Vincent sat quietly in his hospital bed, slowly listening to Charlotte with a red nose. Charlotte's

  long-winded way of speaking greatly lengthened the time of the story and greatly reduced

  the amount of useful information in the story. If it hadn't been for some helpful notes from

  his tall nephew Mark, the wizard would never have heard any useful information.

  "So you dug me up under that mithril ore?" "You want to buy some mithril?" Vincent asked.

  He thought about it carefully. Moonport, even by a miracle, would not survive the giants'

  attack; And the archduke's castle must have been ruined after his battle with Thomas. The

  true owner of the mythrix mines, Duke Murray, is unlikely to have survived. On top of that,

  under Greafury's laws, mithril and fine gold had to be registered and could not be kept for

  private possession. There is no record of this amount of mithril in the whole of Greafury, which

  means that the mithril is private and can be considered "illegal". Even if the Lord of Greafury

  survives, he will not return to search for the mithril. In other words, these precious minerals

  now have no owner.

  "If you want them, take them. I don't need these things now. ' Vincent thinks for a moment

  and says.

  'Really? Really really?? That's great." Charlotte was jumping with joy. "Mark heard that? He

  said yes. That'll pay for my research! The elders will surely reward me."

  "Charlotte, let me ask you again, where are the rest of my things? Especially where is my

  backpack?" All Vincent needs now is his spell book. He must remember the spells again.

  'It's right next to you. We haven't dared to touch it.' Mark said, "I remember the day before

  yesterday, the bag moved by itself. It scared me to death."

  Vincent smiled, "There is my pet in there, a little snake. You don't have to be afraid. Can you

  bring it for me?"

  The backpack was immediately returned to the wizard. Vincent opened it and a small green

  snake crawled out of the bag. Vincent reached out his hand to the snake's head and said,

  "Snake, look at these two dwarfs, uncle and nephew."

  As soon as he said these words, Vincent sensed something was wrong. Supposedly, there is

  a telepathic relationship between a mage and his pet. They can feel what is going on in each

  other's heads. Although the snake was standing right in front of him, Vincent could not feel

  each other's thoughts. He watched the snake bend up and stare at him with its two red eyes.

  After spitting out the letter twice, Vincent suddenly bit the master.

  With a wave of Vincent's right hand, the little snake flew out and landed in the corner of the

  room.

  'What's the matter? Charlotte and Mark avoided the snake and asked anxiously, "Why did you

  throw it away so suddenly?"

  "I don't know what happened. I can't feel my pet anymore. It, too, seems like a strange snake

  that doesn't recognize me." Vincent looks at the little snake. The little blue snake is huddled

  in the corner of the room, keeping a watchful eye on the three people here.

  "What should we do then? Shoot it? ' Charlotte frowned. "Is he dangerous?" she asked.

  "No, don't! Vincent shook his head. "He has been with me for many years, and now he is

  almost an ordinary snake. You'd better find a forest and set him free. Maybe he still has some

  of the special powers he acquired as a pet. He should be able to take care of himself."

  The little snake tilted its head, looked at the few people present, vomited the letter twice,

  turned and swam away.

  Looking at the little snake moving away, the mage could not understand what was going on.

  Reluctantly, Vincent gently sighed, picked up his spell book, opened the familiar cover,

  smelled the familiar smell of ink with special spices, saw his five years in the academy left line

  by line, notes full of magic and knowledge, he felt the power returned to his side.

  "Thank you both for your care, but I would like to remember my magic in peace. Would you

  excuse me for a moment? '

  'Oh, oh. Absolutely no problem." "I just have to tell the council that you're awake and that

  you can use the mithril," said Charlotte, pulling her nephew out of the room. "I'll leave you

  alone for the moment. There's no reason why they won't let me work on my machine this

  time!"

  Vincent watched the two men go out of the room and shut the door. Then he lowered his

  head and slowly began to remember the magic he had learned.

  The master of Blasares had to do his daily homework by recalling the text of each spell. This

  process of memorization is a form of mental exercise. Only a mage with a good enough

  memory could have memorized so many convoluted incantations in his head. And when they

  used those spells, that memory would disappear along with the amount of magical energy

  they used.

  The more advanced the spell, the more complex its components become. The more mental

  power the mage will have to expend while memorizing. This is how the Guild ranks a caster.

  The more complex spells they can remember, the higher the caster's rank will be.

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  Spells are not memorized in a fixed way, and some very smart mages are able to find patterns

  in these spells; Or there are mages who are able to have an instinctive reaction to use some

  magic in the process of memorizing and using magic over and over again. These mages are

  able to remember more magic at a time than the average person, and are also able to

  remember more advanced spells. They were the best of the mages and became the elite in

  their field.

  The seven Grand Mages of the Mages Association, that's who they are.

  Unfortunately, the mysteries of magic are not an easy thing to learn, and they are more

  particular about perception than simple rote learning. A good tutor is one who more

  frequently invites the apprentice to think and study, rather than simply to read the magic

  notes of his predecessors. The fact that Vincent was able to develop into a great caster in

  such a short period of time has nothing to do with Kartho's good teaching.

  Some people believe that they can use magic by memorizing the spell when magic is cast

  and using the right spell materials. All attempts of such people failed without exception. When

  a magic spell is being used, the passage chanted is merely the cue that triggers the spell, and

  the cue may be different for different people using the same spell. There are even people

  who do not need to use the cue, and do not need to say a word at all, this ability is called

  spell casting. Even when a spell is cast, the action can be omitted; And there are those who

  can cast magic with a single thought, without any "lead" at all. These are very unique

  techniques. On the other hand, using these techniques requires changing the structure of the

  spell as it is prepared. This greatly increases the complexity of the spell, making a low level

  spell as complex as a high level spell. Ordinary mages call this a "superspell".

  And then there are those who have a strange pedigree, and are able to wave their arms like

  the rest of us, and instinctively elicit magical powers. They are free to use all types of magic

  in a way that is less like humans and more like animals that use magic -- dragons, for example.

  The more they are able to explore their potential and understand their own characteristics,

  the better they will be able to use their magical talents. This kind of person usually lives like

  an artist, characterized by grace and great affinity. The magical abilities of these people,

  however, derive more from their lineage than from their knowledge, and although they may

  cast a relatively high number of spells per day, they do not have a comprehensive

  understanding of the mysteries of magic and use a very limited variety of spells. Magic, for

  them, is a tool rather than a subject of knowledge. They are commonly known as warlocks.

  Knowledge is power, and only the understanding and analysis of individual spells, written in

  spellbooks, and the corresponding records of spells, are the true secrets and sources of a

  mage's magical power. The Grimoire is the sorcerer's life.

  And just then, a grimoire tore through the thin cloth used to make the Windows of a sickroom

  in the Gnome city and flew down from the high platform. The wind rattled the pages, and the

  book, like a bird with a broken wing, fell to the ground with a thud of longing to fly into the

  sky.

  Out of an ordinary room on that platform rushed a one-armed human, who grabbed the

  aisle guardrail with one hand and, at the top of his throat, shouted: "My magic!!" 'and dropped

  to his knees as if he had lost all his power. His right hand was still clinging to the railing,

  muscles tangled and protruding, trying to vent all his anger, disappointment, and pain on the

  iron railing.

  A dwarf child with candy in his hand looked curiously at the big man running from next door.

  The creature had a beautiful robe embroidered with stars and waves, just like the sorcerer's

  robe his mother and father had mentioned. However, he shouted and fell to the ground,

  which made the little boy feel very strange. Curious, the little boy went over to the big man,

  reached out for a piece of candy, and said in a gnomish voice, "Big Uncle, what's the matter

  with you? Do you want some candy? It's sweet."

  The big man cocked his head and looked at the little one. His pure black eyes stared at the

  little one. The little guy had two lines of snot hanging on his face, turned his head slightly to

  one side, and looked at the big man in front of him with his big clear eyes. He held out a small

  pink hand, and in his heart was a candy wrapped in colored paper. How would anyone else

  on the continent have dared, as this child did, to approach a sorcerer in a state of rage and

  madness?

  The mage stared at the little creature without moving for a moment. His eyes gradually

  returned to their normal state. He released his grip on the railing, wiped the little creature's

  snot with his sleeve, and took the pitifully small piece of candy.

  "What's your name, little fella?

  "My name is Toby! And you? Uncle Big?"

  "Me? My name is Vincent. '