There was no absolute strength or weakness in spells; it depended on how they were used and when.
Baonte had heard this saying more than once, along with many similar adages, and even extreme examples of spells yielding astonishing results outside of combat. For instance, there had once been a powerful kingdom capable of halting the advance of a third-ring wizard, only to collapse in mere days on account of nothing more than Ghost Sound, the simplest of zero-ring spells.
Baonte had learned Ghost Sound after hearing that very story. He had earnestly tried everything his mentor taught, feeling his way forward to push open the magnificent gates to the world of magic, striving like the apprentices around him to step into that wider realm.
Yet in the end, all those attempts had only served to reaffirm his original answer, time and time again.
He still loved the sensation of sheer strength. That was what he was good at, what suited him best—just like the days etched deep in his memory that he could never forget, when he had thirsted for power, when he had been the Earth Cave Domain's strongest knight in a hundred years. Even though that Earth Cave Domain was small, and he readily admitted that dominating it had been like a little insect swimming proudly at the bottom of a cup, he still could not forget the feeling.
It was not because he missed the lavish pleasures of that life, but because he loved that kind of combat—fists and sharp steel piercing the bodies of subterranean beasts, rather than relying on those "interesting" spells like Ghost Sound. "Interesting spells" was merely a category of his own making; though some were hardly interesting at all, any spell that failed to bring him simple, direct satisfaction was tossed right into that bin.
"The path of a wizard is boundless," his mentor had also said.
And his own door had no need to be pushed open so wide.
Late one night, when he finally realized this, the efficiency of his meditation seemed to increase.
His sluggish progress smoothed out, and he advanced unstoppably until he became a fifth-rank apprentice wizard, pressing on until his mental power reached its limit.
Just like his fists, and just like his longsword.
That he had no passion for "interesting" spells did not mean he was rigid. The wonders of magic could just as well be experienced from another angle.
Seemingly incorporeal yet lethal black claws clung to one another. There were only seven or eight of them, yet they jostled forward like a man-eating monster of pure darkness, rolling in like a tidal wave. If any one of those claws struck an ordinary person, the consequences would be horrifying; broken bones and severed sinews would be mere wishful thinking, far eclipsed by the likely reality of flesh and blood being gouged out in an instant and strewn across the ground.
Baonte stood firm like a reef. His calm expression lent his already tall, upright frame an imposing aura, as though his feet were planted upon the earth while his head supported the heavens.
It was an aloof detachment that paid no heed to the terrifying spell before him, nor to other apprentice wizards, not even fellow fifth-rank apprentices at their limits. Yet when this detachment appeared on Baonte, it never came across as arrogant insolence. He was simply too calm. Unlike the flippancy of boastful pride, his serene aloofness gave off the immense weight of a mountain.
Baonte knew that many spoke of his forbearance in private idle talk. Only after thinking back carefully did he realize he had never even noticed those people.
His field of vision was narrow—so narrow that he saw only his own path and the obstacles standing in the way of his wizardry. As for people and matters that could not even be called obstacles, they were forgotten in the blink of an eye, never even entering his sight. Rumors claimed many bore grudges against him, yet he could not recall a single one, having never viewed things that way; in his eyes, only what blocked his path counted as a grievance. Nothing else mattered.
Only the transcendent path allowed not the slightest ambiguity.
And now, an idiot whose name he would have otherwise forgotten before long had reached a hand out onto his transcendent path.
Baonte looked at the smiling man wrapped in the long serpent.
"I've never liked the phrase 'limit apprentice wizard.' Reaching the limit of your mental power and having a few modified spells up your sleeve isn't enough." Baonte raised both hands, and different magical fluctuations flickered across him in rapid succession. "A true limit is like this... which is why so many aren't worthy of calling themselves that."
First-ring spell—Stone Fist!
His pair of fists became hard as bedrock. Not only did they turn to solid stone, but his strength surged dramatically—and this boost in strength did not conflict with the renowned zero-ring spells Colossal Strength and Bull's Strength. That was precisely what Baonte wanted. Moreover, through modifications to his solidified Colossal Strength spell, he had already virtually eliminated the issue of diminished returns when Colossal Strength and Bull's Strength were applied simultaneously.
The wave of black shadow claws was shattered by a single punch from Baonte, invisible ripples swirling around his fist.
The green mist swirled outward in all directions, clearly revealing the two figures at its center.
The perpetually smiling man had already wiped the smile from his face the moment he recognized a first-ring spell.
Baonte outright ignored the several black claws attempting a sneak attack.
The zero-ring spell Air Armor displayed a resilience upon him that far exceeded the norm.
"I can fuse Lesser Ake's Repulsion with Air Armor, and even with the swordsmanship I excel at. Even if you know Air Armor too, it won't stop my stone fists or my sharp blade..."
As a battle-qi knight, he had possessed immense strength and consummate swordsmanship to begin with.
Baonte flicked his wrist, retrieving a gleaming two-handed longsword from his storage pouch, and took a step forward.
This was also the very first step he had taken since standing before this man.
"A first-ring spell? How can you cast a first-ring spell so easily? Do you possess a legendary curio?"
After wiping away his smile, the man showed no great panic, his face instead giving way to utter bewilderment.
"Do you think this snake ties my hands?" Baonte casually twirled his sword into a flourish, invisible power undulating along the blade.
A flicker of nervousness finally crossed the man's face. He backed away slowly, the dozen or so black shadow claws converging around him into a massive claw nearly the height of a person. At the same time, spells like Air Armor materialized around his body, and with a flip of his hand, he drew a black scroll from his storage pouch and gripped it tightly.
"As a piece of advice before you die, sworn upon my sword," Baonte said, staring straight at the retreating man without pressing forward step by step, "I have no curio, and that snake has nothing to do with the worm-person. What you've done is doomed to be in vain. But you did get one small thing right: that snake is my clue to finding a curio. And one more thing..."
"I don't need to be so close to cut you."
Baonte seemed to find the opportunity he had long awaited. Gripping the sword with both hands, he stepped forward, and with a twist of his waist, the longsword swept downward in a cleaving stroke.
The longsword drove forward in textbook form, with flawless force generation and downward timing—every movement engraved into his very bones. As the sword cleaved down, the tip remained a palm's breadth away from the retreating man. Yet with the strike, a repulsive force not belonging to the man erupted from his body. The long snake was forced outward, no longer tightly constricting him; what had been a snug armor of serpent flesh instantly hung loose like billowing sleeves.
Yet the man was beyond caring. A line of blood surfaced at his temple. Neither the massive black claw nor his various spells had stopped the strike. Spitting out a mouthful of bloody froth, part of his body began to slide away slowly, severed diagonally from temple down to the opposite flank. The snake, merely loosened and still draped around his form, remained unharmed; the blow that seemed to have missed had already cleanly sliced through him from the crown of his head, leaving behind only a neat, precise line that spoke to the sharpness of the strike.
Chapter 35