Chapter 64. The Perfect Build
In this world, it came in countless forms. Some subtle as a whispered secret, others as obvious as a thunderclap. Magic that bended reality, wealth that moved nations, knowledge that outlasted empires.
Yet there was something primal about physical power that resonated across time and worlds. That satisfaction of watching a stone crumble in your grip or climbing a mountain others deemed impossible. Even in a world of mages and monsters, there was something undeniably appealing about being able to simply punch your problems into submission.
Like most kids, Adom had dreamed of such power in his youth. His real youth, not this second chance business. Children are impressionable creatures, and his was spent devouring books, some of which were tales of heroes with impossible strength who could tear mountains asunder or move faster than the eye could track.
The classics never go out of style.
Back in his original timeline, he'd eventually achieved two-circle status—respectable, if not legendary. The Lionheart side of his family, though he'd been estranged from them, had a decent magical pedigree.
Although not proven, it was commonly suspected that genetics played a significant role in determining a mage's potential ceiling, which explained why mage families rarely married outside their magical circles. The rule wasn't always explicitly stated, but the pattern was clear—mages sought other mages as partners, preserving and potentially enhancing their magical bloodlines. In noble families, this wasn't even a tacit rule but an open expectation, the violation of which had gotten Adom's mother disowned when she married his father.
When Adom had manifested magical talent despite this "dilution," some eyebrows were raised. When he eventually hit two circles at age 76, although not all that useful given his illness at the time, it had nonetheless been a genuine achievement—not impossible given his heritage, but certainly not guaranteed.
Now Mr. Biggins was telling him he'd blow past that ceiling like it was made of tissue paper.
The ramifications were staggering. As a mage with that level of power and his accumulated experience, he could accelerate everything. Rise through the Academy ranks faster. Achieve Archmage status sooner. Gain the influence needed to counteract the looming catastrophes before they fully materialized.
But something nagged at him as he looked at the old dragon shoving chocolates in his mouth to celebrate, a restlessness that wouldn't quiet despite the good news.
His mind kept circling back to one uncomfortable fact: magical power, while incredible, has limits. Mana depletes. Fluid runs dry. At this point in time, even with an expanded capacity, he would eventually run empty in a prolonged conflict.
What then?
He already had two non-mana skills forming the foundation of his capabilities. [White Wyrm's Body] would eventually grant him near-invulnerability, a defense that would make most physical attacks bounce off harmlessly. [Healing Factor] was continuously rebuilding him into something beyond human standard, accelerating his recovery and apparently supercharging his magical development.
Defense. Recovery. Two pieces of what Adom now saw as a three-part puzzle.
What he lacked was the offensive component.
Something that, when magic failed or circumstances demanded, would let him continue fighting effectively. Something that wouldn't deplete with use or leave him vulnerable once his mana reserves ran dry.
What he needed was raw, physical strength. Not the kind that fades when magic dissipates, but the kind built into muscle and bone. The kind that becomes part of you.
He needed a strength-based skill to complete the foundation.
The realization felt right. Defense, recovery, strength—a perfect build. Everything else could be constructed atop that foundation, but those three elements would ensure he remained dangerous regardless of circumstance.
Power.
"I need to go on a hunt," Adom announced through a mouthful of chocolate. The words emerged before he'd fully processed the thought.
Mr. Biggins burst into laughter, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to shake dust from the highest bookshelves. "I was about to suggest the same thing, actually!"
Adom swallowed his chocolate, eyebrows shooting up. "Can you read minds or something?"
"Oh, goodness no, no," Mr. Biggins waved away the suggestion as if it were a pesky fly. "But when you've lived among humans as long as I have, you learn to anticipate their patterns of thought." He adjusted his spectacles with a small smile. "Law was like that too. Terribly predictable once you got to know him."
"Right," Adom said slowly.
It was easy to forget sometimes that the eccentric shopkeeper with chocolate smudges on his vest was actually Aelarion, a dragon old enough to have witnessed centuries of history firsthand. Mr. Biggins had mentioned before that he and Law had been friends, though the details had remained vague.
"How exactly did you two meet?" Adom asked, selecting another chocolate, this one shaped like a tiny dragon. He found the irony amusing.
"Oh!" Mr. Biggins brightened at the memory. "I tried to eat him for waking me up."
Adom choked on his chocolate. "You what?"
"Tried to eat him," Mr. Biggins repeated casually. "He was making the most awful racket at the base of my mountain. Disturbed a rather lovely three-century nap."
"And... you became friends after that?"
"Well, not immediately," Mr. Biggins admitted, selecting a white chocolate unicorn for himself. "We had a lengthy discussion first. Quite enlightening, actually. Law had excellent arguments for why I shouldn't eat him."
"I can imagine."
"So I spared him and burned down the village at the base of the mountain instead." Mr. Biggins popped the chocolate into his mouth, expression entirely serene. "They'd been making human and elven sacrifices to me while I was sleeping. Without permission! Can you imagine the audacity?"