Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods! - Chapter 667 - Chapter223-he True Source of a Mage’s Strength
Even Alan couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride welling up within him after receiving such high praise from this renowned veteran of the mage world.
Tier-gold. A tier considered the backbone of all magical civilizations—today, he had finally brushed against its threshold.
All that remained was to solidify his foundations, stabilize his mana, and take things one step at a time. If he did that, then someday, tier-platinum, tier-diamond, even the long-distant Legendary tier might no longer be just a dream.
Seeing the faint smile curling on Alan’s lips, the middle-aged man gave a wry smile and shrugged. “Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet, kid. Sure, your control over mana far surpasses the average mage. Plus, you’ve got those specialized mana circuits as trump cards and finishers. But… there’s still something important I need to remind you of.”
“Please, go ahead, Senior,” Alan replied, quickly putting away his smile and straightening up, ready to absorb the wisdom like a serious student.
The man cleared his throat. “What I’m about to say, others may have told you before. Still, I think it bears repeating. Do you know what the true source of a mage’s strength is?”
“That’s got to be—” Alan began reflexively, but then froze mid-sentence.
What did define a mage’s strength?
Was it the size of one’s mana reserves? A wide arsenal of spells? Or perhaps a wealth of battle experience gained from surviving countless life-and-death struggles?
But the more he thought about it, the more he felt those answers weren’t quite right.
After all, many powerful mages who possessed all of the above had still fallen by his hand.
They lacked nothing—except victory.
After a long pause, Alan spoke. “It’s… unwavering willpower.”
The man chuckled softly. “Correct… but only halfway.”
He leaned in slightly, his tone becoming more pointed. “Let me test you with a little thought experiment, young man.”
“Picture this: before you lies a forked railway track. A runaway magic train is barreling toward you at high speed, totally out of control.”
“You suddenly discover that there’s one unconscious person tied up on the left track, and five unconscious people tied up on the right track.”
“You can’t use magic. The only thing you can do is pull a lever in front of you. If you pull it, the train will switch to the left track, killing the one. If you don’t, it will stay its course and kill the five. So—what do you choose? Pull, or not?”
Alan recognized the scenario—it was the classic moral dilemma known as the trolley problem. He’d heard about it in passing before but had never seriously thought about it.
Now that it had been posed to him directly, he followed his instincts and answered, “Of course I’d pull the lever. One death is better than five.”
The older man smiled. “Not bad. Interpreted simply, even a three-year-old might give the same answer. Sacrifice the few to save the many—that instinct is practically carved into the core of our species.”
“But tell me this,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “does that one person on the left track deserve to die?”
Alan paused, then responded thoughtfully, “The world of mages is cruel. The strong devour the weak. If he ended up tied to a track, unconscious and helpless, then odds are he lacked the strength to protect himself and got betrayed. If he were truly powerful, this problem wouldn’t even exist. So yes, weakness is a sin. If he’s weak, then he deserves to die.”
“Excellent… truly excellent,” the man muttered, his tone unreadable.
But then he asked again, this time with a slight shift.
“Now suppose—just hypothetically—that the unconscious person on the left track is your sister. Then what?”
Alan’s expression changed immediately. His brow furrowed in a flash. “That’s impossible! I would never let something like that happen!”
“I did say it was hypothetical,” the man replied quickly. “I’m only asking what your real answer would be if you had to choose.”
Alan was silent for a breath, then sighed and answered without hesitation. “I’d save my sister. The other five—what happens to them is none of my concern.”
The man laughed. “Interesting. So why don’t you bring up that earlier theory about sacrificing the few to save the many? Or how weakness is a sin?”
Alan had no response. His lips parted but no words came out.
Still, he didn’t feel regret.
He had answered with his heart.
Seeing this, the older man gently patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t be tense. I’m not here to judge you. Everyone has their own answer to that question. It’s a riddle with no right answer.”
“In my youth, I was arrogant. I believed I could find the perfect solution. One person? I’d save them. Five people? I’d save them too. And what happened?”
He gave a bitter chuckle.
“I saved no one. And I lost myself in the process.”
“So, Alan,” he continued more solemnly, “the true source of a mage’s power isn’t just willpower. It’s making the right choice.”
“Take for example a mage born with a high affinity for fire elements, but who hates heat with a passion. Imagine he spends his entire life studying elemental conversion, trying to force fire-element circuits to cast water spells. That’s a textbook mistake.”
“He might study it for fifty years—and still achieve nothing. Why? Because even though we mages can bend reality, and sometimes rewrite it—”
“There are some laws of the world we can’t override.”
The man’s eyes grew serious.
“Remember this: never make a choice that you’ll come to regret. Whether it concerns yourself, or the people around you.”
“There was an old man I once knew—taught me something I never forgot: ‘The world won’t always go as we wish. But as long as you remain true to your heart, you won’t have regrets.'”
Alan nodded slowly, unsure if he fully understood, but feeling the weight of the words settle within him.
Talking with this man didn’t grant him much technical knowledge, but it brought him a kind of peace.
The way he spoke—casual, relaxed—felt less like a master lecturing a student, and more like a friend sharing a quiet conversation.
And strangely enough, Alan felt… lighter.
The burdens he’d carried for so long—his tangled emotions, his grudges, his doubts—didn’t disappear completely, but they dulled. Like fog lifting from a battlefield.
The man gave a small laugh. “You’re quick to understand, kid. A real little monster.”
“Keep this in mind: emotions derived from the soul are still a largely unexplored domain for mages. Unless the situation is absolutely critical, do not use them lightly. Excessive consumption of emotional energy damages the soul. At best, you’ll end up a drooling fool. At worst… dead on the spot.”
Alan nodded emphatically, vowing to remember the warning.
They continued chatting for a while longer.
Then, out of nowhere, the man raised his hand and conjured a sleek, pure obsidian badge from condensed mana. He handed it to Alan.
Alan blinked, surprised. “Senior… what is this?”
“This?” The man smiled. “Call it a parting gift. Back in the day, we called it a Mage’s Crest. Nowadays, I guess it’s no different from the flashy medals those nobles hang on their chests.”
“But this one is special. As long as you wear it, no unit from the Kent Kingdom’s army will dare to trouble you.”
“And… I secretly inscribed a unique magic array inside the badge.”
“Of course, our mana signatures are different, so you won’t be able to activate it directly. But that’s not a deal-breaker. Try using a mana stone as the power source—you just might be able to trigger it.”
