Truth be told, Frick doesn't have the slightest resentment with his life, nor does he yearn for the idea of adding spices to ordinary life to make it exciting. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 infoFor most people, life is good enough to run smoothly, and they don't need to experience the trembling way of life during the war.

But the hallucinations and nightmares that had plagued him for the past few days were enough for him to overwhelm his body and mind, so he felt physically tired after a busy morning. Even if he wanted to curl up on the couch in the scholar's lounge and sleep for a while, he couldn't.

He usually likes to lean against the window of the lounge during his breaks, looking down at the scenery outside the window, while reading a book that he has pulled down from the shelf. But when he sometimes sees those prints as aliens with stretched tentacles, this kind of leisure is also difficult to calm his mood.

Frick hasn't had a good night's sleep in the past few days, because every time he lies in bed, it won't take long for him to fall into strange dreams uncontrollably. This is probably due to the fact that the events of these days have made his mind too nervous, and his mind is full of many strange thoughts and speculations, so as soon as he closes his eyes, those distorted hallucinations seem to appear in front of him immediately, and the ugly and distorted world seems to be within reach.

He couldn't really find any words to describe what he saw other than "ugly" and "abnormal," and he could hardly feel anything other than resentment at the culprit who had brought these disgusting sights before his eyes.

If the superficial appearance is true enough to illustrate the malice in it, then the world before his eyes is probably even more sinful than the Sin City in the Holy Book. Despite this, he knew that these things were nothing more than illusions of himself, and at best they were only subconscious reflections of malice into reality.

Compared with the fatigue that filled his body, his spirit inexplicably maintained a sense of exaltation, and even dispelled the sleepiness that should have flowed through his body with the fatigue of his limbs. Although it was difficult to find a moment of peace in the dream, it did not seem to affect his mental recovery, and only gradually ate away at his physical strength.

In the end, Frick decided to lie down on the couch and close his eyes for a while, and just in case, he drank the usual potion as William Coulter had requested. The moment the golden-red liquid was poured into his throat, he felt a thick magic flow into his body along with the steaming liquid.

Fifteen minutes, perhaps even less, the potion that Frick drank had its desired effect. The heat of the warm golden-red liquid spreads from the stomach to the limbs, and the fatigue of the body is gradually neutralized by the unusually high spirits—at the cost of a thick sleepiness.

The young scribe lay down on the soft couch with a snap, letting the tidal drowsiness drown him in the hope of a good night's sleep. He didn't want to rely on dreaming to glimpse the future or the past, not to mention that most of the possibilities revealed by "dreaming" were just hints that were difficult to decipher.

"I opened my hands and embraced the aetheric winds that filled the heavens. ”

Half-asleep and half-awake, I heard the voices of the children chanting in unison: "The atmosphere that gradually seeps into the body is like the hands of lovers, and they accompany each other under the starlight...... The vast wind kissed my cheeks, and the primordial fire shimmered between heaven and earth...... It was as if I had been encased in a box of flame flames, and I heard the impending sound of a storm echoing among the stars......"

Are there dozens, or hundreds? All of them are the crisp voices of young boys and girls who have not changed their voices. They recited strange passages aloud, the voices so close and distant that they almost echoed in their ears when they were near, and it was difficult to hear what they were reciting at a distance.

The scrivener's lounge was quite a short distance from the school, and even if the children were to gather in the auditorium to read in unison, the small room should not have heard them. And the "verses" that came to Frick's ears sounded strange, and he didn't remember anything like that in the textbooks.

Frick couldn't tell whether the neat chanting was the product of a dream or a reality, they were like mist that was vague and mixed in his consciousness. Some of the voices lurking in this recitation attracted him, and he unconsciously wanted to hear it more clearly.

But this may have been a wrong decision, and he fell into a subtle light sleep due to the drowsiness caused by the golden-red potion, and he could only silently let the children's recitation flow into his ears. Because he constantly wants to capture the passages of those words, his mind can't help but imagine the picture coming.

I don't know where I am, I can only feel the wind surging around me, as if they came from the end of the world, completely blocking the twelve directions. The atmosphere that should have been colorless was now dyed with an indescribable color, and the freely surging air was filled with countless aethers.

It was a storm that was absolutely not part of the material world, and the raging wind almost tore everything it touched into the most basic elements of all things. Although Flick's consciousness was somewhere between dream and reality, he could feel the burning sensation of the wind in every pore of his body.

Something unrecognizable to the naked eye fills the ambiguous space, silently flowing through the gaps in the garment into the body and under the skin. They apparently follow a certain pattern, and after a while in Frick's body, they converge into the "core" of the body.

This is followed by a subtle burning sensation that resembles the sensation of being exposed to the sun at midday in summer, not fatal, but distraught. This is a slight difference from the warmth of the potion when it was drunk, and it is not evenly distributed throughout the body.

He felt a little uneasy, and his body seemed to turn into an alchemy cauldron, and the air that was sucked into his body burned under the catalysis of the golden-red liquid. The "core", which gradually became hot, incorporates all the magic without convergence, and then converts them into more magical substances.

- Magical refinement.

It is called this process by those who are able to convert magic into phenomena, a dense compression of the loose and discontinuous magic in the body. This is a preparation for the more efficient use of personal magic, and the refined magic can more effectively infect reality and create phenomena.

To make a simple analogy, if the act of lighting a fire with a match is a phenomenon that occurs after casting a spell, then mana is the fuel, and the sorcerer's thinking ability is the fire. The process of lighting a match with your mind, making it burn with its fuel, and igniting a larger flame is spelling.

In other words, Frick's body is now unconsciously refining the magic at a speed that makes the body as a container uncomfortable. His consciousness seemed to have no way to stop this process, and could only feel the process of this flood of magic in a strange lethargy.

The magic around them gradually swirled into a whirlpool, and if anyone stayed in this lounge, they might see some light objects swirling towards Frick. Paper, napkins, and even dust...... These things were swept into the wall of wind, and they swirled briskly around him.

And the heat in his body finally stabilized after reaching a fixed level, just simply gnawing at the nearby magic and dissipating heat. The by-products of refining magic filled the room, making the lounge, which should be filled with cold winter air, as warm as a summer afternoon.

Frick, who was still asleep, was obviously unaware of the changes around him, but the scenery in his dream gradually changed shape. The silver door appeared before his eyes again, and it was clearer than ever, and he could even see the wonderful pattern depicted on the door.

It bears a striking resemblance to the temple gate that Frick saw when he first used the dream to experience the scenery in the book, but it didn't feel the slightest sense of reality. He tried to reach for the door, but he missed it by a fraction of a second, and his fingertips couldn't even touch the corners of the silver door.

Infinite reincarnation, if you walk in a corridor or staircase with no end in sight, it is not strange, but chasing a huge door can only make people feel speechless. For some reason, his heart was filled with the urge to open the door, but the door was not touched by him.

Eventually, a knock on the door woke him up from the scene, but it was a courtesy gesture, not a sign of knowing Frick's symptoms. Awakened from his slumber, Flick clumsily rolled over and stumbled to the lounge door, ready to open the door for the visitors.

A lot of sweat **** his clothes, it was as if he had accidentally fallen into the river just now - in the winter, if you don't do it well, it will kill you. So much so that the scribe who knocked on the door couldn't help but be stunned for several seconds when he saw such a Frick, before he could talk to him properly.

But fortunately, he was only here to inform Frick of something, and he was not interested in finding out why Frick was sweating profusely or the break room was messy. He just briefly talked about the topic of work and hurried away, as if there was other work to be done.

Looking at the clock hanging on the wall, it was already about to get off work, and the light sleep that was originally intended to rest for a while did not expect to consume almost the entire afternoon. The lounge, a little messy by the breeze, was so quiet that you couldn't hear the slightest sound of children reciting.

"Speaking of which...... There are still reservations for today. ”

Covering his head and shaking it, Flick muttered that the sight of his dream hadn't been left behind so quickly, and the sound of recitals that had disappeared still lingered in his ears. Strange dreams and illusions seemed to erode his mind, and sometimes he couldn't even tell which side was the dream.

Rather, because of the troublesome after-effects of a restless spell experiment, the encounter itself was already a bad enough dream.