73: Why don't you write more chapters?

Arcane Arts Society, Third Floor Area.

The space here was much smaller than the Second Floor Area; whether it was the people coming and going or the number of books, it couldn't compare to the second floor.

Only students with an academic rank of 2 or higher were eligible to enter.

The borrowing model of the Third Floor Area was different from that of the second floor.

Books on the second floor could be borrowed at will, as long as they weren't taken out of the Academy and were returned within the time limit.

On the third floor, one needed to spend points to borrow the books they wanted.

Regardless of the book's grade, type, or content, each one cost 2 points.

This resulted in very few people coming to the Third Floor Area to borrow books.

The advantage of the Third Floor Area lay in pre-partitioning the knowledge, making it easier for readers to speed up their search.

To use an analogy with primary and secondary school knowledge:

The books on the second floor contained the vast majority of primary and middle school knowledge, with a small amount of high school knowledge.

In the Third Floor Area, primary and middle school knowledge accounted for a small portion, while most was high school knowledge, with a very small amount of university knowledge.

This was a simplified introduction translated by Ronan based on what New Lord had said.

The reason translation was necessary was that as New Lord walked along, his introduction was hit-or-miss, and most of the content was spent pressuring him for more chapters.

"Why didn't you write a few more chapters?"

New Lord followed closely behind him, looking eager yet afraid of annoying him.

"I plan to serialize it; for now, this should be enough," Ronan explained.

He hadn't expected that as soon as he became a copycat and moved "battle through the heavens" over, it would instantly capture this neighbor's heart.

As expected of the supreme god of web novels from his previous life—impressive, truly impressive.

After his soul had been enhanced several times, he could clearly recall many details of his past life's memories, so the novels he had read were naturally no problem.

"Write more to keep as a backlog; it can hedge against risks. If something unexpected happens, it won't lead to a hiatus..."

New Lord looked worried, as if Ronan were about to pass away at any moment.

"I'm planning on not even leaving the house, what could possibly happen?"

Ronan smiled. "Don't worry, I'll ensure a stable update schedule, provided it can be published smoothly."

"What nonsense!" New Lord's expression changed. "With such an excellent work, who would dare not let you publish it? I'll be the first to find someone to deal with him."

"Oh? Who has such a big mouth?"

From beside the registration desk of the Third Floor Area came a mocking voice, half-smiling.

"So it's the newly promoted New Lord. You don't actually think you're a New Lord just because you have a bit of royal blood from the former dynasty, do you?"

The speaker had dark skin and wore a uniform with a blue collar as well; he was also a Level 3 Apprentice.

"Black Ghost, if you don't know how to talk, keep your mouth shut."

New Lord pulled out his Phoenix Feather Wand, his aura fully released, and said domineeringly:

"Get lost."

The Level 3 Apprentice who had mocked them was clearly no match for New Lord; his eyes darted around and landed on Ronan.

"Kid, stay away from Remnants of the Former Dynasty like him, or be careful the Council doesn't come knocking."

Ronan didn't even look at him, trying hard to keep a straight face.

Having just heard the name 'Black Ghost,' he almost thought New Lord was being racially discriminatory.

"You've got a death wish, don't you?"

A ball of light blue light lit up at the tip of New Lord's wand; the ball of light was fuzzy and looked very cute.

But anyone with common sense knew that if they actually took a hit from it, few normal people could withstand it.

"Alright, stop causing trouble here," a familiar voice came from the registration desk.

Ronan looked over at the sound and found it was actually Mayer from the Second Floor Area's registration desk.

"Old man? Why are you here?" he blurted out.

"Who are you calling 'old man'? Looking for a beating?"

The old man stood up indignantly, making a move as if to slap Ronan.

But he suddenly paused.

"Oh? Holding manuscript paper—are you about to publish a work?"

The old man lightly hooked his finger, and the manuscript paper in Ronan's hand automatically flew into his.

What a strange method!

Ronan sucked in a breath of cold air; he hadn't detected a single ripple of Spiritual Power.

This didn't look like magic.

The Black Ghost who had provoked them earlier had long since disappeared to who knows where. New Lord put away his wand and leaned in to whisper in his ear:

"He isn't Mayer from the second floor; this is his younger brother, Mike."

Ronan understood immediately—twins.

He immediately took the opportunity to ask New Lord: "Why do both of them hate being called 'old man' so much?"

"They are..."

"You two little brats, talking bad about me right to my face—you've got some nerve."

Old Mike waved Ronan's manuscript and said, "You want to submit this, right? I'll help you drop it in the submission box after I finish reading it. No problem, right?"

Ronan thought about it and nodded in agreement.

He was going to look for books anyway, and a dignified registration desk administrator surely wouldn't tamper with his manuscript, right?

New Lord, on the other hand, stayed by the registration desk with the posture of someone waiting for a good show.

He said to Ronan:

"Go find your books. If you need my help, just call me."

"Where are you going then?" Ronan looked at him with some confusion.

"I'm staying right here to see if he actually drops your manuscript into the submission box."

New Lord looked at Mike, who was preparing to read the manuscript, with a look of anticipation.

"Surely not..." Ronan obviously didn't believe an official would do anything out of line.

After muttering a sentence, he walked alone toward the rows of bookshelves.

The knowledge in the Third Floor Area was optimized into partitions, so he didn't need to browse row by row like on the second floor, panning for gold in a sea of waste.

He quickly walked to the Necromancy Magic section and began to slowly look for magic related to the soul.

It had to be said that the knowledge on the third floor was indeed more high-end than that on the second floor.

He flipped through two books in a row; neither contained anything outrageous, but instead, they were logically consistent and offered unique insights.

Ronan took one look and was instantly captivated.

It turned out that before attaining a Class, a mage's different affiliation was mainly determined by the types of magic they mastered.

If a mage mastered three or more spells of a certain type, they could be called a mage of that affiliation.

For example, his "Scorching Ray," "Elemental Flying Arrow," and "Wind Creation Spell" all belonged to Elemental Magic.

So, he was actually considered an Elemental Mage now.

Different affiliations weren't just for simple categorization; they could affect the acquisition of future Classs and determine different career development paths.

This made Ronan think: he had already mastered one Necromancy Magic spell, "Spiritual Fear."

If he mastered two more Necromancy Magic spells to make three...

At that time, would he be considered Elemental or Necromantic?

Or, dual-affiliated?

Just as he fell into thought, a significant commotion broke out at the registration desk.

"Kid... Kid! Where are you?!"

Mike, who had been reading the manuscript, suddenly stood up, his eyes wide, shouting and looking for someone.

His right leg was disabled, making movement difficult, and he couldn't walk many steps.

New Lord was laughing so hard he was doubled over, feeling a secret sense of satisfaction:

I knew it would have this effect!

"What are you doing!" Mike suddenly reached out and made a grasping motion toward New Lord.

Immediately, a massive force grabbed New Lord by the collar and lifted him in front of Mike.

"My stomach hurts."

New Lord forced the smile on his face to turn into a stiff expression of pain.

Mike didn't care at all, staring at him fiercely as he said word by word:

"Call. That. Kid. Over!"

"Put me down first." New Lord kicked his legs in the air, struggling hard.

This Mike's temper was even more explosive than imagined.

"What's wrong, old man? Were you looking for me?"

Ronan walked out from the side holding two books, looking a bit confused at the scene before him.

What's going on?

But immediately, he felt a massive force pulling him.

In the blink of an eye, he was grabbed and flown in front of Mike.

Mike casually tossed New Lord aside.

Then he carefully picked up the manuscript paper and looked at Ronan. "Why didn't you write a few more chapters?"

"Who is this little bit enough for?"