Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

Chapter 558 The fire is out, it's time for me to go.

Consciousness floats on an endless, pure white wilderness covered in ashes.

The sky was pitch black, without a single star.

Only dim, seemingly weeping shooting stars, trailing cold, fiery tails, slowly streaked across the sky.

Ron found himself trudging through the snow-covered landscape with Yutel, a cold so intense it could freeze the soul.

Upon closer inspection, the falling "snowflakes" turned out to be charred fragments of book pages, on which ancient characters, long since unrecognizable, could still be faintly seen.

Some are ancient medical texts written in shamanic script, some are poems in ancient Elvish language, and some are occult manuscripts written in a long-lost script...

They fluttered in the air, making the faint sound of paper being torn by the wind, like thousands of tiny sighs.

The cold here is not a physical low temperature, but rather an absolute loneliness and deathly stillness stemming from the complete forgetting of "knowledge" and "memory".

This coldness pierced the depths of my soul; every breath felt like inhaling liquid despair.

He saw Professor Utter's body as more ethereal than in reality, like a figure woven from thin moonlight and smoke.

A cold wind blew by, carrying away strands of light that made up his body.

The old professor's silhouette kept blurring, reappearing, and blurring again, as if he were waging some kind of silent struggle against this desolation.

They walked for a long time, so long that Ron almost forgot the purpose of their journey.

Each step sank into the soft ashes, making a "crunching" sound.

Suddenly, the old professor stopped in his tracks.

"Child, if you keep walking down this road, it will get even colder ahead..."

Yutel turned to look at him and said with concern.

Ron did feel the biting cold.

This is a feeling he should never have at his current level of magical power.

With his Moon-level strength, he shouldn't be this vulnerable even in the harshest low-temperature environments.

But on this eerie snowfield, he could even feel his teeth chattering.

He tried to start a fire himself, but found that his magic was completely frozen in this strange snowfield and he couldn't mobilize it at all.

How could a wizard suddenly lose the ability to control magic?
Yet this absurd reality is also incredibly real, so real that it evokes despair.

Seeing this, the old professor smiled at him reassuringly.

That smile contained so much:

A sense of relief, reluctance, hope, and a tranquil acceptance of fate.

With trembling, almost transparent hands, he painstakingly scooped up the swirling ashes from the wind and gathered them together.

The movements were extremely careful, as if handling the most precious treasure, or as if caressing the face of a dying person.

Something amazing happened.

The ashes in his palm suddenly reignited.

It transformed into a tiny flame, seemingly about to be extinguished at any moment.

This cluster of fire became the only color in this gray hell.

Yutel took a step forward, carefully cradling his tiny flame, and walked towards Ron.

With each step he took, his figure became a little more transparent.

It was as if this simple act of walking itself was consuming his last bit of existence.

Ron then realized that a pile of dry branches had been prepared in front of him all along.

Those withered branches appeared out of nowhere and were neatly piled up.

They seem to have waited a thousand years for this moment to be ignited.

Professor Yutel bent down and gently placed the precious spark in his hand on the withered branch in front of the young man.

When the fire suddenly bursts into flames, bringing warmth...

At the same moment, the flame in the old professor's own hand was completely extinguished.

This process occurred without any warning, without gradual change, and without any struggle.

Like two connected containers, when one is full, the other must be empty.

Without the support of the firelight, Yutel's already illusory figure almost completely merged into the darkness.

His outline began to blur, the edges spreading out like a watercolor painting.

But he didn't look at his own extinguished hands.

He simply gazed with satisfaction and deep longing at the blazing flames burning before the young man:

"The fire is out, I should go now."

After saying that, he turned around and slowly walked away into the deeper snowstorm, into that eternally dark wasteland.

"Professor!" Ron exclaimed in his dream, wanting to chase after him.

But when he tried to move, he found that his feet were firmly pinned to the spot by the warm fire in front of him, and he could not move.

The flame was so warm that it illuminated the snow-covered ground within a radius of several meters.

At the same time, it is like the heaviest shackle.

This warmth itself is the reason he cannot move forward.

He accepted the gift, but in doing so, he lost the right to retain the giver.

They could only watch helplessly as that faltering figure was swallowed up by the brighter future he had ignited with his own hands.

Ron wanted to shout, to break free, to rush into the darkness to find the old professor.

However, the flames grew brighter and warmer, binding him firmly within the illuminated circle.

The darkness returned to silence, as if no one had ever passed by.

Only the fire in front of him was still burning alone.

It provides the only light for this desolate world.

Ron suddenly opened his eyes.

The cold, melancholy feeling in his dream was so real that he couldn't help but shiver.

Even after he woke up, he could still feel the ashes brushing against his cheeks and hear the faint sighs in the wind and snow.

He looked around and found himself slumped over the desk in the laboratory.

In front of him lay a half-finished draft of a plan for handling the aftermath of the "resentment crystal."

The dense runes and calculation formulas on the parchment bear witness to his late-night work.

He... fell asleep while working?
Ron was deeply confused.

With his current level of mental strength and willpower, he wouldn't feel tired even if he worked through the night or meditated for weeks on end.

The bodies of Moon-level wizards have been magically modified, far exceeding the physiological limits of mortals.

How could he possibly fall asleep without warning while working on such an important project?

Thinking of this, Ron unconsciously clenched his fist tightly against his chest.

A huge, indescribable emptiness surged from the depths of his heart like a tide, as if a piece of his soul had been forcibly ripped out.

This feeling has no physiological cause, yet it is so real it's suffocating.

"Honey, are you alright? Your mental state was very unstable just now!"

Nari's worried voice echoed in his mind.

"Is it because of the dream you just had?"

Acelia's voice was also somewhat solemn:

"I sensed an aura of... impending doom."

That kind of aura, I've only sensed in certain ancient prophecies.

However, their voices lasted only a moment before disappearing completely, leaving only a hurried reminder:
"Vinar is here!"

Ron quickly composed himself and forcibly suppressed his unease.

He took a deep breath and activated the solidification spell on the "Cooling Ring" on his hand to make sure he looked normal.

A moment later, there was a gentle knock on the laboratory door.

"Please come in."

Vinard walked in, and his aura seemed softer than usual today.

Those mechanical eyes lacked their usual sharpness, instead carrying a subtle concern.

Instead of immediately discussing work, he sat down in the chair opposite Ron as if having a casual conversation. "How's work going lately?"

Vinard's electronic voice sounded exceptionally peaceful:
"I heard you've been working for 48 hours straight."

“Progress is going well.” Ron tidied the documents on his desk:
"The solution to Yuan Jing's case is basically finalized, and a complete report is expected to be submitted tomorrow."

Vinard nodded, but did not press for further technical details.

Instead, a seemingly casual question was posed:

"That caravan that came from the main world at the beginning of the month, hasn't it already returned home?"

This question gave Ron a thought.

He recalled Cassandra's "ultimatum":
They either went back with the caravan or severed all ties.

"Yes, they left five days ago."

“Lord Cassandra…didn’t he give you any new ‘instructions’?”

Ron didn't answer immediately.

Vinard's mention was like a key, gently opening a door deep in his memory.

It was the last night before the caravan set off, and he sat alone in the laboratory.

Simple explanations have long lost their meaning, and empty promises cannot touch the walls in her heart.

What he needs is an "answer sheet" that can bypass logic and go straight to the depths of his soul.

So he began a creative process.

The first piece was a music box named "Eve's Lullaby".

He chose the most precious materials.

The box's frame is made from "resonance crystal," a specialty of Cuihuan No. 2, a material that can transform emotional fluctuations into pure sonic vibrations.

The most precious thing is the "dew" that Lila willingly dripped from her third eye during her deep empathic meditation.

These few drops of crystal-clear liquid contain the most sincere emotions of a mixed-race girl who is trying her best to be accepted by the world.

He also concocted a "combination of sorrow and joy".

Based on the all-encompassing gentle nature of "Resonance Moss," it incorporates the life passion that bursts forth in an instant like "Sun-Drenched Berries."

Precise neutralization and modulation are achieved through the characteristic of [chord resonance].

This formula combines the tranquility of a mother's embrace with the vitality of a newborn's first cry.

When he used the [Improvisational Fugue] property to inscribe the rune matrix representing "protection" and "tranquility" onto the core of the music box, something unexpected happened.

The little white sheep, the concept mentor from "The Complete Guide to the Extraordinary," suddenly jumped out from the pages of the book.

Curious, it tiptoed up and gently touched the edge of the music box with its pink little hooves, tilting its furry head to listen intently.

The little white sheep's reaction became his strictest "quality inspector".

When a rune is not depicted sincerely enough, and is mixed with utilitarianism or perfunctory intent.

It bleats in dissatisfaction, gently kicks his wrist with its little hoof, its eyes filled with the determination to "start over".

But when all the parts begin to harmonize, they play the gentlest lullaby.

The little white lamb would lie contentedly on the edge of the table, emitting soft, peaceful snores like a baby.

This process lasted all night.

Just when he thought he had reached perfection, Aries always used its intuition, which transcends logic, to point out where things could be even purer.

Until dawn broke, when the last note faded into the distance.

The little white sheep stretched contentedly and nodded gently at the music box, as if to say, "I passed this time."

Then, it hopped and skipped back into the depths of the pages of "The Complete Guide to the Extraordinary," leaving Ron alone to gaze at the work to which he had poured his heart and soul.

But he knew that warmth alone was far from enough.

Cassandra is a cold-blooded, almost ruthless, ambitious woman.

What she needs is not only emotional resonance, but also a demonstration of strength and wisdom.

So he consulted Silas, whose relationship with him had improved, and obtained a "Silver Thread" made by the Draven family.

This material possesses the strong toughness to support complex magical structures.

Subsequently, based on the fractal principle of eternal reconstruction in "The Key to the Craftsman's Labyrinth," he completely reshaped the silver wire at the microscopic level.

The originally delicate silver lines were reconstructed into a "fractal sphenoid bone" with infinite details.

Every joint and every texture contains a complete information storage matrix.

The butterfly wings are crafted from the purest magic crystal. As thin as a cicada's wing, they can carry a vast amount of information.

He used the [Improvisational Fugue] property to "translate" his analysis of the Vinard colony's operating model into a grand runic symphony.

Every strategic move is a movement in a symphony, every data statistic is a note, and every optimization suggestion is a wonderful variation.

This silent symphony is completely engraved in every minute structure of the fractal sphenoid bone.

When a reader of sufficient ability touches upon it with their mental power, the entire "symphony" will resonate in their consciousness.

That was his most profound insight into the art of colonial administration, and a silent declaration of his worth to Cassandra.

………………

As the tide of memories receded, Ron looked at Vinard:
“I think the tower master has received my 'report'.”

As for what judgment she will make, only time will tell.

Vinard nodded slightly, not delving into the topic.

He was silent for a moment, then brought up a crystal image and gently pushed it in front of Ron.

“I should have replied to you as soon as you submitted your formal application to join the project.”

Vinard's electronic voice deepened:
"But I was delayed for a week because I went to the funeral of an old friend."

The image slowly lights up, showing the magnificent scene of "Truth Square" in the center.

Ron's heart almost stopped beating at that moment.

That familiar figure was standing on the podium.

The professor in the picture has become translucent, as ethereal as morning mist.

The morning light pierced through his body without obstruction, casting an almost invisible shadow on the ground.

Only those eyes remained brighter than the brightest stars in the night sky—beautiful and passionate, yet carrying the weight of an irreversible farewell.

"Fellow practitioners, thank you for listening to the ramblings of an old man at this special moment."

Yutel's voice came through the video.

It was as gentle as the warm spring sun, yet it made Ron feel a sharp pain in his heart.

That was the cold of the snowfield in my dream, that was the warmth of the fire being passed on, that was an irreversible farewell.

In the video, Yutel begins to talk about the transmission of knowledge, the weight of responsibility, and the choice of path...

His gaze slowly swept over the tens of thousands of faces, each pause seeming as if he were searching for something, or as if he were saying goodbye to something.

As the course drew to a close, Ron noticed a faint trace of regret in the old professor's eyes.

Yutel was searching, searching for the figure he most longed for and missed.

Meanwhile, Ron is in a distant, otherworldly realm, unable to return due to a technological project.

This regret tore at his heart like a dull knife cutting into flesh.

He wanted to rush toward the image, to shout, to tell the old professor that he was there, watching him.

But images are ultimately just images; they represent history that has already happened, an unchangeable reality.

"It seems my time has come."

Yutel's voice carried a deliberate sense of ease:

"Well then, I should leave get out of class now."

As soon as he finished speaking, his body began to transform into pure light.

The video ends abruptly here.

"Senior Yutel is one of my few friends from the same grade."

Vinard's voice carried a sorrow etched by the passage of time:
"We once explored the boundaries of truth together;
We faced the ancient embodiment of fear together on the eleventh level of the abyss;

Fighting side by side in the storms of the elemental planes…

His mechanical hand gently caressed a hidden pocket on his chest:
"His final... coffin was also made by my own hands."

(End of this chapter)