Chapter Five: Is This Really the Right Thing to Do?

Linley’s internal clock was peculiar—he would always wake up automatically at six and roll out from under his bed. This morning was no different; he blinked his eyes groggily.

“Good heavens!”

He jolted upright, pressing his back against the wall. “Why are you all up so early today?”

Surrounding his bed were several old men, their faces creased with amiable smiles as they gazed at him. “Your Highness, did you sleep well last night?”

“Fine, fine…” Linley nodded, his skin crawling with unease. Yet his whole body ached with soreness, his face turning pale. Had something delightful happened last night? Why was he so sore? And why were these old men smiling so cheerfully?

Cautiously, he reached back to feel his bottom—no pain, which was odd. There should at least have been some lingering pleasure, shouldn’t there?

“Ahem…” At that moment, the Chief Mage stepped forward, producing the Codex of the Ancient Elven King. “Your Highness, you used this yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Yes, why?”

Fu Bai hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

The mages’ eyes grew even brighter, exchanging meaningful glances.

“What exactly did you write yesterday?” the Chief Mage continued.

“Nothing much, just scribbled a bit.” Linley sensed something was off. “Can’t you just look for yourselves?”

“If we could, why would we ask you?” the mages muttered silently. The words on the codex had already vanished; they had no idea what Linley had written.

“Your Highness, why not write down what you wrote yesterday once more?” The Chief Mage masked his intentions with a big smile.

“Write it again?” Linley’s eyes flickered. No matter how calm these mages pretended to be, they couldn’t fool his nose—he could smell their curiosity.

Sliding down from the wall, Linley crossed his legs on the bed, grinning widely. “You want to know, don’t you?”

The mages’ eyelids twitched. They were all too familiar with that dazzling smile—every time Linley was up to something, he smiled just like that.

“He’s figured us out so quickly—his reflexes have evolved from rabbit to rat!” The thought made them itch to smack him. Still, desperate to know what had been written in the codex, they swallowed their frustration and coaxed him in gentle tones, “Oh great prince, please tell us.”

“Heh, that’s easy enough…” Linley pointed at the door. “But first, I need to change. Wait for me outside.”

Obediently, the mages filed out and waited at the door. Half an hour passed. Sensing something was wrong, the Chief Mage cracked open the door—inside, the little prince was nowhere to be seen.

“That rascal’s escaped again!”

Having slipped out the window, Linley munched happily on his breakfast. He’d learned from a maid what had happened the previous night. No wonder the mages were so curious—he’d actually started cultivating!

He had indeed created a program to convert magical energy into cultivation energy, and, against all odds, it had worked on the very first try. It was unbelievable!

Why was cultivation so easy? There was no challenge at all! This defied reason—one attempt and he’d succeeded. Cultivation maiden, could you not play so hard-to-get?

He had originally planned to use the mages as test subjects. They were desperate enough for cultivation that they’d have willingly cooperated. Now all those schemes were dead in the water…

“What a pity.” Linley finished his breakfast and stepped outside, only to find the mob of mages charging toward him again. “Found him!”

One mage reached out to grab him, but Linley reflexively pushed forward, saying, “Don’t come near me!”

He swore he’d barely used any force, yet the old mage seemed as light as paper, crashing against the wall with a bang and vomiting blood.

All the mages stared, eyes wide. Linley’s heart skipped a beat. He stared dumbly at his own hands. In less than five seconds, he made a decision.

He pushed another fat mage with the same amount of strength.

The fat mage coughed up blood and flew backward.

“Huh?” Linley’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Why are you so light, too? I barely pushed, and you flew!”

The remaining mages slammed on the brakes, retreating five meters in unison!

They gaped at Linley. He felt a little sheepish. “I just wanted to test again, didn’t expect he’d be so light as well…”

“Light!”

The mages were stunned. Impossible! That last mage was two hundred pounds—if it were someone frailer, he’d be crawling on the floor by now!

Exchanging uncertain glances, something seemed to dawn on them, and they gasped in unison.

“So strong! His Highness is so strong!”

“How can he have so much power?”

“It must be cultivation! To think it could be this powerful—we really have been on the wrong path!”

“A thousand years—no, ten thousand years!”

The mages broke out in fervent discussion. Linley waved his hand in front of their faces, but none paid him any mind—they were in a trance, as though bewitched.

Linley sighed. He had always suspected the day would come when these mages lost their minds, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

He turned back into the dining room and asked a maid for a cup of tea.

Yet, halfway through his tea, he found himself surrounded by the strange mages once more.

“Your Highness, do you know what the greatest weakness of mages is?”

“Weakness?” Linley hadn’t expected the topic to shift so quickly. “Isn’t it constipation?”

“Constipation? Of course not! …It’s constitution.”

The Chief Mage shook his head.

“From childhood, our teachers instructed us in meditation, teaching us to commune with arcane forces—every day, we spend hours meditating, strengthening our minds, but never truly resolve our physical fragility.”

“Without defensive magic, a child with a dagger could pierce our hearts.”

The mages recalled the past. Seeing Linley’s strength, their hopes for the future rekindled.

“Our souls command great power, yet our bodies remain fragile—Your Highness, it’s thanks to you that we realize our error.”

“If you would share your wisdom with us, we could correct ten thousand years of mistakes!”

A host of eager eyes fixed on Linley.

“You’ll get nothing from me unless there’s something in it for me,” Linley replied, unmoved.

He rolled his eyes inwardly. These fools still didn’t understand—the reason for their frailty was simple. Mages spent all their training time sitting and meditating, so of course they suffered chronic occupational ailments!

Linley had no desire to practice magic himself—his cervical spondylosis in his previous life had been torment enough. Now that he finally had a new body, he certainly didn’t want to take up a profession so prone to illness.

These mages clearly had an intelligence score of five. After ten thousand years of occupational disease, they still hadn’t thought to spend a few hours a day exercising. Instead, they obsessed over cultivation. Pure laziness—it was no wonder the elves’ birthrate was so abysmal.

As Linley silently complained, in the Hall of Guardians, white-robed mages and another group of royal mages watched a glowing orb with tense anticipation.

“Will the Grand Prophecy succeed?”

“In theory, if the prince continues cultivating, we can learn from him. We just need to predict how successful his future cultivation will be.”

Around the orb, countless glowing runes swirled. The Grand Prophecy was in motion—a spell usable only once every century, and each use brought catastrophe upon the kingdom. But no one cared about that now.

The mages had set it to foretell Linley’s future achievements in cultivation.

Half an hour later, the glowing runes in the hall gradually faded.

“Guardian, what did the prophecy reveal?”

“Yes, we did get a result.”

A wave of joy swept the room. “So what did it say? Will His Highness succeed at cultivation?”

The orb spoke in a grave tone. “I believe we must restrain Linley’s temperament. If he is left unchecked, he will destroy the planet in thirty years.”

A nervous gulp swept through the mages. “In thirty years, His Highness could destroy the planet—amazing!”

“That is my conjecture, but I did see him slay a dragon with his bare hands and make off with its treasure…” The orb added cheerfully, “I also saw him chop down the World Tree of the Primordial Elves with a flying sword, then use it to cook dragon porridge.”

“Ohhhhhh!”

The mages were beside themselves with excitement. “That must be right! That World Tree is taller than Mount Hael, and it’s the lifeblood of the Primordial Elves. For His Highness to chop it up for firewood, he must have reached the pinnacle of cultivation!”

“Amazing!”

“We mustn’t restrain His Highness—let him develop freely!”

Once-in-a-century Grand Prophecy—its result had the mages overjoyed. But… was this really a good idea?