Time seemed to pass unusually slowly, with each minute feeling like a day. The excruciating pain lasted a full 24 hours until the sky darkened again, and Salin finally regained control of his body.
Salin felt as though his vocal cords were not his own, and the pain had not completely disappeared. He struggled, first loosening his grip and dropping the terrifying emblem.
Artifact! Artifact!
Salin's mind roared in fury. That damn emblem must be an artifact! Just now, he felt like he was being consumed, even his soul about to be digested.
What is an artifact? Thirty thousand years ago, during the era of the First Dynasty, humans were a powerful race, capable of tearing through space, traversing planes, and capturing demons for domestication. Some demons were untamable and were thus crafted into magical tools. These magical tools, created by powerful demons, were called artifacts. Although they were initially just works of fiction, after only ten thousand years, humanity had fallen, losing its formidable strength.
These magical tools immediately became precious commodities. Unable to continue capturing demons across planes, these tools were collected by powerful mages who could still subdue the demonic souls within.
By over a thousand years ago, during the era of the Fourth Dynasty, except for powerful Ninth-level mages, no one else could subdue the demonic souls within artifacts.
Artifacts became synonymous with terror, and mages below Seventh-level were utterly defenseless against their power. These unruly demons, even with only their souls remaining, refused to make contracts with humans.
One encounter, one consumption, that was the characteristic of artifacts.
But wait, if this thing was an artifact, Salin probably wouldn't even have a body now. Salin touched his limbs; his flesh was full, still a very real existence.
Salin finally regained some intelligence in his shocked state and quickly realized that he had become somewhat numb. If it were an artifact, even his teacher wouldn't be able to resist its effects, let alone Salin who had lost his ability to resist after being resurrected.
If it's not an artifact, then what could it be? Salin propped himself up with his hands, checking his body's condition. Everything seemed fine, except for the extreme weakness. Even the meager amount of magical elements within his body had increased slightly.
Huh?
There was indeed a slight increase, although the additional amount of elements was still pitifully small. But for someone like Salin, who cherished every bit of elemental power, even an increase of one-tenth of an elemental unit could be perceived. The growth in mental power was even more significant; Salin's mental power was already strong, and Jason had said that even if he became a true mage, his mental power would be sufficient.
Now Salin's mental power had become much purer and more condensed. There were even signs of a breakthrough.
Salin, ignoring his body's weakness, quickly climbed under the bed and retrieved the discarded emblem. There was nothing inside the lightning-shaped scar this time, and the blue color had disappeared. Salin stroked the emblem but dared not use another magic detection spell.
The experience just now was too painful; even though Salin's childhood had been filled with torment, this kind of pain was almost unbearable. Some things became habitual and were difficult to change. These past few years had been comfortable, and Salin's tolerance had diminished.
Should he show it to his teacher? No, if the teacher was affected by this emblem like himself, wouldn't it be terrible? Salin imagined Jason lying on the floor, powerless, enduring various negative effects, and couldn't help but laugh. Forget it, he would figure it out slowly himself. At least as long as he didn't release magic towards it, there shouldn't be any problems.
Over the next month, Salin experienced three more failures. The materials for three thousand gold coins' worth of Magic String potions were wasted, reduced to a pile of waste. This setback greatly disappointed him because his cherished mental power seemed inadequate, always struggling to control the use of materials for the Magic String potion.
What to do with insufficient mental power? Salin thought of his family emblem. He took out the emblem from the box and rubbed it in his palm. He was ready to gamble; if this thing could really increase his mental power, it would be worth enduring any amount of pain.
This time Salin was more cautious; he wanted to test and observe the specific conditions under which the emblem produced its effects. Placing the emblem on the floor, he cast a magic detection spell from a distance of three meters. The faint magical light enveloped the dark emblem, and there was still a brief pause, followed by a quick absorption into the lightning-shaped scar.
Was it over? Nothing happened!
Salin moved the emblem to a distance of two meters and repeated the experiment, still with no issues. Finally, he put on a pair of gloves and continued testing.
Salin eventually concluded that as long as there was no skin contact, the emblem was safe to use.
It seemed safe to carry it around in the future. Otherwise, he could only keep it far away in a box.
Salin began rigorous training. From Tuesday to Thursday, he would use the emblem's special function to torment himself, then endure 24 hours of pain. His mental power indeed improved significantly. After three months, Salin's mental power broke through.
Previously, he could only consecutively cast five 0-level spells with the amount of elemental energy sufficient for that purpose, but now, with precise control over his mental power, he could cast seven 0-level spells. Although the increase in magical elements was still at the level of a 3rd-level apprentice, Salin could conserve their usage, allowing his spellcasting ability to reach the level of a 4th-level apprentice.
There were also significant changes in his body. Salin still appeared somewhat frail, but his physical strength had improved, and his endurance against various negative effects had become extremely strong. Most importantly, after using the emblem, the duration of his body's loss of control had shortened to six hours.
During this six-hour period, Salin was no longer in unbearable agony. Besides being unable to move, he could now use this time for contemplation, recalling books he had read, and reviewing magical knowledge.
Having survived the most difficult days, Salin became more confident. Unbeknownst to him, his demeanor had fundamentally changed. There was no longer panic, hesitation, or fear; his smile became more frequent, genuine from the heart.
Salin decided to continue this training regimen, believing that with perseverance, he would eventually develop immunity to all negative magical effects.
Perhaps the only thing that hadn't changed was Salin's obsession with gold coins. He continued to spend all his remaining time preparing magical potions, selling them to Dika. In these three months, he managed to amass over 3000 gold coins again. Unfortunately, he couldn't progress any faster; Dika was already overwhelmed. The consumption capacity of Sylan City itself was limited, and after seizing the position of thieves' guild leader, Dika only had the local teenage thieves of Sylan City at his disposal, unable to carry out major operations.
Selling excess potions to thieves from other regions required stocking up in advance, but Dika lacked sufficient liquid assets. He didn't dare extend credit to Salin, nor did he have the influence to demand prepayment from thieves from other regions.
Salin knew that these three thousand gold coins might not be enough to produce Magic String potions, and he worried about the gold coins, but life had to go on day by day. It was another weekend, and he had to go into town to buy experimental materials for Jason while also bringing back last week's orders.
The weather this weekend was terrible. The wind gradually subsided, but the rain fell coldly, and rusty-colored clouds shrouded the harbor of Sylan City.
Two well-dressed swordsmen took shelter under the eaves, gazing into the distance. They were not wearing armor, and only carried short swords at their waists. A leaf-shaped emblem was embroidered on their chests, signifying that they were under the command of the lord of the city and had a close relationship.
The two swordsmen had similar builds, broad-shouldered and tall.
"Captain, do you think that kid won't come?" the redhead swordsman asked anxiously, looking at the increasingly heavy rain.
"He won't, Chris. It's been three years, and he shows up at this time every week, rain or shine," the blond swordsman replied, patting his sword hilt patiently, watching the stone-paved road outside the eaves. Even as rainwater was blown in, it couldn't get close to his body. Chris had no choice but to retreat indoors, thinking to himself, when will I be able to cultivate sword qi like the captain?
The stone-paved road had not been repaired for many years and was beginning to accumulate water. Raindrops fell like a curtain, splashing and forming a mist on the ground. On such a day, few people would venture outside. It was already autumn, and Sylan City was getting colder.
The blond swordsman's gaze was sharp, piercing through the rain, and he saw a slender figure gradually approaching at the end of the road. The youth walked leisurely, not carrying an umbrella, dressed in a peculiar robe, and carrying a huge leather bag on his back. Raindrops fell on him, bouncing off his body; even his boots remained clean, untouched by the rainwater.
As the youth drew nearer, his features became clearer. His hair and eyes were chestnut-colored, his nose slightly high, giving him a noble Southern lineage. His eyebrows were relaxed, seemingly unconcerned about the damn weather, and a small leather pouch hung from his slender fingers.
It was a standard pouch for holding gold coins; each pouch could hold fifty coins. The youth hooked it on his finger, swinging it with his stride. The security in the harbor wasn't great, and if it weren't for the rain, thieves might have targeted him immediately.
"Master Metatelin!" the blond swordsman called out enthusiastically, waving to the youth.
Salin curled his lips, pretending not to hear, and continued walking in the rain. He was called Salin, not some master, just a 3rd-level magic apprentice.
The blond swordsman felt a bit awkward; he couldn't just call the young man Salin apprentice, such a title would be disrespectful, and the viscount instructed him to be as polite as possible. It was difficult.
"Young Master Metatelin!" the blond swordsman raised his voice as the other party passed by. "Salin, Salin!"
Seeing the youth's figure gradually receding, the blond swordsman had no choice but to hurry up and catch up. Chris followed suit, running into the rain. The rain quickly soaked his gorgeous clothes, leaving only his tightly laced boots somewhat dry. What a cold rain! Chris shivered.