Wizard Bloodline

Ronan looked up at the tower.

From his vantage point, he couldn't see the tip of the Silver Tower, only the obelisk-like tower body stretching endlessly upward. The densely engraved runes on its surface emitted a subtle glow. Bathed in sunlight, the upper part of the tower shone blindingly, like a massive, luminous sword silently piercing the bright sky.

"The Seventh Ringmaster."

Ronan slowly withdrew his gaze from the tower's peak, recalling Benigo's brief descriptions of a Ringmaster—half-emerged from the fog, reaching toward dawn.

Dawn.

By ancient wizarding tradition, levels one to three are called the fog, while levels four to six are referred to as dawn.

Breaking the fog to greet the light of dawn.

According to Benigo, the Seventh Ringmaster should be at the pinnacle of a third-level wizard, yet not fully entering the fourth level.

However, Benigo had been removed from certain circles for a long time, and his information might be outdated or inaccurate.

Regardless, whether at the peak of the third-level fog or the dawn of the fourth level, for Ronan, this was an unattainable height, a presence to look up to.

Standing at the tower's base, he naturally harbored some speculations and fantasies about the Seventh Ringmaster residing at the top—were they male or female? Tall or short, thin or stout? Cold or warm in demeanor?

It was a lie to say he wasn't nervous. Although Ronan was likely going to receive "commendation," it still felt akin to being summoned to the principal's office at school in his past life.

Taking a deep breath, Ronan prepared to take his first step.

"Wait!"

A clear voice suddenly sounded in his ear.

Ronan turned to see a tall, slender young man in a gray robe quickly approaching him.

"Are you leaving these behind?"

The young man hurried to Ronan's side, pointing at the ground covered with his freshly cut hair.

Ronan realized he'd been so focused on meeting the Seventh Ringmaster that he'd forgotten to incinerate the hair with a fireball.

"I'll clean it up right away."

"Oh no, I mean, if you don't want them, can I have them?"

The young man smiled at Ronan, then eagerly knelt to gather the hair, leaving nothing behind.

"You probably don't realize how many people in the tower are interested in your bloodline. This hair might be more valuable than third-level potions."

As the young man crouched, Ronan noticed his red hair was streaked with bright yellow, as if specially dyed with unique pigment.

"Mind if I keep them? I could trade them for some good items, and of course, you'll get a share."

The young man looked up, eyes earnest. His features weren't particularly handsome, with a rather large nose, but his black eyes sparkled with intelligence and liveliness.

Ronan pondered briefly before accepting the proposal.

Only he knew the true reason for his white-haired giant form—it wasn't due to some ancient bloodline.

Though he didn't rule out the possibility of having ancient bloodline power within him.

If these people could research and discover something, it would benefit him, especially in utilizing the power of the Sacred Blood Tree in the future.

"Thanks, I'm Borby."

The big-nosed young man exhaled, collecting Ronan's hair and pointing to the Silver Tower's entrance.

"You heading in? Together?"

The Silver Tower's interior was a vast, self-contained space, unlike any secret realm Ronan had entered before—it was vertical.

A gray-white staircase spiraled upward from the entrance.

Around the staircase floated countless books, loosely stacked like a cylindrical wall. At the top, a bright white light descended, illuminating the entire upward path.

The soft light penetrated the open pages, casting a faint halo at the edges. Looking up, the scene appeared both mysterious and enchanting.

Knowledge and illumination intertwined, guiding every entrant with a desire to explore the unknown.

Ronan stood on the lowest step, quietly absorbing the sight, momentarily lost in thought.

He'd expected the tower's interior to be metallic, solemn, cold, perhaps oppressive. But the reality starkly contrasted his expectations.

"Come on, Damien."

Borby stood a few steps above Ronan, calling like a friend, his voice bright and enthusiastic, "There's much more to see..."

Ronan felt his spirits lift and eagerly stepped upward.

"Buzz—"

As his foot touched down, a gentle energy wave emanated from beneath.

Ronan marveled at the light blue ripples spreading underfoot.

His mental power grew lively, extraordinarily joyful. If he meditated in this state...

"Wait."

Ronan suddenly realized this might be the fabled meditation-assisting rune array.

Outside the tower, he hadn't noticed much difference. Now, stepping inside, the effect was evident.

Meditating in such an environment, year after year, would indeed accelerate mental growth far beyond others.

"So this is the legendary tower."

Ronan murmured softly.

"Not quite legendary, but it's certainly a tower of wisdom..."

Borby beckoned with a smile, continuing upward.

Ronan climbed the steps, light blue ripples spreading beneath. The books floating in the air around the staircase gathered like playful birds, dancing in the light and dust motes.

Ronan reached out, lightly flipping through the pages, reading the titles: "Elemental Force," "Dream Magic," "Ubri Hasmu Aldini's Secret Guide," "The Art of Runes." A sense of peace and joy welled within.

Suddenly, through gaps in the books, he noticed a pair of curious green eyes intently watching him.

Startled, he gently moved the books aside, seeing a female wizard with flaxen hair laughing as she quickly ran off.

"Was she watching me?"

Ronan wondered silently, observing the witch's retreating figure.

He hurriedly ascended two more steps, realizing each layer around the staircase was ringed with platforms.

The outermost platforms were open corridors, while the inner sides were divided into sections, with wizards moving about.

More than one wizard in ring robes eyed Ronan with a peculiar mix of curiosity and delight.

"Forgive them, these old folks."

Borby whispered to Ronan, "It's been ages since a complete newcomer entered the tower.

And you're a newly crowned six-ring.

I remember Clemens was also gawped at for ages when he first came in."

Listening to Borby's words, Ronan noted the strong mental waves emanating from these wizards, at least second-level, possibly higher.

But all bore traces of long journeys through time.

He recalled Benigo's "soul age of a hundred" rule—these were likely former Ring prodigies, retreating to the tower for contemplation and research after surpassing a hundred in soul age.

"If you don't like it, try this."

Borby offered Ronan a ring, carved with a feather shape, exuding a faint, mysterious rune wave.

"It can temporarily shield your natural halos, allowing you to interact with others naturally.

Ever spent time alone in an abandoned, dusty attic as a child? Sunlight filtering through the skylight, dust dancing in the light, the air stifling, with a choking smell, yet serene, undisturbed—your own world."

Ronan gently turned the feather ring, a strange energy wave enveloping him.

Instantly, the gazes fixed on him receded like a tide, leaving only a few lingering mental presences. Glancing toward them, he saw several shadowy figures, powerful, belonging to third-level wizards.

Evidently, the ring's effect had limitations, but it offered Ronan considerable relief.

"Thanks."

Ronan returned the ring, but Borby pushed it back.

"Keep it. You'll need it outside... just a simple second-level enchanted trinket. I gave Clemens one when he came in."

"Illusion magic..."

Ronan caressed the feather ring's texture, eyes flickering.

Borby's words revealed that their encounter at the tower entrance wasn't mere chance; he seemed to work as a "newcomer guide" inside the tower.

Ronan couldn't sense Borby's exact mental power level.

"Those old guys are most eager to study your bloodline."

Borby leaned close, whispering, "Never deal with them alone—they'll undervalue you.

Let me handle it. I'll get you a good price."

With that, Borby dashed up two steps, facing the surroundings, lips moving swiftly as if conversing.

Moments later, the lingering third-level mental presences withdrew, leaving Ronan in the initial "unnoticed" state.

Borby shared Biondini's chattiness. Leading the way, he chattered nonstop.

"The Seventh Ring hasn't seen a six-ring prodigy in ages."

"You're the first in decades, then Clemens."

"You're different from Clemens; everyone believes you have the potential to rise to the seventh ring."

"The seventh ring... The Seventh Ring has never had a seventh-ring saint-level prodigy."

Ronan ascended the spiral of books, unknowingly nearing the light above.

"Clack—"

He stepped onto the last stair, entering a pyramid-like vast space.

Transparent crystal windows lined the walls, some open, wind whistling in from the tower's peak.

"This way."

Borby called softly, leading to a semi-open large room.

Ronan followed, seeing countless books neatly stacked on three sides, crystals scattered on the wooden floor for reflection.

Someone sat with their back to him at a long table, a blend of spell lab and desk, beside a brass-mouthed teapot, two silver cups, and a silver staff with a bright yellow gem, emitting powerful rune waves that made Ronan's heart race.

The figure had ink-black, slightly wavy hair reaching the floor, adorned with a gem-studded hair band.

She wore a robe like smooth silk, embroidered with intricate gold patterns, the cuffs fringed with gems and lace.

This was a woman.

The Seventh Ringmaster was a female wizard.

Even with her back to him, Ronan sensed her innate noble elegance.

Ronan's eyes flickered, stopping a few steps from the room. Wizard books fluttered overhead like birds, landing and rising... She seemed busy, and interrupting felt rude.

Borby winked at Ronan, then suddenly leaped forward.

He transformed into a bright-feathered parrot, perching on a silver bird rack in the corner, chirping mischievously, "He's here! He's here! Ronan Damien, the Seventh Ring's future hope... He's here!"

"...."

Borby's antics left Ronan both amazed and speechless.

Now he understood why he couldn't gauge Borby's mental power—Borby wasn't human; he was a parrot.

And he could converse so fluently... illusion magic?

Ronan wasn't sure, but Borby's antics eased his earlier tension.

"Enough, Borby, I know."

The female wizard's voice, slightly exasperated but melodious, came as she flicked a shiny magic stone to the parrot, which it deftly caught.

"Thanks for guiding, Borby."

The parrot flapped joyfully, "Praise the ever-youthful Kosti!"

The woman shook her head, then slowly turned to Ronan.

Ronan squinted, as if a strong yet gentle light bloomed before him.

He'd never felt such vast mental power, like endless starlight gently enveloping him.

Finally, he saw her face.

Skin as bright and pure as snow under moonlight, exquisite features, a serene, reassuring presence...

This matched his imagination of a powerful, noble female wizard.

Her blue-violet eyes rested on Ronan, seeming to relax.

Her first words to Ronan were, "I was really worried you'd end up like Benigo."

"Uh?.."

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