Chapter 135: The Arrogant Bourne (4,200-word combined chapter)

Most contemporary druids are primarily of elven descent, adhering to the domain of "Nature"—or more specifically, "Ganas." At this stage in history, druids maintain remarkably pure faith; they refrain from wanton killing and strictly adhere to a lawful good alignment. Their devotion to doctrine often supersedes their loyalty to the deities themselves, to the point where they would not hesitate to "fire" their own gods should those deities ever violate the core tenets of their faith.

One might compare them to the strict precepts of monks in a traditional monastery, unlike the druids of later eras, whose doctrines become distorted and degraded. Born understood all too well how terrifying conflicts over ideology could be. In his past life on Earth, from the various schools of thought during the Spring and Autumn period to the eventual dominance of Confucianism, the struggle over doctrines had always been far more intense than the later conflicts between the gods of Faerûn over faith. When one side could not win the argument, they would resort to "humanitarian destruction." It was not uncommon for fathers and sons to kill one another over differing beliefs, and more ruthlessly, as long as texts remained or believers persisted, the rekindling of such conflicts was the norm.

After regaining his composure, the old elf felt deep remorse. He had believed he had long since achieved enlightenment, only to realize he had not truly let go of his attachments. Seeing the old elf return to his normal self, Born felt a slight sense of relief. He had been getting a bit complacent lately; while the current gods might seem somewhat lethargic, their fanatical followers were not to be trifled with. The old man was relatively rational, but if one were to encounter a zealot who deemed one's actions offensive or contrary to their doctrine, that would be real trouble. Furthermore, one could not simply dispose of such fanatics. Every zealot was a reserve candidate for sainthood; killing one was essentially declaring war on their god. Unless one could find another deity for protection, one might as well wait to be hunted down by the god’s enforcers.

Born sensed through his perception of "Qi" that the old elf had calmed down, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Damn it... that was reckless!" he chided himself. He secretly resolved to be more cautious when dealing with such believers in the future, especially when they were stronger than himself.

The old elf felt a bit embarrassed but apologized to Born with genuine sincerity. Having lived for over a thousand years, there was little he could not let go of. Out of goodwill, he warned Born not to show this apparatus for producing spell potions to others so easily. Born nodded in agreement.

This high-efficiency, assembly-line production method was not just a shock to the market; it was a devastating blow to the entire class of spellcasters. In the past, even the most mediocre graduates from the Gills Academy could secure a decent job, given the status of spellcasters. But once spell potions were mass-produced, life would become difficult for those low-tier practitioners. Every new invention inevitably clashes with the old, damaging the interests of some. When the spinning jenny was first introduced, it was destroyed by those whose livelihoods were threatened. Although he had his grandfather's protection, small-time villains were always a nuisance.

In the black market, the price of spell potions had plummeted. Previously, spell potions and scrolls were rock-solid hard currency; now, the speculators who had hoarded them hated Born to the core. However, the adventurers were overjoyed. Sometimes, a single potion or scroll was a life-saving tool, and while the prices hadn't dropped to the cost of cabbage, they were no longer ridiculously high. Where one could only afford one before, they might now be able to buy two or three.

Born had originally intended to win over some allies during the winter, but the war had arrived too suddenly. "I wonder how things are going on my father's side? I must notify him to accelerate the progress," Born pondered. By now, a group of "farsighted" individuals should be aggressively trying to make contact with Viscount Gordon. Anyone with a functioning brain knew that Gordon was merely the spokesperson put forward by Born.

As for Gordon, he had been riding high lately. Though he still didn't quite understand what that phrase "Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river, do not bully a young man for being poor" meant—after all, it hadn't been thirty years, and he was already in his thirties, hardly a "young man"—since Born’s little "display" last time, the Netherese nobles knew that the Iolum family would produce a "Master of Space" in the future.

If it were just Count Iolum, the older generation might still be able to pull rank. But now, anyone with eyes could see that the Iolum family would eventually produce a figure comparable to Lord Congonius. Noble cooperation is not just about immediate gain; it values the future. Even if Born didn't reach the heights of Lord Congonius, given the current trends, he was clearly another Count Iolum, which was enough to warrant their serious attention. Although the Iolum family's inheritance model was peculiar, their "elite production rate" was incredibly high.

Gordon had been courting disaster, but his own talent was reportedly quite good. With Born as a "precedent," Gordon had suddenly become a hot commodity. Invitations flew in like snowflakes, scaring Gordon back into the manor. Even so, there were always at least a dozen luxury carriages waiting at his gate every day. It wasn't realistic to reject them all; Born’s plan was to maintain an ambiguous status with each family, waiting for the right price while observing their "sincerity." Some invitations from the great families, especially those from the Seven Noble Houses of Netheril, were hard to refuse. Despite this, Viscount Gordon felt overwhelmed by the endless social obligations, running from event to event until he had gained weight. Lately, the excuses for these banquets were always things like the birthday of some niece or the coming-of-age ceremony for some daughter.

Whenever Gordon appeared, he would soon be surrounded by a bevy of women, ranging from intellectual married women to pure young maidens. Once or twice was fine, but it happened almost every time. Even the slow-witted Gordon realized that these people were trying to find a stepmother for Born.

"Father, you will face many temptations, especially those of the flesh. You must hold your ground. Don't think Grandfather is quiet; he is watching. If you can't control your lower half, that's one thing, but if you ruin the mission, consider whether Grandfather would place justice above family!" Born had said with a stern expression. "And don't bring any women back. I don't want to call a woman not much older than me 'Mother'!"

Thinking back on Born's specific instructions, Viscount Gordon's mouth twitched. Having such a brilliant child put a lot of pressure on a father. But Born was right; there were a few women he had almost taken a liking to, some of whom even bore a slight resemblance to his late wife in their expressions. Fortunately, Born had given him a tip: "Whenever you see a woman at a banquet, practice the 'Breathing Technique'!"

Gordon hadn't known why at first, but later, when he was nearly lost in the flattery of a group of women, he suddenly remembered Born's method. He tried it, and instantly, he felt calm, indifferent to both praise and humiliation, as if he had transcended all worldly concerns. All evil thoughts and desires vanished; he became "Zen." Once his reason was restored, he understood that behind the fake flattery lay the drive for profit. And the effect was incredible!

After doing it a few times, Gordon discovered that whenever desire flared up, running the breathing technique restored his reason, and the "Qi" in his body would slowly increase. It was like discovering a new continent. He began to seek out beauties to talk to, fully immersing himself in the social scene, only to suddenly become indifferent and desireless mid-conversation. Basically, every woman approaching Gordon had been given various tasks, but they all shared the goal of bewitching him. No matter how they tried to seduce him, whenever they thought they were about to succeed, Gordon would suddenly become "Zen," as if they were trying to entice a wooden log.

Eventually, the rumor spread through the noble circles that Gordon might have started preferring men. This led to people looking at Uncle John with strange eyes, as the two were always inseparable.

...

Born summoned Lehman and demonstrated the production process of the spell potions on the spot. Lehman’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Bo... Boss, if... if we operate like this, can we... can we mass-produce ninth-circle spells too?!" Lehman asked, his voice trembling with shock.

Born shot him a sidelong glance and scolded him for his lack of foresight: "Has your arcanist training gone to the dogs? Don't you use your brain before you speak?" Lehman reacted, his face flushing red. He had indeed been shocked, and his comment had been thoughtless. Under Born's dressing-down, Lehman listened submissively; it was one of his virtues.

"Classify this production device as a secret of the Lehman Chamber of Commerce. Dig a basement directly beneath the 'Magic Storage Device' and place at least ten such units there!" Born ordered.

"So many?!" Lehman asked in surprise. "Boss, but for the raw materials, replacing the soil and replanting the seedlings in the alchemy lab takes at least two days!"

Two days wasn't that long, and a batch of soil could sustain the rapid growth of magical plants for seven or eight cycles before being discarded, which was quite good. However, the front-line situation was tense, and the situation was ever-changing; not a single day could be wasted.

Born pondered for a moment: "Don't worry about replacing the soil yet; this batch of raw materials can last a while longer. Just get the basement dug out first. The priority is to establish the production line for the spell potions and supply the front lines..." As he spoke, Born seemed to recall something and turned to ask the old elf: "Master Hill, do you know a spell that turns stone into mud?"

"Oh, how did you know that druids have the spell [Stone to Mud]?" the old elf asked curiously. Few druids knew this spell, and coincidentally, he was one of them. The druid who created it was his own teacher, who had invented it while trapped in a labyrinth. It was generally useless and, being a fifth-circle spell, had a poor cost-benefit ratio; he hadn't even thought of it until Born mentioned it.

"It really exists?!" Born was overjoyed. "I just asked on a whim, I didn't expect it to be real. Won't you teach it to me? I'll trade you an arcane spell in return!"

"Teaching you is fine, but unless you become a druid, you won't be able to learn it!"

"Hmm?" Born paused and frowned. "Do I have to become a druid to learn it?"

"Are you truly stupid, or just pretending! We druids use divine magic! Without a druid's natural power, how could you possibly cast a druid spell?" the elf retorted.

"No problem. Just teach me the incantation for [Stone to Mud], and I'll try to modify it myself." Born looked at the old elf with a smile.

"Ha!" The old elf looked astonished, then looked Born up and down. In over a thousand years, this was the first time he had heard such an arrogant statement. He admitted Born's alchemy was top-notch, but when it came to spells, he hadn't created more than a few in his entire life. Copying was not hard; creating was. Knowing the principle of a spell was easy, but creating it from nothing was the challenge. The same formula might take a few minutes to learn, but the person who created it might have spent their whole life perfecting it. That was why arcane spells were so rare.

Netherese arcanists claimed their arcane spells were self-created. He had seen arcanists; apart from a few high-level ones, the rest were just watered-down fakes. He had seen the "Golden Scrolls," which were merely the crystallization of wisdom left behind by ancient races. Most Netherese arcanists learned their spells by reading the "Golden Scrolls"—in short, it was just another form of copying. However, those few high-level arcanists were indeed formidable and had created their own unique arcane spells, but they were few in number. Given the vast number of spellcasters in Netheril, it was natural for a few geniuses to appear. Therefore, Netherese arcanists were not recognized by the mainstream (elves and dwarves); it was just a profession humans invented to comfort themselves.

The old elf was amused by Born's "audacity." The core of divine magic was divine power; druids believed their natural power was the divine power bestowed by "Nature." Having been struck by Born twice, the old elf felt a bit stifled. Looking at this ignorant boy, he decided to teach him a lesson. He had seen many geniuses, but a genius wouldn't mature without a bit of a setback.

The old elf began to teach Born the incantation for [Stone to Mud] on the spot. Lehman stood by, bewildered, as Born's conversation with the old elf suddenly shifted. The old man seemed surprised, and finally, they began drawing a magic circle. Although he couldn't understand the conversation, he recognized the elven script. The setup was familiar—his academy teachers often did this, teaching on the spot without avoiding him. It seemed the old man didn't mind him "listening in," so he quickly called over the ranger and the other three little ones.

The old elf didn't mind having a few more "students"; he patiently explained the principles of [Stone to Mud] to Born. Druidic spell formulas were different from elven magic. If the spell formulas of the Netherese humans were based on geometric patterns, then elven spells were based on language. Druidic divine spells were more complex, composed not only of elven script but also of special divine symbols. Legend held that the gods had bestowed mysterious power upon the elven script, so saying that words had power was no joke.

The Elven race (the Fair Folk) worshipped the elven gods (collectively known as the Seldarine).