Strength Based Wizard Chapter 31. Yer a Wizard, Joseph! Act Like One, Part I

Chapter 31

Yer a Wizard, Joseph! Act Like One, Part I

A car horn blares at and I lift my hand apologetically as I whip my steering wheel and pull my car off to the side of the road into an unoccupied parking ter spot. The blue window that had slamd into my vision a mont earlier like an overly-eager pop-up window from hell, is still hovering in front of my face, populating with neat, silvery script.

New Quest!: The Fundantals of Magic 101

Description: Hello, Participant! You selected the Spellcaster Discipline. Despite this, during the Tutorial Stage of the God Ga, you have shown a penchant for failing to take your Discipline seriously. To complete this Quest and remain in good standing as a Participant, you must make progress as a Spellcaster.

Objective: Learn 1 new Spell (0/1)

Preliminary Tir for Objective: 48 hours, 00 minutes

Penalties for Failing to Complete Objective Prior to Expiration of Preliminary Tir: Participant will be inflicted with the Decay debuff until Objective has been completed.

I barely have ti to process that absolute bullshit before a second window snaps into existence.

Decay (Debuff)

[Description: User inflicted with Decay will slowly and painfully lose base points in Stamina and Constitution until both hit 0, at which point all organs will begin to atrophy. The Decay status has a different set of effects if the inflicted individual is of the Undead.]

What the fuck.

WHAT. THE. FUCK!

Decay?... Decay?! My eyes quickly scan the Quest description one more ti. Then the debuff’s description… Just to be sure I read that right. This isn’t so slap-on-the-wrist penalty.

“You will slowly and horrifically rot to death doesn’t seem like a fair consequence for not learning a new spell…!” I shout at the System interface. Especially when I only have forty-eight hours! It was so next level bullshit.

I blink, half-hoping the screen will flicker, change, telling this is so kind of joke.

The interface does flicker. The screens disappear. Replaced by a small, blinking counter in the top right corner of my HUD: 00:47:58.

I groan. I have forty-eight hours to learn a Spell.

Is that even possible? My mind races. I haven’t gotten any new Spells through leveling up. Was I supposed to? Or was gaining Spells on leveling up restricted to those with Classes? Or were Spells only obtained through Gates?

I don’t fucking know… But I need to find out, and fast.

My breathing’s a little too fast, my hands gripping the wheel tight enough that my knuckles go white.

Okay… Okay. Calm. Logical. Think it through.

I squeeze my eyes shut, push the panic down. I try to smother it.

Dad’s voice pops into my head. He had a particular phrase from Seneca he sotis quoted… What was it, again? Fire is the test of gold; adversity, of strong n.

If I was going to beco stronger, like I planned, then this would just be another challenge in a series of adversity that I would need to face. I take in a deep breath through my nose, letting the air fill my lungs. Then, I slowly exhale.

I shift into drive, and floor it toward ho.

I barge into my room, head spinning, heart still hamring from the glowing death sentence that just popped up in my vision. I need a plan. I need to figure this shit out.

Jelly Boy is sitting on my desk. His little translucent form pulsating gently as he watches TV on my laptop. He’s perched right in front of the laptop screen, oozing in place, eyes fixed on the bright back-lit scene.

And what, exactly, is he watching?

I squint.

The Deal or No Deal Island logo flashes across the screen. Contestants in swimsuits clutch briefcases, sweating under the hot Fijian sun while the host—who looks familiar, but I’m terrible with celebrity nas—grins like an evil genius about to unleash his master plan.

I blink.

Jelly Boy’s eyes turn toward , his little sli body vibrating in greeting.

“…Getting into reality competition shows now?” I ask.

Jelly Boy buzzes happily, his body jiggling like a Jell-O mold that just got smacked.

Well. Can’t fault his taste. Could be worse. Could be Love is Blind.

I shake my head and pull up my nus. If I’m going to stress myself into an early grave, I might as well do it while claiming my daily reward.

A glowing notification blinks at :

[Daily Reward Available! Would you like to claim?]

I ntally assent to the request window and am greeted with a ping!

Congratulations! You have received:

Adventurer’s Cookie (x3)The cookies materialize in my Inventory—little caral-colored discs of absurd nutritional value, each one dense with enough sustenance for two days.

I pull one out and toss it to Jelly Boy. He catches it mid-air, absorbing it into his gelatinous form with a gleeful little warble. The cookie begins dissolving instantly, little bubbles forming in his translucent body.

I pocket the other two. Because if I’m really about to start taking this whole “Gates and Magic” thing seriously, I need to be prepared. Last thing I need is getting caught in a Gate for weeks without any food or water.

I grab the towel off the hook behind my door, slinging it over my shoulder. “Alright, I’m gonna shower off,” I announce to no one in particular. Well, to Jelly Boy, technically. He wobbles in acknowledgnt but stays glued to the screen, thoroughly engrossed in the fate of so poor bastard sweating over a briefcase.

I turn toward the bathroom but hesitate. My brain is still buzzing from that quest notification. The Decay debuff. The 48-hour tir. If I don’t learn a new Spell, my Stamina and Constitution will start rotting away. Literally. I run my hand across my face. God dammit.

I can’t just wing this. I need information.

With a sigh, I sit on the bed, towel still draped over my shoulder, and pull up the Discussion Channels nu on my System interface.

And imdiately regret it.

The Discussion Channels functionality is still a nightmare. Clunky. Disorganized. It’s like soone took an ancient web forum, let a caffeinated squirrel build out the organization, and then set it all on fire for good asure. Oh, and forgot a search function.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

I grit my teeth and start digging.

Spells. Magic. Learning new abilities. I scan threads for any related topic, checking multiple regional Channels.

Bingo!

A thread discussing Spells and Spell selection from one of the European Channels. Every Discussion Channel is, thankfully, automatically translated into English, though so of the syntax is still a little off.

I click in. The conversation is a ss of half-baked theories, secondhand accounts, and people shitposting about how obviously you just need to eat a magic rock from Dead World #32 and boom, free Spells. But between the noise, I find the important bits:

Most people don’t gain new Spells through level-ups before Class Selection. So have, but they seem to be exceptions, not the rule.The main ways people obtain new Spells are through Spell-crafting, Realm rewards from Gates, or finding specific magical items.Concern blossoms in my chest. If access to Spells through level-ups depended on Class Selection, then I had a dilemma on my hands. I am already at Level 11. How many opportunities to gain new Spells had I missed by leveling up before I had my Class? How many more will I potentially miss if I continue to level-up?

So of the responses to the thread seem to indicate people with magical-focused Classes learn new Spells as early as Level 7.

I lean back, rubbing a hand over my face. Shit. If that’s true, then I need to be careful. If I power-level myself too fast, I could be missing out on potential Spells I’d get after choosing a Class.

I can’t afford to kneecap myself before I even hit the Bronze Gate.

But Clyde, Veronica, and Jelly Boy? I still need to help them level up. If I get them all to Level 10 as quickly as possible, at least I know my whole team is in fighting shape before I pick a Class. Clyde is already close—he probably just needs one more level after the whole Sweets Sow nightmare.

I nod to myself. That’s the plan. Now, ti for that shower.

I let the steaming water pound against my shoulders, but my mind is a thousand miles away. One hand idly scrubs at my scalp, the other swipes through the System’s Discussion Channels nu, because Spell-crafting. The phrase had been so casually dropped in that other thread.

What the hell is it? How does it work? And more importantly—can I do it before my Quest tir runs out and Decay starts chewing through my organs like a starving rat?

I scroll past garbage posts—half-baked theories, people arguing over semantics, so guy insisting you just need to “believe in the magic inside you, bro.” As if believing alone is enough to fabricate new Spells… There’s a thread about soone asking about the “Magic of Friendship.” Useless.

Then, I strike gold.

A thread from so Nordic dude nad Arvid (at least based on his chosen Display Na). In my head I imagine a chiseled, blonde berserker type, the kind of guy who probably eats raw liver and wrestles bears for cardio. But his posted thread seems to indicate otherwise. An actual step-by-step Spell-crafting guide.

I lean against the tiled wall of the shower, scanning fast.

Spell-crafting Guide for System Users, Level 8 and Above!

After a short introduction, Arvid gets into the nitty gritty…

>User: Arvid: Want to learn Spells before Class Selection? Here’s what you need:

A dium for inscription: a Spellbook, blank Enchanted Scrolls, or enchanted Parchnt. An ink substitute: Magical ink is best, blood works too, or similar magical material. Affinity components: Shards aligned with the magic you want to craft. You will need at least 10. A stabilizing core: a Monster Core of an appropriate level.I run through the list in my head. I actually have most of what I need already.

Spellbook? Check—I still have the one I received as part of my start pack.

Ink? Check—I looted so from the gobblins (almost forgot, too).

Shards? Check—I have thirteen Star Shards sitting in my wardrobe.

But the last one—the Monster Core.

Shit.

I don’t have one. And I know enough about Cores from general discourse on the topic. Not every monster even drops them. Most of the ti, Exploration Teams are the ones who snag cores during Gate jobs. They’re the most magically charged resource that can be extracted from the Gate and if they’re left to an Extraction Team, it’s usually the top Extraction Team on the job.

It doesn’t matter. One thing is certain: tomorrow, when I go into that Gate, I need to get my hands on a Monster Core. Because if I don’t figure out Spell-crafting in the next 48 hours, I’m pretty much dead. I close my eyes and let the water run over my face, turning the handle towards ice cold. The frigid water jolts awake. And it feels good too.

Another countdown to my doom, I think. Fantastic!

I shut off the water, step out of the shower, and grab my towel.

Tomorrow just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

Mornings suck.

But if I’m going to survive this whole ‘learn a Spell in 48 hours or start rotting from the inside out’ situation, I need to be sharp. Strong. Focused. And that ans starting the day with an aweso push workout.

I pull up to Diesel Athletic Club before the sun’s even up. The gym is mostly empty when I get there. Just , a few other early risers, and the sound of plates clanking over the dull thud of bass-heavy workout music.

Lots of cable work—chest flyes, triceps extensions, shoulder raises. I focus on the squeeze at the top of each motion, trying to work in so higher reps to shock my muscles a bit. Mind-muscle connection, I think to myself as I envision the small portions of my movent. Every rep with intent. Every contraction a promise to my future self that I won’t be the guy who dies because he didn’t take his own progression seriously.

By the end, my chest is burning, and my shirt is sticking to like I’ve been dunked in a vat of my own sweat. Mission completed.

I wrap up in the sauna, letting the heat soak into my muscles, then hit the showers. By the ti I’m toweling off, I’m feeling loose, refreshed, and ready to take on whatever Realm this Gate job wants to throw at .

Back at my place, Jelly Boy buzzes unhappily as I zip my bag shut. He’s back in the backpack, where he absolutely does not want to be.

“You loved the last Gate,” I remind him, slinging the bag over my shoulder. “Co on, it’s another adventure. Monsters. Loot. Probably snacks.”

Jelly Boy wobbles in protest, but I feel his excitent flicker at the ntion of snacks. He’s trying to be indignant, but I know the truth. He wants in on this as much as I do.

By the ti I get to the Gate site, Clyde and Veronica are already there.

Clyde greets with a lazy wave, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. The man does not know the aning of urgency. Veronica, by contrast, looks like she’s been buzzing with energy since sunrise. She gives a quick nod, shifting from foot to foot like she’s ready to throw hands with a hobgoblin right now.

The setup is the sa as last ti. Crews everywhere. Security posted around the closed-off periter. A Municipal Guild official clutching a clipboard like it holds the aning of life.

Apparently, this Gate’s been open for two weeks, and the Exploration Teams are still combing through deeper sections. But since the lower-leveled areas near the entrance have been cleared, Extraction Teams—aka, us—are finally being allowed inside. Better to get in while the areas are still cleared of most mobs rather than wait another week when the mobs might repopulate the areas near the Gate.

One of the Guild officials starts handing out hooded insulated coats.

Clyde holds his up, inspecting it. “What, are we expecting a blizzard in there?”

The official, a tired-looking woman with scars on the bridge of her nose and cheeks, glances up from her clipboard. “Arctic-based climate. But a blizzard? No.”

I pause mid-motion, halfway through slipping my arms into the sleeves.

“Arctic based?” Veronica asks, already tightly bundling her coat around her like the cold is a sentient entity waiting to strike.

“Not quite arctic temperatures,” the official clarifies. “But it’ll be cold enough that you’ll want the Guild-issued gear.”

I finish sliding mine on but leave it unbuttoned. Clyde does the sa, while Veronica is basically swaddled in hers.

Ahead of us, a higher-level Extraction Team disappears into the Gate. A few minutes later, our turn cos. Clyde takes the tablet containing the requisite maps. This ti, our job is to harvest Cold Shards.

The portal looms before us—a swirling vortex of pale blue light, humming with energy. I take a deep breath, adjust the straps of my backpack and take my spot at Veronica’s side.

This is it.

We step forward.

Light. Blinding, all-consuming light accompanied by the pulling sensation behind my navel I’ve co to expect with being teleported through portals.

I step forward, and for a second, I don’t exist. The world around ceases. My body feels like it’s been turned inside out and shoved through a at grinder made of static. And then—just as quickly as the sensation started, it’s over—I exist again.

Entering Dead World #16.

Cold.

So much colder than I thought.

A gust of frigid air slaps across the face, the kind of cold that sinks straight into bone marrow and makes you wonder if you’ve ever truly been warm in your entire life.

The world sharpens around . We’re in a snow-covered glade. Bare trees stretch toward the sky, their skeletal branches crusted with ice. The ground beneath is a thick, undisturbed sheet of pure white snow, and above, the sky is a piercing, cloudless blue that stretches on for as far as I can see.

It’s beautiful. Majestic, even.

It’s also freezing my goddamn ass off.

And then realization dawns on like a fucking anvil.

Not my ass.

My legs.

My legs are cold.

My exposed, completely bare legs.

I look down.

Oh. Oh no.

Silence.

I slowly look up to find both Clyde and Veronica as they, too, notice my current state of being.

Clyde is the first to react. He tilts his head, brow furrowing. “Bro…” He squints. “…are you wearing booty shorts?”

Veronica imdiately snaps her gaze away, a slight rise of color on her cheeks as though she’s experiencing secondhand embarrassnt on my behalf. A small chuckle escapes her, quickly followed by another that she tries—but fails—to smother with her hand.

Clyde, however, does not look away.

Clyde is staring directly at my thighs with a look that can only be described as a mixture of confusion, amusent, and so sort of deep existential questioning. Then, he starts to laugh. Hard. His laugh echoes through the naked trees.

I yank my insulated coat closed, but it does not solve the problem. My legs remain completely, stupidly, obscenely exposed. Like a winter-thed Winnie-the-Pooh.

“Ha, ha, ha. Yeah, yeah,” I say, voice tight with suffering. “It’s a long story. And I forgot about them. But—”

I don’t even get to finish the sentence.

Because that’s when the squirrels attack.