Chapter 12: No One Understands the Protagonist Better Than Me!

An Luo discovered that Meieruita’s attitude toward him had grown much colder.

His original demeanor had only been average—not particularly enthusiastic, but at least basically friendly.

After one night, it had plummeted like the winter in his city, dropping so suddenly that it caught him off guard.

Just the day before, he had been wearing short sleeves; the next day, he had to bundle up in a jacket.

An Luo grew tense for a moment.

There was no helping it—the protagonist’s attitude concerned his very survival, so he had no choice but to treat it with caution.

But soon, he realized that while Meieruita’s attitude was cold, he had no intention of making a move against An Luo.

An Luo breathed a sigh of relief. On second thought, it made sense.

Strictly speaking, as the author, he was originally the target that Meieruita had resolved to eliminate. This had nothing to do with like or dislike; it wasn’t a matter of affection or animosity.

Primarily, in Meieruita’s eyes, An Luo’s existence was a massive hidden danger.

This wasn’t merely a conflict of interests—it was a conflict of survival.

To ensure he could live on more safely, Meieruita would definitely find a way to kill An Luo.

In a nutshell:

“You know too much.”

Meieruita’s previous show of relative friendliness was most likely the chameleon-like camouflage of a mimic.

It was to probe An Luo.

Although An Luo claimed he was extremely weak and posed no threat, who knew if An Luo was lying?

So Meieruita had to confirm it himself.

Now that he had determined An Luo was indeed no match for him and required no caution, there was no need for the disguise anymore.

As for why the attitude had dropped sharply after that dinner, it was probably because Meieruita saw that An Luo had no ambition at all, indulging in lowly sensory pleasures, and truly looked down on him from the bottom of his heart. Plus, with the confirmation that An Luo wasn’t a threat, Meieruita couldn’t be bothered to keep up the act.

An Luo nodded, feeling that his deductions were utterly logical and convincing.

After all, he was the author. Leaving aside the thousands of words in Meieruita’s character bio, the novel itself spanned several million words.

It wasn’t some short or medium-length story, but a super long serialized epic that had run for over two years.

He had typed it out from one-finger zen to proficient touch-typing, one character at a time.

An Luo felt he could confidently declare:

No one understood the protagonist better than he did!

He watched Meieruita leave, then closed the door and locked it.

This was for the best.

Staying with Meieruita all the time put a lot of mental pressure on An Luo too.

The protagonist’s daily routine was suffocating.

He slept only four hours a day, spent another two hours meditating, and aside from eating, washing up, and the like, devoted all his remaining time to one thing: reading books, researching, and conducting experiments.

He was like a tireless learning machine.

He never got tired and pursued no entertainment whatsoever.

Compared to him, An Luo felt utterly worthless.

Especially when An Luo, bored out of his mind, had eagerly taken the low-quality knight novel Meieruita handed him, and Meieruita had given him that look of shock and confusion.

As if to say:

“What time is it, and you’re still thinking about playing?”

It was like a hallucination of his high school homeroom teacher.

An Luo couldn’t help but feel deeply ashamed.

He sat back down at his desk, composed himself, and reopened Rules and Basic Applications of Fire Element Control.

He read it carefully, word by word, hoping his brain would cooperate.

Yet after fewer than ten pages, An Luo experienced the full journey of “higher mathematics: from beginner to abandonment.”

Pain mask.

He stared blankly at the pages for a while, deciding he couldn’t just give up like that.

Even if he didn’t understand, at least he should read through it once.

They said that reading a book a hundred times would reveal its meaning naturally. Though that sounded dubious for math and science books that required real IQ, it was still better than doing nothing.

With that mindset, An Luo continued reading.

The more he read, the more his head throbbed, but he persisted, flipping page by page.

Principles, fire element calculation formulas, form transformation rules, leverage methods to manipulate power… An Luo’s head spun.

Near the end, An Luo saw the author write that this was merely the simplest elemental witchcraft, the beginning of humanity using wisdom to break free from their own shackles.

An Luo: “…”

I beg you, this is still simple?

When An Luo wrote the novel, his setting for wizards and witchcraft was “The gentleman is different in nature and good at borrowing from things.”

Humans were fragile, but they could use wisdom to combine the free-floating magic power in the air into various witchcraft to strengthen themselves.

That was “good at borrowing from things.”

Then, once strengthened to a certain stage, they discovered that the human life form constrained further pursuit of knowledge, so they began attempting active evolution.

That was “different in nature.”

Like a fish that had swum in the sea too long and wanted to go ashore, only to find there was no water, so it had to evolve itself to breathe air.

Back then, writing it had felt awesome; he’d hammered the keyboard in a frenzy of inspiration, thinking he was so clever.

Until now…

An Luo finished the last page and was about to flip back to the first when something miraculous happened.

Just like when he had received Lan Lian’s memories, the method to release the Fireball Spell suddenly appeared in his mind.

Though it was only the most rigid, simplest release method, it was enough to jolt An Luo to attention.

In the wizard world, truly powerful wizards possessed exceptional research abilities. Not only did they modify witchcraft to suit their physiques for greater power and fit, but they also created their own unique spells.

Wizards who merely rigidly learned existing witchcraft without improving it had no future.

They might have an edge during the Wizard Apprentice stage, but once they became Formal Wizards, they would basically just transplant organs from higher-dimensional creatures and be forever capped at that level.

At best, they could match the strength of the transplanted creature.

And An Luo was even worse off than them.

At least those guys learned it themselves and had some understanding of witchcraft, allowing them to draw analogies.

Not An Luo.

Though the Fireball Spell release method was now in his head, he knew the “how” but not the “why”—like releasing a skill in a game, brainlessly spammable with no substance.

Its damage was completely fixed too.

Unlike other Wizard Apprentices, whose damage would increase with understanding or in areas rich with fire elements.

He was basically the weakest of the weak.

The bottom rung among wizards.

But that didn’t matter!

An Luo was thrilled and stunned for a full five minutes!

He wasn’t planning to become a wizard anyway. His goal was just to escape the protagonist and find a normal world for a peaceful life.

This level of witchcraft was more than enough for him!

Plus his Han character runes.

His survival odds had skyrocketed!

An Luo got excited for a bit before suddenly facing a harsh reality.

Releasing witchcraft required magic power.

And An Luo’s magic power was currently zero.

An Luo: “…”

In other words, he was like a teapot full of dumplings—plenty inside, but unable to pour them out.

To gain magic power, he first needed talent and sufficient mental strength.

Then, he had to spend time meditating to sense the free-floating magic power in the air with his mental strength.

And An Luo didn’t even know if he had the talent.

So far, he hadn’t touched the edges.

An Luo’s excitement cooled a little.

But no matter what, it had at least eliminated one huge obstacle.

Next, as long as he could successfully sense magic power, his survival chances would soar.

Soon it was the end of the month, and he had to pay the monthly fee for his Wizard Apprentice status.

An Luo donned his mask and gloves, pulled up his hood to conceal his figure, stuffed a paper slip marked “Burnt” into his pocket, and went fully armed to the lower layer hall to line up and pay.

His appearance disappointed many Wizard Apprentices, especially some veteran ones who had already divided up the spoils.

An Luo sensed those gazes. Though a bit nervous, he wasn’t too worried.

To harm someone, it had to be done without a trace, without leaving evidence.

Those who could pull that off were basically Mid-Level Apprentices from the layer above.

The lowest Low-Level Wizard Apprentices needed to trade with Alden for witchcraft items to do harm—the item Lan Lian used to ambush the protagonist had come from Alden.

But the problem was, most of those coveting An Luo’s wealth were bankrupt paupers. Where would they get the money?

The wealthy had no need to target An Luo; the cost wouldn’t match the gain. Direct-kill witchcraft items were extremely expensive and not risk-free, while indirect ones would fail if An Luo didn’t die—he could still pay the coins, leaving them with nothing.

No point.

There was still one veteran Wizard Apprentice eyeing An Luo in secret, but after failing last time, it had probably cost him big.

There’d been no moves lately; he might have given up.

After all, there was no deep grudge between him and Lan Lian. Lan Lian wasn’t talented either, so once the benefits couldn’t cover the losses, he generally wouldn’t strike again.

So it was relatively safe.

Thus, upon realizing “Lan Lian” wouldn’t die for the moment, those covetous gazes withdrew.

An Luo stood in line and didn’t see Meieruita up front.

That was normal.

Per the plot, Meieruita would appear last, disguised as severely injured and frail.

Having just completed an extremely dangerous task, acting unfazed would draw attention.

Some hopeless veteran apprentices would try to strangle any rising talent, all for “if I can’t have it good, no one can.”

Of course, as the protagonist, Meieruita would definitely advance to a higher apprentice rank.

Which would trigger a chain of face-slapping plots.

An Luo smoothly paid up, renewing his Wizard Apprentice status for another month.

On his way back, he spotted a blond, green-eyed Wizard Apprentice.

This blond, green-eyed apprentice had a pair of innocent doggy eyes that evoked thoughts of a golden retriever.

An Luo’s steps halted involuntarily.

He remembered this character.

A rather special cannon fodder.

Though it had been so long that An Luo had forgotten the character’s name, he still recalled some details due to its uniqueness.

This cannon fodder was a rare good person in the Wizard Tower.

He had become a Wizard Apprentice to save food for his family. After, he saved Contribution Points to buy a Healing Potion and send it home to his ailing little sister.

Penniless, he desperately earned Contribution Points, but near month’s end, he failed a task. Though he survived, he couldn’t gather enough points and became a wizard’s lab rat.

In the novel, this cannon fodder existed to make Meieruita realize further that in this cruel, dark Wizard Tower, good people couldn’t survive.

The blond, green-eyed Wizard Apprentice stood in the corner, his doggy eyes filled with panic and fear.

Cold sweat dripped down in big beads.

When writing it, An Luo hadn’t felt much, but now with this good-guy cannon fodder standing live before him, with such helpless, pitiful doggy eyes…

An Luo: “…”

That midnight, he sat up in bed and slapped himself: I really deserve to die.

He quietly walked over and handed a small pouch of gold coins to the doggy-eyed apprentice, disguising his voice as hoarse: “For you.”

The doggy-eyed apprentice was bewildered at first. When he realized what An Luo had given him, his eyes burst with extreme joy: “Thank you, thank you!”

He lowered his voice, not daring to draw attention.

Yet, a pair of gray-green eyes stared fixedly at them, filled with shock and a hint of confusion.