There is no such thing as an inherently strong or weak spell; it all depends on how one uses it and, more importantly, the timing.

  Baont had heard this phrase more than once, along with many similar adages. He had even heard extreme stories of non-combat spells achieving startling effects—like the tale of a powerful kingdom capable of halting a Third-Ring wizard, only to crumble within days because of the simplest Zero-Ring spell, Ghost Sound.

  Baont had learned Ghost Sound after hearing that very story. He had followed his mentor's instructions diligently, attempting to push open the magnificent gates of the magical world, trying to step into that vast expanse just like the other apprentices around him.

  But in the end, every attempt only confirmed his original answer.

  He still preferred the feeling of raw power. That was what he was good at; that was where he truly belonged. It mirrored those days etched deep in his memory, days he could never forget, when he hungered for strength as the most powerful knight his subterranean domain had seen in a century. Granted, that domain wasn't large, and he readily admitted that being a champion there was like being a tiny bug swimming at the bottom of a water glass.

  Still, he couldn't forget the feeling. It wasn't a longing for the luxury of that past life, but a love for that specific kind of combat—where fists and sharp steel pierced the hides of subterranean beasts. He had no patience for "interesting" spells. "Interesting" was the category he used for magic in his own mind; if a spell couldn't simply and directly satisfy his inner drive, he tossed it into that pile, regardless of how useful others claimed it to be.

  "The path of the wizard is infinite," his mentor had also said.

  But Baont didn't need his gate to be open quite that wide.

  One late night, after finally coming to terms with this, his meditation efficiency seemed to skyrocket. The once-clogged path became smooth, and he surged through the ranks to become a fifth-level wizard apprentice, eventually reaching the very limit of mental energy.

  His path was his fist, and his path was his longsword.

  Just because he wasn't keen on "interesting" spells didn't mean he was rigid; he simply perceived the wonders of magic through a different lens.

  The near-invisible yet lethal black claws surged toward him like a tide. Though there were only seven or eight of them, they crowded forward like a pack of shadow-monsters. For an ordinary person, the impact of a single claw would be catastrophic—shattered bones would be a mercy; more likely, the flesh would be instantly scooped away, scattered across the floor.

  Baont stood as firm as a reef. His calm expression, combined with his upright posture, gave him an aura of someone whose feet were planted on the earth while his head touched the vault of heaven.

  It was an air of utter indifference toward the terrifying spell before him—an indifference toward the other apprentices, even those who, like him, were at the fifth-level peak. This state didn't come across as arrogant or conceited; he was simply too tranquil. Unlike the flighty nature of vanity, his calm carried the crushing weight of a mountain.

  Baont knew people gossiped about his "patience." Thinking back, he realized he hadn't even noticed those people. His vision was narrow—narrow enough to see only his own path and the obstacles blocking his way to becoming a full wizard. As for those people and events that didn't even qualify as obstacles, they were forgotten the moment they passed, if they were ever noticed at all. Rumors claimed many people had grievances with him, but he couldn't recall a single one. To him, only those who blocked his way mattered; everything else was irrelevant.

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  Only the path to transcendence permitted no ambiguity.

  And now, a fool whose name he would soon forget had reached out to interfere with that path.

  Baont looked at the grinning man draped in the long serpent.

  "I've never liked the term 'Peak wizard apprentice.' Reaching the limit of mental energy and having a few modified spells isn't enough," Baont said, raising his hands. Different magical fluctuations flashed across his body in rapid succession as his temporary spell slots were emptied in an instant. "A true peak looks like this... most people aren't worthy of the title."

  First-Ring Spell: Stone Fist!

  His fists became as hard as granite. It wasn't just a physical change; his strength surged immensely. Furthermore, this strength boost did not conflict with the well-known Zero-Ring spells Great Strength and Bull's Strength. This was exactly what Baont wanted. He had already modified his solidified Great Strength spell to almost entirely resolve the issue of diminishing returns when stacking it with Bull's Strength.

  With a single punch, Baont shattered the wave of black shadow-claws. An invisible ripple seemed to wrap around his fist. The green mist swirled and dissipated outward, clearly revealing the two figures at the center.

  The man who had been grinning incessantly finally stopped smiling the moment he recognized the First-Ring spell. Baont ignored the few black claws attempting a sneak attack. The Zero-Ring spell Air Armor functioned on his body with a strength far exceeding the norm.

  "I can merge Lesser Arke's Exclusion with Air Armor, and even blend it with my sword techniques. Even if you know Air Armor, it won't stop my stone fists and my blade..."

  As a former Aura Knight, his strength was already immense and his swordsmanship exquisite. Baont flicked his wrist, drawing a gleaming two-handed longsword from his storage pouch, and took a step forward. This was the first time he had moved his feet since facing the man.

  "A First-Ring spell? How can a wizard apprentice cast a First-Ring spell so easily? Do you possess a legendary Wonder?" After losing his smile, the man didn't panic excessively; instead, his face filled with genuine confusion.

  "Did you think this snake would tie my hands?" Baont casually twirled his sword, invisible power rippling along the blade.

  A flash of nervousness finally crossed the man's face. He began to retreat slowly. Over a dozen black shadow-claws converged beside him to form a single, massive claw nearly the height of a man. Simultaneously, he layered Air Armor and other defensive spells over himself, and flicked his wrist to pull a black scroll from his storage pouch.

  "As a final piece of advice before you die, let my sword be the witness," Baont said, staring directly at the retreating man without rushing his pace. "I have no Wonder, and this snake has nothing to do with the insect-people. Your actions were destined to be futile. However, you were right about one thing: this snake is a clue to finding a Wonder. And also..."

  "I don't need to be that close to cut you."

  Baont seemed to find the opening he had been waiting for. Gripping the sword with both hands, he lunged. With a twist of his waist, the longsword swept down in a devastating arc.

  The strike was delivered with textbook form—perfect power and perfect timing, a set of movements etched into his very bones. When the sword descended, the tip was still a palm's width away from the retreating man. Along with the strike, a repulsive force not belonging to the man erupted from his body; the long serpent was shoved away, its tight coil suddenly loosening into a baggy mess.

  But the man was in no position to care. A line of blood appeared at his brow. Neither the giant black claw nor his various spells had stopped that single strike. He spat out a mouthful of bloody froth as sections of his body began to slide apart. From his forehead down to the opposite side of his waist, the man was cleaved cleanly in two. The snake, now loose and still draped around him, remained unharmed. The sword that had seemingly missed had sliced through him with such terrifying sharpness that it left only a perfectly smooth, diagonal trail of death.