Chapter 23: Destined to Fade Away?

In the world of Azeroth, Dalaran is a human-dominated kingdom of magic. Its distinctive council system and its national policy of open magical inquiry attract magical talents from every race—even those from rival factions. Whether one is a novice apprentice just stepping into the world of magic or a seasoned archmage already renowned, all are drawn by Dalaran’s allure.

To be frank, a mere apprentice mage card is hardly anything to celebrate.

On the contrary, Mei Mumu’s face nearly collapsed in dismay.

The card was nothing special: a green “Excellent” grade, which inspired no particular affection at a glance.

Worse yet was the card’s image. Reminiscent of a primary school graduation photo, it depicted a crowded throng of ten-year-old children packed together. Though the card itself was crafted with some care, without a magnifying glass, one could scarcely tell who was who.

The card’s annotation read as follows:

“Each year, the great magical city of Dalaran recruits over a thousand apprentices from around the world. By using this character possession card, you will possess the qualifications of one such apprentice for three hours. Number of uses: 1/1. Once activated, it cannot be interrupted. After use, the card becomes invalid until the host finds a way to recharge it, or uses shards of fate to recharge or upgrade it.”

Never mind what shards of fate might be—wasting three whole deviation points for such a thing? If that’s not a swindle, what is?

It’s not that I was born to be extraordinary.

I was simply destined to be mediocre.

Ah! That feeling of firm conviction before drawing a card, believing oneself a lucky master, only to discover one’s fate is that of an eternal loser—the desolation struck Mei Mumu like a blow.

After drawing this rubbish card, Mei Mumu couldn’t sleep the entire night.

Woe is me!

The world of Marvel is terrifying enough, and now I must suffer this unlucky fate too.

How is one supposed to survive like this?

Rolling over and over, staring at the card, Mei Mumu felt like weeping. It was only after tossing and turning until three in the morning that he finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

In his dreams, he seemed to see Thanos, looking for all the world like an enormous purple yam, snapping his fingers playfully before him.

“Snap! Snap! Snap!”

With a single snap, half the galaxy’s life was extinguished.

“Snap! Snap! Snap!”

With each snap, another Mei Mumu would die...

Woe is me! Dormammu, I’ve heard your realm offers fantastic benefits, aside from the fact that your errand boys all develop black eye sockets and look like immortal cultivators. May I defect to your side now?

Mei Mumu drifted into sleep and was then shaken awake by Baron Mordo.

“Damn it, you sleep like the dead. Have you forgotten? Today is your first lesson! The Ancient One has taken the rare trouble to teach you herself!” Mordo was nearly beside himself with exasperation.

There were some things Mordo could not say.

The Ancient One, as the Sorcerer Supreme and Earth’s guardian, could not be more aptly described as burdened with the affairs of the world. With the threat of the great traitor Kaecilius looming ever closer, how much time could she possibly spare for instruction?

It was like being a graduate or doctoral advisor—such mentors can never offer ten or even dozens of weekly lessons like a primary school teacher. Entry is guided by the master; comprehension is up to the student. In a sense, Mei Mumu’s first lesson was also a tremendously important secret test. Even the best mentor cannot endlessly instruct an untalented student.

Sighing inwardly, Mordo still urged Mei Mumu to wash up quickly.

“This is etiquette! It is also a mark of respect for the strong and for one’s teacher,” Mordo stressed.

But the Mei Mumu who trailed behind him looked like the very ghost of exhaustion, his footsteps almost floating, yawning incessantly. Mordo frowned deeply.

Yet, out of respect for principle and the bare minimum courtesy due a fellow disciple, Mordo, though frowning, still led him uprightly toward the Ancient One’s sanctum.

“Mei Mumu, self-discipline is essential. A mage must master self-discipline, or risk treading the wrong path and being tempted by inner demons,” Mordo could not help but remind him.

“Yes, yes, Senior Brother Mordo, you are absolutely right.” Though his mouth answered, Mei Mumu’s soul still seemed to be wandering the ether.

Mordo’s frown deepened.

Soon, Mei Mumu met the Ancient One.

The Ancient One found something odd, sensing a strange discordance in Mei Mumu that she hadn’t noticed on their previous encounters.

She frowned slightly.

“Master, is something wrong?” Mordo asked with concern.

“It’s nothing. Thank you, Master Mordo.”

Mordo bowed respectfully and withdrew.

Facing Mei Mumu, who stood before her with deep, dark circles under his eyes, the Ancient One smiled. “What’s wrong? Are you not adjusting to life here?”

“A little. I don’t know why, but the air here last night was peculiar—it made me feel wired. About every two hours, I’d get too excited to sleep. Sorry, Master Ancient One.” Mei Mumu was still yawning.

The Ancient One’s brows rose, surprised.

Ninety-nine percent of Kamar-Taj’s disciples never experienced this sensation. But a rare few did—and one of them was named Mordo...

Still, mages often used meditation in place of sleep, which probably explained Mei Mumu’s unexpected excitement.

The Ancient One concealed her curiosity well, and proceeded with a dignified tone into the lesson.

“The language of mystical arts has existed since the dawn of civilization. Long ago, the venerables called it ‘incantation.’ If that name feels too fantastical, you might consider it a ‘program,’ a source code that constructs reality.”

“We gather energy… from other spaces within the multiverse.” As the Ancient One spoke, she pressed her palms together, then slid them apart, drawing forth a golden line of sparks. Next, her left hand formed a mudra reminiscent of the Goddess of Mercy, lifting upward; her right shaped a cup, pulling down.

A golden magical disc thus appeared before Mei Mumu’s eyes, as simply as that.

But the Ancient One did not realize that what Mei Mumu saw was entirely different.

More than 256 fingernail-sized portals appeared out of thin air around her, each leaking an infinitesimal stream of energy, as fine as silk.

With incredible dexterity, the Ancient One manipulated over fifty of these threads, as if she were a weaver, gathering and smoothing them into a bundle. Then, with hands like brushes dipped in ink, she painted upon a vertical plane solidified by mysterious energy before her eyes.

The symbols she drew formed a larger pattern—what Mei Mumu saw with his naked eye as a magical array.

Complex, irregular polygons were anchored by circles of golden energy threads, with an outer square framework built around them.