54: Chapter 54 Tests and Meditation

Bartok stared at him for a moment, then sighed, turned around, and began rummaging through the "junk pile" in his studio.

He lifted several stacks of old books and pushed aside a box of empty ink bottles.

Finally, he found a dust-covered crystal ball beneath an overturned old cauldron.

The crystal ball was only the size of a fist, its surface covered in a layer of grayish-yellow dust, looking as though it hadn't been used for many years.

The old mage wiped the surface with his sleeve, placed the crystal ball on a relatively clean corner of the workbench, and then gestured for Richard to place his hand on it.

"Place your palm on the crystal ball, clear your mind, and don't think too much."

"The crystal ball will automatically sense the mana affinity within you; if you have any, the results will appear automatically."

Richard excitedly placed his palm on the crystal ball.

The sphere felt ice-cold to the touch, its surface as smooth as a polished block of ice.

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, but the sound of the two hearts beating in his chest still echoed in his ears.

The low, rhythmic thumping of the second heart was like a distant war drum, making his fingertips tremble slightly.

After nearly two minutes, a faint glimmer of light appeared inside the crystal ball.

This glimmer was so weak that it would have been invisible if not for the fact that the studio curtains were drawn, with only a few dying magic stones providing light.

The light was only the size of a grain of rice, pale white in color. It flickered in the very center of the crystal ball for less than three seconds before beginning to fade; by the time he tried to focus his mind again, it had completely extinguished.

Bartok leaned in to take a look, then straightened up. The expression on his face wasn't mockery, but rather a heartfelt regret.

He shook his head, his tone very gentle—so gentle that it didn't seem like the same old lunatic who had nearly struck him down with a Chain Lightning spell just moments ago:

"Your talent is extremely poor. Although there is a tiny bit, it's practically the same as having none at all."

"The mana affinity within you is very weak. If you insist on walking this path, spending ten years training hard every day, you might barely reach the level of a beginner Mage Apprentice."

Bartok advised: "I don't suggest you waste your time on this. Your physical condition is excellent—your strength, endurance, and reaction speed make you a natural warrior. Spending your time on warrior cultivation would be far better than anything else."

Richard removed his hand from the crystal ball.

Bartok expected him to be disappointed; after all, no young person would be happy to hear the words "extremely poor talent."

But there was no disappointment on Richard's face; the corners of his mouth even curled up slightly.

Having talent was enough, even if it was the worst talent imaginable.

As long as the system acknowledged that he met the minimum requirements to become a mage, he could force his mage level up using experience points.

After all, his trump card had never been talent, but the system.

What he feared wasn't "extremely poor talent," but "lacking the conditions entirely." As long as the door was cracked open, he could use the system to smash that crack into a city gate.

"Mr. Bartok, I still want to learn magic." Richard's tone was calm, devoid of any youthful stubbornness or impulse.

"Even if I can't become a great mage, learning the most basic cantrips would be enough. Could you teach me something fundamental? I won't waste your time."

Bartok took off his glasses and wiped the dust off the lenses with his sleeve.

After a moment of silence, he put his glasses back on. The look he gave Richard was full of helplessness, yet it also held a sense of approval.

"You really are a stubborn little guy." He said, then chuckled to himself.

"Hahaha, you're exactly like I was when I was young. Fine, fine, fine—since you'll be here for a few days transcribing scrolls anyway, I'll teach you a set of basic meditation techniques in my spare time."

"But let's get this straight: I will only teach it once. Whether you can learn it is up to you. If you can't learn it, don't come asking me for a second lesson; I'm very busy."

Richard nodded quickly upon hearing this.

That afternoon, Richard officially began his transcription work.

Bartok arranged for him to sit at a small desk that had been barely cleared off in the corner of the studio, giving him a thick stack of yellowed old notes and a dozen blank beginner magic scrolls.

The content to be transcribed, in the old mage's words, was "no need to understand the meaning, just copy it exactly as it looks," but in reality, it was not that simple at all.

Magic script and the common language were two completely different symbol systems; every rune was composed of several strokes precisely combined.

The order of the strokes, the curvature, and the angles of the beginning and end of each stroke all had strict formatting requirements.

Some runes would even create a faint mana resonance between them. When the pen tip traced across the parchment, the flow speed and direction of the ink would change slightly on their own; one careless move, and the rune would be drawn crooked.

If you copied a single rune wrong, the entire scroll would be ruined.

By the afternoon of the first day, he had ruined three blank scrolls, and he had a rough idea of the cost of each one.

An ordinary blank magic scroll was worth at least one silver coin on the market.

Bartok glanced at the ruined ones as he passed by but said nothing, simply tossing them into a basket nearby used specifically for recycling waste paper.

In the intervals between transcriptions, Bartok taught him the meditation technique.

Right beside the workbench, taking advantage of the time while the cauldron was heating, the old mage held a cup of black tea so thick it could serve as machine oil, and spent two hours explaining the entire set of Basic Elemental Meditation techniques.

The content wasn't much, but every sentence was essential information:

How to perceive mana particles in the air, how to use one's will to guide mana into the body's circulation, how to convert mana into usable reserves during the circulation process, and how to release mana.

The core secret to the entire meditation technique was only four words: focus and breathing.

There were no special requirements for the meditation posture; Bartok said sitting or lying down was fine, as long as the spine was straight and the breathing was even.

He himself had practiced meditation while lying under an apple tree back in the day, only to be hit by falling apples several times.

In the week that followed, the amount of time Richard spent in the studio each day was far more than four hours.

The task required four hours of transcription a day, but he basically arrived at the tower at daybreak and didn't leave until dark.

When he was tired of transcribing, he would practice meditation; when he was tired of meditating, he would help Bartok with odd jobs, handing over materials, washing cauldrons, and cleaning up the charred remains left behind after summoning experiments.

Every time he successfully completed a cycle of the Basic Elemental Meditation, he could faintly feel a part of his body that had never been touched before resonating.

That feeling was completely different from physical training.

It wasn't the soreness of muscles or the exhaustion of being drenched in sweat, but a more abstract and subtle perception, as if noticing for the first time that one's own breath had weight.

On the evening of the fifth day, after finishing the last scroll, he sat cross-legged on the old rug in the corner of the studio and entered a state of deep meditation following the technique taught by Bartok.

Extremely thin mana particles were scattered in the air; it took him nearly an hour to capture a few of them, and then he used his will to guide them into his mana circulation path.

The mana particles flowed slowly through the circulation. When they passed through his chest cavity, the low thumping of his heart would create a subtle resonance with the frequency of the mana particles, making each cycle more stable.

Then, he gathered the mana that had completed three full cycles at the tip of his right index finger, using the simplest method taught by Bartok—pushing the mana outward.

A white dot of light the size of a grain of rice lit up on his fingertip, barely visible in the dim light of the studio.

The point of light lasted for about three seconds before it began to flicker and then extinguished.

A faint, warm sensation lingered on Richard's fingertip, as if he had just touched a cup of warm water.