Do ratmen dream of the sacred tree of spirits?

Chapter 36 Forging

In early April, the wind in Lorraine was still chilly, but the afternoon sun was already warm enough to warm your back.

After Monday's spell class, Mr. Victor stood by the podium for a while, watching the students leave the classroom one by one, and waved to Fafnir:

"Little Fafnir, come sit with me in the backyard."

Behind the teaching building was an open space with several old oak trees providing ample shade. Victor sat down on a bench and patted the spot next to him.

Fafnir sat down.

"Little Fafnir, how's this semester going?" Mr. Victor asked.

"Sir, everything is fine."

"Those students with very poor foundations in bookkeeping all passed the last quiz," Fafner said.

"They didn't even understand the direction of lending before, so I explained it to them from the beginning."

"Thank you for your hard work." Victor smiled.

Fafnir thought for a moment and said, "Mr. Victor, those poor students you asked me to tutor last week are still falling behind in their spellcasting classes."

[At this point, I hope readers will remember our domain name 12199.99]

Victor remained silent for a moment.

"It's already quite an achievement that they even got in," Victor said. "Little Fafnir, do you know how this year's batch of impoverished students were selected?"

Fafnir shook his head.

"At the end of last year, the church issued a document requiring all grammar schools to expand enrollment of 'children of appropriate age with potential', regardless of their background."

These sixteen spots for students from impoverished families were obtained under immense pressure.

Victor looked at the distant church steeple:

"Lorraine is an important region in the eastern part of the Holy Kingdom. If we don't even accept it, we won't make any moves in the other territories."

"Don't those parents object?" Fafnir recalled the reactions of the elf parents in the back row at the opening ceremony.

"Of course I object. Someone wrote to the Ryan City Council saying that the quality of education in grammar schools would decline as a result."

Some people even came directly to us, saying things like, "If ratmen can become assistant priests, what hope is there for grammar schools?"

Fafner didn't respond.

Victor turned and glanced at him: "Do you care?"

"I'm used to it," Fafnir said.

After a brief silence, Mr. Victor changed the subject: "The church leadership is still investigating the matter of the Fallen Feather stage."

The monitoring array that Teacher Ze Ruo set up in the school's underground has been operating for the past few months, intermittently capturing some spiritual fluctuations, but the source has never been pinpointed.

Teacher Ze Ruo said that the spirit world has never been so "chaotic."

"Keep these things to yourself, don't tell anyone," Victor instructed.

Fafnir responded.

"By the way," Victor turned his head, his gaze falling on Fafnir, "Little Fafnir, are you feeling tired after casting spells these past few months?"

"I'm tired," Fafnir said honestly. "After practicing magic, sometimes I can't even lift my arms."

Last week, I practiced Wind Blade four times in one go, and the next day my back was so sore I couldn't even drag the floor.

Victor nodded, seemingly unsurprised.

“I’ve been observing you for a while,” Mr. Victor said. “Your spiritual progress is rapid, but you have a problem: your body can’t keep up with your spiritual progress.”

Fafnir pondered this question.

"The spiritual energy drawn from the spirit world must first circulate within your body before being released through your muscles, bones, and skin."

Victor raised a hand, palm up, and silvery-white spiritual threads wrapped around his fingertips for a moment before disappearing:

"Your spirituality is increasing, but when it surges in, your body can't handle it. The excess spirituality is wasted and can even drag you down."

"Is that why I'm so tired?"

"Yes," Victor said.

"Mr. Victor, what should I do?"

“Training,” Victor replied, “but not ordinary training. Ordinary training can make you physically strong, but it doesn’t help much in carrying spirituality. You need to train your body with spirituality itself.”

Fafnir sat up a little straighter.

Victor stood up and walked to the center of the clearing, his feet sinking into the soft soil and newly sprouted grass.

"Take off your shoes and stand over here."

Fafnir took off his cloth shoes and stepped barefoot into the mud. It was a little cool, and the mud was soft. He could feel his toes sinking in a little.

"Now meditate, and guide your spirituality to your feet."

Fafnir closed his eyes, and spiritual threads appeared in his mind.

He guided them down—through the waist, thighs, and knees.

When it reached the calves, the spirituality slowed down, as if something was blocking it.

"Feeling resistance?" Mr. Victor's voice came from the front: "That's where the blockage is in your body. The channels through which spirituality flows in your body are narrow in some places. If you don't use them, they will never be open."

Fafnir did not answer, but focused on guiding the spirit downwards. The spirit, facing resistance, dispersed, splitting into several thin streams that slowly seeped in different directions.

About half a minute later, a few wisps of spiritual energy burrowed into the soles of my feet.

"Okay, now please take a step forward."

Fafnir lifted his right foot and took a step forward.

The moment my foot landed, a very light rebound came up from the sole of my foot—not the rebound of the soil, but the rebound of the spirit.

It was as if it had transformed into a soft cushion, catching the impact of the fall and gently returning it to his calves.

"Can you feel it?" Victor said. "Little Fafnir, this is your spirit helping you share the burden of your body."

Fafnir took two more steps, feeling the spiritual power with each step.

"Keep going," Mr. Victor said. "Don't go too fast, feel the spirituality flowing through your legs."

Fafnir walked slowly across the open space. The pebbles and grassy shoots prickled his feet, but he paid no heed to the pain.

After walking about twenty steps, the soles of his feet began to feel warm.

The heat climbed up my calves, spreading to my knees and thighs, and my back started to sweat.

Are you tired?

"I'm not tired, but my legs are a little sore."

"That's the spirit helping you open up pathways, the spiritual channel is being widened," Victor said.

"When you usually cast spells, the spiritual energy is drawn from the spirit world and immediately released. That way, you can't cultivate the channels in your body."

Fafnir continued walking, counting his steps: one, two, three… With each step, a spiritual journey coursed through his legs.

His legs began to swell, and he felt a throbbing pain that seemed to emanate from his bones.

"We can stop now," Victor said.

Fafnir stopped and took a breath.

His legs were trembling slightly, but his spiritual energy was not depleted as it usually is when casting spells. Instead, it was more active than before he left, flowing slowly back and forth in his legs like a newly dredged stream.

"This is just the beginning," Victor said. "From now on, every morning at six o'clock, you come here and walk barefoot. Once you get used to walking, then you can run."

"Mr. Victor, how long will the training last?" Fafnir asked.

"Keep practicing," Mr. Victor replied. "This is the training for beginners who want to improve their spells in the future."