Tars did not rush. Even though he suspected this was the very spring mentioned in the "Great Reveal" booklet, he remained on the sidelines. He watched the water rhythmically washing over those submerged, then looked at the towering palace in the distance. A sense of inexplicable holiness washed over him; when combined with the dazzling light reflected off the white stone, the scene felt sacred. It was as if these people were undergoing a divine baptism.

  Only when several other cautious observers finally waded in did Tars move. As the water soaked the fur on his shins, a sensation of absolute mental clarity surged through him.

  He sat down immediately, pulled out the Demonic Body spellbook, and picked up where he had left off.

  It felt as if his mind had exploded—not in pain, but in sheer processing power. Every thought accelerated; he felt capable of pondering a dozen things at once. He reined in the scattered impulses and focused entirely on the magic. Learning a spell with such high compatibility no longer felt like studying; it was like devouring a feast. By the time he finished the book, he closed his eyes, and every principle and detail of the spell model manifested perfectly. Constructing the model was no longer a delicate chore; it was as effortless as breathing.

  Tars opened his eyes, exhilarated. He scanned the area; more wizard apprentices had arrived. Most were buried in books, and one particularly ambitious fellow had even set up a miniature laboratory bench in the water.

  He immediately produced his Black Book and began his meditation. He could feel the rank of Third-level Wizard Apprentice waving at him frantically.

  One rune after another was conquered and mastered within his mental space. In this water, everything truly "flowed" into place. He had to periodically break his trance just to check the next pages of the Black Book—something he had never been able to do so rapidly before. When he paused for breath and looked around, many who had started with him had already climbed to the second tier or higher.

  He tried stepping up to the second pool. The moment the water touched him, his entire body shuddered with pleasure. He felt an impulsive urge to leap straight to the third, but he bit his lip and stayed put, resuming his meditation.

  In the distance, some were already attempting to reach the very top.

  Tars ignored them. As he mastered the meditation runes, they grew progressively more complex, and his mental strength grew steadily alongside them. To his surprise, he felt no fatigue. Normally, such rapid growth would lead to a period of mental exhaustion or a plateau, but the pool water was clearly carrying the burden for him.

  Finally, all twelve new runes for the Third Sigil were mastered. He made his first attempt to outline the full sequence: twelve new, twelve old—twenty-four runes in a continuous flow. Previously, he had judged this to be a bottleneck that would require weeks of gradual practice.

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  Now, soaking in the pool, he felt tireless. One attempt, two... on the eleventh try, the mental exertion actually served to further harden his spirit. On the twelfth attempt, his eyes snapped open.

  He stood up and looked back. Apprentices like him, who had stayed in the first or second tiers, were now the minority. Many people were scratching their heads in frustration, only to instinctively move up another level. The moment they hit the higher water, their problems vanished, replaced by looks of sudden realization—until they hit the next snag and looked toward the summit again. It was as if they were constantly borrowing a level of intelligence that didn't belong to them.

  Tars's Third Sigil was complete. As planned, the phantom image of the highly compatible Demonic Body spell was projected and stored within the new mark. The three Sigils now sat in a parallel array within his mental space.

  Splash! The sound of an apprentice leaving the pool brought him back to reality.

  The temptation—this feeling of being omnipotent, of every mystery being solvable—started to terrify him. Seeing the figures who had once been cautious now desperately crawling upward made him deeply uneasy. He watched the apprentice who had just exited and followed his lead. He wasn't the only one with second thoughts.

  "In the world of wizards, how can anything be this easy...?" the departing apprentice muttered, his voice trembling with panic. This man had climbed higher than Tars, and the fear on his face was much more pronounced.

  The sound of splashing water continued as more "dabblers" began to retreat. However, the majority continued their ascent. Interestingly, wild wizards made up less than half of those staying in the water. Tars found this surprising, as they had been the first to climb high to overcome their lack of resources, but perhaps their harsh lives had made them more sensitive to traps.

  Before leaving, Tars produced several vials and filled them with the pool water. If there weren't so many witnesses, he would have tried to open his spatial door and haul away an entire pond's worth.

  As he reached the end of the street, he looked back. Someone had reached the highest point.

  He took two more steps and was suddenly hit by a wave of unprecedented mental exhaustion. His head felt like it was being split by an axe. He slumped against a white stone step and waited a long time before he could even stand again. Rubbing his temples, he wondered what those who had stayed in the twentieth tier for hours would look like when they finally tried to walk away.

  He realized now that the "clarity" was a loan with a heavy interest rate. Even at the second tier, the urge to keep climbing just to feel that "aha!" moment again was like a physical itch. For an old apprentice who had been stuck on a problem for decades, that water was the ultimate drug.

  He continued his search for the little crybaby, nursing his headache. The ubiquitous white stone began to lose its luster; it no longer felt clean, just monotonous and clinical. This didn't feel like a place built for the living.

  Several apprentices were hesitating in front of a massive building. Tars squinted at it and realized it was a library. In a city of legend, no wizard apprentice could simply walk past a library.

  "Nice-smelling big brother, don't go in there. It's very dangerous..."

  A voice drifted into Tars's ears—the little crybaby insectoid.

  "Where are you?" he whispered, scanning his surroundings.

  "I am succeeding the throne. I can't talk anymore. When I officially become the Master of this city, I'll come play with you. I can make you a resident here so you can stay forever. That way, you can go anywhere you want and you'll never be hungry again..." The insectoid's childish voice was full of innocent joy.

  "No, I think I'll pass on that," Tars said, but he received no further reply.