Chapter 76: First Casting

The night was deep, his body weary, but Li En’s spirit was strangely energized.

“This potion—does it have some kind of problem? Can you tell me exactly what’s in it?” The potion, reeking of fishy odor and rooty herbs, nearly made Li En vomit.

“If you knew the ingredients, Ga , that’d be the real problem!”

Fine, Li En stopped asking.

He couldn’t understand why Kuku kept pushing him to start learning magic now (Kuku: Take advantage of the ‘Snake’ buff before it fades and get him in quickly).

What difference does one more day or one less day make? Wouldn’t it be more efficient to wait until he’s in better condition?

“Huh? It worked?”

Li En had tried “Focus for Casting” many times before—and mostly failed.

This time, he succeeded instantly, slipping into casting state with ease, and he was stunned.

Is Kuku’s disgusting potion really that powerful?

But his abnormally heightened mental state finally allowed him to begin his first spell.

【Temporary Class Levels: First-Rank Alchemist, First-Rank Sage, First-Rank Dragon Tongue Mage (these temporary classes will vanish in 11 days and 20 hours)】

Logically, Li En, with a caster rank, should’ve been able to cast long ago.

But reality, as Kuku said, was that casting was a technical skill—even with the Hero Soul’s aid, Li En couldn’t achieve precise casting.

“First, construct a spell model. Rocket Spell—it’s your target.”

This time, Li En’s casting target was the zero-rank cantrip, Rocket Spell, whose standard damage barely matched Li En’s sword slash—it was the simplest fire spell.

For an ordinary mage, it was just a flick of the finger—but now, Li En was drenched in sweat, his hands constantly moving, daring not to pause for a second.

“.Again, it collapsed. So hard to control.”

No flame even formed—the spell model shattered outright.

Li En checked his panel.

【Biological Level: Raw Stone, Status: Strength 8, Constitution 9, Agility 6, Spirit 8 (22)】

As the primary attribute for casters—spirit, used to convert and generate mana—his spirit, boosted by the Hero Soul’s possession, exceeded Su Er’s peak by four points; considering marginal returns on attribute points, the actual mana gap might be several times greater.

With such immense spirit, how could he not even master a cantrip?

But this was already vastly better than before—he’d previously been unable to enter casting state at all.

“Is it the problem with mana emission (neutral)?”

Mana emission was a caster’s foundational ability: literally converting spirit into mana and releasing it outside the body.

It was the basis of many supernatural abilities—Li En, as a paladin, had mana emission (positive energy) and mana emission (radiance), and as a red dragon descendant, he also had mana emission (fire).

The former enabled him to use healing spells (though he didn’t know them) and Smite Evil, while the latter allowed various fire enchantments and fire breath.

His previous great feat, the Holy Flame Aura, had also relied on mana emission (fire) to infuse dragonfire.

But mages required pure mana, crafting spells bit by bit—naturally, they needed mana emission (neutral).

Li En himself didn’t possess it, but all three magic-class professions he gained from Kuku included this most basic ability.

Now he was trying to channel his spirit, converting it into pure mana to construct a “spell model.”

This felt utterly different from paladin or sorcerer casting—those two were like idiotic auto-casters, where shouting a word made mana move on its own.

But a mage had to precisely control every drop of mana, building his spells from scratch.

“Looks simple enough—just an ‘arrow’ plus a ‘fire plane mana marker.’ Why does it always explode in my hands?”

It was like shaping a bullet about to be fired—but each time, it collapsed on its own.

“Is it too much force, or insufficient control?” Li En compared the model and diagram in the book, inputting mana to shape it—but still failed every time.

He grew anxious, his gaze instinctively drifting toward Kuku.

Kuku clearly sensed it, yet kept silently reading, offering no guidance whatsoever.

Li En took a deep breath and abandoned the idea of asking for help.

He understood the principle—some skills could only be learned through personal trial, like riding a bike or swimming: once you got it, you got it.

For now, he could only slowly feel his way—his invisible spirit tendrils twisted between his hands, trying to mold a complete spell model.

Li En felt progress with every passing moment—his condition today was indeed excellent.

But he didn’t know how many failures lay ahead before he could advance further—this uncertainty tested his will the most.

“Got it!” After at least a hundred failures, Li En finally crossed the first threshold.

Finally, after Kuku switched to another book beside him, a colorless, transparent “arrow model” stabilized in Li En’s hands.

Drenched in sweat, he didn’t stop—he moved to the next step of casting.

“Inject mana, let the spell model mature.”

“Boom!” This time, it exploded in his hands again.

Li En took a deep breath, didn’t look at anyone else, and focused on calming his mind.

Once, again—though still failing, progress was advancing. After one success, shaping the fire arrow’s spell model seemed much easier.

He could now succeed two or three times out of ten, only to blow it up during mana injection.

Li En was beginning to understand: the key wasn’t spirit strength, but stability and precision.

A precise, stable mana model—any tiny flaw would cause it to explode the moment mana was injected.

“Tch, seems I’ll need to test spatial imagination and spatial geometry too.”

The model grew increasingly complete and refined—until this time, after injecting mana, it remained stable.

Li En smiled. It might still be imperfect, but it was whole and qualified.

“.Next, introduce the fire element.”

Li En could ignite it with a single thought—his dragonfire mana emission would guarantee power—but ordinary apprentice mages couldn’t do that; they couldn’t “breathe fire” themselves.

Most basic fire spells were actually the product of “mana exchange,” summoned from the elemental plane via a “fire plane mana marker.”

Now, the mana arrow began to “color”—gradually ignited by the fire element drawn in by the mana marker.

“Boom!”

This time, Li En was blasted clean off his feet!

“Cough… cough…” Li En lay on the ground, coughing for a long while before slowly sitting up.

He wasn’t injured—his red dragon heritage gave him high fire resistance; this level of mana-fire explosion couldn’t harm him. It was just—

“.Is this power level… off?” He didn’t understand.

Li En, aware of his red dragon bloodline, had chosen fire arrow as his first cantrip.

And as far as he knew, this cantrip’s power was… subtle. Very subtle.

“Idiot! You’re red dragon bloodline! Naturally element-affine! They (fire elements) like you! You have to reduce the mana you feed them! The amount of mana a dragon uses will overload the spell model!”

At last, Kuku spoke.

“Uh… how much should I reduce it by?”

This time, no answer came—and Li En understood: he’d have to figure it out himself.

Seventy percent, sixty percent, fifty percent… finally, around forty to fifty percent, it stabilized!

Throughout this process, Li En’s mana shaping skill also became stable and refined.

This time, a tiny flame arrow flickered faintly between his hands.

Next came hand gestures to guide it (incantations had already been used during shaping—the cantrip’s incantation was extremely brief)—this part shouldn’t be hard.

“Bang!”

Li En shattered the teacup on the table—and Kuku, on the other side, closed his book.

“Good! Faster than expected! At least ten tries! I thought you’d—”

Li En smiled. He’d actually aimed for the cheap pencil drawing on the wall.

He resolved silently: when he had time, he’d sneak in some accuracy practice—reality had no teammates to absorb misses.

It was probably already three or four in the morning, but Li En, having succeeded in his first spell, was exhilarated.

He’d mastered a zero-rank spell so easily—was his talent really that good? He’d heard mages judged a student’s potential by how quickly they mastered low-rank spells.

“Below average. At this level, you’ll never become a grand mage under normal circumstances.” Kuku’s teaching mode was brutally cold and realistic.

“Cantrips aren’t hard. Normal apprentices take about the same time—but you’ve had my class as an aid. Other apprentices still struggle with the hardest part: mana emission.” Li En’s dream of being a mage prodigy shattered.

In truth, Kuku had been lenient—Li En still had grand mage-level spirit support and the ‘Snake’ buff.

Cantrips weren’t even considered proper spells; even street bards and thieves could learn some.

Li En’s innate talent for casting, then, was clearly low.

“Snap.” Kuku closed his book, expression calm—he’d expected this result all along.

Li Ensu had never been a casting prodigy; his aptitude for most classes was below average. But what ultimately determined how far a person could go wasn’t just talent.

Could anyone be worse at talent than Kuku, the goblin with below-average intelligence?

“At a mage tower, they’d make you a student for half a year, then kick you out. I can give you the progress of a ‘mage prodigy’—if you’re willing to pay the price.” Perhaps this was why Kuku had been summoned.

(End of Chapter)