novel-bin Chapter 10 Departure
Chapter 10 Departure
As the morning light pierced the thin mist over Wushan Town, Lin Lei's luggage was already packed.
Wharton stood at the manor gate, watching his brother strap the small bundle to his back. Inside were only a few changes of clothes, the thirty gold coins Hog had given him, and the letter of acceptance from Ernst College. Lightly traveled, yet carrying the rekindled hope of a family after a century of silence.
"Are you sure you don't need me to take you to town?" Hogg asked for the third time. His voice was still steady, but Walton could hear a slight tremor in it.
Linley shook his head, his short black hair swaying gently in the morning breeze: "Father, Uncle Hillman is already waiting for me at the training ground. We've traveled this road from here to Fenlai City before."
He was referring to the trip he took three months ago to participate in the magic test. That time, he set off with trepidation; this time, he embarked on a determined journey.
Bebe poked its head out from Linley's shoulder, its little black eyes darting around before finally settling on Wharton. It squeaked twice, its thoughts transmitted to Linley through the equal contract, and then relayed by Linley: "Bebe said it will take good care of me, so you don't need to worry."
Wharton smiled and reached out to pat Bebe's head, but the little guy nimbly withdrew his hand, leaving him with only a smug look.
"It still won't let me touch it." Walton withdrew his hand, unconcerned.
"It's wary of strangers," Linley explained, but Wharton knew that wasn't the case. The Shadow Rat's intelligence far surpassed that of ordinary magical beasts, and Bebe could sense something special about it—not hostility, but a certain aura similar to yet different from Linley's. The fluctuations of dragon bloodline, even before it had awakened, would be noticeable to sensitive creatures.
Hogg crouched down to meet Linley's gaze. This was a rare gesture for the stern Baruch patriarch. He placed a hand on Linley's shoulder and said in a low voice, "Remember, focus on your training at the academy. The Baruch name may not bring you glory now, but at least don't let it bring you shame."
"I will, Father."
"And one more thing," Hogg paused, "if...if you encounter difficulties you can't resolve, write home."
Lin Lei nodded emphatically.
Butler Ciri came out of the house, carrying a package of oiled paper: "Young Master, this is for your journey. I baked meat patties last night, they're still warm."
Lin Lei took it and stuffed it into the side pocket of the package. He looked at his father, the butler, and finally his younger brother.
"I'm leaving."
There were no further farewells. The men of the Baruch family seemed ill-suited to such things.
Walton watched Linley turn and walk along the gravel path toward the training grounds on the east side of town. Bebe, perched on his shoulder, clutched his clothes with her tiny paws and glanced back. The morning light cast long shadows that stretched all the way to Walton's feet.
Hogg stood there for a long time until Linley's figure disappeared around the corner.
"Father," Walton said softly.
Hogg seemed to be startled awake, looking down at him: "Hmm?"
"My brother will become very strong."
"……I know."
"Me too."
Hogg paused, taken aback. Such words from a three-and-a-half-year-old should have seemed laughable, but Wharton's eyes held a certainty beyond his years. It wasn't a child's jest, but a decision already made.
"Let's build a solid foundation first," Hogg said in the end, turning and walking back into the house. "Your literacy lessons should begin."
But today's literacy lesson did not go as planned.
After lunch, Delinkovt's phantom appeared in Wharton's room. The white-bearded old man hovered in mid-air, the hem of his blue robe fluttering even without wind. His body was more solid than it had been three months ago—Linley's magical power was slowly repairing his shattered soul.
"Linley is leaving tomorrow," Delinkowart said bluntly. "I'll be going with him to Ernst College."
Walton nodded. This was to be expected.
"I can't teach you much about your fire magic," the old mage said apologetically. "I'm not a holy fire mage; forcing you to learn will only lead you astray. However..."
He extended a finger, and a point of milky white light condensed at his fingertip, drifting towards Walton's forehead. Walton did not flinch, allowing the light to seep into his skin.
A flood of information rushed into my mind.
It's not a specific magic spell, nor a profound meditation technique, but a framework—the overall framework of the magic system. The essence of elemental affinity, the laws governing the growth of spiritual power, the principles of magical power compression and purification, the key nodes from level one to level nine and even to the Holy Realm… This is a "cognitive map" condensed from five thousand years of experience by Delinkovt.
"This is the last gift I can give you," the old magician said. "You have to walk your own path, but at least you'll know where the signposts are."
Walton closed his eyes to process the information for a moment, and when he opened them again, a glint of light flashed in his eyes.
"Thank you, Grandpa Delin."
"Don't thank me too soon." Delinkovt stroked his beard. "I left a 'backdoor.' Most of this knowledge is sealed, but it will gradually be unlocked as your strength increases. Premature exposure to advanced theories is more harmful than beneficial."
That makes perfect sense, Wharton thought. It's like a programmer's access control system; you can only access code that your current level allows you to view.
"Any other questions? While I'm still here," the old magician asked.
Wharton pondered for a moment: "Would dragon bloodline conflict with magical cultivation?"
"Good question." Delinkovit gave him an approving look. "You need to balance the time investment in both. Warrior training requires physical conditioning and a lot of physical training; magical training requires meditation and accumulation, which requires absolute quiet and focus. There are only twenty-four hours in a day, and you are currently," he paused, "only three and a half years old."
Walton fell silent.
"So my advice is: before the age of six, focus primarily on basic warrior training, with magic as a secondary focus. After the bloodline concentration test, adjust the proportions based on the results." The old mage finished speaking, his form fading. "Linley is calling me. Remember, Walton, the greatest power isn't talent, but knowing what you want and being willing to pay the price."
As soon as he finished speaking, the phantom vanished.
Walton was the only one left in the room.
The next day, Walton began training.
As dawn broke, he was already doing his third set of squats in the corner of the courtyard. A panel hovered at the edge of his line of sight, its pale blue data stream constantly changing.
[Physical Training: Squats]
Number of groups: 3/5
Number of times: 15/20
Heart rate: 142
Muscle load: 67% (safe range)
Recommendation: Rest for 90 seconds after completing this set and replenish fluids.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, splattering onto the muddy ground. At three and a half years old, his body was indeed frail; twenty squats were enough to make his thighs tremble. But the stats on the panel didn't lie—muscle fibers remodeled after being torn, each time stronger than the last.
At 7:00 AM sharp, training ended. Walton, leaning against the wall and panting, pulled up today's summary data:
Age: 3 years, 5 months, and 22 days
Basic physical fitness index: 1.17 (age average: 1.00)
[Note: After 14 consecutive days of training, the average daily growth was 1.2%, indicating a positive trend.]
"Young Master Wharton, it's time for breakfast," Ciri's voice came from the corridor.
"They're here."
Breakfast consisted of porridge, fried eggs, and milk. Hogg was already seated in the main seat, a yellowed ledger spread out before him—the Baruch family's meager fortune required careful management.
"Good morning, Father." Walton climbed into his chair.
Hogg looked up at him. "You're sweaty. You went to train again?"
"Um."
"Just do it in moderation, don't hurt yourself."
Simple conversations, day after day. Hogg wasn't a father good at expressing concern, but Wharton could read worry in his occasional pauses in his gaze. This man who had lost his wife couldn't bear to lose anything more.
Halfway through the morning literacy class, Wharton made a new request.
"Grandpa Ciri, I want to see all the books in the family library about monsters, herbs, and minerals."
The old butler paused, then said, "Those books are very profound; young master might find them difficult to understand now..."
"I can take my time," Wharton insisted. "I'll write down any words I don't know and ask you about them."
Ciri looked at Hogg. The patriarch was silent for a moment, then nodded: "Take him there."
The Baruch family's library was located on the west side of the manor, a room rarely opened. When the door was pushed open, dust danced in the sunlight. Bookshelves lined the walls, most of them empty—after the family's decline, the valuable books had long been sold off, leaving only miscellaneous books considered "useless."
But it is precisely in these "useless" books that Wharton holds what it needs.
"The Atlas of Monsters of the Continent (Fragment)," "Common Herbs of the Magnolia Continent," "Basic Mineral Identification"... There weren't many books, less than thirty in total, and most of them were incomplete. But that was enough for Walton.
He pulled out a book about Warcraft, and the first page featured a familiar illustration: a velociraptor. The level seven Warcraft that had destroyed the town three months ago.
"Grandpa Ciri," Walton pointed to the text under the illustration, "it says here that velociraptor scales can be used to make high-grade armor. So, after it dies, who takes the scales?"
Ciri, who was dusting the bookshelf, turned around upon hearing this: "Usually, it's taken by the strong who kill it, or collected by nearby forces. What's wrong?"
"I'm thinking," Walton said softly, "what should I do with the materials if I encounter a powerful magical beast in the future and kill it?"
The old butler chuckled, "Young master, you've thought very far ahead. But it's true, soldiers need to know how to use spoils of war. I'll teach you that later."
Wharton didn't say anything more and continued reading, but his mind had already wandered off.
In the original story, Linley's harvest in the Monster Mountain Range was an important source of resources for him in the early stages. Magic cores, furs, rare herbs... these represented not only gold coins, but also aids in cultivation.
And he knew where those good things were.
Therefore, he needed to establish a "source of knowledge." These family books served as cover: one day in the future, when he "accidentally" discovered a treasure, he could point to a page in a book and say, "I've seen a similar record here."
Planning should begin early.
During his afternoon meditation session, Wharton encountered his first bottleneck.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, trying to sense the surrounding fire element using the basic meditation method taught by Derinkowart. He had succeeded once three months ago, refining his first wisp of fire magic. But progress had been slow since then.
Today is especially difficult.
As consciousness sank into the spiritual world, what it saw was not vibrant red lights, but a stagnant fog. The fire elements seemed to exist, yet also seemed to be separated by something, difficult to grasp, let alone guide.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty minutes.
Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. It wasn't from physical exertion, but from mental exhaustion.
The panel is unresponsive—it can only record results, not intervene in the process.
Walton opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Something's wrong; there's a problem with the method.
Derinkowot teaches a universal meditation method suitable for all elementalists. However, everyone's soul characteristics are different, so the efficiency of the same method varies drastically. The old magician said that at higher levels, each magician will develop their own unique meditation method.
Why should I wait until the higher level?
Walton closed his eyes again. This time, instead of forcibly "grabbing" the fire elementals, he tried to "sense" their presence.
heat.
This is the first sensation. There are subtle fluctuations in heat in the air, from the embers of the fireplace, the sunlight outside the window, and even the body heat from the flow of one's own blood.
Restlessness.
The second layer of feeling. Fire element is not as stable as earth element; it is active, dynamic, and restless. Forcing it to calm down and arrange itself neatly is like forcing a wild horse to march in formation—it can be done, but it is inefficient.
What if... we go with the flow?
Wharton adjusted his breathing. He no longer tried to control, but rather "invited." He tuned the fluctuations of his mental energy to a frequency similar to that of the fire element, mimicking their leaping rhythm.
It felt awkward at first. Human thinking instinctively seeks order, but this kind of imitation requires deliberately breaking that order.
But gradually, a certain resonance arose.
In the realm of the mind, those red specks of light began to approach on their own. Not pulled, but rather gathering together as if finding companions. One wisp, two wisps... a subtle warm current flowed into the body through invisible channels, condensing and compressing in the chest and abdomen.
[Fire Magic Power: Accumulating]
Current reserves: 11.7 (Standard value for a level 1 mage: 100)
Accumulation rate: 0.8/hour (original rate: 0.3/hour)
Note: A 267% increase in meditation efficiency has been detected. It is recommended to maintain the current state.
The moment the panel data popped up, Walton almost snapped out of his meditation.
He steadied himself and continued.
Wharton ended his meditation as the three o'clock bell rang from the town. The warm current in his chest and abdomen had grown to a point where he could clearly feel it, like a small, gentle flame rising and falling slightly with his breath.
Fire magic power reserves: 14.9
Two hours of meditation increased my reserves by 3.2. At this rate, two hours a day would take approximately 53 days to reach the standard reserves for a Level 1 mage.
But this is not the limit. As mental strength increases and skills become more proficient, speed will increase further.
Wharton got out of bed and stretched his stiff limbs. The sound of Ciri trimming the plants drifted in from outside the window; everything seemed normal.
No one knew that this three-and-a-half-year-old child had just completed his first independent improvement of a cultivation method.
The training ground was deserted in the evening—the guards had finished their drills and gone home for dinner. Walton stood at the edge of the field and began practicing the Qi Gathering Stance.
This is the most basic stance training for soldiers, which Lin Lei practiced for two years, but he had only formally practiced it for less than a month. However, the panel's [Observation and Learning] function allowed him to skip many of the trial-and-error stages—Lin Lei's movement details, key points of force exertion, and breathing rhythm were all recorded and analyzed by the system.
Wharton got into position and adjusted his breathing.
As you inhale, imagine the power rising from the soles of your feet, up your calves, thighs, and spine.
When exhaling, the energy sinks into the dantian, circulating repeatedly.
Very standard movement. At least that's how the panel describes it:
[Qi Gathering Style: Mastery 72%]
Action standardization: 89%
Respiratory compliance: 78%
Energy cycle efficiency: 61%
Recommendation: Increase the duration of each session, raising the target from 15 minutes to 20 minutes.
Walton closed his eyes and started the timer.
The first five minutes were very easy. My muscles were adapting, and my heart rate was steady.
After ten minutes, my thighs started to ache. Beads of sweat trickled down my temples.
Fifteen minutes later, the original goal was achieved. But he didn't stop.
Seventeen minutes later, his calves began to tremble. His breathing became erratic, but he forced himself to regain his composure.
Nineteen minutes and thirty seconds. My vision started to go black; this was a sign of oxygen deprivation.
Twenty years old.
Walton exhaled sharply, relaxing his body. A wave of tingling and numbness washed over him, and he staggered, only managing to avoid falling by grabbing onto a nearby wooden post.
But the panel data looks very good:
[Qi Gathering Style: Duration 20 minutes, breaking personal record]
Peak muscle load: 81% (close to the limit but safe)
Energy cycle efficiency increased to 64%.
[Fitness Index] Increased by 0.03
worth it.
Walton wiped the sweat from his face and prepared to go back inside. As he turned around, he saw Hogg standing at the entrance to the training grounds, having been watching for who knows how long.
The father and son looked at each other.
"You're working even harder than Linley did back then." Hogg walked over, his voice low in the twilight.
Walton didn't know what to say, he just stood there.
Hogg crouched down to examine his leg. He pressed his fingers against the calf muscle with just the right amount of pressure: "Does it hurt here?"
"It's a little sour."
"Where are your knees?"
"It doesn't hurt."
Hogg nodded and stood up: "Moderate training is good, but you have to know your limits. The men of the Baruch family are not afraid of hardship, but they should not get injured unnecessarily."
"I understand, Father."
"Do you really understand?" Hogg looked at him. "You're only three and a half, Wharton. When Linley was your age, he was chasing butterflies in the yard."
Wharton paused for a moment: "My brother went to Ernst College when he was eight."
This statement stunned Hogg.
After a long while, he reached out and gently patted Walton on the shoulder: "Go back, it's time for dinner."
As he turned to leave, Hogg said something again, his voice very soft, as if talking to himself, or perhaps to Wharton:
"You two brothers will both go further than me."
During dinner, Ciri mentioned the news that had been received in town.
"The caravan from Fenlai City said that enrollment for new students at Ernst Academy has ended. Several geniuses emerged this year, the most outstanding being an eight-year-old child who is a dual prodigy in both earth and wind magic."
Walton lowered his head and drank his soup without saying a word.
Hogg cut the meat on his plate: "And then?"
"And then? The whole capital was in an uproar. I heard that the dean of Ernst Academy personally received him, and the Holy See of Light also sent people. The caravan people were saying some incredible things, that the child would definitely become a Saint-level Archmage in the future."
"Let's eat," Hogg interrupted him.
Ciri awkwardly shut up.
Wharton knew that his father didn't want these rumors to affect him—whether they brought pressure or fueled unnecessary comparisons.
But Wharton remained calm. His brother's glory was Baruch's glory, and that was a good thing. His own journey, however, had only just begun.
After dinner, Walton returned to his room.