Chapter Twenty: The Language of Dragons and Spellcasting

Zhao Xu had no way of knowing what expression lay beneath Antinoya’s hood. Yet, from her next actions, he understood she was likely quite satisfied.

“Very well, you have made your choice. But I hope you won’t regret it in the future,” she said. “Unlike those mages who live comfortably in the floating city, conducting their research, as a battle mage you will face all kinds of life-threatening dangers.”

Hearing this, Zhao Xu merely smiled, unconcerned. In those years when he pursued vengeance, had he ever lived a day that wasn’t spent sharpening himself on the edge of a blade?

“If I didn’t know for certain that you couldn’t drastically alter your appearance or age, I’d almost think you were a middle-aged man,” Zhao Xu replied, his smile growing somewhat bitter.

“All right, then,” Antinoya said. “Read this book next. First, convert your language—it seems you still have some language slots left.”

A hefty tome floated directly from the bookshelf into Zhao Xu’s hands. He recognized it as the result of Antinoya casting the cantrip Mage Hand. What puzzled him was that she hadn’t made any visible gesture; it was as if her words alone summoned the book to him.

Weighing the volume, Zhao Xu gently brushed his fingers over the title, “Draconic Lexicon.” He looked up at his mentor, puzzled.

“I’m to study a language now? I don’t need to read those magic theory books anymore?” he asked.

Antinoya, sitting carelessly in the room’s soft armchair—her first time sitting in three days—replied, “Normally, you’d eventually come to understand some of the content automatically. I only had you read them to temper your disposition.”

Zhao Xu hadn’t expected this explanation and looked at her with curiosity.

“Magic is a mysterious power,” Antinoya continued. “If you rush in eager to cast spells without reverence for the art, you’re nothing more than a craftsman wielding spells—no different from cannons mounted on city walls.”

“In fact, when you conduct research without this sense of awe, disaster is the only likely outcome,” she added, her tone tinged with melancholy.

“By the second day, when you returned to your quarters, using the methods of you Earth adventurers, you should have noticed that your mage training differs from that of the other players.”

“Every mage is evaluated, and some, like you, begin with these ancient classics. You are the chosen seedlings. The difference is, for those who study the tomes voluntarily, it’s their own decision. For you, I made it mandatory. The benefit is you’ll be set on the right path and receive true instruction; the downside is that I alone decide when this stage ends.”

Zhao Xu hadn’t expected such a revelation in just a few sentences.

So that’s why, in his previous life, it was so difficult for mages to learn advanced knowledge and powerful feats. There was a hidden barrier: if you started with theory and philosophy, the association would guide you. But if you dived straight into spell models and casting, you’d have to grind your way through the rest. Only by proving your character would you gain access to the vibrant world of mage society.

Yet, in his previous life, no one had ever mentioned this on the forums. At best, some high-level mages advised newcomers to read more of the magic tomes.

Still, Zhao Xu found the selection method somewhat arbitrary.

“Isn’t this kind of screening rather capricious?” he asked.

“I was just praising your maturity,” Antinoya replied. “There are so many organizations and factions in this world. The Mage Association can only help you with the basics and perhaps some advanced options. By the time you’re level five, your fate is your own; those who were misjudged can always climb back up on their own.”

Zhao Xu took a deep breath. The difficulty for new mages in his past life was, it seemed, partly the association’s responsibility.

For someone like him, with one racial feat, two flaw feats, and one level one feat—a total of four right from the start—the difference between four powerful feats and four useless ones was worlds apart.

He could only admit that, due to his transmigration, he’d always harbored a natural reverence for Arthur, which had helped him pass Antinoya’s initial tests.

At this moment, Zhao Xu’s attention returned to the book Antinoya had given him.

“Many ancient tomes are written in Draconic, which is why Draconic is a required language for mages. After you read through this, you can attempt to convert the language,” Antinoya instructed.

Zhao Xu understood that this conversion essentially meant activating his Draconic translation ability. Everyone was born knowing Common and their racial language, plus a number of bonus languages equal to their Intelligence modifier.

With a +3 Intelligence modifier, he could learn three extra languages. Lacking the opportunity before, he had never activated Draconic. Now, he realized that this tome was the “Draconic Trigger” players spoke of, allowing him to properly acquire the language.

He hadn’t expected that, while others used dragon bones, hides, or blood as triggers, he would receive a proper book.

Shortly after finishing the tome, Zhao Xu saw his personal status panel update:

Name: Midsummer
Race: Human/Otherworlder (Earth)
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Build: Medium
Weight: 76 kg
Height: 183 cm
Identity: Final Scroll – Initiate
Alignment: True Neutral
Faith: Goddess of Magic, Sisylvina
Eye Color: Black
Skin Color: Yellow
Hair Color: Black
Base Speed: Walk 30 ft/round (approx. 9.1 meters per 6 seconds)
Languages: Common, Draconic, to be determined, to be determined
Racial Traits: 4 extra skill points at level 1, 1 extra skill point at every subsequent level, 1 bonus feat at level 1

It was only now that Zhao Xu realized his identity was “Initiate”—presumably the lowest rung in the organization.

Antinoya, however, showed no sign of relaxing. One by one, books from the shelf floated onto his desk.

“Start with the first book, ‘Fundamentals of Spell Modeling,’ then the second, ‘Incantations and Gestures: On Spell Components,’ and finally, the last one at the bottom, ‘Compendium of Cantrips.’ When you’ve finished, we’ll discuss your first feat selection.”

At her words, Zhao Xu was nearly moved to tears; he had finally taken his first step toward learning spellcasting.

Settling himself, Zhao Xu entered a focused state of study.

As with every novice mage in Arthur, when he couldn’t understand something, he memorized it by rote, committing the various spell models to memory. Previously, reading those theory books felt like labor with no reward, but these new volumes each marked progress in his spellcasting, his progress bar inching forward, and his motivation soared.

Meanwhile, Antinoya, listening to the sound of pages turning, seemed to know exactly what he was reading and what questions arose in his mind, explaining the content to him as he studied.

Elsewhere, in other magical academies across the continent, countless apprentices painstakingly copied and recited those models by hand. Only after they could reproduce them perfectly from memory were they permitted to enter the next stage of instruction.

As the instructors said, if you couldn’t memorize a few simple books, how could you ever hope to become a mage?