The lights and sounds of Silver Oak Leaf Street were left far behind. The damp night breeze from Silent Lake, carrying the fresh scent unique to aquatic plants, washed away the air from the dinner table—a mixture of food aromas, delicate incense, and invisible pressure.
Leon pushed open the deep green wooden door of the lakeside cabin without lighting a lamp. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting faint squares onto the simple floor. He felt no trace of drowsiness; everything from the day—the solemn stone walls of Silvershine Academy, the flat tone of the old clerk, Aelia's polite yet distant directions, Sir Horn's scrutinizing gaze, and Madam Susan's warm, apologetic care—flowed through his mind like water, leaving no blockage behind.
What he needed was not sleep, but to begin.
Since waking in the carriage nearly two days ago, he had been observing, adapting, and evaluating. Now, a mundane foothold had been roughly secured, and initial contact with necessary people had been made. It was time to devote all his energy to the one truly important matter—rebuilding the foundation of the extraordinary.
He walked to the window and looked out at Silent Lake, shimmering with fragmented moonlight in the darkness. The lake was deep, and the forest on the opposite shore was reduced to a heavy, undulating outline in the dark. Drawing on the extraordinary perception honed in his previous life—far surpassing his current magical power—he could faintly "sense" the flow of magical energy in this area. Overall, it was still thin, but in certain specific spots near the shore, especially where perennial trees grew with roots deep into the water-soil boundary, the activity of magical elements in the environment seemed slightly higher than elsewhere, like extremely faint eddies on calm water.
"There," Leon's gaze fixed on a somewhat shadowy area behind the cabin, by the lakeside. There stood several unusually tall oak trees, their branches gnarled, crowns spreading like canopies, resembling giants standing silent in the night.
He slipped out silently, following the soft earthen path along the shore toward that oak grove. The lakeside at night was quiet and deserted, with only the rustle of wind through leaves and the occasional soft "plop" of a fish breaking the surface. The air was permeated with the scents of lake water, damp soil, and plant roots.
Under the shadow of the oak grove, the light grew dimmer. Leon closed his eyes, fully releasing his weak yet intrinsically superior spiritual perception, sensing carefully. Moments later, he selected the oldest oak tree, its trunk so thick it would take two people to encircle it. Beneath this tree, the free magical elements he felt were indeed slightly denser than near the cabin, and more tranquil, carrying the enduring essence of water and earth intermingling, ceaseless life.
"A good spot." He nodded in satisfaction. For the initial stage of core reconstruction, such a naturally formed, mildly and evenly attributed weak magical concentration point was better than any artificially crafted meditation chamber. It wasn't intense enough to provide rapid advancement, but it was perfect for forging the purest, most stable foundation.
Sitting with his back against the rough oak bark, the cool, solid texture seeped through his thin clothes. Leon adjusted his breathing, allowing his mind to settle completely, casting aside all distractions.
Now was the critical moment to decide on a specific cultivation path.
In his previous life, relying on his exceptional talent and resources as a disciple of the "Cerulean Star," he initially practiced one of the mid-tier universal meditation arts widely recognized as the finest in the empire's magical community, passed down through Silvershine Academy—"Starlight Resonance Art." This method focused on faint resonances with the stars in the sky, absorbing and converting the specific attribute-infused magical energy within. Its cultivation speed was decent, and it had high compatibility with most elemental spells. Using this method, he successfully advanced to official mage before twenty, hailed as a genius.
However, it was precisely this "Starlight Resonance Art" that, during the initial construction of his magical core, had invisibly leaned toward rare attributes like "light," "star," and "space." While powerful, it resulted in a core whose foundational attributes weren't "neutral" enough, planting the initial hidden flaw that later led to forcibly merging other attribute-based arts and, ultimately, core collapse.
"The attribute bias of the foundation determines the breadth and compatibility of one's future magical path. The more pronounced the bias, the faster the initial specialization, but the more difficult it becomes to transition or integrate other systems later, potentially even causing conflicts," Leon analyzed coolly in his heart. "In my past life, eager for quick results, I chose the seemingly powerful and efficient 'Starlight Resonance Art,' overlooking the most essential aspect: inclusiveness."
This life, he possessed the vast, ocean-like magical knowledge accumulated over his previous life, including many lost or discarded ancient meditation arts deemed inefficient. What he sought to choose wasn't the fastest or the most potent, but the one with the most stable foundation, greatest potential, and strongest compatibility.
His consciousness sank deep into his memories, searching and comparing within that immense repository of knowledge formed from countless ancient scrolls, forbidden stone tablets, and sages' records. Finally, a stream of information inscribed in a lost ancient elven language, interwoven with complex imagery and rhythmic runes, emerged clearly.
"Root Forging Art."
This was not a product of the human magical system, nor even entirely an elven creation. According to the fragmented inscription, it originated from an imitation and exposition of the "Root" by an ancient, intelligent existence coeval with the world. Its core concept wasn't about "extracting" or "converting" specific attribute magic from the outside, but rather viewing the cultivator's own soul and life essence as a miniature "world seed" containing infinite potential. Through special rhythms and visualization, it would induce a faint resonance between internal and external roots, "forging" from the most fundamental level, slowly yet firmly, a "primordial core" unique to oneself yet connected to the root of all external things.
The cultivation speed of this method was despairingly slow. It didn't directly absorb any attribute-based external magic, only purifying and elevating the cultivator's own essence extremely minutely through resonance, and using that as the core to naturally attract and purify the most neutral energy from the outside. In the early stages, one might not feel any significant magical growth for months.
But it had one advantage unmatched by any other meditation art—absolute "purity" and "inclusiveness." The magical core forged by this method was nearly "attribute-less" yet contained the potential to transform into any attribute. It was like a perfectly pure sheet of paper, capable of bearing any color of magical runes in the future; or like an unworked, chaotic gem that could be shaped into any form as needed.
More importantly, a cultivator with this as their core possessed far greater affinity and control potential over most energies—whether orthodox elemental magic, natural life force, earth pulse power, or even energies deemed taboo by orthodox mages, like negative or shadow energy—because they all originated from different aspects of the "Root."
"This is it." Leon didn't hesitate in the slightest.
Speed? He had patience to spare. Five hundred years in his past life, and only sixteen in this one. He could wait.
Power? A perfect foundation would provide unmatched, substantial capital within the same rank and an absolute pass to higher realms in the future.
Compatibility? This was the key to mending the regrets of his past life, integrating all his magical knowledge, and exploring the true path of an archmage.
Disregarding the slight chill of the night breeze and the insects' chirping by the lake, Leon withdrew all his consciousness inward. He didn't immediately begin complex visualization. Instead, he started with the most basic method, adjusting the subtle rhythms of his breathing, heartbeat, and even blood flow, letting this young body gradually adapt to a slow, deep, ancient cadence of life.
This wasn't magic, but preparation to bring the mortal flesh as close as possible to a "natural state."
Time passed bit by bit. The moon reached its zenith, then slowly descended westward. The grove grew even quieter, and even the insects' chirping gradually ceased.
When Leon felt every part of his body resonating faintly with the night wind, the lake waves, and the deep breath of the earth beneath him, he finally began to stir the complete imagery and rhythmic runes of the "Root Forging Art" hidden deep within his soul.
No light erupted, no phenomena of elemental convergence appeared. There was only an extreme "stillness."
Centered on where Leon sat, even the air flow seemed to grow viscous and slow. His pores dilated, his breathing became almost inaudible, his heartbeat slowed to near standstill, and his body temperature dropped slightly. The entire person seemed to transform into a lifeless stone, an ancient log sunk to the lakebed.
But deep within his body, at the core of his soul's origin, a faint "quiver" too weak for any instrument to detect was awakened. This quiver followed an ancient, mysterious rhythm, beginning to slowly oscillate and spread, like an infinitely tiny mote of dust dropped onto an absolutely still lake surface, its ripples too weak to notice, yet undeniably real.
This "quiver of the Root" resonated with the outside world in an indescribable way. From deep within the soil where the oaks rooted, from the dark waters of the lake, from the air through which the night wind flowed, the most fundamental, primordial, undifferentiated "primordial energy" that constituted the world's root, faint to the extreme, was drawn in and permeated thread by thread, strand by strand, by this quiver of the same origin.
They didn't directly transform into Leon's magic. Instead, like the finest flowing sand, they enveloped and seeped into his soul essence and the phantom of his magic core—both cracked and nearly depleted from rebirth—performing the most meticulous, slowest "forging" and "mending" through that ancient rhythm.
The process was excruciatingly slow, its effects minuscule. But Leon could clearly "perceive" the difference. This wasn't "repair," but "reforging"; not "patching," but "forging." Every thread of attracted primordial energy, under that rhythm, underwent an extremely slow "replacement" and "purification" with the deepest "impurities" within his essence—the hidden flaws left by his past life's rush, remnants of conflicting attribute magics, even the subtle disharmony from his soul's journey across time.
Was it painful? Not really. Only a heavy, sluggish feeling, as if he himself were being pressed into the earth's deepest depths, returning to the chaos at the world's birth. Tedious? For an ordinary sixteen-year-old, probably unbearable for even a moment. But for the Northern Sage whose mind had long been tempered as hard as the eternal permafrost through five hundred years of meditation experience, this was merely the necessary baptism for returning to the path of cultivation.
His mind was clear, like an ancient well without ripples, completely immersed in this nearly stagnant process of "Root Forging." External time lost meaning.
After an unknown period, a hint of extremely pale gray began to seep into the dense ink-blue of the eastern sky.
At this subtle moment of transition between day and night, yin and yang, the extreme "stillness" surrounding Leon seemed to resonate more deeply with the intangible changes between heaven and earth.
"Hum..."
A vibration so faint it was almost non-existent, as if directly reverberating within the soul, arose from within his body.
Immediately, phenomena began to manifest.
In the air surrounding his body, less than an inch from his skin, suddenly appeared specks of extremely fine, barely visible to the naked eye, faint dust-like light in a chaotic gray-white hue. These specks weren't many, floating sparsely, slowly revolving around him as if drawn by an invisible force field. They bore no attribute characteristics—not hot, not cold, not light, not heavy—merely existing, emitting a sense of the most primordial, most fundamental "existence."
This phenomenon lasted less than three breaths before the chaotic light dust vanished silently into the darkest air before dawn, as if never there.
Almost simultaneously with the light dust's disappearance, Leon's prolonged, nearly halted breathing resumed a slight rhythm. He slowly, very slowly, opened his eyes.
Deep within his eyes, the contained calm and detachment from when he left Silver Oak Leaf Street the previous night were gone, replaced by something deeper, more ineffable. It was as if two deep pools leading to infinite void and primal chaos swirled within his pupils for an instant, then quickly calmed, returning to deep black and tranquility.
But if a being with sufficiently sharp spiritual perception were present, they might vaguely sense that something about this black-haired youth before them seemed different. Not stronger, but more "solid," more "contained," like a piece of ore that had undergone initial firing in intense flames, its surface dust removed, revealing a denser essence beneath.
A night of deep meditation, practicing the legendary, slowest-progressing "Root Forging Art," yielded minuscule results. In terms of total magic power, the increase was almost negligible. But Leon knew the hardest, most crucial step had been successfully taken.
That depleted, shattered core phantom had been successfully "awakened" and had initially synchronized with the rhythm of the "Root Forging Art." Although the road to reshaping a stable core prototype was still long, the path was laid, the direction absolutely correct.
Leaning on the rough oak trunk, he slowly stood up. His limbs were stiff and numb from sitting too long, but his spirit was exceptionally clear and lucid, without a trace of fatigue. Looking up, the pale gray in the east was rapidly expanding and brightening; the surface of Silent Lake shifted from deep black to a somber indigo, heralding the start of a new day.
In the gradually brightening dawn light, the outline of the distant Grayrock City became clearer. Silvershine Academy, Silver Oak Leaf Street, Madam Susan's residence, Sir Horn's scrutinizing gaze, Aelia's light green eyes… all of it was still there, operating according to established social rules and human affairs.
But Leon knew that from this moment, an invisible line had quietly been drawn between him and that world.
Their daytime was for socializing, studies, interests, and etiquette.
His "daytime" truly began now, the moment he opened his eyes under this lakeside oak—a long journey of climbing back up, step by step, toward the root of magic and the peak of power, with absolute patience and wisdom.
He brushed off the grass bits and dew clinging to his clothes, turned, and walked toward the lakeside cabin emerging in the morning light.
His steps were steady, his back casting a long shadow in the brightening dawn.