Chapter 8: Reflections on Magical Power

In his previous life, Allen, as an otaku programmer, had read many web novels and was quite familiar with the power systems in most of them. In fantasy novels, magical power is the necessary condition for casting any spell, just like true qi in wuxia novels.

Moreover, magical power can be improved through meditation and consuming rare treasures; it is also an important standard for measuring strength in many novels, and its increase is one of the markers of the protagonist's growth. Yet Harry Potter, as one of the most famous fantasy novels of his previous life, surprisingly lacks the concept of magical power?

Allen couldn't help but feel a headache. Looking at the four elements of spellcasting noted in his notebook—the specific wand movement, the correct incantation, and a certain degree of concentration from the caster—these were all understandable, but this thing about the caster's subjective consciousness regarding the spell's effect was far too idealistic!

Concepts like magical power, true qi, and fighting energy in previous novels at least made logical sense and conformed to the law of conservation of energy to a certain extent, but what the hell is this "caster's subjective consciousness regarding the spell's effect"? Does the size of one's boldness determine the size of one's yield?

Protagonists in other fantasy novels must carefully plan their use of magical power, using limited reserves to handle more situations; they often fall into desperate straits due to exhaustion of magical power, which then leads to the beloved trope of breaking through amidst battle.

There are also many villainous characters who, after unleashing their ultimate moves and exhausting their magical power, are ambushed successfully by the protagonist, allowing the hero to kill a monster above their own level.

But if magic is released solely through idealistic power without the limitation of magical power, then every wizard in this world would be a magical artillery piece!

As a transmigrator from a world without supernatural powers, Allen had many dreams of becoming a supernatural being; furthermore, since magic was the only path to solving Allen's physical problems, he had always been very dedicated to and interested in learning magic. Therefore, after obtaining his magic textbooks, he studied them diligently, yet the more he read, the more confused he felt.

Because all the magic textbooks read like instruction manuals!

For instance, in the chapter on the Lumos spell in "Standard Spells, Junior," the first part provides a detailed introduction to the spell: suitable scenarios for its use, the size of the light orb summoned upon successful casting, the brightness of the orb, the area it can illuminate, and how long a single successful casting lasts. Additionally, it includes a brief history of the spell, such as who invented it and who later improved it.

The second part details the method of casting: it meticulously describes the standard wand movement for releasing this Lumos spell, marks the standard pronunciation of the incantation, specifies the speed and rhythm for speaking the words, explains how to visualize the spell's effect while casting, and instructs on how to focus one's attention.

The third part consists of warnings, primarily cautioning casters against certain actions and detailing the adverse consequences of doing so. Honestly, this section made Allen scratch his head in confusion; it was truly baffling human behavior. For a textbook targeting readers around eleven years old, why would it so clearly write such content? Did they think Ravenclaws weren't curious enough, or that Gryffindors weren't brave enough?

Perhaps others wouldn't find this problematic, but viewed through the eyes of someone who grew up under the red flag and received sixteen years of education from elementary school through university, this issue was enormous.

How could a textbook be written this way? Shouldn't it first explain the principles of magic? How does magic operate? How do spells affect the real environment? Shouldn't some theory be clarified before learning?

It's like when we receive an instruction manual for a rice cooker: we follow the manual to connect the rice cooker to a 220V power source, learn how to turn it on, how to select the mode, how much water to add, how much rice to add, and how long to wait until the rice is ready. This is the process and result of releasing the "science" spell.

We can release the "science" spell according to the rice cooker's manual, but after releasing the Lumos spell according to the textbook, Allen fell into deep confusion.

Because with the "rice cooker" spell, he could clearly understand that inside the rice cooker, electric current flows through the heating element, and the resistance of the heating element generates heat; essentially, this is a conversion of energy. This was content from Allen's middle school physics class.

Yet in the Wizarding World, a society that has existed for who knows how many thousands of years, with Hogwarts as the best magic school in the world, the teaching materials for young wizards are like this: no theory, only practice, letting young wizards know the "what" but not the "why"? This plunged Allen into deep doubt...

Could it be that the magic in this world is truly idealistic?

At the time, Allen was somewhat unconvinced. After mastering the Lumos spell through extensive practice, he found a day off and crazily cast the spell in his room repeatedly. He reasoned that if he eventually couldn't cast the spell, it would prove that magical power indeed exists, merely omitted from the books for some reason.

Later, after casting the Lumos spell for three hours, Allen finally could not cast it anymore. However, what stopped him from casting was not the exhaustion of "magical power" as he had imagined, but rather his sore arms could no longer swing the wand. Apart from some mental fatigue, Allen experienced no other abnormalities, which led him to start believing that the concept of magical power did not exist in this world.

However, Allen hadn't reached a final conclusion; perhaps his magical power had gone wild, making his reserves "profound"? He had no reference point for comparison, so he could only assume that this was simply how textbooks in the magic world were written. Perhaps when he received face-to-face instruction at Hogwarts, they would teach this?

Although he had a reason to comfort himself, Allen couldn't sleep at all that night, tossing and turning. Thus, he took out the magic history books he had collected, hoping to uncover the secrets of magic within them. But after reading carefully for half the night, he only saw words between the lines; the entire book was filled with the two words "Idealism"...

This left Allen, who had received over twenty years of materialist education, somewhat at a loss. Therefore, Allen had always wanted to find the existence of magical power. In his view, magical power, like electricity, is the most basic form of energy for releasing "magic"; only with something similar to magical power could the operational logic of supernatural powers in this world form a closed loop.

The reason Allen was so tangled up in this issue was also because, through the textbooks, he discovered that while magic in this world mostly resembled hosting a banquet, writing an essay, or painting and embroidery—capable of being elegant, leisurely, refined, gentle, and courteous—if something went wrong, magic would be violent, with all sorts of strange effects awaiting you, ranging from minor injuries to death.

Perhaps most eleven-year-old brats would ignore the third part of every chapter in the magic books, but Allen, possessing a mature soul with life experience, read this section repeatedly many times. In his previous life, the worst injury he had suffered was cutting his hand while chopping vegetables; he had no desire to get injured or even lose his life in this world due to incorrectly casting a spell.

Therefore, Allen was so eager to figure out the underlying principles of magic.