Chapter Four: The Young Prince Begins His Cultivation!

Half a year later, Linley had, to everyone's delight, mastered the Tadpole Script.

To learn such an ancient and profound script in so short a time was rare even in elven society. Stories spread throughout the palace, praising Linley as a child with an insatiable thirst for knowledge. As word reached the outside world, Linley’s fame grew once more.

Because of him, some elves began encouraging their children to study the ancient script. What was once an arcane language became a nightmare for countless young elves. For several years, “killing tadpoles” became the most popular after-class activity among elven children.

Few knew the truth: Linley actually hated the Tadpole Script. The reason he applied himself so diligently was that, one day, while delivering a novel to the Guardians, he noticed the mages transmitting a spell formation composed of tadpole characters into the Light Sphere.

Curious, he asked about it and was told it was a new spell the mages had devised to predict storms in the northern seas that year. The environmental data was too vast for any mage to use; only the Guardians could process it.

In that instant, Linley felt as though he had been struck by lightning—suddenly, everything made sense.

That damned Light Sphere was truly a magic computer. Except for differences in its construction, it functioned much like the computers from his previous life. It could process vast quantities of information, make predictions, and even assist in developing new spells—with the Tadpole Script as its programming language.

"Good heavens! I was a programmer in my past life!"

Linley picked up the memories he’d once tossed aside. Though they weren’t particularly precious, if he could apply his former programming skills to the Light Sphere, wouldn’t that be a way to earn himself some pocket money?

Enlightened, Linley turned his focus to study with newfound zeal—until, at last, after half a year, he not only mastered the Tadpole Script but also learned the art of programming with it.

On the day of his written exam, Linley eagerly prepared to give the Light Sphere a “minor operation,” only to be stopped by a mage in white robes.

“Your Highness, you may not access the Guardian yet.” He forbade Linley from approaching the input terminal. “The Guardian is the heart of our kingdom. Even a prince must first learn to use it properly before being granted access.”

Linley protested, “But how will I learn to use it if I can’t practice?”

“The Royal Library has a copy of the Codex of the Ancient Elven King,” the white-robed mage replied. “That book will teach you how to wield the power of the Guardian.”

Every royal mage, upon mastering the ancient script and spell-crafting, entered a period of practice, for which the Codex served as a training manual. Mages wrote spell programs in Tadpole Script within its pages; if the spell was feasible, the writing would remain, but if not, it would vanish overnight.

“Fill the Codex and submit it for our review. If there are no issues, you will be permitted to access the Guardian,” the mage instructed.

So Linley went to the Royal Library and borrowed the Codex of the Ancient Elven King.

“My goodness, how am I supposed to write in something this thick?”

The Codex was astonishingly heavy, as unwieldy as a massive dictionary. Linley frowned; it would take him a year to fill so many pages.

Back in his room, Linley sat at his desk, at a loss for what to write. While he had learned the programming method of this world, he knew nothing of spellcraft. Aside from mastering Tadpole Script and telling the occasional tale of immortal cultivators, he was clueless about how to create spells.

Since he knew nothing, Linley scratched his head and decided to write what he did understand, just to test if the book was as magical as claimed.

Besides, programming in this world seemed far too simple. He decided to try using some tricks from his previous life, just to see if they would work here.

He began to write—ten pages passed and he was still going. Bored to tears, he yawned through the task, forced himself to finish, then collapsed onto the desk and fell asleep, utterly unaware that the words on the Codex were beginning to shift and swirl.

Linley did not know that the Codex mentioned by the white-robed mage was actually a replica, a slim booklet of just twenty pages. The mage hadn’t emphasized this, as any request for the Codex at the library would result in a replica being issued.

However, the Royal Library also housed the true Codex of the Ancient Elven King, a tome reserved for royalty alone—and Linley, being royalty, was lent the original.

This true Codex differed fundamentally from its replica—it was imbued with immense magical power, and if one failed to close the book after writing a spell, it would cast the spell on its own accord.

After Linley fell asleep, the characters he had written began to glow and drift from the pages, forming lines that wrapped around his body…

That night, when Linwen finished his day’s work, bathed, and used an invisibility spell to check on his brother, he was greeted by a sight that made his blood run cold: Linley collapsed over the desk, his body icy to the touch.

“Linley!!”

Linwen’s scream shook the entire palace.

“The little prince is in trouble!”

Half an hour later, the king, his closest advisors, the royal guard, and several lords crowded into Linley’s bedroom, anxiously watching as the royal physician examined him.

“Stop pushing me!”

“You’re crowding me!”

“Who has bad breath? Move your head away!”

Outside, the hallway was packed as well, with countless heads squeezed against the door and windows—idle royal mages, all awaiting the diagnosis with grave expressions. Though the little prince could be exasperating, he was their cherished treasure; nothing must happen to him!

“Is the little prince all right?”

“I heard the guards caught a few assassins—was it them?”

“They claim they were just sightseeing!”

“Sightseeing, my foot! If those assassins harmed the little prince, I’ll skin them myself!”

Among the mages, the Chief Mage was the most furious—the little prince was to be his future grandson-in-law, after all. No one was more anxious than he.

The palace and its grounds were now under heavy lockdown, with guards and mages patrolling everywhere—the kingdom’s mightiest forces all watching over Linley.

The white-robed mage inspected the room, and, surprised, picked up the Codex lying on the desk. He felt the lingering traces of magic on its pages, but the energy within had vanished.

“Your Majesty, I believe I know the reason,” he suddenly announced, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Is it the Codex?” Linwen, the first to arrive at the scene, guessed at once. “Did Linley write some kind of spell?”

“I don't know—certainly not any ordinary spell. The Codex’s power has been completely drained,” the white-robed mage replied. The Codex had accumulated centuries of magical energy, yet now it was empty, and the writing had vanished.

“Judging from the residual spell fluctuations, it wasn’t an offensive spell,” he continued. “Nothing in the room is damaged, and the arcane aura is stable. The Codex must have released a gentle spell.”

At that moment, the royal physician, who had been examining Linley, finished his work.

“My guess is a transfer spell. The prince’s body has been thoroughly washed by arcane energy, but there’s no serious harm—the magic hasn’t dissipated.”

He pointed to Linley’s chest. “The energy is concentrated here. I believe the prince has transferred the Codex’s magical power into his own body. What’s odd is… the energy is unexpectedly stable, causing no further harm.”

“Stable?” The king frowned slightly.

“Very stable,” the physician affirmed. “The energy seems to have merged with the prince, and the location is not a traditional magic node. I cannot explain why the power remains there.”

No one else could make sense of it either.

“The dantian…” someone murmured. The king turned to look at Linwen. “What did you say?”

“That spot is called the dantian,” Linwen replied gravely. “In Linley’s tales of immortal cultivation, he described acupoints. I once asked him about them, and he explained some of it—the dantian is located right there.”

“The dantian!?” The king was stunned, and the white-robed mage fell into deep thought.

“The dantian? That sounds familiar…”

Outside, the sharp-eared elder mages also overheard.

“Isn’t that the acupoint where true energy gathers?”

“That’s right—it’s the core every cultivator uses. They gather true energy in the dantian, and can even form a golden core…”

“C-could it be that the little prince…” A royal mage stammered, “He’s… he’s about to embark on cultivation!”

“Heavens, the little prince is starting his cultivation!”

“But didn’t he say cultivation was just a story?”

“Don’t listen to him—he just didn’t want us to know he’d already started secretly cultivating!”

“Could it really be true?”

The royal mages were growing wildly excited.