Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Spiritual Talent and the Crown Breathing Technique
Upon hearing this news, Ron was not surprised.
Trish had the poorest background among the few from their hometown, but she had the best spiritual power aptitude.
He still remembered when he first saw that frail girl, her brown hair casually tied into a bundle with twine, clothes patched in places.
According to Andre, who was well-informed, she was the daughter of a simple hunter from the mountains.
She was found by that white-robed mage from who knows what remote valley and astonishingly tested to have a Third-class Star spiritual power aptitude.
The so-called Star Level is a standard of spiritual power aptitude promoted by wizards based on astronomical concepts, with First-class Star being the highest and Sixth-class being the lowest.
Ron tested as a Sixth-class Star, barely scraping the baseline, while Andre did a bit better, being a Fifth-class Star.
The gap between each star level is a full 2.5 times, compounded, meaning the difference between First-class and Sixth-class is a hundredfold.
A Third-class Star is the dividing line between mediocrity and genius, believed to have hope of smoothly advancing to an Official Wizard, as long as they don’t die prematurely.
As for a Sixth-class Star... becoming an Advanced Apprentice would be a struggle, slightly better than a muggle, perhaps akin to a blockhead?
Ron, while inwardly mocking himself, put some scarce Black Quill Leaf into his cup, preparing some tea for Andre.
"Well, not bad, you’re rather generous today."
Andre scrutinized the ceramic cup handed to him, with steam rising, revealing faint black particles floating in the tea.
"In these times, it’s not easy to even get a taste of Black Quill Leaf boiled bitterness."
His rough and calloused fingers gently caressed the cup’s rim, a faint, contemplative smile on his lips:
"But I didn’t expect, young master Ralph, you’d be willing to take out such a treasure for a guest."
Indeed, this kind of tea, capable of invigorating the spirit, was a rarity in the Black Mist Jungle.
Its taste was far from delicious, one might even say quite awful
—First, a spicy sting on the tongue, followed by a bitterness that incites nausea, ending in a throat-paralyzing discomfort.
All thanks to the micro toxins it contains.
Yet, it was precisely this trait of keeping one awake when drowsy that made it a revered treasure among candidate apprentices cramming for advancement.
Watching Andre’s pretentiously elegant appearance, Ron chuckled to himself.
This prince’s current situation wasn’t much better than his own.
"If you like it, Your Highness, I can prepare more next time..."
"Stop."
Andre raised a hand, his smile unwavering but now tinted with caution:
"Your peculiar behavior only makes me more worried. Speak up, what’s the matter?"
Hearing this, Ron chuckled lightly; he knew this Thirteenth Prince excelled at such matters.
Back in the Royal Capital, Andre was renowned for his subtle sharpness, a reason why his brothers were particularly wary of this seemingly amiable sibling, finding an excuse to send him here.
"Well, since Your Highness is so direct, I won’t beat around the bush."
Ron adjusted his posture to sit up straight, his tone becoming formal: "I wish to purchase the ’Crown Breathing Technique’ from you."
"Pfft—"
Andre almost spat out the tea he just sipped, his elegantly maintained expression finally cracking a bit.
He hurriedly set down the cup, a flicker of incredulity flashing across his face: "What did you say?"
"The ’Crown Breathing Technique,’" Ron reiterated, his gaze exceptionally firm:
"I know it’s one of the core heritages of the Farouk Royal Family, the finest breathing technique in the Kingdom."
Andre’s expression instantly turned serious, his earlier gentle courtesy replaced by a sharpness unbefitting his age:Follow current novels on
"I didn’t expect you to make such a request; this is the foundation of our royal family..."
"I certainly understand." Ron interrupted him calmly: "Precisely because I understand its value, I am offering this price."
Saying this, he pulled out a pouch from his pocket.
As the contents spilled onto the table, Andre’s pupils narrowed slightly.
It was a pile of crystalline shards, emitting a faint glow under the dim candlelight—Magic Stone Fragments.
In this Black Mist Jungle, magic stone fragments were the sole hard currency among apprentices.
One hundred magic stone fragments could be exchanged for one complete magic stone, though few were willing to trade.
And a single magic stone fragment could enable lavish indulgence at nearby marketplaces, ten of them could even purchase a robust alien slave.
As for the ’Basic Meditation Technique’ distributed by white-robed mages, it was priced at only one complete magic stone.
"Thirty pieces of magic stone fragments," Ron stated slowly and deliberately.
However, Andre merely sneered, not even glancing at the magic stone fragments on the table: "Are you trying to send a beggar away with this?"
"You’re right." Ron’s lips curved into a bitter smile, his gaze lingered on the pile of magic stone fragments for a moment: "Thirty pieces are indeed too few."
Once more, he drew a few more fragments from his pocket, placing them lightly on the table: "How about forty?"
Andre maintained his cold demeanor; only his eyes squinted slightly, as if pondering something.
Ron knew it was time to reveal his ace in the hole.
"You know as well, with my spiritual power aptitude..."
He paused, a tone of self-deprecation in his voice: "That miserable Sixth-class Star, it’s almost impossible to achieve advancement in three months."
"By then, it won’t mean anything other than becoming a test subject or being exiled to the wilderness. And I..."
Ron’s voice softened with a barely perceptible tremble: "I don’t want to die, at least not without dignity."
Andre’s expression relaxed slightly but quickly returned to its indifferent state: "So?"
"Therefore, I need the ’Crown Breathing Technique’."
Ron met Andre’s eyes, "Among all the breathing techniques I know of, it has the most potent effect and highest potential."
With that, he added ten more magic stone fragments onto the table: "Fifty pieces, that’s all I can offer."
Andre gazed at the small pile of glowing crystals on the table, falling into silence.
Ron understood his hesitation; ultimately, these secular nobles, in the eyes of the high and mighty wizards, were not much different from ordinary folk.
Yet these extraordinary heritages that wizards overlooked were the very foundation that allowed the Farouk Royal Family to rule over commoners and other noble knights, providing a foothold in this world.
"You know," Andre finally spoke, his voice carrying a trace of weariness, "it’s not just about money..."
"I assure you," Ron stated solemnly, "this breathing technique will never fall into the hands of a third party and..."
His gaze lingered on Andre, seemingly choosing his words carefully:
"I noticed you’ve been delving into other wizardry skills lately, surely that requires some extra resources as well."
This clearly hit the mark, Andre’s eyes flickered briefly before revealing a wry smile: "You certainly know how to hit a sore spot."
He sighed softly: "I must say, you’re more cunning than I imagined."
Reflecting on the silent, reticent son of a count from a week ago, and now looking at this eloquent negotiator, Andre couldn’t help but lament.
This change might not be a bad thing.
"However," he adjusted his posture, his tone returning to its usual elegance:
"Since teaching you the ’Crown Breathing Technique,’ we must start from the very basics..."