Chapter Twenty-Six: The Sage-hearted Spellcaster

As he watched the incantations for those zero-level spells drift through his mind, Zhao Xu finally experienced the sensation so often described in legends—of a martial arts master emerging after ten years of arduous cultivation. He was no longer a fragile ordinary man; he now possessed extraordinary abilities.

He needed no weapons. A simple "Ray of Frost" could grievously wound an average civilian. Even if these powers could only manifest in the game for now, it mattered not, for in a year they would become truly real.

Reading the descriptions of these spells, Zhao Xu felt like a superhuman. With a "Mage Hand," he could move anything weighing less than four pounds. A "Touch of Fatigue" would induce exhaustion in any opponent who failed their saving throw. A "Minor Trick" made him a master of stage magic.

Within the domain of zero-level spells, technology could barely reproduce similar effects, unlike the spells to come, which would far outstrip the scope of human science.

But from now on, Zhao Xu would no longer rely on external tools. If he were cast into a post-apocalyptic era bereft of resources, as long as he learned the corresponding spells, he could manufacture what he needed to survive.

Thrown into a remote wilderness, other professions might have to search for food and water, but a wizard could conjure real sustenance with spells and feast before moving on. This was precisely why wizards were so mythologized.

At this moment, Zhao Xu finally relaxed; he had succeeded in transcribing his spells, surmounting the greatest hurdle that blocked countless wizard apprentices. The remaining first-level spells would be no trouble—they could be copied in the same manner.

Wait.

He had transcribed the spells, but what about his spell slots?

A level-one wizard, after eight hours of rest, could cast three zero-level spells and one first-level spell per day. His intelligence modifier granted him an extra first-level spell slot. As for second- and third-level slots, those required reaching the corresponding levels.

It was as if he had mastered shooting, only to realize he had no bullets.

"Master, where are my spell slots?" Zhao Xu didn't want to make any mistakes, so he quickly asked.

"What spell slots?"

"My first-level wizard spell slots."

"Are you a first-level wizard?" Antinoa countered.

Zhao Xu was momentarily stunned. The words rang true; his elation after mastering the zero-level spells had made him float with joy.

"Don't worry. Once you've fulfilled all the requirements for a first-level wizard and conduct another 'triggering ritual,' you'll gain your spell slots."

Zhao Xu nodded, somewhat embarrassed.

Luckily, even if he didn't truly possess sixteen intelligence points, the system would honestly grant him spell slots as if he did.

Now that he had calmed down, his thoughts regained their sharpness, and he noticed something amiss.

These days, countless wizard apprentices on the forums were stuck transcribing zero-level spells. Some players managed to copy one, only to get stuck on the second for ages—no one knew how they'd succeeded the first time.

A single stroke of luck meant nothing; only if someone succeeded nineteen times in a row with zero-level spells could they be said to have mastered them.

This was why, after Zhao Xu shattered the game record by completing all zero-level spells at once, even his modest heart couldn't help but brim with pride.

He was far superior to most wizard players.

But then, the question arose.

For centuries, countless wizards had tirelessly researched spells. Had no one ever thought of this approach?

Antinoa's seemingly simple two sentences were akin to a master pointing out the key move in a game of Go, backed by the deep expertise of a professional.

Yet making a single move was not the same as playing an entire game.

Over the ages, surely some lucky fool had stumbled upon the same step in similar circumstances.

Perhaps they hadn't realized the reason, but some must have accomplished it.

Why, then, had this method never been widely adopted?

Seeing Zhao Xu's thoughtful expression, Antinoa gently approached. "You're wondering why others can't do this, aren't you?"

Zhao Xu was startled; he hadn't expected his thoughts to be so easily guessed.

But with her intelligence exceeding fifty, if she hadn't deduced it, he'd be suspicious instead.

"Teaching you players is truly troublesome. Offline comparisons reveal many inconsistencies. Sometimes it's a real effort to muddle through."

"Well, let me explain. This spell-transcription method, following the trend, is a privilege reserved for those with the 'Insightful Caster' ability."

Upon hearing this, Zhao Xu's mind flashed through several guesses.

So it wasn't his brilliance, but the prowess of his 'Insightful Caster' trait.

Seeing Zhao Xu catch on, Antinoa continued.

"In fact, most rookie wizards who spend a few years researching will naturally master zero-level spells. It's only you players, following this shortcut, who get stuck."

"The 'Insightful Caster' trait, which lets you copy spells without truly understanding them, is something most wizards only discover later, when they encounter spells they can't comprehend."

Hearing this, Zhao Xu was puzzled. "Master, wouldn't your guidance apply to transcribing spellbooks as well?"

"Transcribing from a spellbook, if you follow the trend, will be interrupted by the lifting of your pen. The trend breaks, so how can you continue? But for Insightful Casters, since the transcription occurs deep within one's mind, there's no interruption."

Now Zhao Xu understood—the average wizard's transcription was interrupted every time they lifted their pen, requiring complete understanding and unbroken progress.

But in his case, he could transcribe each component separately, relying on the Insightful Caster ability to connect them. Naturally, the difficulty was incomparable.

"Why not promote this ability, then?" Zhao Xu asked.

This method was powerful—it could produce miracles.

If applied in Arthur, as long as one had enough intelligence, countless wizards could be mass-produced.

If he shared it with the players, Earth's forces would rise to the heavens.

"Heh, anyone who uses this method is digging the grave of wizardry," Antinoa replied.

Zhao Xu's face almost turned pale. "Isn't that a bit dramatic?"

"If you can copy spells without mastering them, there's no incentive to study them carefully. Magical research stagnates. Even if you can cast ninth-level spells, you'll never break through to legendary status."

"Eventually, spells that are no longer understood will vanish."

So that's how it was.

Zhao Xu felt his heart struck deeply.

This was like copying answers directly—solving the problem without understanding why.

If all students relied on copying answers, then a country's research would inevitably collapse.

And while students copying answers was merely homework, wizards doing so was a fountain of wealth.

More realistically, it was a risk-free cheat in a national exam.

So this cheat could only be known to a few, never widely distributed.

Even if some wizards loved research, they'd be outcompeted by cheaters, their resources squeezed out, resulting in bad money driving out good.

Suddenly, Zhao Xu felt that the "Insightful Caster" line on his character sheet was burning hot to the touch.