Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

His gaunt frame was wrapped tightly in a deep red velvet robe. He stood alone before a wide desk, his back to the fire.

Though the room was warm enough to induce drowsiness, his face was alarmingly pale. His world-weary eyes were fixed on a document spread open on the desk.

This was no ordinary document. It was a summary of the minutes from the Cardinal Hall, freshly transcribed and delivered, concerning the establishment of the Tower of Aofa and its preparations.

Suddenly, Ambrosius’s hand shot up, his gaunt fingers gripping the edge of the desk in a spasm. The veins on the back of his hand bulged, looking like twisted earthworms.

"How dare he..."

A hoarse whisper escaped from between his clenched teeth.

"How dare he... That Demon... How dare he!!!"

The last words were practically a roar!

Ambrosius spun around, his bloodshot eyes now filled with madness.

All his cunning, his forbearance, his careful weighing of pros and cons—it all crumbled to dust.

CRASH!

He swept his arm out, violently knocking a heavy brass inkstand from the corner of the desk to the floor.

The inkwell shattered, and thick, black ink splashed like filthy blood across the polished floor and expensive carpet.

"He dares... In the Holy City! In the land bathed in the light of Oriane! To establish a Wizard’s Tower! To teach that... that putrid, degenerate, blasphemous, evil knowledge!"

He stumbled about the study, his hands flailing as if trying to grasp something, or perhaps tear it to shreds.

"The College of Cardinals... actually approved it! That puppet Pope... she actually supports it! Mad... They’re all mad! The whole world has gone mad!" he roared incoherently, his voice twisted by a paroxysm of rage and fear.

A young Attendant, hearing the commotion, rushed in. When he saw the mess on the floor and the deranged-looking Cardinal, his face went white with fright. He froze in the doorway, not daring to advance or retreat.

"Get out!" Ambrosius whipped his head around, his bloodshot eyes glaring at the Attendant. The madness and destructive urge in his gaze terrified the young man, who scrambled backward out of the room and pulled the door shut tight.

Silence returned to the study, broken only by Ambrosius’s heavy, bellows-like panting and the occasional crackle of the fire.

He pursued power, enjoyed prestige, and reveled in political machinations. He’d even had tacit understandings with certain Wizards and tolerated the presence of powerful beings within the Holy City like Murphy, who defied conventional measure. For all of this, he could find excuses, absolving himself with phrases like ’for the sake of the Church Court,’ ’for the sake of balance,’ or ’for the sake of survival’.

Perhaps his faith had long been eroded by power and desire, leaving it a mottled ruin. Perhaps his Path had long ago deviated from the original teachings of the Holy Scripture, becoming twisted and pragmatic.

But no matter how twisted he had become, his power, his status, the very foundation of his life—the entire system of values and beliefs he had constructed over decades—was all built upon the bedrock of a few fundamental tenets: ’The faith in Oriane is supreme.’ ’The Church Court represents the holy order.’ ’The way of the Wizard is a Heresy that must be suppressed, watched with vigilance, and ultimately, eliminated!’

He could tolerate rats in the shadows. He could even temporarily cooperate with the rats to get rid of some cats.

But he could never accept someone openly building a nest for those rats inside the Holy Hall, issuing them licenses, and even teaching people how to become rats themselves!

This wasn’t just about power slipping from his grasp, nor was it merely a loss of personal gain.

This was a complete and utter repudiation of his life’s meaning!

It was the ultimate betrayal of the Path he had followed so diligently for decades!

It was a cruel trampling, a shattering of the sliver of belief in the ’holy order’ that existed deep in his heart—a belief he might not even admit to himself, but which was undeniably real!

If the way of the Wizard could be openly taught, studied, and revered as "another path to explore the world," then what did his life—Ambrosius’s life of tireless striving and struggle within the Church Court’s hierarchy—amount to?

A joke?

A meaningless farce?

Everything he had ever done to suppress the influence of Wizards and uphold the authority of the Church Court—whether for the public good or for personal gain—what was it all for?

A fool’s errand?

Even a sin that obstructed the ’progress of civilization’?

This kind of fundamental collapse of his worldview, of the very bedrock of his faith, was infinitely more terrifying than any political defeat or loss of personal power.

It ripped away a man’s spiritual backbone—and with it, the Holy Power a Cardinal gained from following his Path.

’A Demon... a true Demon...’ Ambrosius finally stopped his aimless pacing. He stood hunched, staring at the leaping flames, his gaze as empty as an abyss.

And at that very moment—

A sudden, sharp pain exploded deep within his skull.

"Ngh—!"

Ambrosius let out a strangled grunt, pressing his hands hard against his temples. His body convulsed from the searing pain, and beads of cold sweat instantly broke out on his forehead.

But the pain came as quickly as it went.

Yet in the instant the agony receded, a crystal-clear fragment of memory appeared in his mind, as if it had been forcibly shoved there.

A dim cavern, a flickering bonfire, ten figures shrouded in black cloaks, the tall silhouette of a Balance Keeper, and a bronze artifact in his own palm, glowing with a dark luster...

The images of the memory flashed by, finally freezing on the moment he extended his own gaunt hand and, with great care, infused his pure Holy Power—mixed with resentment, fury, and longing—into the cold bronze artifact.

"...Catalyze the Holy Sword’s Elementalization process..." The Balance Keeper’s deep voice was perfectly clear in the echoing memory. "...Accelerate his ’departure’..."

Then, the memory fragment cut off abruptly.

Ambrosius shot upright. His face was even paler than before, his lips trembling uncontrollably.

Cold sweat soaked his temples and the back of his robe, yet he felt no chill or discomfort. There was only a warmth, like the first day of spring, rising from the depths of his soul.

"So... that’s how it is..." he murmured, his voice hoarse but calm. He was like a different man from the one in a furious rage moments ago.

’No wonder,’ he thought. ’No wonder that Demon’s Elementalization suddenly accelerated so abnormally. No wonder he was so desperate, so reckless in pushing for this insane plan for the Tower of Aofa!’

’He must have sensed the abnormality in himself, felt the crisis closing in. He wants to force something to be left behind before he’s completely rejected by the rules of the Old Realm.’

’But that no longer matters.’

Ambrosius slowly raised his head, his gaze drifting out the window toward the mountain peak northeast of the Holy City.

The firelight cast dancing shadows across his face, making his expression look exceptionally sinister.

"Balance Keepers... you were right..." he murmured. "Imbalance must be corrected... That Demon... must leave... He must..."

"Since he is destined to be unable to remain in the Old Realm for long... since his very existence is the complete subversion and destruction of order, of faith, of everything I know..."

"Then let him... quicken his pace toward his inevitable end."