hard.

The rusty taste lingered in my mouth, and the stinging sensation brought a brief moment of clarity.

"wrong."

He muttered to himself, his voice unusually clear in the deathly silent Hall of Mirrors.

"When I traveled through time... it was an explosion, it was flames, not this kind of slow death."

The voice just fell.

All the mirrors around the room trembled simultaneously.

……

Ian suddenly found himself nailed to the altar.

Seven dark red bone blades pierced through his body from different angles.

Shoulders, knees, wrists, and finally, the last one pierces the coccyx, going up the spine and revealing its sharp edge at the cervical vertebrae.

"Ugh...!"

pain!

An indescribable, excruciating pain relentlessly pierced his consciousness.

He could clearly feel the coldness of the bone blades spreading through his body; each one precisely avoided vital points, yet inflicted maximum pain.

Blood flowed from the wound, warm and viscous, dripping onto the cursed runes carved all over the surface of the altar.

The runes glowed with a dark red light, like living worms crawling under the skin.

Bazar's figure appeared at the edge of his line of sight.

He grinned, revealing teeth stained with blood.

Rough fingers pinched his chin, forcing him to lift his head.

"Look carefully."

Bazar held a dark red ceremonial dagger in his other hand, the blade covered with fine barbs.

"This is how you'll die."

The dagger was pressed against his chest.

The sensation of the knife tip piercing the skin was as clear as dissecting oneself.

Cut by cut... the serrated blade slowly sawed through the flesh.

"Your blood is very special."

Bazar licked his lips, his eyes filled with greed.

"The abyss favors resilient souls. We will nurture you, for ten years, twenty years..."

Until your blood runs dry, and your soul is extracted and forged into a vengeful spirit that howls eternally.

Ian tried to roar, but his throat was blocked by the bone blade, and he could only make a "hoarse" sound.

His eyes were bloodshot from the excruciating pain and despair.

Loss of consciousness...

He found himself bound to a pale white skeleton once again.

Silas the Deathspeaker stood before him, ghostly flames burning silently beneath his hood.

"You killed Theodore."

Silas's voice was as cold as a corpse beneath the frozen ground.

"The Cursed Undead Squad has been wiped out; the Wither Council needs to pay compensation."

The withered, bony fingers were raised, and a thin, grayish-green needle materialized at the fingertips.

"Soul separation occurs in three stages."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a thin needle pierced Ian's forehead.

It felt like a cold chisel being driven into the temple, slowly prying open the skull.

"Hmm..."

Consciousness was torn apart, and memories were turned and ripped apart like pages of a book.

Childhood memories, explosions during time travel, every battle in the wizarding world...

Everything was exposed and freely browsed.

"The first stage is stripping away the surface consciousness," Silas explained calmly.

"You will retain all your senses, but lose control of your body, like a living soul trapped in a corpse."

Ian's eyes can still move.

He watched as Silas reached for his chest, his fingers piercing like knives, grasping his beating heart.

Squeeze it hard.

The muffled sound of a heart bursting echoed in my chest.

Blood rushes back into the lungs, and the feeling of suffocation and impending death strikes simultaneously.

His soul was still trapped inside his body, and he felt his body getting colder and stiffer, as if sinking into ice water.

"The second stage involves detaching from emotions and memories."

Silas pulled out a second, thicker, grayish-green needle and plunged it into his chest.

This time it's not about tearing the soul apart, it's about "detachment".

Family, friendship, fear, anger...

All emotions were pulled out of the soul one by one, like threads.

With each strand he pulls out, he loses a portion of his ability to "feel".

Remember everything, but lose the ability to "feel".

Ian remembers Gaga, but no longer finds it cute.

I remember Ariel, but the trust for cooperation is gone.

The hatred of the Crimson Court is remembered, but the anger is gone.

……

Everything became a dry, lifeless record.

"The third stage: refining the cursed core."

Silas pulled the fragmented soul from the corpse.

The soul is no longer whole.

Like tearing apart a blood-stained, shredded wad of cotton, the threads of the soul break one by one, and with each broken thread, a piece of consciousness is missing.

Finally, it was stuffed into a pale white skull.

The skull's eye sockets glowed with eerie green soul fire.

Ian's last consciousness was trapped inside this skull.

He can see the outside world and hear sounds, but he can never speak or move.

Watching it day after day...

Until one day it was used as a medium for a curse, and was completely annihilated in agony.

"This...is not my future!"

An angry voice echoed in the void.

On the continent of Aran, Ian stood in the center of the battle formation, his star bloodline burning, his body radiating starlight like a god.

But next second.

Seven jet-black beams of destructive light shot in from different directions, piercing through his body.

pain!

The star bloodline was forcibly torn apart, and the starlight within the body was leaking out wildly, like a deflated balloon.

The shield shattered like glass, and flesh vaporized in the beam of light.

He turned his head and looked towards a certain spot in the void, the direction Ian's soul was connected to.

His lips moved slightly, "I'm sorry."

Then the entire body exploded, and the starlight went out like fireworks.

At the other end of the soul connection, Ian's own soul, like porcelain struck by a heavy hammer, began to crack from the inside out.

Dense, spiderweb-like cracks spread throughout the core of the soul.

It's not just physical pain, but also an "incompleteness" on an existential level.

It's as if a part of one's life has been forcibly ripped out, leaving behind a black hole that bleeds forever.

Images of the continent of Aran flickered and fragmented in my consciousness, like burnt film.

Li Xing knelt on the ground, blood seeping from his seven orifices, his hands tightly clutching his head.

The "crack" sound of the soul disintegrating echoed in the skull; with each sound, a piece of consciousness was lost.

The Mirror Demon's whispers echoed simultaneously in all the mirrors.

"These are all part of your future."

Countless voices overlapped to create a devastating chorus.

"Sacrificed by the Crimson Court...soul extracted by the Withering Council...soul incomplete due to death in the projected world..."

"Choose one."

"No matter which path you take, you can't escape it."

"There's no escaping it."

"There's no escaping it..."

The sound waves echoed in the void, like a hammer constantly striking the sea of ​​the mind.

The pale golden crystalline light points spun wildly, the [Soul Devouring] property operating at full power, devouring the invading emotions of despair.

But there are too many.

The three layers of death fear surged in like a tidal wave; every scene was terrifyingly realistic, and every pain was precisely replicated.

Ian grunted, knelt on one knee, and veins bulged on his forehead.

Sweat soaked through his dark gray robe, spreading dark water stains on the ground.

He gritted his teeth and squeezed out each word from between his teeth.

"These things... could indeed happen."

Acknowledge the reality of fear.

But I won't accept it.

"These things... could indeed happen."

Acknowledge the reality of fear.

But I won't accept it.

He raised his head, and deep in his eyes, the pale golden light did not dim; instead, it became more solid and intense under the wash of despair.

"The fear is real..."

But fate is not predetermined.

The words fell.

All the mirrors suddenly stopped.

Then, Ian shifted his gaze again.

He stood atop a majestic wizard's tower.

She wore a dark purple robe inlaid with star and abyss patterns, and her long hair moved without wind.

He could sense it...

power.

An all-powerful force flows ceaselessly within the body.

The spiritual sea was no longer a pale golden speck of light, but a dazzling galaxy, each star containing destructive power.

Raise your hand, fingers loosely clenched.

The mountains thousands of miles away collapsed silently, turning into dust.

Another handshake.

The clouds in the sky were forcibly torn off and refined into pure energy liquid, which was poured into the palm of the hand like a waterfall.

"This is... a level four wizard!"

He simply stood there, and the rules around him spontaneously submitted.

It can "see" the texture of space, "hear" the flow of time, and "touch" the threads of fate.

Beneath his feet lay thousands of prostrate wizards.

Bazar knelt at the bottom of the steps, his forehead pressed against the ground, trembling as he offered a beating heart.

"Master, these are the offerings you requested."

Silas stood a little distance away, his hood pulled low, the ghostly fire as faint as a candle flickering in the wind.

"The Withered Council worships you as supreme, and begs only for a breath of life from you."

The Morning Star Wizard of the Silver Ring stood opposite, his expression complex, before finally bowing in respect.

"On the continent of Ian, you are the supreme ruler."

The sea creatures of the Tide Society, the thunder mages of the Storm Temple, the leaders of all the forces on the outer islands...

A sea of ​​black people knelt down.

The look in their eyes when they looked up was not one of respect, but of fear, of humility, of the instinctive trembling that comes with facing absolute power.

The gifts of the abyss whispered in my ear...

"Accept me, embrace me..."

You will become the master of this world.

All enemies, all obstacles, can be destroyed with a flick of the finger; the supreme legacy of the wizarding world unfolds before your eyes.

Give us the coordinates of the projected world, and we'll give you true knowledge.

What are the Protoss ruins compared to the road that leads straight to the Morning Star? We possess a more complete and powerful path.

The path of the strongest extends beneath your feet.

Sever all ties—family, friends, promises… they are all burdens.

Loneliness is the badge of the strong; only by abandoning everything can one reach the other side of truth.

In the mirror, the "self" standing at the pinnacle of power turns around and looks at Ian in reality.

A seductive smile curved at the corners of her lips.

"Simply nod, and the power is yours."

"You can easily crush Bazar, casually shatter Silas, and even the Morning Star Wizard of the Silver Ring must bow before you."

"No one can threaten you anymore, and no fate can bind you anymore."

Invincible power...within reach.

Ian looked quietly at himself in the mirror.

That version of myself standing at the pinnacle of power, worshipped by thousands.

Then he smiled.

You've got one thing wrong.

Ian spoke slowly, and a faint golden light suddenly burst forth in his eyes.

"My greatest desire... has never been power itself."

He lowered his hand and looked directly into his own eyes in the mirror.

"I just... want to live freely."

Ian's expression froze in the mirror.

The alluring curve of her lips froze at the corner of her mouth, and for the first time, a crack appeared in her eyes.

"What...what did you say?"

"I said."

Ian took a step forward.

With a crack, the mirror beneath my feet split open, revealing fine cracks.

"All the paths you show are cages."

"And I'm leaving..."

He raised his right hand, spread his fingers, and faced his reflection in the mirror.

"It is the path to breaking down all cages."