Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Here, seniority, connections, political maneuvering, and a deep understanding of the Church Court’s ancient traditions had all lost their former magic.

What mattered here was efficiency, output, the ability to solve problems, and the degree to which one accepted and mastered the ever-changing "new technologies" and "new knowledge."

A young Cultivator from a humble background, skilled in mathematics and mechanics, could be rewarded for optimizing the production process of a workshop and see his status rise rapidly.

But he, Ambrosius, a Cardinal who had navigated the currents of the Church Court for decades, with students and old friends everywhere, might face subtle questioning from his subordinates simply because he couldn’t understand a damn financial report or grasp the meaning of some "standard operating procedure." He could even be refuted into silence by a younger colleague’s data during a meeting of the Cardinals.

For the past ten years, he had felt like an old horse, forced to pull a cart named "Progress" while galloping down a completely unfamiliar Path.

The rules that had once allowed him to operate like a fish in water had become clumsy and inefficient in this new world.

More importantly, he could clearly feel himself being marginalized.

It wasn’t a direct political purge or suppression—that would be too crude.

It was a more thorough, more irresistibly powerless kind of marginalization.

He had become "useless."

In the machinery of the Church Court, now dominated by the new administration, his experience, his wisdom, his proud "art of balance," were all rapidly depreciating.

Subtlety, compromise, exchanges of benefits, and balancing factions—all these things still existed.

But what was needed was not the set of skills he had mastered in the past, but rather "new technologies" and "new knowledge."

He was like an exquisite piece of porcelain from an ancient era, placed in a modern steel mill—out of place, worn, and fragile.

Elizabeth bore him no particular malice; one could even say she maintained a superficial respect for him.

But that respect felt more like the polite preservation afforded to an old object on the verge of becoming a "relic."

True authority, the core of decision-making, the flow of resources—all had long been seized by those who were younger, better adapted to the new rules, or were simply the Heretics that the Demon had scouted from all over the Continent.

For instance, that Edwin who spent all his days soaked in the "Mind Furnace," or that Flora who could shift between the form of a lizard and a human... they were the darlings of this new age.

’And he, Ambrosius, this Cardinal... what was the point of it all?’

’Better not to be one at all!’

A soft knock on the study door interrupted his gloomy thoughts.

"Come in," Ambrosius’s voice carried a trace of exhaustion.

The door opened. His private Secretary, an old Cultivator with equally graying hair who had followed him for many years, walked in with light steps, holding a sealed copper tube in his hands.

"Your Eminence," the old Secretary said in a very low voice, "there’s news about the matter you asked me to watch."

Ambrosius’s eyelid twitched slightly.

He reached out, took the copper tube, twisted off the wax seal, and pulled out a roll of paper as thin as a cicada’s wing.

He did not open it immediately, instead waving his hand at the Secretary.

The old Cultivator understood, retreated silently, and carefully closed the door behind him.

Silence returned to the study.

Ambrosius unrolled the paper, his eyes sweeping across it quickly.

Then his pupils constricted, and his heart began to beat uncontrollably faster.

Just then, the study door was knocked on again, the sound slightly more urgent this time.

"Come in." Ambrosius quickly crumpled the letter into a ball in his palm. A faint, imperceptible trace of Holy Power flashed past, and the paper turned to fine ash, drifting into the shadows beneath his desk.

A different, younger Attendant entered, his face wearing a standard, respectful expression:

"Your Eminence, my apologies for the interruption. We’ve just received an urgent notice from the General Affairs Bureau. The border diocese in the Phlanis Kingdom has sent an emergency report, claiming signs of large-scale activity have been detected near a suspected ancient Heretic ruin in the southern mountains. According to Chapter Three, Article Seven of the ’Regulations for Handling Field Incidents,’ a Cardinal familiar with matters in the South is required to travel there immediately to oversee the investigation and coordinate the forces of the local Church Court and the Kingdom. After a preliminary assessment and cross-referencing the duty roster, the General Affairs Bureau has concluded that you are the most suitable candidate. These are the deployment orders and the preliminary briefing."

The Attendant placed two documents, stamped with the seal of the General Affairs Bureau, on the desk.

Ambrosius looked at the two documents, and everything instantly became clear.

’The "most suitable candidate"?’

’A "check of the duty roster"?’

’It was just the administrative system, which was becoming more and more like a precision machine, once again kicking him, an "idle" old-timer, out to deal with some troublesome routine matter.’

In the past, he might have been annoyed and would have tried to find a way to refuse or delegate the task.

But today... looking at the last few specks of ash under his desk that had yet to scatter, a completely different emotion surged within him.

’An opportunity.’

’This was a perfect opportunity, one that complied with the rules of the "new world," an opportunity that would allow him to openly and legitimately leave the Holy City for a time!’

"I understand." Ambrosius’s voice regained its usual composure, even carrying a perfectly measured hint of gravity. "The southern border is of great importance, and Heretic ruins are not to be underestimated. I will prepare immediately and depart as soon as possible. Go arrange for a vehicle and an entourage. Be discreet, efficient, and in compliance with... hmm, the regulations."

"Yes, Your Eminence!" The Attendant visibly sighed in relief, apparently not expecting the old Cardinal, who was known for being difficult, to be so decisive this time. He hurriedly took his leave to carry out the orders.

Half an hour later, a dark gray, Church Court-standard automobile stopped silently at the side gate of the courtyard.

It was a new model with an internal combustion engine; its noise was much less than the first steam-powered cars, and its ride was smoother.

Ambrosius refused the Attendant’s help, pulled the car door open himself, and sat in the back seat.

The leather seat sank slightly, carrying the scent of something new.

He shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his posture, and said to the driver in the front seat, "Go to the Saints’ Gate. After we rendezvous with the Guard Team, head directly for the Phlanis border."

"Yes, Your Eminence," the driver replied, starting the engine.

Amidst a low rumble, the car drove smoothly out of the courtyard, traversed the winding mountain road, and merged onto the still-busy evening streets of the Holy City’s central basin.

Outside the window, electric lights had already been turned on, illuminating the streets brightly. The shop windows displayed a dazzling array of new-style goods, and pedestrians hurried along.

Ambrosius leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, as if feigning sleep.

The car crossed a wide square and gradually accelerated in the direction of the Saints’ Gate, slowly leaving the Holy City—a city interwoven with brilliance and steel—behind in the deepening twilight.