Chapter 25: A Spell

Lin Bo had long intended to make contact with the followers of the Elder. If he could anchor his identity as a spellcaster within the framework of a religious organization, he would not only avoid the fear and repulsion of the common folk but, on the contrary, gain significant prestige.

Therefore, he had been looking forward to Thursday. To his frustration, the recent weather had been nothing but wind and rain, and with the heavens conjuring such a thick fog, he had been forced to remain at the lighthouse, unable to step away.

A faint current brushed against his ears; Lin Bo could hear the wind complaining. The "fog" made the naturally nimble currents sluggish and slow, like snails burdened by their shells.

Lin Bo had been dealing with this fog for days. Every misty morning, he would stroll through the courtyard outside the lighthouse, enjoying the empty, white-shrouded silence where all things were hidden. It was a state that made it exceptionally easy to enter a semi-meditative trance.

The milky vapor flowing between his palms and fingers whispered softly in the silence of the mage. These were ocean mists blown inland by the fierce night winds; they held no affection for this cold land and constantly longed for the warm currents of their home.

In this way, the mage listened to the babbling of the sea fog, day after day, walking and meditating within it, until the warm, intense sunlight baked the mist away, and they bid the mage farewell in clear, resonant tones.

Yesterday morning, Lin Bo had suddenly learned a new magic word: "Mist."

After his vision had been obscured by the fog, and having enjoyed its tranquility and understood its origins and destination, he truly grasped the essence of the mist. The word, which had echoed in his ears dozens of times, was finally etched into his mind, its pronunciation no longer to be forgotten.

Today was Thursday, the day of the gathering.

He leaned out the window to survey the thick sea fog and softly chanted the magic word: "Word of Power: Mist."

The air spasmed like a beast startled by lightning. The words uttered from the mage's mouth sounded like a faint, distant rumble of thunder.

Lin Bo could feel his spell power radiating outward. A single word was not enough to form a complete spell; he had to express more—the more precise the incantation, the greater its effect.

However, the mage knew only a few such magic words.

"Word of Power: Mist, begone!"

This was the first spell Lin Bo had ever cast. Though brief, it already possessed the authority of a command.

The indifferent white fog, hearing the mage's decree, suddenly trembled, expressing its confusion and surprise to Lin Bo in a clear, resonant voice.

Everything in this world, until this very moment, had never felt the wonder of a Word of Power, yet it remained submissive to this miraculous force.

The spell power from the True Name Mage was like a drop of indelible ink mixing into the ocean of the world, spreading its color and adding a touch of the fantastic to the atmosphere.

With Lin Bo as the center, the sea fog swirling around the lighthouse began to recede slowly. It seemed reluctant, looking back at the mage with lingering suspicion, much like a puppy being scolded and driven away by its master.

"Word of Power: Mist, depart!" The True Name Mage tried connecting the two words; the phrasing was smoother, and the efficacy increased.

The sea fog dissipated even faster. Viewed from the sky, it looked as if an invisible void were expanding from Lin Bo as the origin, rapidly devouring the white, misty vapor.

The True Name Mage chanted the spell several times until, as far as his eyes could see, sunlight pierced the gloomy clouds and descended upon the earth. The houses of Stone Tower Town and the waves of the ocean revealed their distinct shapes and colors.

Lin Bo silently sensed his True Name rune; the consumption of spell power was not excessive. Such a simple spell, even if used repeatedly, would not impose much of a burden.

"So this is what it feels like to cast a spell... it's actually quite nice." He surveyed the town whose weather he had altered.

It was as profound as the first time he had practiced the True Word Control, yet the external manifestation was even more dramatic.

All things in nature were driven by the mage's word, as if he were briefly borrowing the authority of the Creator. A sense of spontaneous satisfaction permeated his heart.

***

Lin Bo checked the system notification board, but saw no judgment information regarding the activation of a professional skill.

"It seems that spells are not included in professional skills. That makes sense; spells belong to the category of academic knowledge, not technical skills that can be quantified by proficiency."

After clearing the fog, Lin Bo locked the lighthouse and hurried toward the church.

He used his True Word Control to manipulate his body. While he appeared to be walking with his feet touching the ground, each step actually covered nearly ten feet. He moved with a deceptive speed, appearing slow but traveling swiftly, until he reached the streets of Stone Tower Town, at which point he returned to a normal walking pace.

"The fog has cleared," some townspeople were already strolling on the street, taking advantage of the break in the rain to hang out their damp laundry.

The church gathering was about to begin.

When the thick fog dissipated, the believers whispered among themselves. The fog had cleared too quickly; many old fishermen had lived their entire lives without seeing such strange weather. There was no wind, yet the fog had retreated like a pulled-back theater curtain.

The old priest was still thinking of the new night watchman who had joined the congregation. Because of his connection to Old Tim, and because he was such an impressive young man—whose shipwreck experience was pitiable, and whose sincerity when looking one in the eye was heartwarming—the old priest couldn't help but wish the fog had cleared earlier so the young man could have made the gathering.

But the lighthouse was miles away; by the time he arrived, the gathering would likely be over, missing the best opportunity to interact with everyone.

He looked toward the main entrance of the church. Through the open door, daylight and scenery spilled in. From afar, a figure wrapped in a trench coat approached.

It was the night watchman. The fog had only just cleared, yet he appeared here. It was a marvelous coincidence, as if the fog had dispersed specifically for him.

A strange feeling welled up in the old priest's heart. The older he grew, the more he believed in providence. To him, no coincidence occurred without reason; behind everything lay the deliberate arrangement of God.

Just like now, he had been hoping for the night watchman to come, the fog had cleared, and he had truly arrived.

The other congregants followed the priest's gaze and saw Lin Bo standing at the door.

"Night watchman, why are you here? Don't you need to guard the lighthouse?" an old sailor asked loudly, with a hint of interrogation. "Did you abandon your post?"

"I only left after the fog cleared," Lin Bo responded aloud. "You can ask anyone; until the very second the fog cleared, the lighthouse beam was still sweeping over the town."

"Then how did you get here so fast?" the young teacher asked, unable to believe it.

One could not explain the matters of magic to these Muggles.

Lin Bo smiled and spoke the truth: "To make it in time for the gathering. I walked very fast."

Many people, including the mayor, looked at each other. Some were convinced by the reason, but they felt that a normal person couldn't have traveled from the lighthouse to the church in such a short time. It was too abnormal, just as abnormal as the clearing of the fog.

The old priest spoke: "Welcome, welcome our new fellow believer to the gathering. The Elder had long since made arrangements for your arrival."

The congregants stopped questioning the night watchman. Lin Bo found an empty seat and sat down, next to two primary school teachers. The three nodded to each other, acknowledging the greeting.

The service began, and everyone held scriptures, chanting doctrines and mythological stories.

When the chanting ended, the priest picked up a gilded copper basin inlaid with inexpensive gems and walked to the congregants, letting everyone dip their fingers into the clear water and touch their foreheads. This was the ritual of the Elder’s followers, signifying the use of spring water to wash the soul and enlighten the mind.

The service concluded just like that—simple and brief.

***

The congregants did not rush home. They gathered together to collect money, discussing a visit to a sick fellow believer, the elderly male teacher who was bedridden.

Medical standards these days were what they were, and when elderly people fell ill, one careless moment could mean parting forever.

Lin Bo followed the crowd and contributed two hundred copper coins. He watched as the money was placed in an envelope, kept by the young teacher.

"Who wants to go visit Mr. Joren together?" the young teacher asked. The group for the visit was quite large; almost everyone went. Ultimately, considering the patient's home wasn't very spacious, they selected only twelve representatives.

Since Lin Bo was a newcomer, they invited him along, saying that perhaps the next time they saw that old believer, it would be at his funeral.

Before departing, the group went to the church acolyte to receive hoods—traveling as believers often meant wearing signature attire.

It was said that in the past, followers of the Elder would even mask their faces, but because the image overlapped too much with that of criminals, the masks were abolished.

Everyone put on their hoods and marched in a line from the church toward the home of the ailing believer.

A quarter of an hour later, they arrived at an old, small house on the west side of Stone Tower Town. The courtyard was surrounded by a low fence entwined with dense pea vines. In the yard, there were a few plots of kale, turnips, and onions, where a white-haired woman was squatting to pull weeds. A flock of chickens wandered in the damp mud, pecking at earthworms and bugs; chicken droppings were everywhere.

Through the open front door, one could see a bed by the window inside. The sick man groaned intermittently, calling out, "I'm uncomfortable... I'm in so much pain..."

The old woman in the yard ignored her husband and focused on tending the vegetable plot until she heard the visitors call out. Only then did she move to welcome them.

The arrival of his fellow believers left the old woman both surprised and saddened. After repeatedly declining, she finally accepted the donated funds.

"Thank you so much. Old Joren has caused everyone trouble; I am so sorry."

"Everything Mr. Joren has done for Stone Tower Town is far deeper than our small gesture," the mayor said, holding the old woman's mud-stained hands.

"You... you go and see him."

"What did the doctor say?"

"I'm afraid he won't make it."

Everyone sighed together and filed into the house to offer words of comfort to the old teacher.

When Joren saw his fellow believers, a smile appeared on his sweat-beaded face. He spoke in a thick, labored voice, trying to be lighthearted: "It's fine, I already know. The doctor has pronounced it... it's nothing to worry about."

"Don't say that; you will surely get better. The children are waiting for you to return in good health."

"You must discipline them well, be patient; the children will be obedient and work hard in the future..." Joren advised his two colleagues.

A heavy, indescribable air shrouded the room, making everyone feel a lump in their throats.

Lin Bo stood by the bedside, observing Joren's face, and was reminded of the state of Old Tim before he died. But back then, he had been powerless against the illness, whereas now, things were different.

"Please allow me to examine Mr. Joren."