Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

After completing a long glide over the gray wasteland, Acelia began to tilt downwards.

"Hold on tight."

Before Ron could respond, the silver dragon had already plunged straight down.

There is no unified direction of gravity in the spirit world.

He had already read about this point of knowledge.

However, the difference between firsthand experience and written description is roughly equivalent to the difference between "reading a recipe" and "being stuffed into a pot".

Aseria plummeted downwards for about 300 meters at near-free fall speed before suddenly changing direction.

The dragon's body turned ninety degrees, switching from a vertical dive to horizontal flight.

The wings brushed past a river of flowing gray light, splashing water across its surface.

Those splashes of water are fragments of memories.

Each splashing drop of water contains a small fragment of the experiences of a dead soul.

The afternoon sunlight, the words left unspoken, the door that will never be opened again.

They shimmered in the air, then fell back into the river, merging into the ceaseless torrent of memories.

“These ‘rivers’ lead to deeper levels of the spirit world,” Acelia explained during the flight.
“By following them, you can bypass most of the patrol network at the edge layer.”

"Are you very familiar with the terrain of the spirit world?"

"I also 'lived' here for a while right after I died."

Although I mostly just drifted around aimlessly, I've seen most of what I needed to see.

The silver dragon rapidly weaved along the path of the flowing memories.

Sometimes it dives into the inside of the gushing flow, and sometimes it glides along the edge of the gushing flow, using the acceleration effect brought by the fluid to increase its flight speed.

The wasteland receded rapidly behind us.

“We need to go deeper,” Acelia reminded them.

Ron looked down.

The wasteland ground began to crack in this area, revealing deep fissures between large, gray-white slabs.

Aseria folded her wings and slipped into the crevice at an extremely tricky angle.

The passageway widens abruptly after extending for about two kilometers.

The workshop level is an upside-down city.

The buildings all grow downwards from the ceiling, with the roof facing upwards and the ground facing downwards, doors and windows upside down, and steps reversed.

The city's light comes from countless small furnaces scattered throughout the city, and beside each furnace, souls are toiling.

"Where is this place?" Ron leaned over the dragon's back to observe.

"Workshop level".

Aseria's wings remained half-spread as she moved slowly through the buildings of the upside-down city.
"The busiest and most peculiar place in the spirit world."

"Most of the souls you see were not good people in their previous lives."

Her dragon head tilted slightly, her golden vertical pupils sweeping across the workshops below:
"Villains, swindlers, executioners, unscrupulous merchants, thieves... all those who still owe debts after death will be led here."

"Debt?"

"The spirit world has its own accounting system."

The sins you commit while you are alive, you must pay for after you die.

There's only one way to repay your debt: use the skills you were best at in your life to work here.

She hovered above an exceptionally large workshop for a moment, allowing Ron to see what was inside:

“Every valuable task you do will translate into ‘weight’.”

"weight?"

"It's the currency of the spirit world, and also a pass."

Once enough 'weight' has been accumulated, the soul is qualified to leave the workshop level.

Those who don't have enough weight should keep working until they do.

Ron's gaze fell on a workshop.

It was a space laid out like a surgical operating room in the material world, with a long stone table in the center, upon which lay a soul awaiting repair.

An old man was standing next to the long platform.

His hair was gray, his face was deeply lined, and his two hands hovered steadily above the damaged area.

Several fine, hair-like spiritual threads were being manipulated between her fingers, gradually repairing the damaged area.

“What was that old man’s profession?” Ron asked.

"You can tell just by looking at his hands."

Those hands were large, with thick knuckles and palms covered with thick calluses.

After a few seconds of recognizing the distribution of those cocoons, Ron retrieved the corresponding reference from the depths of his memory.

"Executioner."

"Ah."

Acelia confirmed his judgment:
"He probably couldn't even remember how many heads he cut off during his lifetime."

"now what?"

"Now he is using the hands that were once beheaded to learn how to heal wounded souls."

"Time in the spirit world is difficult to convert into units of the material world."

Acelia tilted the dragon's head slightly:
"Judging from the precision with which he manipulates those spiritual threads, it is at least equivalent to several hundred years in the material world."

The silver dragon flew over the workshop and continued forward.

The short, stout middle-aged man sat behind the counter, with a long queue in front of him.

Those queuing up are all new souls who have just entered the spirit world.

Some of them were trembling all over, some had unfocused eyes, and they still maintained the posture and expression they had when they died.

For example, the arm is in a blocking position while the lips are on the word "help".

Clearly, these souls have not yet fully accepted the fact that they are dead.

The short, stout man was greeting the young girl at the front of the line.

There was a ligature mark on the girl's neck, from which her spiritual energy was constantly leaking out.

Those are the marks left by a tragic death; if not dealt with in time, they can easily turn into vengeful spirits.

The short, stout man pulled out a stack of documents from under the counter and started chatting with the girl while filling them out.

Ron could see that the girl's expression gradually changed during the conversation.

From the initial emptiness and confusion, a slight sense of relief, as if "I was being teased," quickly followed, and the resentment visibly subsided.
"Was that guy behind the counter a conman in his lifetime?"

"Judging from this, it must be a very high level of skill," Acelia remarked with some emotion.
"When he was alive, he could probably call sand gold and package poison as a life-saving medicine. The judge who tried him was almost persuaded to change his sentence."

"now what?"

"Now, he's using the same skill here."

The girl nodded, left the counter, and walked deeper into the workshop.

Her steps became much steadyer, and the rate at which her spiritual energy leaked out decreased to a normal range.

The short, stout man watched her leave, scribbled a few lines on the document, and waved to the next soul in the line.

Don't overthink it.

Acelia increased the frequency of her wing flapping, re-entering high-speed flight mode:
"The existence of the workshop layer has its reasons, but that has nothing to do with our current situation."

"Yes, there are still pursuers behind us."

Ron glanced back.

The patrolmen in Ferry Town stopped at the boundary of their jurisdiction and did not pursue them.

But in the distance of the gray wasteland, several blurry white figures were moving rapidly, their direction precisely pointing to their current coordinates.

Countless thin, white cables intertwined and tangled together, forming several constantly deforming clumps.

These clumps constantly expanded, contracted, and rolled as they moved, thoroughly exploring the space in front of them.

They are empty where the eyes should be, and no sensory organs can be found in the entire structure.

But these guys have an unbelievable level of precision in their perception of "anger".

"The name of this thing is a transliteration of an ancient word; the full name is very long, but it is commonly known as 'bandage'."

Acelia's back scales taut:

"It belongs to the highest-level tracking unit in the spirit world. It should be that your information as a Grand Wizard has been reported by the Ferry City."

"The patrolmen of Ferry City are merely the first line of defense at the administrative level."

After you refused to cooperate, the system automatically upgraded the security level, and these bandages were released.

Ron quickly analyzed the tracking logic of the bandages during the flight.

They don't chase magical characteristics, nor soul frequencies, and they don't even rely on physical location.

They rely on scent to detect things.

The source of the scent was the life force emanating from Ron's body every second.

Every path he takes leaves a trace in the underlying structure of the spirit world.

"In this way, suppressing the leakage of the soul's aura can weaken the tracking effect."

Ron quickly mentally deduce a solution:
"The concealment function of [Dark Threshold] can do this, using the power of the Pillar of Chaos to blur the definition of my existence, thereby reducing the rate at which the aura of life seeps out."

"But the concealment itself also consumes the Void Repository."

"The consumption of the ethereal remains will accelerate the assimilation effect of the spirit world. This means that for every bit of soul leakage I suppress, I have to pay a price for the stability of the ethereal remains."

This is a game of balancing consumption.

Suppressing the aura of a living soul can slow down the tracker, but it will shorten the time he can safely stay in the spirit world.

If not suppressed, the trackers will catch up in a very short time.

Weigh the two evils.

“Suppress half of it first,” Ron decided.

The black veil of the "Dark Threshold" appeared slightly on his body, and the smoke that kept emanating from his body thinned considerably, transforming from a "candle" into a "night lamp".

Behind them, the movement of the several bandages did indeed slow down.

Their cables extend and retract more frequently in the air, resulting in a significant decrease in tracking accuracy.

"Acelia, can your lightning be used in the spirit world?"

"You can give it a try."

The silver dragon tightened its four claws, and its wings gathered a breath during the pause in the flapping.

"You might feel a little numb later, but your electrical resistance is very high, so it should be fine."

As she spoke, the middle of her body began to glow.

Dense blue sparks seeped from between the silvery-white scales, and electric arcs spread along the seams of the scales, covering the entire dragon's body in a tenth of a second.

Then release them one by one.

"Boom!"

The blue-white pulses radiating outwards from it stirred up terrifying shockwaves in the spiritual ocean.

The white cables collectively spasmed, and the originally orderly tracking formation scattered into a mess.

The bandages' senses were completely disrupted.

They spun around, collided, and tangled in place, taking a long time to regain their bearings.

Ron shook his numb hands. He was sitting on the dragon's back, and he couldn't activate the friendly fire shield when he was using electric shocks.

Fortunately, the void body was supported by lightning and fire, so being affected by the current was like being hit by static electricity in winter.

"It does feel a little numb, but the current works quite well."

“Of course.” Acelia’s voice was filled with barely suppressed pride:
"When I'm in the material world, I can hardly do anything."

The spirit realm is filled with spiritual particles, whose conductivity is ridiculously high. Every discharge here produces an effect similar to an electromagnetic pulse.

Taking advantage of this gap, the silver dragon increased its flight speed once again.

"Below the workshop level is the Sea of ​​Memories, where the information density is so high that it can cover up any trace of life."

Once we enter the sea of ​​memories, even the bandages will have difficulty being precisely located.

"And the cost?"

"The Sea of ​​Memories is more corrosive to the living than other areas of the Spirit Realm. Your ethereal body can withstand it, but it won't last long."

"how long?"

"It depends on your willpower. Your sea of ​​memories is full of other people's lives. Every time you read a segment, you will consume a segment of your mental energy."

The deeper you look, the more energy you expend. If you can control your eyes, you can last a little longer; if you can't…

"I see."

The dragon's body began to sink.

The inverted city of the workshop level receded overhead, below which lay an increasingly dense gray-blue body of water.

That is the Sea of ​​Memories.

When viewed from above, its surface is not smooth.

Bubbles of all sizes rise from the depths, each bubble containing a complete memory.

Some bubbles are so big they can hold a house, and inside they depict the most important scene in the life of a dead soul.
Some are as small as a fist, containing a handshake, a sigh, or a tear that never fell.

The information density of the ocean of memory is so high that it can be described as viscous.

The density of spiritual particles here is dozens of times that of Ferry City, and every cubic meter of space is filled with tens of thousands of memory fragments.

Azalea folded her wings and flew close to the surface of the Sea of ​​Memories in a gliding posture.

Ron adjusted the occlusion function of [Dark Threshold] from "half open" to "70%".

The leakage of vital energy further decreased, and the trail had become so thin that it was almost invisible to the naked eye. The cost was that the rate of consumption of the ethereal remains increased simultaneously. Among the three pillars, the Chaos Pillar was under the greatest pressure, but there was still enough time to spare.

Azalea suddenly stopped.

Without any warning, the dragon's wings suddenly unfolded, its four claws tightened, and the entire dragon remained motionless in mid-air.

"What's wrong?" Ron's hand gripped the bone spur.

"...Look over there."

Ron followed her gaze.

To their right front, there was a burning bubble.

"what is that?"

"That's a bubble of my memories."

Ron could see the images sealed inside through the translucent bubble shell.

The image shows a baby dragon.

Its scales haven't fully hardened yet, its wings are so small they can barely open, and its tail drags on the ground, causing it to trip over itself when walking.

It had a fish it had just caught in its mouth.

The fish was still struggling, its tail slapping against the baby dragon's nose, splashing up tiny droplets of water.

The young dragon placed the fish on the ground and held it down with its front claws.

It tilted its head to examine the trophy, its eyes filled with confusion as it wondered, "Why is this thing constantly moving?"

Ron could barely hold back his laughter.

This little guy was really cute when he was first born.

The scene shifted rapidly, and the silver dragon, who had grown into a teenager, suddenly raised its head.

A figure walked slowly towards them.

In the backlight, only the outline can be seen, but its swan-like graceful neck can still be vaguely discerned.

As I drew closer, the light slid across her profile, outlining a...

Ron's breathing paused briefly.

Even if it's just a fleeting memory, that face still has the power to steal your heart.

The person who came was undoubtedly Pandora in her youth.

She appears younger than she did in the footage Azalea had previously shown, possibly only fifteen or sixteen years old.

Her face still retained the roundness characteristic of a young girl, but her eyes already possessed the prototype of the future "King of Illusions".

Clear and cold; making eye contact felt like being doused with a bucket of ice water from head to toe.

The young dragon released the fish.

It glanced at the slowly approaching humans, its eyes filled with curiosity.

Soon, after judging that the other party was not hostile, it took a step toward Pandora.

The image freezes here.

The flames inside the bubble burn the brightest in this still image, their light almost piercing through the outer shell.

That step was the first step taken by the clueless young dragon toward its own demise.

Aseria lingered briefly beside the burning bubble of memories.

The dragon's head turned back to face forward, its wings flapped again, and it continued flying.

Ron wisely kept quiet.

The silence lasted for a while, but she soon broke it herself.

“I thought I had completely let go and would never see these things again.”

"Will it keep burning?" Ron asked.

"This kind of deep-seated wound will burn until you are completely free from it."

The dragon's tail drew a long arc behind it.

"It may never burn out."

She didn't say another word about the topic.

………………

At the edge of the Sea of ​​Memory, the gray-blue water gradually fades.

The liquid surface loses its fluidity here and solidifies into a solid terrain similar to a beach, hence the name "retention shore".

Azalea made a sharp turn in the air above the shore.

Several clumps of white cables are emerging from the boundary between the Sea of ​​Memory and the Shore of Detention.

The cable ends twisted wildly, trying to capture the last traces of life in the air.

“Go around,” Azalea said, making a sharp left turn.

"Bang!"

One roll.

Here we go again!

As the dragon's body avoided the intercepting arc of the bandages, it performed a completely unnecessary 360-degree roll.

Do you have to add this action every time?

"Tactical evasion."

"A 30-degree yaw is enough!"

"You don't understand dragon aesthetics."

A second clump of bandages came from the right, and the cables intertwined to form a giant net.

Aseria folded her wings, and her dragon body plummeted straight down, passing under the net before her wings suddenly unfolded and pulled her upward in the opposite direction.

"Wait……"

The third bandage rose up just below, and to avoid it, the silver dragon performed a quick maneuver and flip.

The pursuers were quickly shaken off again.

Aseria let out a long breath, her wings relaxed, and she found that her back seemed lighter.

Ron watched himself being shaken off like a pebble, feeling somewhat helpless.

He was getting a little lazy after being carried all the time.

Using a little magic to gently cushion the landing, I landed steadily and waited for the other person to come and get me.

However, Azalea only felt that someone was missing from her back.

The silver dragon panicked immediately, folded its wings, and plunged at an almost vertical angle toward the end of the parabola that its opponent had left behind.

The speed was so fast that she only realized two things during the dive:
First, Ron was already standing firmly on the ground;

Secondly, her dive was too fast, and she didn't have time to pull up again.

The next moment, the silver dragon swooped down and crashed into the plateau, carving a deep trench across the broken reefs.

Finally, it got stuck in a pile of broken reef debris and came to a stop in a semi-prone position.

Debris slid off his body, covering the entire dragon from head to tail in a layer of grayish-white.

Ron stood a hundred meters away, looking at the dusty dragon amidst the rubble, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

Aseria pulled her head out of the rubble and stared intently at him.

"...When did you land?"

"It was only a little earlier than yours."

She shook her wings, creating a large cloud of smoke in the air.

After the smoke cleared, there was indeed less dust on my body, but I couldn't shake the crevices clean no matter how hard I shook.

"I'll do it."

Ron walked over, took out a clean cloth from his storage space, and began to help her clean the debris stuck in the gaps.

Aseria lay motionless in place, her head bowed low, so that he could reach her dragon horns with a slight reach.

There was silence for about ten seconds.

"I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"You've forgotten you're a great wizard."

Her voice was muffled, and her head was buried between her crossed front paws.

"The last time someone was riding on my back, the rider was just a human child."

Although that child was only a mid-level apprentice, falling off my back would still mean certain death for him.

So, under that woman Pandora's tutelage, I developed my current habits..."

Ron paused for a second.

That child was probably one of the young apprentices Azalea encountered during the time she spent with Pandora.

In the years before she was killed.

As Azalea's wing membrane trembled slightly when he brushed against the root of her left wing.

"itch."

"Bear with it."

"Be gentle."

"There are hard lumps in the crevices of the scales. You can't get them out without hard prying. If you're not satisfied, you can do it yourself."

"My claws can't reach the base of the wings."

"Then stop complaining."

The dragon's tail swung back and forth on the ground twice, giving off a feeling of being held down and unable to resist.

Ron peeled off the last piece of the hard shell from the wing root, and the silvery scales regained their luster after cleaning.

"All right."

He jumped down from the corner, gathered the cloth, and took two steps back to examine the overall effect.

Aseria stood up and glanced back at the furrow she had plowed.

“This.” She pointed to the accident scene with her paw.

"what happened?"

"Don't mention this to anyone again, including your wife and Nari."

"What should we mention?"

"Tell me what just happened."

"Okay, I won't tell anyone."

"swear."

"I swear."

Aseria stared at him for a while, making sure there was no perfunctory attitude.

She lay down again, rested her head on her crossed front paws, and closed her eyes.

"...Thank you for cleaning my scales. It's been a long time since anyone has done that for me."

The sound was very soft.

"You're welcome."

The end of the dragon's tail curved over and gently rested on Ron's ankle.

Ron glanced down but said nothing.

Just then, a strange female voice rang out from the edge of the broken reef plateau.

"Are you all done, or do you need me to wait a little longer?"

Azalea's dragon head sprang off her front claws, and her tail retracted at an extremely fast speed.

On the edge of the stagnant plateau, a witch sat on a gray rock about half a person's height.

She was wearing a dark robe, the standard field attire of the Dark Hut School.

"Still alive?" Yvette greeted him.

Ron stopped about five meters away from the witch, and after a moment's thought, he remembered who she was.

That face was very different from the "shadow man" he remembered.

During the Golden Ring assessment, the "shadow man's" face was so obscured by shadows that it was almost unrecognizable, with only a blurry and distorted outline visible.

Yvette now has a complete face, and her features are very clear in the light of the spirit world.

“Yes,” Ron replied.

"How did you end up here?"

"We've been set up."

Yvette's eyebrows twitched.

"You, a fortune teller, can be schemed against? By whom?"

"You probably wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

Tell me about it.

“A certain demon god who holds the power of death.”

Yvette looked at him for two seconds.

“You’re right.” She turned her gaze back to the sea of ​​memories: “I don’t quite believe it.”

"It doesn't matter." Ron didn't need her to believe him.

"Then what about you? Why are you still here?" (End of Chapter)