Early the next morning, Rune led his army out of the city in full force, heading for the Black Scale Lizardmen's territory. Their banners fluttered under the dawn light, and the sound of hooves and armor echoed across the plains. The hunt had begun with overwhelming momentum.
Magus, however, remained behind as usual, quietly occupied with his own pursuits.
Inside his tightly sealed study, the flickering yellow candlelight cast long shadows on the walls. Magus sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed in deep meditation.
Two hours passed in silence before he finally exhaled softly and opened his eyes.
A faint glow flashed before him—his panel. The proficiency of the Star Ring Meditation Technique had increased by another five points, and his mental power had risen by 0.01.
"At this rate," he murmured, eyes thoughtful, "it'll take around half a year to construct the first star ring."
According to the introductory book he had read, most Wizard Apprentices required two to three years to complete their first star ring without external aid. The exceptionally gifted could shorten this time to about a year.
From this perspective, even without the enhancement of silver moon flower essence, Magus's aptitude was considered excellent.
After all, in this world—much like the games he remembered—those with a data panel were geniuses beyond comparison.
Yet, he wasn't satisfied.
Half a year for a single star ring was far too long in his eyes. The second and third would take even longer—perhaps three or four years just to reach the level of a Second-level Wizard Apprentice. Advancing to a Third-level Apprentice could take ten or even twenty years.
And becoming a Formal Wizard? Possibly a century.
The thought made his brow crease slightly. The lifespan of a Wizard Apprentice wasn't much greater than that of an ordinary human. Without physical modification, they rarely lived beyond two hundred years. Only by advancing to a true Wizard could one transcend mortal limits and gain an extended lifespan—the essence of life itself elevated and purified.
Magus's ultimate goal was to achieve that advancement before his lifespan ran out. He needed to live long enough to witness the elemental revival a thousand years later.
"I have to improve my meditation efficiency," he decided.
Rising from the floor, Magus walked to the bookshelf and pulled down a heavy tome titled "Encyclopedia of Zero-Order Potions."
The book contained eighteen potion formulas of the lowest grade—zero-order. Among them were the Dragon Blood Potion, Brute Force Potion, Healing Potion, Swiftness Potion, Photosensitive Potion, and several others.
But what caught his attention most was the Sub-Active Potion.
Its effects were remarkably similar to silver moon flower essence, both enhancing mental activity, but the Sub-Active Potion was much stronger—a true upgraded version.
"If I had Sub-Active Potion to assist with meditation," Magus thought, his heart racing slightly, "I could reach Second-level Apprentice in one or two years."
Excitement burned in his eyes. But when he glanced through the list of required ingredients, his enthusiasm quickly dimmed.
Soothing Grass, Dragon's Eye Mint, Black-Spotted Python Bone Powder—these were rare but obtainable with effort and time.
The real problem was the sap of the Mind-Clearing Tree.
In Magus's fragmented game-like memories, that tree only grew deep within the Crimson Gold Empire of the southern lands—thousands of kilometers away. Acquiring its sap from here was virtually impossible.
"I'll have to try substituting silver moon flower essence," he concluded after a pause.
The sap's primary function was to enhance mental activity—the same as the silver moon flower. It wasn't a perfect match, but in theory, the substitution might work.
Fortunately, silver moon flowers weren't particularly expensive; one silver coin could buy a blossom.
Whether this would succeed in practice, however, remained to be seen. He would have to gather the other materials first before experimenting.
Besides, the Sub-Active Potion was one of the hardest zero-order potions to craft.
Magus estimated he'd need at least Level 2 Potion Making proficiency to attempt it seriously. Otherwise, the failure rate would be absurdly high.
"For now," he muttered, setting the book aside, "I'll keep making Sub-Dragon Blood Potions to improve my skills. Once my Potion Making reaches level two, I'll start testing substitutions."
He returned the encyclopedia to the shelf and took out several old spell model books from a nearby cabinet.
The collection wasn't large—his predecessor had only four spell models: Wizard's Hand, Acid Splash, Sleep Spell, and Flash.
All of them were zero-ring spells, the lowest level of magic.
That suited Magus just fine. Higher-tier spells were far beyond his current mental capacity.
He flipped open the volume on Wizard's Hand. The pages were densely filled with notes, diagrams, and spiraling symbols—the intricate circuits of spell construction.
A spell model formed the core of all magic. To cast a spell, a wizard first needed to construct its model in their mind, weaving mental power into an invisible lattice. This model then guided the flow of energy particles, transforming them into tangible effects—fire, frost, force, light.
In simpler terms, a spell model was like a processor, converting energy into structured magic.
But the process was painstakingly complex. Each model contained countless circuits and nodes, so delicate that even the simplest one could boggle the mind.
Learning a spell also required mastery of several supporting disciplines.
For example, Wizard's Hand involved principles of energy circulation and force field conversion. To truly master it, a Wizard Apprentice needed to study these subjects in depth—reading multiple treatises, conducting calculations, and spending years in understanding.
That was why ordinary apprentices often spent years learning a single spell.
But Magus wasn't ordinary.
He had a player panel—a miraculous advantage that ignored conventional learning.
He didn't need to understand the principles behind the diagrams. Simply reading the spell book was enough to increase his learning progress. The system recorded every act of study, even if he understood nothing consciously.
And when progress reached one hundred percent, mastery came instantly—along with full comprehension of all related knowledge.
That was the true power of a "player."
Opening the book on Wizard's Hand, Magus focused his attention and began reading.
Half an hour later, a faint line of text shimmered before his eyes:
[Reading "Wizard's Hand Spell Model" — learning progress +0.08%]
A small step, but progress nonetheless.
The following days settled into a steady rhythm. Magus spent his mornings meditating and his afternoons reading spell model books. Occasionally, he worked with the corpses of Black Scale Lizardmen that Rune's soldiers sent back, extracting their blood to craft Sub-Dragon Blood Potions.
His Potion Making skill improved steadily. Each batch came out more refined than the last, and his success rate rose significantly.
By the end, three portions of Sub-Dragon Blood were enough to produce one bottle of potion.
Half a month later, eleven bottles of the crimson elixir stood neatly arranged on his worktable.
When Rune returned to Blackstone City, weary and dust-covered from the expedition, he went straight to the council hall. There, he found Magus waiting with a calm smile—and a row of gleaming glass bottles filled with vibrant red liquid.
"These are the potions you mentioned?" Rune asked, stepping forward. "The ones that can enhance physique?"
Magus nodded.
Rune picked up one of the bottles, tilting it toward the light. The potion inside shimmered like molten rubies. His eyes widened slightly in astonishment.
Behind him, several knights craned their necks, their gazes fixed on the bottles with undisguised hunger.
After all, Magus had told them these potions worked even on Formal Knights—a rare claim indeed.
Who wouldn't want to become stronger?
Rune set the bottle down carefully. "If these work as you claim, Magus, they could change everything for our forces."
"They do," Magus replied calmly, his tone confident but not boastful. "But they're not easy to make. Each one requires specific blood purity and careful temperature control. Fail once, and the entire batch is wasted."
Rune chuckled softly. "You make it sound like alchemy and sorcery combined."
"In a sense," Magus said, eyes gleaming faintly, "it is."
For him, this was more than a craft—it was progress toward a future only he could see. Every potion brewed, every point of proficiency earned, every tiny increment of mental power—each brought him closer to transcending mortal limits.
Rune studied him for a moment, then smiled. "You've changed, Magus. When I first met you, you looked like a scholar lost in theory. Now, you seem more… determined."
Magus looked down at the potions, their light reflecting in his eyes like burning stars. "Determination is all I have left. If I stop, I'll never catch up to time itself."
Rune didn't quite understand what he meant, but he nodded anyway.
The knights whispered among themselves, the hall alive with anticipation. Power—true, tangible power—was within reach.
For Magus, though, this was only the beginning.
He glanced toward his study door, where the faint scent of herbs still lingered. His mind was already turning toward the next challenge—the Sub-Active Potion. The thought of it ignited a spark deep within him, one that no failure could extinguish.
The path of a Wizard was long and treacherous, paved with endless study, patience, and sacrifice. But with his player's edge, Magus knew he could defy that fate.
He would shorten decades into years, years into months.
And one day, when the elemental tides rose again, he would stand at the forefront—not as a mere apprentice, but as a true Wizard, immortal and unyielding.
For now, though, he reached for another spellbook, his fingers brushing over the embossed title. Candlelight danced across the pages as he opened it once more.
Outside, the night wind carried distant echoes of soldiers training in the yard below. Rune's army would soon march again, and with it, the empire's destiny might shift.
But Magus had no interest in wars or kingdoms. His war was within—against time, against limits, against the silent decay of mortality.
And in that quiet, flickering chamber, a new star of magic was slowly, methodically being born.