Chapter 66: Want to Become a Mage

“Magic is a phenomenon, an independent magical effect; the caster’s enemy is never nature—nature and the elements are always your allies and companions.”

“The act of casting is, in fact, a reshaping of the diffuse magical energy and elements throughout the multiverse, ultimately manifesting a specific process in a designated area.”

“The manifested target may be a magical prototype from a senior mage, the innate talent of a magical creature like a dragon, or even a natural phenomenon unique to a certain region—we mages understand it, analyze it, and replicate it. Do not think you can surpass nature; not until you reach legendary status, at least.”

In a modest room, an elderly mage with white hair and beard explained the essence of magic.

Several students listened intently, especially the little fellow, gripping his pen with red claws and carefully scribbling on paper.

Suddenly, the teacher called out a name.

“Little one, you’re a dragon-blooded sorcerer born with the ability to cast—what do you feel when you cast?”

The little fellow, Kuku, froze, then scrambled to his feet.

“First, hold your breath! Then—huh! Raise your hand, stare at the target, and—shoo!—it flies out!!” As he spoke, he mimicked the hand gesture.

“Boom!” He imitated the sound of an explosion.

Kuku spoke with perfect seriousness, yet the absurdity born of his sincerity only made the other mages laugh.

"Ha, just as Kuku says, magical creatures and sorcerers rely on instinct; if you judge solely by the speed and quantity of spells, we mages can't compare. We are the untalented latecomers, the diligent ones who make up for our innate deficiencies with knowledge and wisdom."

Kuku listened with utmost seriousness—this learning opportunity had been hard-won.

“Sorcerers and magical creatures rely on instinct—that’s their advantage, but also their limitation. In most cases, their growth rate and ceiling are far inferior to ours.”

Kuku had spent six years at this mage tower as an assistant and servant before earning the chance to learn magic alongside new apprentices.

As the teacher said, sorcerers awakened with dragon blood naturally cast spells, but their growth rate is subtle, and their ceiling is fixed by their bloodline origin.

The bloodline ceiling of a kobold sorcerer—mastering the second-tier spell Scorching Ray—is the result of over a decade of adventurous trials.

He hadn’t awakened a new spell in seven or eight years; it seemed his bloodline potential had been fully exhausted.

Though he still appeared clumsy and impulsive, he was no longer young.

And the path he had struggled to open was anything but smooth—in fact, it was extremely difficult.

“Little thing, our robes are yours to wash—remember to deliver them after.”

“Kuku, my room’s a mess again—clean it up later.”

“Homework—you know.”

He had always been a servant; the other apprentices casually kept “using” him.

This, in fact, was already relatively kind.

“Oops, sorry, didn’t see you.” Such idiots who casually walked over, stepped on your foot, then laughed at your hopping and stumbling were not few.

And the other apprentices never helped Kuku—he was merely a “clown.”

A clown who had mastered at least one spell, including at least three second-tier spells, inspiring envy and even hatred!

Why should you, a sorcerer, need only sleep one night to learn a second-tier spell that takes me half a year of study and dozens, even hundreds of gold coins in resources?

Why should the same spell you release instinctively be faster, more accurate, and more powerful than mine?

Why must we master incantations, gestures, and complex magical models through arduous calculations to cast, while you need only a single thought?

Why should you, a lowly race, step into the mage tower and earn the teacher’s favor?

Why should you, born knowing the dragon tongue we spend countless years learning, have your random whims praised by the teacher?

“Kuku knows. Kuku will do it right away.”

Facing bullying and exclusion, Kuku always responded with a smile, as if truly a simple, happy kobold.

But after over a decade of adventuring, he had seen far too much.

He was an outsider, the only outsider who had entered orc society—should any conflict arise, most would naturally stand against him.

If he wished to study a few more years in the mage tower, he had only one choice: endure, pretend not to understand.

The weak endure in silence simply because they cannot afford the storm of conflict.

Yet even so, his learning remained painfully difficult.

"Kuku is truly an idiot." He felt discouraged—some innate deficiencies are too hard to overcome.

Kobolds have clearly low intelligence; even as an outlier, Kuku’s intellect remained below average—and mages live by intellect and spirit.

Only those seen as geniuses by ordinary people can become mages; only geniuses among geniuses have a chance to become grand mages.

Kuku also lagged behind the other apprentices in culture, natural knowledge, language, mathematics, and many other areas.

Mages are scholars; even junior mages must study a specialized academic field, which becomes nourishment for learning magic.

He had none of it—even when he had sudden insights or flashes of inspiration, they remained unstructured. Kuku’s progress, unsurprisingly, became the lowest among all apprentices.

And this lag, perhaps, was good for him—at least it brought more mockery than outright hostility.

Six years passed. Some apprentices had graduated; some had become assistants. Kuku remained the lowest apprentice and menial servant.

But perhaps even the goddess of fortune could not bear it—luck finally favored him. Later, he would recall: perhaps it was misfortune.

“I! Kuku! I can cast Fireball!”

His bloodline, long stagnant for over a decade, suddenly surged forward!

The difference between a caster who can and cannot cast the third-tier Fireball spell was immense.

At this stage, a caster could become a high-paid mercenary, capable of independent service.

But Kuku had no intention of leaving—yet the next month, he was expelled from the mage tower!

A very valuable magical artifact had been stolen. Some accused him; others remained silent.

“It wasn’t Kuku! Really, it wasn’t Kuku!”

Frantic, Kuku explained to the master of the mage tower, his own teacher.

“...I know.” The old mage, nearing the end of his life, sighed.

“But some say it was you, and the majority of the rest hope it was you.” Perhaps only the teacher truly understood Kuku—knew he was not as naive and foolish as he appeared.

Kuku fell silent, regretful. Had he been wrong to show off his spells? He had only hoped for more attention, a little respect.

The issue was not whether Kuku stole it—it was that most hoped he had, and hoped he would be driven away.

When the scale tipped toward the majority near the teacher—the former chief of the mage tower—choices had to be made.

“This is a letter from my protégé—he needs apprentices and fighters. This time, hide it well, act even stupider, and learn more.” The half-retired teacher handed him a letter of introduction.

Kuku wept—heartbroken.

As he wept, he bowed several times to the teacher, then left the mage tower without hesitation.

Two years later, he returned once, watching from afar his teacher’s funeral. He left again—and never returned to the city where the mage tower stood.

“To become a mage, to understand the knowledge of how the world works—is it really so hard?”

“I only wanted to become a mage—even the worst, the stupidest one.”

Li En, awakening again from the dream, wiped away the tears at his eyes.

Kuku never regretted meeting his teacher, being guided onto the true path of the caster—it may have been Kuku’s greatest happiness.

“Spying! Peering into someone’s memories! Bad guy!” Kusla, sitting at the bedside reading, was clearly annoyed.

Li En took a deep breath, feeling regret and hesitation—his earlier understanding of magic had been childish.

Was the request he had always longed to make truly appropriate?

To ask Kuku to teach him magic with a “might as well try” attitude—wasn’t that a humiliation of his hard-won life?

“Want to learn magic? Fine. Kuku will teach you.” Kuku, with a negative twenty-plus satisfaction (affinity) rating, agreed without hesitation.

Li En’s expression froze.

“Anyone who wants to learn magic—no matter who they are—Kuku won’t refuse. Won’t refuse!” The little fellow spoke as if it were obvious.

(End of Chapter)