Meieruita checked his spoils in the quiet apprentice dormitory.
An Luo had told him in advance where Evans and those veteran apprentices had hidden their items, sparing him the trouble of searching.
Meieruita lifted a plain floor tile under the bed, revealing a narrow underground space about the size of two stone bricks side by side. Inside lay the wealth that the dormitory’s original owner had accumulated over many years.
A few witch tools and a small bag of stones emitting a faint glow.
Magic stones containing magic power—true equivalents among wizards.
These had originally been the veteran apprentice’s trump cards, prepared to boost his chances of passing the Apprentice Exam.
But now, they had all become Meieruita’s spoils.
Among them was a storage witch tool, its roughly ten cubic meters of space already packed full.
After inspecting it, Meieruita’s face remained calm, showing little joy.
Meieruita took a notebook out from the storage witch tool.
Upon flipping it open, he found records of insights into witchcraft and attempts at improvements.
The veteran apprentices had schemed to death many talented apprentices, and this notebook’s owner was one of them. Meieruita skimmed a few pages and found the contents quite useful to him.
He left the apprentice dormitory like a ghost, proceeding along the long, dim corridor.
Several wizard apprentices passed him coming the other way, but they acted as if they couldn’t see Meieruita at all.
This was the effect of soul witchcraft, which directly influenced others’ souls, making them oblivious and ignore his presence.
An Luo had once said, “Your strength now is greater than it was at this point in the original story.”
Those words lingered in Meieruita’s ears, mingled with relief, disappointment, tension, and a hint of panic—like vines tightly entwined.
He had grown stronger, proving he would progress faster than his predestined path.
Of course, gaining strength was always a good thing, providing better assurance for his survival.
Without An Luo’s existence, Meieruita’s mood at that moment should have been calm with a touch of delight.
But…
An Luo was like an unpredictable variable, a drop of dye falling into clear water, distorting everything beyond recognition.
Meieruita yearned to escape An Luo’s control, yet he didn’t want to escape it.
His fingertips still held the scorching heat from that birthday noodle bowl, and the tip of his tongue savored the lingering sweetness of the almond candy.
That was the first birthday Meieruita remembered celebrating.
It was also the first time he had eaten candy.
He had never thought birthdays were special—just a random day when he came into the world. His father saw him as a money-draining nuisance, his mother as her own burden.
Relationships among servants were unstable, mere outlets under heavy pressure. Even spouses lacked much true affection. In that harsh, impoverished life, the human parts were ground away bit by bit; only by regressing toward beastliness could one survive such an environment.
Meieruita didn’t mind. If becoming a beast let him tear out the throats of his oppressors, then he could become one.
He couldn’t describe his feelings, unsure how to articulate the shock in his heart. It was strange, like a torrential downpour washing away the beastly fur he wore, exposing the vulnerable human skin beneath.
The rain cleansed the mud and filth from his body, letting him rediscover that he wasn’t a beast, but a person.
But the rain was too heavy, and the surroundings too vast, leaving Meieruita nowhere to shelter.
In the downpour, he had to confront his true nature.
As a beast, he was exceptional—clever, agile, lethal, capable of snapping the throats of any enemies.
But as a human, he lacked so much.
And those lacks could never be filled.
Meieruita had long abandoned becoming a true human. In this dark world, only beasts survived—the fiercer and more ruthless, the better.
The human Meieruita would die, but the beastly one could win in this merciless struggle.
Having grown accustomed to being a beast, being forcibly seen as human wasn’t pleasant—like being stretched tall, akin to the growth pains of adolescence, striking without warning in the night and jolting him awake.
His soul seemed to absorb some nourishment it had never received, but after starving so long, the sudden fullness brought only brief satisfaction before nausea and retching.
Meieruita’s soul spasmed deep within; he hated this feeling. He missed his former calm self.
The noodle soup he had long digested seemed stuck in his stomach, and the almond candy’s flavor clung to his tongue like a haunting ghost.
Suddenly, he hated everything around him—including himself and An Luo.
Two wizard apprentices walked down the dim corridor, ignoring Meieruita, but in that instant, he wanted to kill them.
Before An Luo appeared, he had endured even the harshest hardships. Yet just as things were turning for the better, An Luo showed up, bringing chaos and forcing him to see the emptiness in his soul.
Like an arrow shot from afar, piercing his brow the moment he finally reached the heights after untold struggles.
Why did he have to appear?
What right did he have to appear now?
Meieruita reached the area near An Luo’s apprentice dormitory but didn’t enter. Instead, he opened the door to his own.
Cold, chill air hit his face. He sat on the chair, took out the newly found notebook, intending to study it intently, but found he couldn’t focus.
Last night’s dream surfaced—though calling it a dream was generous; it was just a vague scene, a snippet from one of the many stories An Luo had soul-transmitted.
A silly rabbit tale called “Guess How Much I Love You.”
“Guess how much I love you.”
“I love you to the moon and back.”
Under hazy moonlight in the pitch-black night, Meieruita returned to his powerless childhood.
He huddled by the kitchen stove, drawing warmth.
But this time, standing by the cauldron wasn’t the cook—it was An Luo.
“That’s very far—very, very far.”
“I love you to the moon and back again.”
He had jolted awake from the dream then, his face pale.
Meieruita took a deep breath.
He told himself it was all an illusion from the Authority of the Creator, meant to diminish him mentally and ensure unconditional obedience.
As the plot advanced and he escaped the “childhood phase,” everything would improve.
He repeated this to himself, commanding belief. After a while, his reason complied, and his thoughts cleared to calm clarity.
I can endure this.
Meieruita told himself. I survived the weakest childhood phase and made it here.
This time, I can endure too, and everything will return to normal.
He opened the pages and immersed himself in studying the notebook’s contents.
In the library, An Luo selected which witchcraft book to exchange for next.
As someone with a clear plan, he figured his time in the Wizard Tower was his only chance to access witchcraft, so he should learn as much as possible now.
Though his “learning” just meant reading the book cover to cover for a mechanical spell-casting method.
It couldn’t compare to wizard apprentices who truly mastered witchcraft.
But still: if it worked, it was good. Learn from one read—what more could you want, a bicycle?
The library for low-level wizard apprentices had plenty of witchcraft books, but few redeemable with gold coins—all the lowest tier.
At the mid-level wizard apprentice stage, even fewer could be bought with gold; by high-level, all required contribution points.
An Luo only wanted to stay at the bottom as a low-level wizard apprentice until Meieruita took over the Wizard Tower, then bolt once the old wizard’s contract vanished upon death.
So his plan: “learn” (read) every witchcraft book in the lower library during that time!
Skills never hurt—more spells were always better.
As for the monthly tasks, though An Luo felt wronged by the magic plants and beasts inexplicably targeting him, with more spells and caution, survival odds were decent.
For example, on another man-eating flower fruit harvest, he could spam Frost Spell on nearby man-eating flowers to freeze them, then dash before they thawed.
No magic power worries either—he had a “replenish magic” strip like a power bank. Charge it ahead, and he could cast endlessly like cheating.
Safety greatly improved.
And at Meieruita’s pace, it might not even take five years—maybe one or two before he offed the old wizard.
Overall, no big issues.
An Luo finally chose Light Orb Spell.
It created a light orb lasting an hour.
No attack power—just pure illumination.
Few wizard apprentices learned it.
Not worth it.
But An Luo found it very useful.
After escaping and settling somewhere, it’d be perfect.
Candles cost money and were dim; Light Orb Spell was free electric light!
That was it!
He pulled out enough gold coins and handed them to the library guardian.
The guardian was a wizard’s slave—an aged old treeman. He glanced at An Luo’s choice and took only half the gold.
“This Light Orb Spell is worse than the entry-level Fireball Spell. Half price is enough,” he said.
An Luo thanked him and pocketed the remaining half.
Strange…
Maybe he was overthinking, but everyone around seemed nicer to him lately.
From Alfonso and Pangzi before, to this treeman now, even Alden and Aogufusi—all seemed kinder and more patient.
What was going on?
Had his affinity improved?
An Luo started to speculate deeper, but images flashed: ferocious man-eating flowers, and the thorn beast that chased him relentlessly despite him doing nothing.
An Luo: “…”
Uh, table that—no rushing to conclusions.
With the Wizard Apprentice Exam approaching, three atmospheres pervaded the lower-level wizard apprentices.
Some knew they had no hope and carried on normally.
Some thought effort plus luck might promote them, so they worked extra hard.
Some were certain they’d pass, acting arrogant yet relaxed.
An Luo inexplicably felt déjà vu:
