Ethan smiled slightly when he saw the reactions of the directors.
He pressed his thumb against his middle finger.
Snap!
Buzz!
The vine drill instantly began to spin.
The rotation speed was so fast that the air around the drill was completely evacuated in less than half a breath, forming a vacuum zone visible to the naked eye.
As the air rushed back in, it exploded in a circular shockwave, sending the papers scattered on the stone table fluttering into the air.
Under the ultra-high-speed rotation, the spiral grooves at the tip of the drill blurred into a hazy afterimage.
Blood Fury's eyes suddenly lit up.
He took a step forward. The sleeve of his right arm began to swell and deform as dark red bristles sprouted from beneath his skin, and his fingers transformed into sharp claws.
Secret Eagle was even faster.
She raised her right hand and lightly tapped her index finger in the direction of the drill.
A thread of pale energy, thin as a hair, shot from her fingertip. It flew silently, trailing a straight white path through the air.
In midair, the energy suddenly expanded, deformed, and split, condensing into a pale eagle claw.
The five talons of the eagle claw spread wide, each tip gleaming with a metallic chill, while a rapidly spinning pale vortex coalesced in its palm.
The eagle claw collided with the drill.
Boom!
Terrifying energy exploded from the point of impact.
Left unchecked, let alone whether the wizards present would be affected, Blood Fury's office would certainly be ruined.
At the exact instant of the explosion, before the shockwave could spread or the blast could blow anything away, Convict's right hand swept across his waist.
A palm-sized turtle shell appeared in his hand, its surface covered in dense, dark green runes. He threw the shell toward the center of the collision. It flipped halfway through the air, and the runes on its surface lit up simultaneously.
An emerald-green light barrier erupted from the turtle shell.
The barrier was hemispherical, trapping the collision zone along with the impending destructive shockwave.
The chaotic energy currents, powerful enough to level the office, were instantly absorbed, decomposed, and converted the moment the barrier formed, preventing even a single ripple from escaping.
Dark green and pale white light intertwined, tore, and annihilated each other within the barrier, constantly deforming the seemingly thin green screen, but all the violence was locked securely inside.
The papers on the stone table remained unharmed.
The crystals embedded in the walls didn't even flicker.
Not a single speck of dust fell from the ceiling.
Three seconds later, the interior of the barrier calmed down.
Convict waved his hand, and the turtle shell flew back into his palm.
The runic patterns on the shell had mostly dimmed, and several fine cracks had appeared along its edges.
He looked down at the turtle shell, his mustache twitching, and tucked it back into his waist.
The office fell so quiet that a pin drop could be heard.
Secret Eagle looked down at her right index finger.
A faint trace of dark green energy lingered on her fingertip.
She wiped the trace of energy away, looked up, and fixed her gaze on Ethan. “An energy outburst of at least thirty thousand degrees.”
Convict's mustache twitched upward. “Interesting.”
Dark Stream also asked, “How long can you maintain an attack of this level?”
“Seven or eight hours shouldn't be a problem.”
The turtle shell in Convict's hand almost slipped out. “??? What?”
Secret Eagle stared at Ethan for two seconds. “...It seems it really isn't a problem.”
Blood Fury cleared his throat. “Alright, now that we've confirmed Ethan's strength, let's move on to the next matter.”
Everyone's gaze gathered on him once more.
“Um, Ethan, you've been a wizard for over three years now. Why are you still using your real name? Haven't you thought of a title?”
Ethan was slightly dazed. “? Ah? What do you mean?”
Blood Fury's lips twitched. A complex expression appeared on his square-jawed face, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know where to start. He raised a hand to scratch the back of his head, let it fall, and his lips parted slightly.
“Tsk, you kid really are...”
Dark Stream glanced at Blood Fury and took over the conversation.
“Ethan, why do you think none of us go by our real names?”
Ethan thought for a moment.
“...I don't know.”
Dark Stream nodded. This reaction was within his expectations.
“It's like this,” Dark Stream said, straightening his posture from where he leaned against the edge of the stone table, his sunken eyes fixing on Ethan. “A wizard's true name carries the imprint of their soul. This is not a metaphor; it is literal. You are now a First-Tier Wizard, and your mental crystal has formed. There is an invisible bond between your true name and your mental crystal. This bond usually has no effect, but under certain conditions, it can be exploited.”
He raised his right hand, tracing an extremely thin gray trail in the air with his index finger.
The trail lingered in the air for a brief moment before expanding into a palm-sized gray light membrane.
Densely packed runic lines emerged on the surface of the membrane, intertwining, nesting, and rotating in a manner so complex it was dizzying.
“Among Curse-type spells, there is one called True Name Curse. It doesn't require the target's blood, hair, or any medium. All it takes is knowing the target's true name, combined with the frequency of their mental power fluctuations, to plant a curse directly into your mental sea from half a continent away.”
The runic lines on the gray membrane suddenly contracted, condensing into a fist-sized phantom skull.
Eerie green flames burned within the skull's eye sockets, and its jaw clicked open and shut as if chanting silently.
“There is another, even more insidious one called Soul Anchor. By engraving your true name onto a specific spatial coordinate, the next time you accidentally tear through space, the spatial rift won't send you where you want to go. Instead, it will drag you straight into that pre-arranged trap.”
Dark Stream clenched his fist, causing both the membrane and the skull to dissipate.
“And those are just the methods of the Curse and Space branches. Soul-branch wizards can reverse-engineer your mental power structure from your true name to find the weak points of your mental crystal. Divination-branch wizards can use your true name to lock onto your destiny's trajectory and calculate your general movements for a period of time in the future. There are even some ancient otherworldly creatures; simply speaking your true name in their presence is equivalent to handing over half your soul.”
Convict rubbed his bald head. “That's why every Official Wizard gives themselves a title. Fire Crow, Dark Stream, Blood Fury—these are all titles. Your title is for public use, while your true name is reserved for yourself and those you trust most. Once you've lived for hundreds of years, others will only know Fire Crow and not who you really are. If they want to curse you, they won't even have a starting point.”
Secret Eagle uncrossed her arms. “Titles have another use. On the battlefield, when you declare your title, the enemy will judge your combat style and the nature of your abilities based on it. Fire Crow immediately sounds like someone who manipulates fire. Dark Stream sounds like someone associated with water and shadow. This judgment forms a fixed mindset. When you unleash a spell that completely clashes with your title, your opponent will react a fraction of a second slower. That split second is enough for you to kill them three times over. Of course, if you choose a title completely unrelated to your abilities—like a fire-manipulating wizard calling themselves "Frozen"—the enemy will be utterly bewildered the first time they meet you.”
Rate on N.U.
