Nascent Soul Rebirth: Starting as a Wizard

"Similar to the autopsy results of the half-demon beast... there was no demon core or demon core."

Solo wiped the blood off his dagger and hands with snow, stood up, and looked thoughtful.

"It seems that the magical beasts of this world, and the demonic beasts of the Xuanhuang Great World, follow similar rules in terms of energy concentration, at least at the lower levels?"

Within the long cultivation system of the Xuanhuang Great World, there exists a clear and harsh boundary:

Only level four demon beasts that have entered the Foundation Establishment stage can condense stable, high-purity energy crystals—demonic cores—within their bodies.

That is clear evidence of a leap in the level of life and the sublimation of energy.

The mutated ferret before them, though ferocious, possessed strength, speed, and defense far exceeding those of ordinary wild beasts.

Life forms also exhibit distortions caused by external forces, but in the eyes of Solo, a "veteran" who has glimpsed a higher realm.

Its essence remains clear.

Its power seems to originate more from the relatively primitive and brutal infusion and corrosive strengthening of the flesh and blood body by the external "magic element".

It's like forcing inferior fuel into a poorly designed engine; it may produce horsepower far exceeding its design specifications.

However, this is accompanied by structural distortion, increased wear and tear, and ultimately, inevitable collapse.

It has not yet reached the critical point of qualitative change, and has failed to truly tame, purify, and internalize the external, chaotic energy for its own use.

It condenses into that "core" that symbolizes a stable energy cycle and the sublimation of life.

"Sir, this beast's hide is really thick; our arrows can hardly pierce it."

Lloyd walked over, clutching his still aching chest, his face pale from blood loss and shock.

He stared at the glossy, tough beast hide that the guards were painstakingly peeling off, still feeling a lingering fear in his eyes.

"Yes, standard-issue arrows are indeed not good at penetrating armor."

Solo nodded, his gaze sweeping over the ravaged battlefield and the massive, gradually cooling corpse, before calmly summarizing.

Its weaknesses are relatively clear: the mouth, eyes, joints, and... any open wounds that have been created.

If the archers encounter a similarly tough opponent again, and cannot immediately switch to more powerful armor-piercing arrows, their tactics will need to be adjusted.

He paused, making sure the guards around him, who were still shaken and dealing with the aftermath, could hear him clearly:

"You can try to focus your shots on their leg joints. The primary goal is not to kill them, but to slow down and disrupt their rhythm."

The spearmen and their companions wielding hammers and battle axes must work closely together, no longer pursuing a comprehensive attack, but instead focusing on their old wounds or concentrating their strength to create a new, sufficiently deep wound at a single point.

The role of tools such as hooks and lassos needs to be emphasized. They are not the main offensive weapons, but they are key to limiting the ferocity of attacks and creating fatal openings.

Remember, they are beasts enhanced by magic energy, not immortal monsters. They feel pain, weaken from blood loss, and will die instantly if their vital organs are completely destroyed.

His words were clear and calm, recounting the brief but dangerous battle that had just taken place.

The effective responses of the guards, either spontaneously or under his simple instructions, were distilled into reusable tactical points.

This is not just about command, but also a form of immediate "post-battle debriefing and teaching".

As everyone listened, they nodded in agreement, their fear and confusion gradually replaced by thoughtful understanding.

The morale, which had been somewhat lowered by facing terrifying monsters, has also risen.

Their gazes toward the young captain held gratitude for those two crucial arrows.

There was a growing sense of admiration for his battlefield insight and command skills.

"Take the fur as intact as possible and bring it back to the city; it might have some value. As for the flesh... load it onto the spare cart and take it with you."

Find a secluded spot away from water sources and roads, dig a deep pit, and bury the body. Be sure to sprinkle sufficient lime and strong veterinary repellent powder to prevent attracting further trouble.

……

Time flies, and the two months of intense and busy work are coming to an end.

The evacuation of the scattered villages and farms on the fjord islands has been largely completed.

The entire Wolf City at this moment seemed like a container that had been forcibly filled to its limit.

The city was already overcrowded, and even outside the towering city walls, large areas of simple temporary tents had sprung up like mushrooms after the rain.

The inhabitants here were mostly the lowest-ranking serfs, who huddled around bonfires that burned day and night for warmth.

In the porridge shed set up by the Viscount's mansion, thin but piping hot barley porridge was bubbling in a large iron pot.

Steam mixed with firewood smoke condensed into white mist in the cold air.

This was not a sudden act of kindness by the Viscount Fran, but rather the cruel survival rules of the frozen season.

If the most basic hot food and heating are not provided, these laborers, who are nominally the viscount's "private property," will be rendered useless.

It will be difficult for them to survive this long, harsh winter.

Nowadays, Wolf City's functions include maintaining basic order within the city and patrolling temporary settlements outside the city.

The primary task is to send out multiple reconnaissance teams, like tentacles reaching out to the edge of the Black Forest and the more distant wilderness.

Closely monitor the movements of the monsters and assess whether there are signs of a terrifying "monster tide".

Meanwhile, this lifeline from Silver Creek Port to Wolf City has become even busier.

The convoys transporting various winter supplies, such as grain, firewood, coal, cloth, salt, and iron, worked day and night.

The rumbling sound of the metal-rimmed wheels rolling over the frozen ground was almost constant.

A guard led by official knights took turns guarding key points along the route to ensure the smooth flow of this artery.

Nearly 50,000 people suddenly gathered in one city during the dead of winter, and the daily consumption of food and fuel was extremely high.

It was already an astronomical figure enough to bankrupt a minor nobleman, if converted into glittering gold coins.

They could probably pile up into a small mountain and crush people to death.

In contrast, the defense of the coastline has been temporarily put on hold.

After all, the main population centers of the fjord islands are inland, so the frequency and scale of marine mammal invasions are relatively controllable.

Furthermore, deep-sea behemoths are greatly weakened once they leave the water and come ashore, and often become prey for land-based monsters before they have gone far.

Solo handed over the escort mission and quietly returned to the somewhat noisy and chaotic Wolf City.

Instead of going straight back to the Viscount's mansion, he turned into a less conspicuous back alley adjacent to the artisan district.

Deep in the alley, a blacksmith shop with an old facade and a furnace that burns year-round emits rhythmic hammering sounds.

The shop was steaming hot, and a middle-aged blacksmith with broad shoulders and a thick apron was forging a red-hot iron bar, sweating profusely.

Solo walked in without making any attempt to conceal his face.

Hearing footsteps, the blacksmith looked up, recognized the person, and stopped what he was doing.

He wiped his face with the towel hanging around his neck and called out in a muffled voice, "Sir."

He then turned around and took out an almond wood box about a foot long and three inches wide from an inconspicuous wooden cabinet at the front desk.

Solo took the wooden box and opened the clasp.

Inside was a deep red velvet lining, on which dozens of shimmering silver needles were neatly arranged.

These silver needles varied in length, the longest being about four inches and the shortest only a little over an inch, as thin as cow hair.

It shimmered with a cool and delicate luster under the glow of the fire.