Wizard Bloodline

A black dandelion drifted gently down.

Ronan awoke in his dream.

"Rustle—"

A sound resembling the friction of satin fabric roused Ronan from his slumber.

He struggled to open his eyes.

The room was dimly lit, with thick curtains blocking most of the light. Tiny specks of dust danced before his eyes, and the air seemed to carry a faint, lingering scent of indulgence.

Ronan slowly propped himself up halfway on the bed. The sound of fabric rustling he had heard earlier came from somewhere to his left front.

A woman sat by the bed, her back to him, bending over as she pulled a pair of black thigh-high stockings up her legs.

The room was unusually quiet. Ronan remained silent, his gaze fixed on the woman's smooth, exposed back, where a purple serpent was tattooed.

After she finished putting on all her undergarments, the woman paused.

She sat on the edge of the bed, seemingly aware that Ronan had awakened, and let out a hoarse murmur.

"I saw it again... in my dream, it tightly coiled around the entire world."

"Who is it?"

Ronan's eyes flickered, and he instinctively blurted out the question.

The woman, however, did not respond. Instead, she stood up on her own, picked up the clothes scattered on the floor, and dressed herself one piece at a time.

The woman was tall and curvaceous, and as she donned the specially tailored purple-black robes, an aura of authority, befitting someone who had long held a high position, quickly emanated from her.

When she placed a dark golden crown on her head and turned to face Ronan, he naturally lowered his gaze, his eyes falling on a necklace at her chest—a black serpent devouring an inverted cross.

"You worked hard last night. Rest well."

A rough, cold hand gently brushed Ronan's cheek. The raspy voice, as if her vocal cords had been injured, still carried a faint trace of warmth beneath the coldness.

Ronan "obediently" nodded. The hand withdrew, and then crisp footsteps echoed through the room.

Ronan looked up, watching as the woman walked to the far end of the room, where a large door automatically opened. Several robed figures quickly approached, surrounding her as she departed.

Finally, Ronan was alone.

"Huff—"

Ronan exhaled a heavy breath, feeling the soreness throughout his body.

He raised his hands, examining this youthful, vibrant body.

This time, the "dream entry" felt even more real than the last.

Ronan casually grabbed a robe and draped it over himself, got out of bed, and walked barefoot to the window. He pulled back the curtains, and golden sunlight poured in.

Before him stretched a dense cluster of buildings, each bearing a certain religious style. Streets, crowds... It seemed he was now at the very center of a city, at its highest point, where he could effortlessly overlook the entire city.

"The Church of Deep Drowning... Pope Sekaterin..."

He murmured softly, silently digesting the memories that existed in his mind.

In this "life," he had become the youngest male priest of the Church of Deep Drowning. Due to his exceptionally striking appearance, he had caught the eye of the current Pope, Sekaterin, on his very first day in the papal palace, becoming her personal "male consort."

Compared to the beginning of his last "life," where he had slept in a pigsty, this start was indeed much better—though only marginally so.

The female pope, Sekaterin, was naturally the woman with the hoarse voice who had just left.

Ronan recalled her appearance in his mind and was surprised to find that, if one ignored the terrifying scar on her face from early church conflicts and her cold, authoritative demeanor, she bore a striking resemblance to Serena, the princess of the Life Court.

The only difference between the two was probably their hair color—one was a dark gold leaning towards black, while the other was a radiant gold.

"Is it a coincidence?"

Ronan's eyes flickered as he walked to a mirror placed by the bed and examined his reflection.

Indeed, he looked very young and handsome, with a unique purity and calmness about him.

Ronan searched through his memories but still found no trace of the existence of a wizard. However, as the leader of the Deep Drown Church, Sekaterin, known for her iron-fisted and ruthless nature, seemed to possess some kind of extraordinary power beyond the mundane.

It was said to be the divine power bestowed by "Deep Drown," the deity worshipped by the church.

The image Ronan had seen earlier was that of a black serpent devouring an inverted cross.

In the church's legends, Deep Drown was the mother of evil, representing "chaos and end."

"In the dream, it tightly coiled around the entire world."

Ronan repeated the words spoken by the female pope, who resembled Serena, before she left.

She had said similar things more than once. As Sekaterin's "closest" person, he often heard her mutterings about the "divine dream."

Unlike his previous life, this dream world seemed to be filled with many mysterious elements that piqued Ronan's curiosity.

According to Alazan, each life contained within the inheritance of the "Spirit Heart Amber," though somewhat polished and embellished, was mostly real. It was unclear from which period of history or from which world they were taken.

Of course, now was not the time to delve into these matters. Ronan hadn't forgotten the true purpose of this "dream journey."

"Alazan."

He called out Alazan's name in his heart, and soon received a response.

Sunlight fell on Ronan's pale, almost translucent slender hand, and some of the light gathered, gradually crawling out as a golden ladybug.

If the people of the "Deep Drown Church" in this world were to witness this scene, they would likely regard it as a "miracle"—or, more probably, label Ronan as a "heretic" and kill him.

Seeing the golden ladybug that was Alazan's manifestation appear, Ronan's eyes flickered.

During his first "cycle into the dream," he had ventured alone without informing Alazan.

In fact, according to the normal procedure, wizards of the "Spirit Heart" school should always set a "anchor" connected to reality or have someone watch over them during each cycle into the dream, so they could be awakened if necessary.

This also suggested that the cultivation of the "Spirit Heart Amber" was not as simple as Ronan had imagined, and that entering the dream also carried risks. This world seemed to reveal some clues, but Ronan hadn't asked, and Alazan had never mentioned it.

As the golden ladybug appeared, the outline of a gray book gradually formed in Ronan's mind. Using his consciousness, he opened it, and a new ancient spirit script leaped onto the page.

"It is indeed feasible..."

Ronan let out a long breath, his face showing joy and satisfaction.

This was the solution Ronan had come up with.

The time flow in the dream cultivation of "Spiritual Heart Amber" was vastly different from the real world. A year in the dream might be less than a day in reality. Ronan had Alazan act as his "eyes" in the real world. As long as the ancient spiritual texts could be transmitted into the dream through "dream entrustment," he would have an absolutely sufficient amount of time to memorize them.

"In the future, all research on runology can be conducted in the dream," Ronan thought.

"The same should theoretically apply to potion-making, alchemy, forging, meditation, and spell practice.

But I need to choose a world where wizards exist, collect the necessary materials myself, and start cultivating my spiritual power from scratch. Dream entrustment can't be done infinitely or at will."

Still, it was a significant advantage over other wizards.

"Now that the ancient spiritual texts have been transmitted, the next step is to find a quiet, undisturbed place to study and memorize them."

In fact, the center of the Deep Drowning Church where Ronan currently resided was a decent location. While practicing asceticism, he might also explore the secrets of the "Deep Drowning Church"—if he hadn't become the "plaything" of the female pope.

"Being favored every day would drain my energy and shorten my lifespan. Once the female pope, who resembles Serena, is overthrown, as her 'bedmate,' I would likely be dragged into the power struggles of the church. Too many trivial matters and troubles." Considering this, staying away from the center of power was the best choice.

Having made his decision, Ronan calmly dressed, packed nothing, and set off immediately.

With his relationship with Pope Sekaterin, Ronan held a transcendent status within the church. From the papal palace to leaving the papal city, he encountered no obstacles—no one dared to stop him.

Until three days later.

News shook the papal city: Ronan Damien, the most promising black-robed priest of the Deep Drowning Church, had suddenly disappeared. Pope Sekaterin was furious and ordered a nationwide search.

In a remote and desolate village, two church knights clad in armor marked with black snakes entered a dilapidated courtyard.

The owner of the courtyard was a plain-looking farm girl with rough hands and feet. She had no parents and stood alone before the two imposing church knights, trembling with fear and anxiety.

"Have you seen this person?" one of the black snake knights asked, holding up a parchment with a portrait and showing it to the girl.

The parchment depicted a young and handsome boy with calm and pious eyes.

"N-no, I haven't seen him," the girl stammered in a thick dialect, shaking her head repeatedly.

At that moment, an unusual noise came from behind the house. The two black snake knights exchanged glances and began to move toward the back.

"Th-there's nothing... nothing interesting back there. It's... it's just a pigsty!" the girl exclaimed nervously, stepping in front of the knights to block their path.

"Get out of the way!" The two knights roughly shoved the girl to the ground and strode around to the back of the house.

Just as the girl had said, it was a filthy pigsty, filled with weeds and manure, emitting a strong, foul stench.

A Black Snake Knight covered his nose as he slowly pushed open the wooden gate of the pigpen. In the dim light, he could barely make out a figure sitting quietly inside.

The person seemed injured, with blood-soaked bandages densely wrapped around his face and hands.

"He... he was bitten by a wolf and burned by fire," the girl explained cautiously to the two knights as she followed them.

"Unwrap the bandages," the Black Snake Knight commanded coldly, staring at the figure in the pigpen.

The girl's face flashed with anxiety. She was about to step forward to stop them, but the person in the pigpen had already begun to slowly unwind the bandages from his head.

What lay beneath the bandages was a face so horrifying it was almost unbearable—

Completely hairless, covered in swollen or festering blisters, with clear bite and tear marks from a beast on his neck and chin. Half of his ear was missing, and his eyes were sealed shut by dried pus and scabs.

The two Black Snake Knights frowned at the sight and quickly retreated from the pigpen.

"It's probably not him."

"Even if it is, there's no need to bring him back. In this state, he's of no value to the Church. If he dies on the way, I don't want to face the Pope's wrath."

The two quickly left without looking back.

Once the Black Snake Knights were gone, the girl outside the pigpen immediately ran inside and hugged the disfigured figure tightly, as if he were a treasure.

She still remembered how he had first appeared before her—radiant, as beautiful as the legendary Moon God.

She was a natural devotee, captured by his presence. Ignoring the filth and stench on the ground, she devoutly kissed the mud at his feet.

Finally, the eyes behind the scabs slowly opened, revealing a pair of sapphire-blue irises, purer than any gemstone.

A hoarse, scarred voice whispered in the girl's ear, "It's time. Take me away now, to the forest. I'll tell you what to do next."

The girl nodded heavily, clumsily yet carefully lifting the injured man onto her back. She ran out of the small courtyard and plunged into the vast wilderness.

Night fell, and the moonlight was as cool as water.

Inside a cave lit by a roaring bonfire, Ronan picked up a specially prepared herbal remedy and began applying it bit by bit to his wounds.

He had spent three days completely destroying his appearance and preparing for the rest of his life.

To completely escape Sekaterin's search, "destroying" himself was undoubtedly the best and most direct method.

Though the injuries looked severe, with Ronan's knowledge of wizard potions, it wasn't difficult to concoct some healing remedies using local ingredients.

For Ronan, in this world, there was nothing he couldn't give up except his life.

He felt the two ancient rune marks squirming in his mind, and a thoughtful light flickered in his eyes.

The issue of the ancient runes repelling each other had been perfectly resolved in a very short time.

He had only slightly reinforced the memory of the first ancient rune, and the mark no longer faded.

"Probably because it's been successfully recorded by the panel, so it won't be forgotten again."

This was one of his greatest advantages.

At that moment, the sound of rustling footsteps came from outside the cave, and a figure appeared at the entrance.

The girl, carrying a large bundle of freshly picked herbs and wild fruits, carefully placed her load on the ground. She then stepped back, keeping a distance from the campfire, and huddled in a corner, as if afraid of disturbing Ronan.

A gentle light flickered in Ronan's eyes as he beckoned softly to the girl.

After a moment of hesitation, she approached with trepidation and knelt at his feet.

"Thank you..." Ronan said softly to her.

The girl immediately lowered her head even further.

"What is your name?"

"I... I..." The girl raised her head, her eyes filled with confusion. She opened her mouth but seemed unsure how to respond.

"Then, from now on, shall I call you Moriel?"

In a world where Serena exists, wouldn't it be rather dull without Moriel?

Ronan gently placed his hand on the girl's head, then gazed beyond the campfire, out into the vast and profound night sky outside the cave. As if speaking to the girl, or perhaps to himself, he murmured, "I will stay here from now on. Will you stay with me?

Moriel.

It will be a long, nearly lifelong journey."

The girl did not answer. Instead, like a devout believer, she reverently kissed his feet repeatedly.

As her response.