Chapter 0069: Pushed to the Limit

The flesh of the Earthfire Dragon was acrid and tough. Even though the piece set before Greem was already considered cooked, he still found it excruciatingly hard to chew and swallow. Glancing at the other two, who were devouring their portions with relish, Greem even wondered if they had enchanted their own teeth with spells of rending and penetration—how else could they chew through such meat, which was tougher than rhino hide?

Greem ate slowly, but with determination. Especially as he focused a part of his mind inward, watching as his physique and spirit attributes crept steadily upward, he ate with even greater resolution. But this was something only he could do. After all, the ability to observe one's physical attributes to the third or fourth decimal place was not something an ordinary person could manage.

One chunk was finished, and another was brought forth. Altogether, the two pieces amounted to more than three times the capacity of his stomach, yet he still gritted his teeth and forced them down. By the end, he no longer had the leisure to savor the taste; instead, with willpower alone, he forced the meat into his mouth and swallowed it desperately.

Every strand of muscle, every morsel, as it slid down his esophagus, emanated a slow and steady elemental aura that filled Greem with a profound sense of pleasure. It was the flavor of fire elemental particles!

Normally, if Greem wished to increase his mental power, he had to rely on four unbroken hours of daily meditation, absorbing the drifting fire elemental particles in the spiritual world. This process, however, usually only increased the upper limit of his spiritual power; it was as if his spirit sea were a bounded pool, and daily rest merely refilled it, while meditation expanded the pool’s boundaries.

In his previous understanding, Greem believed that aside from meditation, only ingesting specially concocted potions could increase the upper limit of spiritual power. But today’s “feast” made him realize that, besides meditation and potions, there existed this slow and subtle means of improving a wizard apprentice’s physical qualities.

Though taking large quantities of potions could quickly enhance mental power, it often damaged other physical attributes. The “delicacy,” in contrast, gradually and gently improved his spirit, yielding benefits similar to meditation and with no adverse effects.

At least, Greem had heard that the very potion he had recently acquired—the Focus Potion—worked by sacrificing physique for mental enhancement. Thus, such potions were never to be consumed in large quantities over a short period, or Greem would certainly end up a walking skeleton like Blackwood.

As he pondered the synergy between fine food and Focus Potions, a coarse, sinewy chunk of meat became lodged in his throat. Unable to cough it up or swallow it down, he seized the goblet of crimson liquid and downed it in one gulp.

It was as if a line of fire traced its way from his mouth down his throat; Greem’s face flushed instantly, the skin of his delicate cheeks swelling purple, almost to the point of bleeding.

This… this was Earthfire Dragon’s blood!

The fire element suffused within the dragon’s blood and flesh began to diffuse, hungrily absorbed by his body. When Greem finally forced down the last bite, he could endure no more and collapsed onto the table, his mind blasted into delirium by the searing torrent of fire element, his consciousness drifting toward oblivion.

“Heh heh, boy, this is the first truth I’ll teach you.” Before his awareness faded entirely, Greem dimly heard Bald Alf’s booming voice receding into the distance: “A wizard apprentice must first be able to eat—only then can he fight! Remember that well!”

What the man said afterwards, Greem remembered not at all. Within him, the surging fire element erupted like molten lava, rampaging through every vein and sinew. The rich fire element turned his skin a blazing red; to the touch, he was as hot as a blazing furnace.

These highly active elemental particles, so suitable for bodily absorption, gathered and collided throughout his bones and flesh, merging with every part of him, bathing his entire being in a gluttonous feast of fire element.

Greem was intoxicated—drunk on fire element.

…

When Greem next awoke, seventeen hours had passed. The time was precise, for the chip had recorded it.

He found himself sprawled on a felt mat inside a small one-man tent. The moment he awoke, his first sensation was that he might explode.

A rush of blood vigor, unlike any he had ever known, swamped his senses. His limbs and torso quivered and tingled; every bone and muscle seemed to sing with vitality, eager to leap into action. For the first time, the fullness and surfeit of blood power made him yearn to rise and wrestle—anything to vent the inexhaustible, wild force within.

“Chip, what’s happening to me? Why do I feel so strange?” Greem, ever the rational and level-headed type, found today’s uncharacteristic restlessness unsettling.

“Beep. All bodily functions have reached their current limits… A large amount of unabsorbed bioactive elemental particles detected throughout the body… The unusual sensation is due to stimulation from these elements… Suggest immediate fire-element spell practice to absorb and volatilize the accumulated bioactive element…”

So, it was his body’s limited tolerance—unable to bear the feast’s tonic effect, he was suffering from over-nourishment!

Greem leapt from the mat; even a light clench of his fist made him feel the explosive power gathering in his arm, as if he’d suddenly become a body-refining sorcerer.

Stepping out of the tent, he realized he was still within the training camp, only now on the western side, having been moved from the eastern cabins. With his keen senses, he could tell some tents were empty, while others held people still asleep or meditating.

It was early the next morning. Many of the camp’s elites were already practicing their sorcery at the field’s edge. Observing their practiced and natural use of phrase-casting, Greem could not help but feel the urge to try as well.

Phrase-casting was a skill of mature spellcasters. Once an apprentice mastered a spell to a certain degree, they could begin to shorten or omit parts of the incantation while maintaining a seamless casting process. The ultimate goal of this arduous practice was true instant-casting.

Some powerful wizards needed not utter the full incantation—composed of dozens or even hundreds of syllables—but could trigger spells with only a brief phrase.

However, compressing an incantation of more than a hundred syllables into just five or six required years of relentless effort and access to secret sorcerous legacies.

This was why wizard families were so important to apprentices: each possessed unique arcane legacies. Only by belonging to such a family could one benefit from generations of accumulated wisdom, making the road of sorcery smoother and easier.

Without this ancient knowledge, one would have to probe blindly, step by step. Even with great talent, countless precious years could be wasted.

Greem, for example, now found that if he chanted more than a third of a spell’s incantation, he entered an irreversible spell-shaping process. If interrupted, or if he abandoned it himself, he would suffer backlash. Those with inherited knowledge, however, were like cheaters—they knew when to pause, how to abort safely, and how to avoid backlash.

Such knowledge could hardly be mastered, even after decades of hard practice.

This was the advantage of inherited lore.

Those who could cast freely practiced spells at will, dispersing them easily before activation. Through repeated practice, their mastery grew rapidly.

For a wizard apprentice, mental power was limited. Without phrase-casting or free-casting, after ten or so spells, one’s power would be exhausted and only sleep could restore it. With these techniques, though, hundreds or even thousands of practice attempts could be made each day.

Thus, apprentices with inherited knowledge advanced at a rate worlds apart from orphans like Greem.

But Greem had no time for envy. Instead, he hurried to a corner of the training field, found a huge stone as a target, and began repeatedly casting his newest solidified spell—Flame Spear.

Unlike the calm and measured practice of the others, Greem’s training was pure bombardment. Fiery crimson spears appeared in his hands with every shouted incantation, streaking across nearly a hundred meters before exploding against the boulder.

Violent physical impacts and searing fire blasts engulfed the stone in waves of raging flames, the deafening detonations ceaseless.

Normally, with a spirit power of just over nine, Greem would be drained after four Flame Spears. But today, for some reason, wild surges of fire energy continually erupted from his limbs, swelling his mental power to the point of near detonation.

Thus, Greem could only vent the immense pressure by hurling spear after spear, left and right. The direct result: the entire camp was roused by his commotion.