Chapter 462: Comfortable Slumber and a New Spell

After leaving the Spell Hall’s training room, Gao De returned to Haiyin Orphanage.

The orphanage lacked clothing and food, but not rooms.

In addition, during this period, the association’s registration and crew recruitment efforts were intertwined, and Gao De, tired of traveling back and forth between two locations, decided to settle down at the Ronggu Academy instead.

Just back, Aisha and Doctor Danika had already knocked and entered.

“I’ve drafted the apprentice contract—take a look,” Aisha handed over a sheet of parchment.

If you’re going to play a part, play it fully: after registration and bylaws, a contract template was necessary.

But Gao De didn’t bother himself further—he left the entire matter to Doctor Danika and Aisha.

It was also a way to test Aisha’s abilities.

Though he knew she’d been raised in royal education, fluent in governance, and exceptionally skilled in bureaucratic formalities and document formats, knowing was one thing—witnessing was another.

“Party A (The Tidewhisper Children’s Rescue Association) pledges to provide crop cultivation training to Party B (orphans of Haiyin Orphanage); Party B must serve Party A’s overseas plantations for ten years, during which they shall receive meals, lodging, basic medical care, and a weekly subsidy of one silver dragon coin.”

A single glance revealed thoroughness—no trace of a forged contract meant to satisfy Lagos’s official scrutiny; it looked more like a genuine, formal agreement.

“Thank you,” Gao De said.

“It’s nothing,” Aisha replied honestly—such a document, once the general requirements and norms were known, took her mere minutes to draft.

“How’s the crew recruitment going?” Gao De asked, setting the document aside.

“As you requested, we focused on recruiting loyal, discreet crew members, especially the captain, so we limited our search to Cornwall Village and Brite Village—two isolated fishing communities where fishermen are easier to bind with loyalty.”

“In the end, we found an experienced old captain—more importantly, he was once a follower of the Tidewhisper Sect, but after his merchant fleet went bankrupt and he lost his job, he abandoned the faith,” Doctor Danika reported methodically.

Damn, he’s got a bit of the ancient folk spirit—faith, when useful, you believe; when not, you don’t.

Gao De mentally scoffed.

“Did he agree to a long-term employment contract?” Gao De confirmed.

In his view, while selecting the right target group mattered, true binding force came from long-term contracts—stipulating heavy breach penalties to enforce loyalty through economic means.

Not everyone was like him, alone and unburdened, barefoot and unafraid of shoes—once signed, if they didn’t want to stay, they could just walk away.

“We offered him a five-year contract—he agreed immediately without asking for anything extra,” Doctor Danika explained: “After the Spirit-Marrow Fever, many lost their jobs, so...”

So they had no choice—they had to feed their families.

“The captain is from Cornwall Village, so we recruited the first and second mates from Brite Village,” Aisha added: “Then we had them recommend other crew members through their personal networks.”

“Our salary and benefits aren’t low, and given Lagos’s current economic depression, long-term contracts are a form of security for them—it went smoothly.”

“We’ve recruited about seven or eight out of ten—we just need everyone to get familiar, prepare, and once your purchased supplies arrive, we can set sail.”

Gao De nodded slightly.

That’s the advantage of picking the right people—throughout the entire process, aside from funding, he barely had to manage the countless minor details; Aisha, Doctor Danika, and Harland handled everything.

He paused, looked up at Doctor Danika, and changed the subject: “Doctor Danika, can your [Healing Spell] be taught to others? If so, I’d like to purchase its spell formula.”

This wasn’t a sudden thought.

When he first saw Doctor Danika cast [Healing Spell] in Marko District, Gao De had already desired its formula.

Leaving aside its so-called rare spell title, [Healing Spell] was one of the few healing spells among low-tier transmutation spells—its broad applicability had made him deeply eager for it.

Out on the road, who could guarantee they’d never get hurt?

After joining the Sea Sentinels, injuries were inevitable—mastering such a spell was essential.

Not to mention, he now had a “boss” to fight.

Aldrich was a second-tier mage; even with perfect timing, terrain, and advantage, Gao De had no confidence in a sure victory.

Before such a battle, mastering [Healing Spell] would be another trump card.

But back then, he and Doctor Danika were complete strangers.

In that situation, asking to buy a spell formula would be extremely impolite—should he meet a temperamental mage, it could even make an enemy.

But now, they had some connection—he could speak plainly.

Doctor Danika considered, then said: “[Healing Spell] is a family spell—traditionally, it cannot be passed outside.”

“But,” she said with remarkable openness, “the Western Duchy no longer exists, let alone my family—these rules no longer need to be upheld.”

“Please wait a moment.”

With that, Doctor Danika stepped out.

Half a quarter-hour later, she returned solemnly, carrying a yellowed, ancient-looking tome.

“When I fled my family, I hadn’t yet mastered this spell, so I took the formula along.”

“Good thing I did—after all this time, I could still write out the spell model, but the potion recipe? I’d never remember it,” she said, handing the book to Gao De with self-deprecation.

Once a spell model is successfully constructed, it endures in the Spell Star Sea and can be easily replicated.

But the corresponding spell potion—if not deliberately recorded—becomes hard to recall over time.

For a mage like Doctor Danika, once of noble birth, spell potions were always pre-made; she never needed to gather raw materials or mix them herself—reproducing the exact recipe would have been impossible.

Gao De took the book and pulled out coins from his pocket.

A first-tier spell formula was worth about 25 gold; [Healing Spell], being especially rare, could easily fetch 40 gold.

But Doctor Danika stopped his hand: “Sir, compared to a spell formula, a kind heart is the most precious thing. You’ve helped these children—I don’t know how to thank you. This formula? I no longer need it.”

Gao De looked at Doctor Danika.

She smiled sincerely.

“Thank you,” he said, and didn’t press further.

“Five elderberry leaves, one teaspoon of dried golden cup petal powder, five crystals of decayed sea salt...”

Though he’d just returned, to master [Healing Spell] before facing the “boss,” Gao De immediately left the orphanage and headed straight for the city center.

The largest several magic-material shops in Lagos were all located there—gathering the main and auxiliary ingredients for [Healing Spell]’s potion should be no problem.

Indeed, at the first shop, he bought both main ingredients and four of the five auxiliary ones—only the last, Wind-Rolling Grass Condensate, was out of stock.

But Wind-Rolling Grass Condensate wasn’t rare, so he easily bought it at the second magic-material shop.

Total cost: 39 gold coins.

—Rare spells are rare in their essence, so their formulas carry a premium, but the main and auxiliary ingredients for their potions remain ordinary and don’t inflate in price.

Returning fully loaded, he “cooked” all the materials together—and a small vial of emerald-green potion was freshly brewed.

Before leaving Dun City, Gao De had acquired three new spell formulas: [Disguise], [Comfortable Slumber], and [Rapid Digging].

After nearly two weeks away, he had already successfully constructed the spell models for [Disguise] and [Comfortable Slumber].

[Rapid Digging] still needed more refinement.

Now, Gao De decided to “abandon halfway”—temporarily set aside the unmastered [Rapid Digging] and turn to [Healing Spell].

Notably, what Gao De had originally treated as a potent, side-effect-free sleeping pill—[Comfortable Slumber]—after being enhanced by Wind Spirit Moon Shadow, gave him a pleasant surprise:

[Comfortable Slumber+] (Necromancy, Tier 1):

You may cast this spell just before resting. When affected, the target enjoys a tranquil, comfortable night’s sleep.

Bonus: While in comfortable sleep, the target’s mana recovery rate is significantly increased—each hour of comfortable sleep grants the equivalent of 1.5 hours of normal sleep’s mana restoration.

Instantly upgraded from an ordinary first-tier spell into a minor miracle.

Aside from a few rare potions that aid mana recovery, mages mostly rely on rest to restore mana.

After excessive mana depletion, mages often collapse entirely, requiring days of proper rest to recover.

The practical value of [Comfortable Slumber+]'s bonus effect was obvious.

Especially since sleep is a long-term process—even the smallest improvement, compounded over time, becomes enormous, let alone a 1.5x boost, which is no small gain.

Hiss!

Sparks burst from the furnace like fireworks, tracing bright paths through the hot air before falling to the bottom as glowing embers.

A burly, bearded middle-aged blacksmith stared intently at the roaring furnace before him.

Within, orange flames roared wildly as a piece of lustrous copper slowly turned crimson.

Beside him, a young apprentice strained to pull the bellows with all his strength.

The powerful airflow from the bellows made the flames surge higher, raising the temperature sharply.

The air reeked of acrid heat.

Under the high temperature, the copper softened at a pace nearly imperceptible to the eye; its surface, beyond deepening red, shimmered with an odd golden glow.

The courtyard’s temperature was astonishingly high—even in the freezing Moon of Ice, sweat rolled down the foreheads of both the apprentice pulling the bellows and the blacksmith holding the hammer.

Sweat dripped onto the ground and instantly evaporated, leaving only faint damp marks.

But Gao De, observing, felt no discomfort.

He had cast [Endure Environment] on himself long ago.

After a long while, seeing the heat was right, the blacksmith carefully used specialized tongs to lift the softened copper from the furnace and placed it on a massive anvil.

The anvil’s surface was pitted and scarred—marks from countless hammer strikes.

Then he raised his hammer high—its surface engraved with runes, now faintly glowing.

The blacksmith drew a deep breath, muscles tensed, veins bulging, and brought the hammer down with a whooshing sound, striking the copper with full force.

Each blow rang out with a heavy, resonant clang, echoing through the courtyard.

His sweat splashed onto the furnace’s edge, rising instantly as white steam.

With every strike, the copper subtly changed shape.

Under the relentless hammering, impurities were shaken loose, falling like black dust.

Simultaneously, the copper’s internal structure grew denser, its composition more uniform.

After roughly thirty strikes, the once-soft copper had cooled slightly, its luster dimmed, no longer as malleable as at first.

The burly blacksmith swiftly returned it to the furnace, his movements seamless.

Then he straightened up, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and said to Gao De: “Sir, huītóng is inherently hard and cools quickly. As you requested, to ensure its composition is as uniform as possible—with negligible variation in impurity levels across all sections—it must be re-forged and hammered at least five times.”

Gao De nodded slightly, not surprised.

It was his own requirement.

Huītóng must be refined and hammered repeatedly until the final forging and weighing reveals not a single grain lost—that is the standard.

——This state indicates that 99 percent of impurities have been removed from the huītóng.

He did not impose this standard out of obsession; rather, it is necessary to create rune constructs.

The most important and core component of a rune construct is unquestionably the rune, the magical array.

But this does not mean other aspects are unimportant—in fact, rune constructs demand far higher material purity than any other arcane equipment.

In the old runeology system, there was a well-known theory: if the raw material is not forged enough times or lacks sufficient quality, it becomes extremely difficult to successfully create a rune construct.

Why this occurs, however, has never had a universally accepted explanation.

But in the new runeology system pioneered by He Xi, the answer is obvious.

Insufficient forging leads to differing impurity levels across different parts of the same material, resulting in variations in magic resistance.

A hair’s breadth of difference leads to a thousand-mile error—this tiny variation alone can cause the rune array to fail.

The apprentice, who had just rested a moment, once again vigorously pumped the bellows at the blacksmith’s signal.

The bellows groaned and creaked.

Flames blazed fiercely.

But as a magic-conducting material, huītóng is fundamentally different from ordinary copper or iron; it requires at least fifteen minutes to reach the next forgeable stage.

This is only for first-tier rune construct huītóng—a first-tier magic-conducting material. Higher-grade materials require even longer times to reach forgeability.

(End of Chapter)