Tars felt he had gleaned two critical pieces of information from the old drunkard’s words.

  First, to become a formal wizard, one must not only satisfy certain conditions but also prepare an advancement ritual—often referred to as a "Sublimation Ritual."

  Second, a wizard apprentice must be ruthless toward themselves. From the old apprentice's tone, Tars could hear the high spirits of his youth, but also the disorientation that followed his repeated failures. Perhaps when he first tried to take that step, the ten lost years had made him hesitate, preventing him from decisively choosing a life-force consumption ritual for his first attempt. In the end, one missed step led to another, until hope was entirely extinguished, leaving him to return to a hometown without family or friends to await death.

  Perhaps passing on the Miser's Touch was the old drunkard's final way of tethering himself to the world. And since the old man constantly referred to himself as a "wild wizard," it was likely his days in the upper domains had been far from pleasant or smooth.

  The elderly man tilted his head to look at Tars.

  "Now you know why the Fendis elders respect me. They are respecting a tragedy—a joke that will be told for generations. They are insignificant when facing a true wizard, but when they look at my failure, their unremarkable noble status shines as brightly as the stars."

  The old drunkard downed another glass, then produced a different one, sniffing it lightly.

  "In their eyes, had I been one of them, my fate would have been different. Even if I fell ill, I would have been cured quickly. Even if I missed a talent test, there would be private ways to test me. If my talent was high enough, they could have pulled strings to get me a passage ticket to the wizard domain as an exception. There would be no such stupidity as wasting ten years. These fellows feel that their noble status dictated the birth—or lack thereof—of a wizard in Starry City. Thinking about how they influenced someone so much greater than them makes their small hearts feel quite satisfied," the old man said.

  As Tars watched him, he realized the old apprentice was completely detached while recounting these events; his heart was a still pond. Tars had never experienced the sensation of quietly waiting for his life to end and couldn't quite imagine it. He wondered if this calm came only when one reached the finish line. As a seasoned Level 5 apprentice, the old man could likely feel his life essence leaking away—or rather, drying up. Barring an accident, he could only watch himself die, bit by bit.

  "Is there truly no way?" Tars asked. He wasn't just looking for knowledge; he was genuinely curious.

  A strange, viscous wine made a glugging sound in the old apprentice's throat.

  "What way? A bloodline reconstruction like yours? I've considered every common method," the old man said. "Perhaps there are ways to save me, but they aren't things a wizard apprentice can achieve. For instance, your near-perfect bloodline modification isn't something an apprentice could do—even an ordinary formal wizard might struggle with it. As for my path, it isn't suited for bloodline reconstruction; that would only increase the difficulty of my advancement. So I never did it. By the time I wanted to just linger on for a few more years, it was too late. My life essence has suffered irreversible loss. With my current abilities, there is nothing left to be done."

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  The wheels of the carriage creaked. Tars felt as if every Level 5 apprentice he met was a genius, yet among geniuses, there were many failures. He watched the old drunkard throughout the ride, marveled by the man's staggering tolerance for alcohol. He drank as if he were trying to fill a bottomless pit with water.

  "Do not fear death; learn to enjoy the final moments of peace," the old apprentice said with a smile. "After all, there is still fine wine to keep one company."

  Tars looked at him, momentarily at a loss for words.

  "Mmh, that tavern ahead looks decent."

  The old man rapped on the cabin wall, and the servant driving the carriage immediately understood, pulling over to the curb. The old drunkard waved at Tars and hurried out of the carriage as if he were afraid the tavern might run away.

  The carriage set off once more. The cavern city at night—especially the noble district of the inner city—was just as lively as during the day, but the route they took was quiet. This was Daisy's doing; she had coordinated the route with the driver, having already gained a general understanding of Tars's preferences.

  Upon returning safely to the manor, Tars immediately soaked himself in a tub of hot water. He relished the feeling of washing away the blood and filth while snacking on the fruits Daisy had meticulously prepared. Now, he finally had the time to quietly sense the changes brought about by the mana-scars absorbing those two monsters.

  He entered a meditative state.

  As expected, his mental energy had seen a significant increase. However, the downside remained the same as last time: upon reaching the limits of meditation, he noticed his mental energy was no longer as responsive as it once was. He pulled out the stone strip used for testing mental energy and found that even though he hadn't finished mastering his runes, his mental energy had already reached the standard of a Level 4 apprentice.

  Unfortunately, without the completion of the fourth mana-scar, he couldn't be considered a true Level 4.

  Furthermore, defining an apprentice solely by mental energy was one-sided. Several journals he had read mentioned that wizard academies or organizations would evaluate apprentices through examinations. In many academies, even if one's mental energy met the standard and the Zero-Ring spell slots were solidified, one still wouldn't be a "qualified" Level 1 apprentice. One had to master at least three Zero-Ring spells to pass the assessment and earn the apprentice badge.

  Once his internal check was complete, Tars began casting his spells to sense external changes. This bout of rage had brought several shifts. First, he was even taller in his Demonic Body state; the horns on his head had grown slightly, and the spiral patterns on his skin had darkened—though he had no idea what purpose those served yet.

  The core of these changes was the Demonic Body spell itself. Tars observed its spell model closely. This spell, which others dismissed as an immature modification of demonic flesh, seemed to be constantly adjusting its unstable model through use. To put it kindly, it was refining itself and adapting to its user.

  Overall, this was likely a good thing. Such an unstable model might actually make it easier to birth the composite spell he had been anticipating when he eventually fused all five mana-scars.

  Feeling refreshed, he stepped out of the bathroom only to hear a knock at the door.

  "Lord Tars, Young Master Rodrigo has returned to the manor."

  This was Daisy's report; he had instructed her to inform him the moment Rodrigo returned. However, he suddenly found himself lacking the enthusiasm to go and see the second son of the Starry Family.