Benigo stirred the stew in the pot, while Ronan took a sip from the silver bottle, the fiery liquid burning as it slid down his throat.
An ordinary person might have been left coughing violently, but Ronan showed no reaction, drinking it as casually as water, his eyes focused on the lines of his palm.
It was as if something within the lines intrigued and absorbed his attention.
"When did you develop this habit?" Benigo asked, covering the pot. "It'll be at its best in a bit."
"Don't you find our palm lines fascinating?" Ronan asked, his eyes filled with a strange light. "Each line has its own place, like the lines in runes."
Benigo's eyes flickered, and he replied slowly, "There's indeed a theory that runes originated from palm lines... Damien, six bottles of 'The Kiss of Mephetira' have changed you significantly."
"Pain molds you into what you wish to become."
Ronan took another sip. "Every single time."
The whole Brain-Eating Flower Ronan brought back from the "Damp Jungle" was enough for eleven portions of "The Kiss of Mephetira," with six successfully made and consumed by Ronan.
Benigo had mentioned that if there were records for consecutive consumption of "The Kiss of Mephetira," Ronan would hold the highest.
Surviving six doses was a miracle in potion-making!
Was it truly a miracle?
'Without training in [Ascetic Body] since apprenticeship, without the chrysalis rebirth, without enduring months of spell cleansing...'
Those experiences greatly increased Ronan's pain tolerance.
Along with his refusal to yield and a mysterious inner resolve...
Ronan doubted he could have endured six doses of "The Kiss of Mephetira."
Now, he felt reborn once more!
Unlike his previous physical rebirth, this was a mental one.
After six "kisses" from Mephetira's poisonous lips, he had fundamentally changed.
His ability to absorb knowledge, understand concepts, and solve problems improved dramatically.
The benefits of expanded brain capacity manifested in various ways, and Ronan continued to explore them.
He had already gained tangible advantages from his enhanced brain.
The significant data increase on his character panel was just a small part.
"Have you achieved one-stage domain resonance?" Benigo asked suddenly.
Ronan's blue eyes glimmered with subtle light.
He was silent for a moment before shaking his head. "No."
Benigo seemed to expect this answer but couldn't hide his disappointment.
"Sigh..."
"One-stage domain resonance is extremely difficult to grasp, even for second-level wizards. For a first-level wizard, it's almost unheard of."
"I hoped six doses of 'The Kiss of Mephetira' might change something... but it was just wishful thinking."
Benigo sighed, speaking softly, "If you could achieve domain resonance, perhaps there would still be hope... never mind."
He raised his bottle, gesturing to Ronan.
They clinked bottles and each took a drink.
Benigo opened the pot, releasing fragrant steam, revealing brown meat chunks simmering in rich white broth.
He tossed in a handful of vibrant spices and vegetables, creating a feast for the senses.
"Tomorrow is the start of the duel selection."
Benigo used Demon Tungsten to form a long-handled fork, spearing a piece of meat. After a moment of thought, he asked Ronan, "Want to hear my story?"
"Sure."
Ronan took a piece of meat from the pot, slowly tearing it apart in his hand.
"It feels like something's missing."
Benigo glanced toward the ice coffin, then stared into the fire, sinking into memory.
"I was never a genius."
"I didn't even possess the aptitude of an ordinary person."
As Benigo recounted, a tale unfolded before Ronan—not new, yet not cliché—
The son of a baron's stable master, with decent physical attributes, was recruited into the baron's knight apprentice program.
Through effort and talent, he became a qualified knight.
At Ronan's current age, Benigo was a brave warrior, earning great merit for his baron, who rewarded him with marriage to his daughter.
The woman in the ice coffin, Fiona, was that daughter.
They were deeply in love, as if destined to be together, but Fiona's fragile health worsened with age.
Benigo sought a cure, meeting a wandering wizard apprentice and transitioning from knight to wizard.
Benigo's wizard aptitude was poor, barely passing the threshold to become a wizard.
"Are you pulling my leg?"
Ronan interrupted, skeptical. "With such poor aptitude, how did you advance to the Mist stage? Let alone approach the fifth ring."
Having crossed that threshold himself, Ronan knew its challenges all too well.
If Benigo's aptitude was as described, he should have been consumed by the impurities ignited by the Soul Ignition Potion.
If so, Fiona should be holding Benigo's urn now.
"Believe it or not."
Benigo's response was calm. "That's the truth. Honestly, I never understood why, despite my poor soul aptitude, I didn't struggle crossing the threshold to become a formal wizard."
Ronan frowned but continued listening, as Benigo had no reason to deceive him.
"I fought hard every day to survive, to let Fiona survive."
"I grew stronger."
Benigo spoke calmly, "But Fiona continued to fade."
Benigo's rise from a disadvantaged young wizard to a renowned genius of the Seventh Ring was glossed over in simple terms.
He shared more about his life with Fiona.
Ronan began to understand why Benigo achieved so much and why he made so many enemies.
As a former knight, Benigo had strong convictions.
His convictions burned like a torch, clearing his path but scorching those who approached or obstructed him.
Such a person was bound to make many enemies.
Ronan's presence here was because Benigo's flame was nearing its end.
Benigo's story was long, and by its end, their campfire had cooled.
They left the micro secret realm, finding dawn breaking over the waterfall, the Silver Ring preparing for an unprecedented event.
"Are you coming with me?"
Ronan felt the moist air, the freshness of dawn, and asked Benigo.
Benigo shook his head.
As Ronan activated his flying ring and prepared to leave, Benigo's voice called out.
"Damien!"
Ronan turned to see Benigo watching him intently.
"One more time—did you not achieve one-stage domain resonance?"
Ronan thought for a moment before answering, "I suppose... I haven't truly mastered it."
Benigo paused, then asked, "Your third soul sigil?"
Ronan smiled, turning to face the rising sun, its light illuminating his smooth cheek, reflecting like a mirror on faint rune lines at his neck.
"[Mirror Light]."
Ronan said softly:
"I found it myself. It's the most suitable sigil for me."
With that, he flew away, leaving Benigo alone by the waterfall until he vanished from sight.
Ronan strolled through the streets outside the Seventh Ring.
People surged towards the inner city, despite the barrier of rune arrays.
Thick array light distorted the air, blurring everything within.
Yet small spell airships and cheaper rune balloons ascended, hovering at allowed heights, with people craning to see inside.
"Master Ronan! Over here!"
A delighted voice called Ronan's name.
He turned to see Alida and Jacob from the Blueberry Inn, squeezed onto a crowded balloon, waving.
"You said you weren't coming! Good thing I saved you a spot!"
"Damn it, stop pushing! A distinguished wizard is about to board!"
Alida snarled like an angry lamb, fending off those encroaching on Ronan's space with teeth and fists.
Before she could clear a space, Jacob pointed her attention elsewhere.
Alida watched Ronan smile and enter the rune array reserved for Ring wizards, covering her mouth in shock.
"Ma-Master Ronan is a formal Ring member? He's competing today?!"
Before entering the array, Ronan spotted the red-haired wizard Quidi, whom he'd known for a while, on a small spell airship.
Quidi noticed him too, exchanging a simple glance before moving on.
Ronan joined the flow towards the silver tower's base, surrounded by wizards in Silver Ring robes.
His robe was damaged in battle, and with his permissions "frozen," he hadn't repaired or replaced it.
Many others lacked the standard robe, though they likely had better alternatives, unlike Ronan.
Reaching the tower's base, the area once filled with metal structures was cleared, forming a large silver square.
The square was divided by rune array light into transparent domes, the duel "stages."
Around the square, large white screens projected clear images from each "stage."
In the square's center, above all "stages," floated names formed by runes.
At the top was "Clemens," marked as fifth ring.
Beneath "Clemens," Ronan found "Lanny" in sixth place, marked as fourth ring.
In seventeenth place was "Travis," marked as third ring.
Near the bottom, Ronan found his name, zero ring, ordinary member.
Having completed only one trial task, his ranking was nearly last.
Ronan counted 1,223 names in the sky, with 97 above second ring, and 28 above third ring.
Among the crowd, Ronan felt enveloped by a vast, chaotic energy field.
It was the collective mental and emotional energy of all the Ring wizards present.
Tension, anticipation, excitement, enthusiasm...
In this energy field, Ronan felt his blood slightly warm.
Benigo was right.
This was a grand stage, where every Ring wizard could showcase themselves, and the spotlight could fall on anyone.
Ronan watched silently, heart and blood racing, yet his mind was calm, even sinking.
He was in a delicate state.
But it was soon disrupted by an immense mental force he'd never felt before.
Ronan squinted, thinking he saw a falling sun.
As his vision cleared, he saw the "sun" was an old man with a white beard, wearing a wizard's hat and a splendid silver robe.
A third-level wizard.
The Seventh Ring's Ringmaster?
Ronan blinked.
The white-bearded wizard's presence quickly quieted the crowd, his mental energy sweeping over them before he gently waved a silver metal staff.
A large silver bat flew from his robe, speaking human words, calling out names.
Each name called saw a wizard emerge from the crowd, guided by the bat to a "stage" in the sky.
The duel selection had begun.
Most names called were from the lowest-ranked section, with one side called first.
As all "stages" filled, leaving only the largest, most prominent center stage, Ronan felt the silver bat glance his way before calling his name.
"Ronan Damien."
"Swish—"
A sky screen projected Ronan's image, surprising him, but he quickly composed himself, flying to the center stage.
Before reaching it, the bat announced opponents, starting with Ronan's.
"Travis!"
Hearing the name stopped Ronan mid-air.
He instinctively turned.
He didn't know where Travis was in the crowd.
But the surrounding projection screens all showed the same scene—
A pale-skinned, black-haired young man with black diamond earrings, slowly rising from a massive black metal chair.
He gazed coldly at Ronan, body merging with the chair, forming a spreading shadow.
Under the projection screens' glow—
It seemed countless shadows rose and expanded simultaneously from all directions.
In the center, they formed a vast, impenetrable black tide, slowly converging on, enveloping, and sweeping over the small, solitary figure of Ronan.
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