Life within Deepblue was intense yet orderly. Time slipped away unnoticed, almost in a daze. Richard remained Richard, his life largely unchanged, except that inexplicable streams of income began appearing sporadically on his monthly ledger, with "Helen Su's Joy" consistently being the largest contribution. Richard never understood how he brought Helen "joy," but every time he saw the ledger, he tangibly felt the weighty value of the legendary mage's happiness. At the very least, if a Grand Magister desired such "joy," they would likely go bankrupt before long.

  Although Helen remained perpetually joyous, Richard consistently only managed to break even financially. A mage's training consumed resources on a scale unimaginable to ordinary people, practically without limit. Furthermore, Richard’s recently received course schedule had changed. Besides the large lectures open to everyone—like Magical Philosophy, Continental Politics, and Introduction to Alchemy—the number of small-group courses on his schedule had suddenly increased dramatically. Sometimes, when he entered the classroom at the designated time, he would discover he was the only student for certain subjects.

  This was definitely not a good thing! At least, that’s how Richard saw it. Every instructing magister received corresponding payment, and according to regulations, this payment was shared among all students attending the class. Being tutored alone meant Richard had to bear the entire cost of the instructor's fee himself. Consequently, the expenditure items on his monthly ledger were also rapidly ballooning.

  However, Richard noticed that after the legendary mage's first instance of joy, the attention he received from those around him suddenly increased significantly. People frequently pointed at him while passing by, during chance encounters, or even in class, subsequently whispering amongst themselves. Richard's perception wasn't yet strong enough to discern the content of their conversations, nor did he care to. But this constant feeling of being watched made young Richard feel ill at ease all over.

  The legendary mage's so-called strict secrecy had lasted less than a week before she herself told her inner circle about taking a future Rune Graft as her student. These individuals couldn't hold out for a full month before relaying the news to their own trusted confidants. This cycle repeated, and in less than two months, the entire Deepblue knew that a future Rune Graft was emerging. Although the future held infinite uncertainty, since this evaluation came from Helen Su, it was considered infallibly correct. Even if some harbored doubts, none would be foolish enough to voice them. Idiots who always spoke the truth would be dealt with by plenty of others eager to curry "Helen Su's Joy," without the legendary mage needing to lift a finger.

  Thus, by now, only one person in the entire Deepblue didn't know who that future Rune Graft was: the poorly informed Richard himself. Of course, Richard wasn't entirely oblivious to the anomalies. For instance, he didn't know why, but courses related to magic formations—mathematics, geometry, composition, aesthetics—had suddenly multiplied in his schedule. Some courses, even if they started with classmates in the foundational sections, eventually dwindled until he was the sole student. However, Richard’s reaction to these anomalies was merely a slight worry about the increased expenses the courses implied.

  Recently, Richard’s schedule underwent another change: painting tutorials began to increase substantially, starting with the basics of sketching. Richard embarked on learning yet another entirely new field. But the homework he submitted consistently left the Grand Painter, once renowned throughout Norland, at a loss whether to laugh or cry. Each of Richard's sketches was precise to the extreme, leaving the master unable to find a single flaw. But where was the spirit? Painting was art, not simple reproduction of reality. Yet, if the reproduction of reality reached a point indistinguishable from reality itself, could that too be called a form of art? So, every time this Grand Painter saw Richard's work, his chest tightened with the urge to vomit blood. Those drawings, accurate to a hundredth of a centimeter, felt like massive stones crashing heavily onto his chest, crushing his faith in and understanding of art again and again.

  How could it be so precise! How?!

  Yet, from beginning to end, the Grand Painter couldn't utter a single word of rebuke. While Richard's drawings didn't conform to conventional artistic principles, anything pushed to an extreme could be considered a kind of art. Moreover, as a Level Fifteen Grand Mage himself, the painter understood that while Richard might lack artistic sensibility, for a mage, especially a Rune Graft, such precision was a unique and unparalleled talent. Therefore, he absolutely couldn't say anything inappropriate. After all, no matter how passionate he was about art, he couldn't ignore the weight of "Helen Su's Joy." Just as a building needs a foundation, art needs bread and gold coins for sustenance.

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  And if his preferences ruined a future Saint Rune Graft, what he would face then would be "Helen Su's Fury." Just imagining that potential prospect made this fastidious Grand Mage and Grand Painter prefer being violated by Polar Greydwarves.

  Richard, meanwhile, occasionally fretted over his ledger. He now had many more "assignments." On average, each night required him to complete one small painting, two to five magic formation decomposition diagrams, and a large volume of planar geometry homework. Setting aside the difficulty of the content, the crucial point was the exorbitant cost of the stationery required. First were the writing tools, consuming vast quantities of special magic paper—like Star-Patterned Paper, Moon-Marked Paper, Abyssal Nightmare Cloth, etc.—and various inks, ranging from common Shadow Ink to Lolthian Hell Blood. Anyway, the common feature of these materials was their expense, and generally, the longer the name, the pricier they were. As for planar geometry, due to its three-dimensional composition, it had to be completed using the magical projections of an experimental alchemy table, consuming a quantity of mana crystals Richard no longer had the heart to calculate. All in all, he often saw attendants carrying in boxes of brand-new mana crystals and carrying out the empty ones.

  If not for the continued sustenance from the legendary mage's joy, Richard truly didn't know how he would carry on. Even now, he was barely managing to maintain a balance between income and expenditure. He faced a similar deficit regarding the use of his time. Besides classes and homework, he also needed to meditate and practice magic techniques. The time currently allocated to this part had already been compressed to the absolute limit; reducing it further would genuinely impact the growth of his own mana.

  When setting the expected rate of mana growth, Richard used the average level observed among low-level mages as his benchmark, not comparing himself to outliers like Minnie. Even just maintaining a basic rate of magical progress required relying on mana recovery potions. At 500 gold coins per vial, one potion a day amounted to fifteen thousand gold coins a month. Another hefty expense.

  There was too little time. The only option left for Richard was to cut down on sleep. But he was at a crucial stage of growth. The specially prepared food supplied daily contained the flesh and blood of several rare magical beasts, meant to condense essence blood and accelerate physical development. To fully utilize the medicinal effects of such special ingredients, sufficient sleep was essential. Fortunately, Deepblue offered many methods for shallow meditation during sleep. Although the effects were limited, it was better than nothing.

  The problem Richard now faced was having too many things to do and too little time. How to allocate limited time and resources to achieve maximum overall effect was clearly a mathematical problem. And the difficulty of this problem increased linearly with the number of variables. Richard spent four full days meticulously sorting through his tasks, categorizing them, listing necessary steps, pushing his intellect talent to its limit, and calculating the optimal allocation of materials, time, and actions before finally solving the problem that had been troubling him. Those four days were extremely worthwhile because as soon as the plan took shape, his 'Precision' talent immediately generated a comparison of the new and old plans' efficiency. Without optimizing for maximum overall effect, Richard would have wasted more time within a month than the total sum of those four days.

  But this way, Richard found himself living like the most precise alchemical machine. Yet, what did it matter? His world had already become digitized; he didn't mind his life becoming a bit more mechanical.

  Thus, amidst a life as precise as a magic clock, Richard welcomed his first spring in Deepblue, and also his eleventh birthday. That morning, he stood before the mirror, looking at his reflection.

  Facing him was already a young adolescent. Because children from the mountains often grew taller, and the specially supplied food had accelerated and solidified this growth process, Richard was now more than half a head taller than his peers, looking more like thirteen or fourteen. His face had almost completely shed its childishness, and his calm eyes could easily be mistaken for those of an adult. Perhaps due to experiencing too many upheavals, or perhaps inherited from his father Gorton's bloodline, the contours of Richard's face already had hints of hard lines, lending him a somewhat masculine air. On the other hand, his features more strongly inherited the traits characteristic of Silvermoon Elves: long, slightly curved eyes, delicate yet distinct, well-defined eyebrows, and a high, straight nose—all features typically found only among high-born pure-blooded High Elves. Richard didn't care much about his appearance, but the extensive painting and aesthetics courses had made him understand that his looks weren't bad…

  They were very rare… his 'Precision' talent immediately corrected his erroneous thought.

  But so what? Young Richard thought nothing of it. Half a year of intensive education had deeply imprinted the Deepblue philosophy onto his thinking: Power is everything, and beautiful things are merely appendages of power, just as beautiful women are essential medals for important figures.

  Of course, his ever-expanding knowledge also let Richard know that, often, handsome men were even rarer medals.

  Regardless, this year Richard turned eleven. Children in the mountains matured early; it wasn't unheard of for them to start families at twelve. Recalling the first ten years of his life, whenever it was his birthday, Elani would summarize the past year for him, telling him what he had gained. But this year?

  On his eleventh birthday, all Richard had was a mirror reflecting himself, and the unquenchable, blazing fire in his memory.