The pile of scrolls lay across the wooden table, thick with knowledge and promise. John flipped through them, skimming page after page—and one thing beca clear: he hadn’t the slightest clue what any of it said.
The symbols danced like drunken worms on the parchnt. So looked like squiggly snakes, others like crushed insects. It was all gibberish to him.
"Ignorance is a headache," he muttered, squinting harder. "And the harder I try, the more it hurts."
He tossed the scrolls back onto the table in frustration, rubbing his temples.
He had the information—everything from this world’s history to its cultivation systems—but what good was it if he couldn’t read a single word? To an illiterate, knowledge was like a coconut in the hands of an ape. Useless. Mockingly useless.
"What a pain in my neck..." he groaned, reclining in the chair.
After a few monts of brainstorming, he made a reluctant decision.
"I guess I’ll have to rely on that thing again." He clicked his tongue. "It’s unreliable, annoying... but still a legacy of the Machine God. Might as well see if it’s got any miracles left."
Puffing up his chest a little, he called out, "System! I’ve got a task for you."
A familiar chanical voice echoed inside his head.
[Hello, Clan Founder John Singer. I’m ready.]
"Good. Try not to screw up this ti." He pointed at the scrolls. "Can you read all those for ?"
[Sure! Analyzing, analyzing, analyzing...]
[Analysis complete!]
John leaned forward. "So? Can you read them to ?"
[Read? I can do better. I’ll pass all comprehended mory data directly into your brain. Given Young Master’s... generous intelligence, there should be no side effects.]
"Generous, huh?" John narrowed his eyes. "Just do it."
[Initiating the program...]
Suddenly, a rush of energy surged through him. Knowledge flowed like a river bursting through a dam. His eyes snapped shut as visions assaulted his mind.
He saw civilizations rise and fall, tribes uniting and migrating, the birth of languages, the crafting of war tools, the shaping of moral codes, and the forging of agriculture.
It was like binge-watching a historical docuntary at ten tis the speed—but more vivid, more real. He felt every triumph, every disaster, as if he had lived it himself.
[mory Transference Complete!]
John’s eyes shot open. He blinked twice—and then began speaking in a tongue foreign just monts ago. Every word carried poise, elegance, and fluency.
If Damien were still here, he might have fallen off his perch in shock. John was speaking the Royal Tongue of the Three Fangs Kingdom, flawlessly.
[It’s working perfectly. Any further tasks?]
"No, that’s all. You’ve earned your nap. I’ll call when I need you next. Take a shut-eye."
[System going into dormant mode... Zzzz.]
With the system silent, John reached for the first scroll. As he unrolled it and read aloud, each word rolled off his tongue effortlessly, like an old storyteller revisiting his favorite tale.
The first scroll detailed the culture and ethics of the Three Fangs Kingdom.
"Hmm. Not bad. They are a civilized bunch, apparently. Seems like they value understanding, mutual respect... even cooperation. Lucky —I chose to reconcile with them."
He paused.
"Still... words are just words. No one knows what hides behind the polished facade of so-called goodness."
He moved to the next scroll, then another, and another. Each one layered his understanding, enriching his grasp of this world’s history, ideologies, political structures, even cuisine, and fashion. It was an intellectual feast.
Finally, he reached the scroll that caught his attention most.
Cultivation Systems and Their Comparative Structures.
His eyes lit up.
"Now this... is where it gets interesting."
John’s eyes glead as he read aloud:
"Cultivators are broadly divided into two types—viz: Mage and Paladin/Knight.
Mages are cultivators who excel with magical elents, studying the flow and nature of magical synergy around them. Their power depends heavily on their affinity—fire, ice, wind, lightning, earth, etc.—and their understanding of nature’s elental rhythm.
On the other hand, Paladins, or Knights, are natural-born cultivators whose strength lies in physical prowess. So are gifted with special physiques at birth; others temper themselves through relentless training. These warriors specialize in close combat, relying on their own bodies, weapons, and deep knowledge of anatomy, muscle control, and internal organs to amplify their strength."
John let out a slow exhale, pausing for dramatic effect.
"Both classes—Mage and Knight—advance through distinct cultivation realms.
For Mages, the ranks are:
Beginner Mage
Apprentice Mage
Junior Mage
High Mage
Senior High Mage
Master Mage
Senior Master Mage
Grandmaster Mage
Senior Grandmaster Mage
Great Grandmaster Mage
Senior Great Grandmaster Mage
And finally... Celestial
Each realm has nine grades, reflecting deeper comprehension and refinent of magical control."
He flipped to the next section.
"Similarly, for Knights/Paladins, the ranks mirror the structure:
Beginner Knight
Apprentice Knight
Junior Knight
...
Great Grandmaster Knight
Senior Great Grandmaster Knight
And the apex—Celestial"
John finished reading and placed the scroll aside. A beat of silence passed as he leaned back.
"So... magic scholars vs. muscle monks, huh?" he muttered, rubbing his chin with a talon. "Pretty standard classification... but elegant." Yes, he had already regained his bird form.
He narrowed his eyes, pondering.
"I’m definitely a mage. I’ve done magic stuff. Lightning, especially."
He glanced at his claws, which still sparked occasionally with silver arcs when he got emotional.
"But I’ve also trained my body. Flight, talon strength, martial techniques... I’ve been absorbing a lot like so crazy hybrid beast."
"...Wait." His eyes widened. "That’s exactly what I am."
He laughed, slapping the table with his wing.
"I’m a beast! Not human. That’s why I’ve both cultivation paths! Of course! I’m a walking, talking, feathered paradox!"
He cald down slightly and murmured, "Still... the real question is—how strong am I? Where exactly do I fit in this ranking system?"
He stood up, wings slightly spread, eyes locked on the open sky.
"System," he called with a grin, "if you’re still napping in there, wake up. I need a self-assessnt."
There was a mont of silence, and then a lazy hum as the familiar chanical voice returned:
[Yawn... Diagnostic Mode: Activated. Calculating current cultivation realm... Scanning physical prowess... magical synergy... anomaly readings...]
John waited, eyes twinkling.
[Cultivation Path: Dual-Mage and Knight]
[Current Magical Realm: High Mage (Grade 4)]
[Current Knight Realm: Junior Knight (Grade 9)]
[Special Note: Your cultivation is unconventional. Unique factors include beast body adaptation, divine inheritance residue, and chaotic affinity absorption.]
"Whoa-ho-ho..." John puffed out his chest. "A High Mage and a Junior Knight? No wonder I feel like a badass lately."
He chuckled, muttering to himself, "I’ve got power, a growing clan, a dumb sparrow butler, and now a mirror technique. What’s next? Wings made of thunder?"
The System chid again.
[Side quest suggestion: Unlock your innate lightning-wing trait.]
"...Wait, that’s actually a thing?!"
[Confird. Locked Trait: Stormfeather Wings – Status: Dormant.]
John grinned, wild and electric. "Now that... is definitely where it gets interesting."
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