Chapter 79: Initial Trial (Third Chapter, 9,000 Words, Requesting Monthly Votes)

“Uh, was the surgery really successful?”

When Li En awoke from sleep, he felt no change at all.

His physical condition was fine, no headache, and aside from a faint scar on his forehead, he sensed no trace of the surgery.

“Gaaah! Of course! Kuku the Witch Doctor isn’t some quack!”

This made Li En unsure where to even begin his complaints—so Kuku’s main job was Witch Doctor, not Doctor? Was I just operated on by you doing a shamanic dance?

“Where’s the table?” Suddenly, the empty room made Li En realize something was wrong.

The dining table, meant to serve as the operating table, had vanished without a trace.

Also missing were the piles of books Kuku had somehow acquired, along with various room furnishings and hanging paintings.

Bloodstains marred the walls, ceiling, and bed frame—it looked like a crime scene that had been hastily cleaned.

He looked down; the cheap carpet was still there, even smelling faintly of soap. But the thick stench of blood still filled his nose.

Had the carpet been soaked through with blood? Li En had a hunch about where the table had gone, but it was probably better not to ask.

“Where’s my time?!”

After stepping outside, he realized he’d lost another full day.

He looked around—Kuku had vanished again, seemingly a bit guilty.

Didn’t you say it’d take no more than two hours? What about the missing furniture and the bloodstains? Li En felt he had to investigate.

“It wasn’t another botch job, just patching it over and over—add water when the dough’s too thick, add flour when it’s too runny.” The more he thought, the more certain he became he’d hit the truth.

“No! The surgery was a success! The test subject—the patient—is still alive!” Alive counts as success? So I nearly died back there?

Kuku suddenly jumped out from nowhere, but even from afar, Li En could smell the overpowering scent of soap mixed with blood that wouldn’t wash off.

“How much blood did I lose? Never mind, don’t tell me.” Li En sighed. Having glimpsed the truth, he decided to bury this as a dark memory.

What matters isn’t the past—it’s the future.

He resolved to remind himself: no matter how reliable Kuku seemed, he was still a Kobold!

“Next time, don’t hand your life over to a Kobold.”

This isn’t racial prejudice—it’s the Kobolds’ bizarre, dragon-blooded overconfidence (classic Kobold saying: “You’re a dragon, I’m a dragon! We’re the same!”).

Excessive confidence, combined with crude procedures, greatly increases the chance of disaster. Especially after recalling some of Kuku’s memories, Li En became more certain than ever: never let him operate alone again.

“Let’s try it.” Li En took a deep breath and focused his mental energy on his head, as Kuku had taught him.

“Clang!” He vaguely sensed something activate.

It seemed another “self” had awakened, forming an inexplicable connection with his consciousness.

“Is this the Thought Line?” He could feel he could make it move.

Li En found it intriguing—he directed it to calculate for him. Hmm, it was just himself calculating, and it felt effortless.

Watching everything proceed smoothly, Kuku in the corner let out a huge sigh of relief.

The next moment, he straightened his chest and lifted his head—Kuku was a genius, Kuku had effortlessly solved everything.

So Kuku casually tucked away the hammer and bloodstained scalpel behind his back—fix problems as they arise; Kobold Alchemists never fail!

Did it actually fail? That was the Kobold Witch Doctor’s fault! Kuku’s job list doesn’t include Witch Doctor!

“Interesting!”

Li En tried maintaining focus on his “co-processor” to construct the “Rocket Spell” model—a shapeless arrowhead gathered before him.

Meanwhile, his hands gripped his sword, ready to strike!

“Stop fooling around! Let it adapt first! Don’t overload it—don’t use two professions’ abilities simultaneously!”

Hearing Kuku say that, Li En naturally obeyed.

Patients should just follow medical advice—even if it’s only a Witch Doctor. Li En was genuinely afraid of being dragged back onto the operating table again.

So he quietly went out for a walk and made up for his morning exercise.

Throughout this time, Li En’s “brain core” kept analyzing another spell.

As he practiced, he paused—he was certain now: single-core to dual-core wasn’t about doubling computational load.

Rather, once sufficient processing power was reached, previously uncontrollably complex spell models became simple and clear.

“Uh… done?”

Less than an hour into his morning exercise, Li En was astonished to find he’d mastered the second spell model: Mage Hand.

Even with the advantage of having conquered the first spell, and acquiring many techniques along the way, this speed still exceeded Li En’s expectations.

The second spell was indeed easier, but had something that was once impossibly difficult really been solved so easily?

“Nonsense! Kuku’s Soul Core is amazing! Always amazing!” Kuku boasted proudly.

Then Li En understood.

The newly formed “GPU” was actually mediocre—but the “GPU driver” was top-tier, even cheat-level.

Whether you had a “GPU” or not was entirely different. Once Kuku’s Soul Core ability activated, the multiple Thought Lines’ ability to cross-check, refine, and polish made spellcasting far more precise, thorough, and complete—and thus effortlessly overcome obstacles.

Like writing code with an AI constantly correcting, adjusting, annotating, and reminding—you naturally achieve far higher quality.

“Let’s go to the Mage Tower!” Kuku, satisfied Li En’s condition was stable, was now desperate to go.

Li En didn’t stop him—Kuku had gone through all this trouble; he deserved his reward.

And Li En himself was also curious about Mage Street and the Mage Tower.

He returned to his room, removed his chainmail (the only armor he could afford), and changed into plain cotton clothes.

But as he walked, the cotton robe felt unnaturally light and uncomfortable.

Even worse, the lack of a protective vest left his back cold, making him increasingly uneasy.

But going to meet the Mage in full knight armor? Li En wasn’t that clueless—he sensed most Mages and Holy Knights had poor relations.

“Holy Knight! Stinking tin can! Who likes them?!”

It seemed this was the truth—many borderline professions held resentment toward Holy Knights; even neutrality meant keeping distance.

Holding his letter of introduction, Li En walked smoothly into Mage Street.

Then he froze—foreigners, rarely seen elsewhere, were now the majority.

At a glance, Elves, Dark Elves, Dwarves, and Gnomes all had shops here—everywhere were non-humans.

Even more surprising to Li En was the density of Mages on this street.

He’d lived in this city for so long and seen fewer than a dozen Mages—but now, looking around, he spotted twenty or thirty bargaining in various shops.

“Weren’t spellcasters supposed to be rare and precious? How are there so many…?” Li En was puzzled. Huicheng wasn’t even a large city—why so many Mages?

“Mages follow magic! And magic requires materials!”

Now Li En understood: underground ruins produced various supernatural materials, and spellcasters had endless demand for them—naturally, they gathered here.

As Li En stepped inside, he stood out—he wore no Mage robe, only plain cotton.

He didn’t care about others’ glances; he simply followed the map, counting door numbers until he found Shop No. 13.

The target was above the second floor—this “Mage Tower” often turned its ground floor into shops to make money.

His letter of introduction passed the golem’s inspection, and he stepped onto a “steam elevator,” entering the true space of spellcasters.

Ten minutes later, he walked out, utterly bewildered.

“Oh, you’re the junior brother introduced by Sister Shaliman? The Master is busy. Here, take this textbook—study these two spells. Once you master them, I’ll teach you the next.” Li En was dismissed outright.

Of course—only Mages understand Mages. They had no interest in speaking to outsiders or fools.

Though polite, the reality was clear: here’s your textbook and exam. Solve it, prove you’re not an idiot, then we’ll talk further.

Though the Mage didn’t specify a deadline, if you dragged it out too long, even if you passed, no one would care.

Li En examined the spell notes: two spells with “special prefixes,” meaning they were modified by spellcasters.

Clearly, this was to prevent cheating.

“I really owe Kuku thanks.” Without his prior preparation, average-talent Li En might never have even met the Master—he’d have been dismissed immediately.

This was the world of spellcasters: rational, cold, and merciless.

Resources are limited—I naturally prioritize geniuses. Prove your ability if you want more attention and investment.

Of course, since Li En was introduced by Shaliman, he’d get some leniency—spend half a year learning a first-rank spell, then they’d happily “graduate” you.

This wasn’t Li En’s cynical guess—it was the fate of many noble youths who believed themselves spellcasting prodigies.

“Seems… not that hard.” One and a half hours later, Li En walked back into the Mage shop.

(End of Chapter)