Chapter 21: Ron Yearns for Strength (Please Continue Reading)

“Call me ‘Windchime.’ Would you like a cup of steaming floral tea?”

With the shop owner’s greeting, Ron stepped inside, his heart quietly thrilled.

After several minutes of friendly conversation, the boy learned that the woman before him was a retired investigator from an older generation.

According to Windchime, she had once been an outstanding investigator until six years ago, when she was struck in the knee by an arrow during a critical mission.

She developed severe rheumatoid arthritis and was forced to retire.

Crossing the porch, Ron’s gaze was immediately drawn to rows upon rows of bookshelves.

The magical fireplace shop was dominated by these shelves, nearly packed to the brim, with only narrow aisles wide enough for a single person to pass through, facilitating book management.

Near the entrance, besides the shelves, stood a wooden counter filled with strange items—ceramic jars, bones, crystals, and the like.

“It’s a good thing Olivia recommended you to me. My stock is pure—something not everyone can handle.”

“She said in her letter that you should choose what suits you best. Here, take a look.”

Hearing this, the blond boy was deeply moved.

That fierce woman also recognized that his magic had some uncontrollable elements, so she intentionally left the choice of rewards to him.

One’s energy is limited; apprentice mages cannot, like in Ron’s previous life playing games, simply allocate skill points to create a perfect spell system.

Generally, the type of magic you first master during your apprenticeship determines the spell system you will build in the future.

After all, no one, having learned fireball, suddenly decides to dive into waterball spells.

Windchime bent down and pulled out a large pile of scrolls resembling parchment from beneath the shelves.

The scrolls occasionally shimmered with faint spiritual light, clearly distinguishing them from common, inferior items.

“All first-level spells here have been improved by me—to varying degrees. Most notably, they consume less mana and pack more power.”

“The only drawback is that they are significantly harder to learn than the originals.”

As she spoke, she lined up dozens of first-level spell scrolls before Ron.

At that moment, the blond boy’s breath grew heavier, and an adult decision formed in his heart.

Yet, as an exemplary mage who took pleasure in doing good deeds, he suppressed his greedy impulses.

Well done! — The holy light element surrounding Ron gave a thumbs-up.

Seeing the boy hesitating before the counter, Windchime picked up a parchment scroll and recommended,

“When in doubt, choose fireball. It’s an ancient adage passed down through the mage circles of the Kingdom of Orlan hundreds of years ago.”

Ron frowned slightly upon hearing this.

He had certainly heard of the famed fireball spell.

But in these days, a low-level fireball was less practical than a handgun; its only remaining use was perhaps toasting hard bread.

Noticing Ron’s expression, the shop owner smiled proudly and emphasized,

“This is far from the common rubbish out there!”

“My uniquely improved fireball completely abandons traditional concepts.”

“The fire element no longer appears as a sphere but can instead attach to your bullets.”

“While it can’t compare to high-level fire elemental enchantments, it retains the pure essence of the fireball spell, like…”

“Explosion!”

Now that’s good!

Ron’s deep blue eyes brightened, stirred by a spark of creative inspiration.

Yet the holy light element surrounding him seemed displeased.

“Don’t look at that little rascal!” — it seemed to convey this silent warning.

Seeing this, Ron fell into thought.

After a moment, he realized the holy light element had a point.

With his mastery of “Holy Sword Technique” and “Healing Magic,” he was not lacking in direct offensive methods.

Instead, he was somewhat vulnerable in terms of self-defense.

He could not imagine a desperate battle where an enemy suddenly pulled out a handgun, aimed at him with a triumphant laugh—what could he do?

Just stand there and watch?

No!

He would never allow such a thing to happen to him.

A true man faces his opponent head-on with dignity.

With this resolve, Ron lifted his golden head and looked toward Windchime, who had been wounded by an arrow in her knee.

“Madam, do you have any spells that conceal one’s presence or allow someone to hide in shadows?”

He wanted to seize the initiative in a fair fight.

Windchime was momentarily stunned by his question; her expression darkened.

She said nothing, silently lit a cigarette, her weathered face seemingly etched with untold stories.

After a full minute, she looked at Ron and slowly exhaled a smoke ring.

“I didn’t expect that after all these years, someone would still ask me about such things…”

Her voice was tinged with nostalgia as she selected a darker scroll from the pile and handed it over.

“This is my exclusive creation. No one else has ever been able to learn it.”

“It’s called ‘Chameleon Windchime 5.0.’”

Hearing that highly distinctive name, Ron’s small hand trembled, nearly dropping the scroll.

“It’s an extremely special first-level spell that allows you to transform into anything—perhaps a person, perhaps a plant—entirely at your discretion.”

“This isn’t alchemy changing matter; it’s using magical power to construct an illusory outer shell around your body.”

“Back then, it was by relying on this spell that I disguised myself as a pile of manure for three days and nights during that crucial mission to survive the last ordeal.”

“That was also when my leg was injured.”

Her voice darkened, trembling with emotion.

Ron could tell that pretending to be a pile of manure for three days and nights had left her with a lifelong psychological scar.

“Does the spell even mask the scent?”

Driven by scholarly curiosity, the blond boy inquired.

Windchime fell silent, then painfully nodded, a hot tear seeming to escape the corner of her eye.

The Stardust Guild really does produce talent...

Ron felt a surge of emotion and suddenly thought Olivia’s life wasn’t always easy either.

At that moment, the boy had already made up his mind.

“Chameleon Windchime 5.0” was such a powerful spell that he couldn’t help but be tempted.

Moreover, Windchime herself was living proof—the fact that she could disguise herself as manure for three days and nights without detection spoke volumes about the spell’s value.

“Madam Windchime, I want it!”

Hearing this, Windchime took another drag of her cigarette and asked, “Are you sure?”

“You should know that every mage’s magic differs, shaped by their spirit and past experiences.”

“Though I created this spell, I cannot guarantee you will be able to learn it.”

Ron nodded firmly in response. “I’m sure!”

Ron Griffith had come this far not merely by luck, but through talent and hard work.

After all, he was a once-in-a-million prodigy!