Do ratmen dream of the sacred tree of spirits?

Chapter 19 Classroom

Fafnir got up at 6:00 AM sharp, immediately went to the logistics department to collect cleaning tools, and started mopping the floor.

He didn't want to miss Mr. Victor's spell class at eight o'clock; he had already obtained Mr. Victor's permission yesterday.

Just before the clock struck eight, Fafnir arrived at the large classroom on the first floor.

Fafner saw Mr. Victor smile at him from the podium and beckon him in.

"Good morning, Mr. Victor!"

"Good morning, Fafnir, please come in and find a seat."

Fafnir found a seat by the window, sat down properly, and sat upright. On the table was an old ledger for taking notes.

Several students nearby saw Fafner and were a little curious about the child who wasn't wearing a school uniform. Some of them also remembered what happened at the opening ceremony.

As the clock struck eight, the slightly noisy classroom immediately quieted down.

"Alright, students, happy Monday! Did you have a good Sunday?"

"Now we'll begin the second lesson of 'Introduction to Spells'." Victor's voice was loud and clear, and all the students in the large classroom could hear him clearly.

"Let's review what we learned last Monday."

Victor randomly pointed to a classmate and asked him to answer.

"Um... Last week you talked about the concept of first-order spells, and their connection with the spiritual? Oh no, I mean their connection with the spirit world... Also, the 'Fireball' spell, used in a meditative state... Um, I've forgotten a bit."

The student spoke awkwardly from his seat.

"Well, little guy, it seems you didn't study properly after you got home."

Victor pointed at Fafnir: "Hey student, come here, I need you to come up to the front. I want everyone to recall what we learned in the last lesson."

"Me?" Fafnir felt a little nervous. His classmates made way for him, and Fafnir went up to the podium.

"Alright, students, look at him," Victor pointed at Fafnir, "Let him demonstrate the 'Fireball' spell for you."

Fafnir was stunned.

Before he could even speak, Victor had already walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Relax," Victor said in a low voice, so low that only Fafnir could hear him, "follow my guidance."

A warm sensation seeped into his shoulder, as if someone had lit a lamp inside his body.

Fafnir subconsciously closed his eyes and silently recited the commandments, entering a meditative state almost instantly.

The spiritual threads appeared in my mind; they were much thicker than a week ago, and their silvery-white luster was more stable.

But this time, the threads did not remain scattered—Victor's spirituality, like an invisible hand, guided Fafnir's spirituality to weave in a certain direction.

Fafnir "saw" it.

A structure took shape in his mind, complex and multi-layered, like a flower bud yet to bloom.

Victor's spirituality etched some kind of mark on it, a series of instructions.

"Remember this feeling," Victor's voice echoed in my mind.

Before Fafner could answer, another stream of information came in.

Elvish.

It wasn't that he knew the common Elvish language, but rather an older, more syllable-dense variant.

A complete spell incantation was crammed into his mind, each syllable corresponding to a fold in the bud-like structure.

"...Fire element condensation...Spirit realm projection..."

Fafner could barely make out a few fragments, but most of the content was unfamiliar to him.

"Alright." Victor released his grip.

Fafnir opened his eyes and found himself still standing on the podium, with the students below staring at him. The whole process probably only lasted for a dozen seconds.

"Now," Victor stepped back two steps, his voice returning to normal volume, "try casting the spell, target—that empty barrel over there."

He pointed to the metal bucket in the corner of the classroom.

Fafnir took a deep breath.

Following the feeling he had just remembered, he infused his spirituality into the bud-shaped structure.

The Elvish incantations appeared automatically in his mind, without him having to actively recall them; it was as if they were etched into his muscle memory.

The flower buds have bloomed.

A fireball the size of a fist flew from his palm, leaving an orange-red trail, and crashed straight into the tin bucket.

"boom--"

The bucket was overturned, rolled twice, and left a charred mark on the side of the bucket. The classroom was quiet for a moment, and then a noisy discussion broke out.

"Quiet." Victor's voice drowned out all the chatter.

He walked to the bucket, bent down to look at the scorch mark, and nodded: "Not bad, you hit the target on the first cast, better than most of you."

He was speaking to the students, but Fafnir knew Victor was watching him.

"Alright, you can go back to your seat now," Victor patted Fafnir on the shoulder. "Thanks for the demonstration."

As Fafner walked back to his seat, he could clearly sense a change in the students' gazes as he passed several rows of desks.

In the next lesson, Victor began to explain the principles of the fireball spell.

How does spirituality transform into elemental energy? How does flame condense at the boundary between the spirit world and the material world? Which stage of spiritual transformation does each syllable of the incantation correspond to?

Fafner listened attentively, occasionally jotting down notes in the discarded ledger, but he noticed a strange phenomenon: he already "knew" most of what Victor was saying.

The knowledge was hidden in the spell-casting incantations implanted in him, like an instruction manual, gradually surfacing as Victor explained.

The bell rang, signaling the end of get out of class.

Students left the classroom in twos and threes. Some glanced at Fafnir as they passed by, but no one spoke to him.

Fafner didn't care and stuffed the discarded ledger into his pocket.

"Little Fafnir, you stay behind for a moment."

Victor sat by the podium and waved to him.

"Mr. Victor, that spell incantation just now..." Fafnir hesitated for a moment, "Was it in Elvish?"

“Yes,” Victor nodded, “the oldest Elvish variant, what about it?”

"It's nothing," Fafnir said, bowing his head. "I don't understand it very well."

"It's normal not to understand," Victor chuckled. "At your age, it's already quite an achievement to have mastered the common Elvish language. The incantation is directly implanted into your spirit. You don't need to understand the meaning of each syllable; just 'remember' its order and rhythm. When casting spells, your spirit will automatically invoke it."

Fafnir nodded.

"Oh, right," Victor remembered something, "this guiding spell is temporary, just like the previous vision, you need to solidify it yourself."

However, fireball is much more complex than clairvoyance. With your current spiritual energy, you can only cast it twice a day at most. Practicing it too much will hurt you.

"Mr. Victor, thank you very much, I will remember that."

"Little Fafnir, go ahead," Victor waved his hand. "Remember to eat plenty of meat for lunch. Casting spells consumes not only spiritual energy but also physical strength."

Fafnir bowed deeply and turned to leave the classroom.

The corridor was quiet; most students had already gone to their classrooms for the next class.