Wizard: Unlimited Profession Slots Chapter 3: Spiritual Talent and the Crown Breathing Technique

Ron showed no astonishment when he heard this announcement.

Among the handful of people from their village, Trish possessed the most humble origins, yet her spiritual power aptitude stood out as the strongest.

He could still recall the initial sight of that delicate young woman, with her brown locks loosely bound using a piece of string, her garments mended in several spots.

Andre, always in the know, had mentioned that she was the offspring of an ordinary woodsman from the hills.

She had been discovered by one of those white-robed mages from some distant hollow, and remarkably, her test revealed a Third-class Star spiritual power aptitude.

The Star Level, a measure of spiritual power aptitude devised by wizards drawing from celestial ideas, ranges from First-class Star as the pinnacle to Sixth-class as the base.

Ron had been assessed at Sixth-class Star, just meeting the minimum requirement, whereas Andre fared a touch better with Fifth-class Star.

Each step up in star level represents a 2.5-fold increase, multiplying across levels, so the span from First-class to Sixth-class amounts to a hundred times greater.

Third-class Star marks the boundary between average and exceptional talent, offering a real chance to reach Official Wizard status, provided one avoids an early demise.

For a Sixth-class Star like him... reaching Advanced Apprentice would prove challenging, only marginally superior to a muggle, maybe like a dullard?

While Ron silently ridiculed his own fate inside, he added a rare handful of Black Quill Leaf to his mug, brewing some tea for Andre.

"Hmm, that's decent; you're quite lavish today."

Andre examined the ceramic mug passed to him, vapor ascending and showing subtle dark specks drifting in the brew.

"In these days, savoring the bitter boil of Black Quill Leaf is no simple feat."

His coarse, roughened fingers softly traced the mug's edge, a subtle, thoughtful grin playing on his mouth:

"Yet I never thought young master Ralph would share such a valuable item with a visitor."

Truly, this brew that sharpened the mind was scarce in the Black Mist Jungle.

Its flavor was anything but pleasant, one could call it downright repulsive

—starting with a sharp, spicy bite on the tongue, then a nauseating bitterness, concluding with a numbing ache in the throat.

All due to the trace toxins within.

Nevertheless, it was exactly this quality of banishing sleepiness that elevated it to a prized asset for apprentice candidates pushing for progress.

Observing Andre's affectedly refined pose, Ron inwardly laughed.

This noble's present circumstances were scarcely improved from his own.

"If it pleases you, Your Highness, I can make more for our next meeting..."

"Hold on."

Andre lifted a hand, his grin steady yet now edged with wariness:

"Your odd conduct just heightens my concern. Out with it—what's wrong?"

At these words, Ron gave a soft chuckle; he recognized that this Thirteenth Prince was adept at such insights.

In the Royal Capital, Andre gained fame for his keen subtlety, which made his siblings especially guarded against this outwardly friendly brother, prompting them to dispatch him here under some pretext.

"Fine, with Your Highness being so straightforward, I'll get to the point."

Ron straightened his seating, his voice shifting to a serious note: "I want to buy the ’Crown Breathing Technique’ from you."

"Pfft—"

Andre nearly coughed up the tea he'd just drunk, his composed facade fracturing somewhat.

He quickly placed the mug down, a spark of disbelief crossing his features: "What was that?"

"The ’Crown Breathing Technique,’" Ron repeated, his stare unwaveringly resolute:

"I realize it's a key legacy of the Farouk Royal Family, the top breathing technique in the realm."

Andre's face grew grave at once, his prior mild politeness swapped for a piercing intensity beyond his years:

"I never anticipated such a demand from you; this forms the bedrock of our royal lineage..."

"I get that fully." Ron cut in smoothly: "It's exactly due to grasping its worth that I'm proposing this compensation."

With that, he retrieved a small bag from his robe.

As its contents tumbled onto the surface, Andre's eyes narrowed a fraction.

It consisted of numerous crystal bits, casting a soft luminescence in the low candle glow—Magic Stone Fragments.

Within the Black Mist Jungle, these magic stone fragments served as the only reliable currency for apprentices.

A hundred such fragments could trade for one full magic stone, although most resisted making the exchange.

Even one magic stone fragment allowed for extravagant spending in local markets, and ten could acquire a sturdy foreign servant.

The ’Basic Meditation Technique’ handed out by white-robed mages cost merely one whole magic stone.

"Thirty magic stone fragments," Ron announced measuredly.

Still, Andre just scoffed, barely looking at the fragments scattered on the table: "Do you think this is enough to dismiss a pauper?"

"Fair point." Ron's mouth formed a wry grin, his eyes pausing on the heap of fragments briefly: "Thirty is far too little, indeed."

Again, he fished out several additional pieces from his pocket, setting them down gently: "What about forty?"

Andre kept his aloof attitude; merely his gaze tightened a bit, as though weighing options.

Ron sensed it was the moment to play his trump card.

"As you're aware, given my spiritual power aptitude..."

He halted, infusing his words with self-mockery: "That pitiful Sixth-class Star makes advancing in three months nearly unattainable."

"After that, it'd just lead to serving as an experiment or banishment to the wilds. And I..."

Ron's tone grew quieter with a faint quiver: "I refuse to perish, not without honor at least."

Andre's look eased a touch but soon hardened back to neutrality: "And?"

"That's why I require the ’Crown Breathing Technique’."

Ron locked eyes with Andre, "Of every breathing technique I'm familiar with, this one delivers the strongest impact and greatest promise."

Then, he placed ten further fragments on the table: "Fifty in total—that's my limit."

Andre stared at the modest stack of shimmering crystals, sinking into quiet thought.

Ron comprehended his reluctance; in the end, to the lofty wizards, these worldly aristocrats differed little from everyday people.

However, these special inheritances dismissed by wizards were the core strength enabling the Farouk Royal Family to govern peasants and rival knights, securing their place in this realm.

"Understand," Andre said at last, his voice laced with fatigue, "it's not solely a question of coin..."

"I guarantee," Ron affirmed gravely, "this breathing technique won't reach any outsider, and..."

His glance rested on Andre, as if selecting phrases with care:

"I've seen you've been exploring additional wizardry arts recently, which doubtless demands more supplies too."

This struck true, as Andre's eyes wavered momentarily before he offered a bitter grin: "You really know how to pinpoint weaknesses."

He let out a gentle sigh: "I'll admit, you're sharper than I figured."

Thinking back to the quiet, withdrawn count's son from seven days prior, and now facing this persuasive bargainer, Andre found himself sighing inwardly.

Perhaps this shift wasn't unwelcome.

"That said," he shifted his position, his manner reverting to polished grace:

"If we're to impart the ’Crown Breathing Technique’ to you, we'll begin at the fundamentals..."