Chapter 100: Becoming a Mage

Mage is the elegy of the talentless.

Dragons and dragonkin command elements to fulfill their desires; their magic is simple, crude, yet powerful.

Thus, whether dragon tongue, dragon language magic, or dragon breath, all possess low cost and high power—seemingly primitive magical structures, yet miracles that other races want to curse as "permission dogs."

Sorcerers, warlocks, and divine spellcasters are in essence no different.

They are all users of "external power," borrowing bloodline, higher beings, or divine authority to harness elements through pre-set templates and privileges.

They are more like users than masters of power.

They are drivers and renters, not developers or owners.

This is also the root of the bizarre growth curve of these three classes: fast early, slow mid, and unpredictable late (late-stage, any class might become godlike).

Mages are the opposite: extremely slow early, gradually accelerating mid to late (a mage's early stage is far too long).

Mage may be the only spellcaster class without innate talent or divine authority.

The authority to command elements is built through knowledge-constructed arrays; the force driving elements is magic provided by one's own spiritual power.

The principles and models of spells are studied bit by bit, constructed from scratch.

A normal spellcaster might spend months just learning cantrips; an average one-ring mage takes years to master a single spell—learn a few one-ring spells, dabble in two, and you're already over forty, facing middle-age crisis, ready to consider pension and retirement.

Theoretically, mages are the only spellcasters who don't require talent—but in practice, they've become the most cutthroat, resource-intensive path reserved for geniuses.

"I'm starting to understand—the computational load and casting difficulty of a one-ring spell is at least twenty times that of a cantrip."

Cantrips aren't hard because they aren't spells at all—they're "practice problems" to select the talented, components for higher-ring spells.

The increased difficulty doesn't mean you need twenty times the time and effort—it means you must simultaneously run twenty times the computation, knowledge deduction, and spatial imagination.

To turn imagination into reality, to wield the brush in the void, requires genuine multithreading and high computational power, and knowledge accumulation multiplied many times over.

"The ring level of a spell isn't about power—it's about difficulty. The gap between each ring might be tenfold." This was Luo Yisi's exact words, and Li En agreed.

After all, his own three-ring Holy Flame Aura was the clearest proof: its power didn't match most one-ring spells, yet its effect and mechanism were clearly extremely difficult.

Thus, how far a spellcaster can go is visible from the start; where they'll eventually stall seems predictable from the beginning.

Two-ring is the limit of ordinary intelligence; with time and luck, one might reach three-ring, but four-ring is absolutely unreachable.

Li En's talent, even with his otherworldly foundation in math and science, is limited—he's unlikely to ever touch true four-ring.

When truly facing the threshold of becoming a mage, Li En recalled his earlier clash with the three-ring mage in the slave market, and finally understood the despair the other had felt.

The fireball he'd spent his whole life crafting—the one meant to blow up a house, meant to kill ten warriors with a single blast—struck the "barbarian" head-on and did zero damage.

The magic missiles he'd hurled with rapid casting, the crystallization of years of effort, his dignity as a mage—

Were simply ignored by the "barbarian with the holy sword," even shattered by his roar.

The confusion and despair watching the barbarian stride closer, the suffocating injustice of having calculated his whole life yet being outmatched by a single roar—he hadn't died on the spot already meant his mindset was decent.

"Tch, so tragic. Even if he recovers, his Dao heart is shattered—he'll never be a mage again. Hope he's okay."

Li En isn't a saint. Though the man seemed pitiful, he only wanted to laugh—laugh loudly.

So, is there anyone without talent who can still break through to high rings?

In fact, there have always been such methods: species evolution, magic potions to compensate for innate deficiencies, borrowing external power (divine or demonic forces), embedding artifact fragments, reincarnation (possessing the body of a young mage), becoming undead—unconventional approaches can all break through talent bottlenecks.

Waiting passively for improvement is a dead end—but seeking alternative paths while still able to move might lead to success.

"I just want to become a mage—even the worst, the dumbest one."

Kuku before Li En's eyes is the best recent proof—he is a grand mage who broke through talent limits, the embodiment of seeking another path.

Excluding that extremely embarrassing final battle, he truly reached the peak of grand mage through his own effort.

"Second thought line, activate."

For Li En, this "Kuku external" is highly effective: daily use accelerates learning; during casting, it provides double computational power, double focus, double logical threads.

Li En took off his armor—he was far from capable of casting while armored; sweat had soaked his undershirt.

"Arkhasudava," Li En murmured to himself, correcting incantations and gestures, slowly building the imagined model.

Over a minute had passed; this spell, which should take one motion (one second to construct), Li En was still constructing.

Normally, this casting would have failed—focus broken—but each time Li En's attention drifted, his second thought line immediately took over, allowing the process to continue uninterrupted.

Two thought lines continuously output two streams of magic.

It was like a pattern that could only be drawn in one stroke, now being completed by two people in relay.

". rk." Li En had repeated this short incantation over a dozen times, rebuilding and refining the childish spell model stroke by stroke.

This had lost all meaning in combat.

But for Li En, it likely saved months of time—lifting him from being stuck on a single problem to nearly completing an entire exam paper!

"Dap."

Sweat dripped directly onto the ground; Li En had felt his limit at least four times, yet the warmth in his bloodline kept him going.

"Almost there."

Finally, he looked at the complex, dizzying spell model before him (he was terrible), and smiled.

The infused magic overflowed; magic consumption exceeded three-ring, casting time stretched so long everyone doubted he was chanting a five-ring spell—but in the end, Li En completed this spell, this spell he built from zero.

"Longstrider!"

Finally, Li En spoke the word.

A faint white light covered his feet; the glow of magic confirmed it was real—the caster had twisted reality with his will.

He took a light step, feeling noticeably easier, then tried to run—step after step.

"Faster… by twenty percent?"

Still nowhere near the near-doubling speed of speed boots, even below the standard 3m/s boost—but Li En was already satisfied.

He felt the magic's feedback, sensed his elemental control and magic had surged dramatically.

If this wasn't an illusion, then he had truly become a mage.

【Synchronization rate increased 10%, satisfaction increased 20%】

Kuku immediately expressed celebration.

No need to doubt—Li En had taken this step.

【Obtained class: Mage (One-Ring).】

【Obtained Magic Perception (passive), Casting Focus (Mage), Elemental Affinity.】

After becoming a formal mage, Li En received everything a mage should have.

"Success," Li En breathed deeply and smiled.

"Really succeeded?" Even the all-powerful magic girl showed utter disbelief.

How could he succeed? How could such clumsy casting work? This wasn't emotional denial—it was rational impossibility.

"How is this even possible!" Miss Shaliman broke down—she too was a one-ring mage, and likely would remain so for life.

But Li En frowned.

He felt emptiness, a simultaneous hunger in soul and body.

He knew what he lacked—his soul-body, class bonuses, weren't sustaining his physical functions; his head began to throb.

"Miss Purple Rose, please help me hunt some dragonkind—I need to complete my first species evolution."

Instant success was still unrealistic, but Li En felt he needed bodily completeness, hardware upgrades—he'd start with little dragons.

(End of chapter)