It was as if he had entered a strange and mysterious state, and he could even feel every subtle change in his body.

  His gaze gradually deepened as he fixed his eyes on the jam jar in front of him. Suddenly, it seemed as though a flash of brilliance passed through him.

  The jam jar seemed to be manipulated by an invisible hand, flying rapidly toward him.

  "Ah..."

  A loud, excited scream burst out of his mouth without restraint as Rassam leaped high into the air, fists clenched, his face flushed with excitement.

  "Level six, it must be above level six mental energy!"

  After calming down, Rassam picked up the jam jar, but he no longer had any appetite.

  At that moment, he had just proven something—his mental energy had reached the recognized level of six or above.

  Human mental energy and physical strength on Earth were classified into twenty levels. From a modern perspective, the first five levels of mental power and physical strength were easy to achieve for almost anyone.

  However, as the levels increased, the difficulty of cultivation grew exponentially.

  According to the official statistics of the Human Federation, ninety percent of humans stagnate at level five throughout their lives.

  Level five was a threshold. Every five levels represented a significant checkpoint, and those who could pass it could continue to improve through hard work. But those who couldn't... simply couldn't— their cultivation would stay at that level, unable to advance further.

  When it came to either physical strength or mental energy, reaching level six had a distinct marker: the ability to move objects with the mind.

  Being able to do this meant that one's mental energy or physical strength had reached at least level six.

  Until today, Rassam's physical strength and mental energy were both at level two.

  Considering his age, being able to train both his mental and physical abilities to level two was already quite impressive.

  But now, he had proven that he could use mental energy to move objects, which meant that his mental strength had surpassed the level five threshold and reached above level six. This achievement was truly hard to believe.

  There were, of course, some rare prodigies who broke through the level five limit before the age of twenty, but every one of them was considered an extraordinary talent, hailed as "the chosen ones" by the Federation. They were a privileged class within the Federation, with a bright future that everyone envied.

  Rassam would never have dared to imagine this before. But in this moment... the thought of possibly becoming one of these "chosen ones" made him feel uncontrollably excited.

  Level six—what a concept! Though there were countless humans with level six or higher mental energy, it was important to remember that the vast majority of Earth's humans would never break through level five in their lifetime.

  Once someone surpassed this limit, it meant they would gain numerous advantages. At the very least, by the time he graduated at fifty, Rassam would easily land a high-paying job.

  Rubbing his hands together, he had already decided that when he returned to the academy, the first thing he would do was find a detector to verify whether he had truly reached this level.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Although he trusted his own feelings, in this age where everything was measured by data, having machine confirmation was essential.

  "Beep beep..."

  The communicator on his wrist buzzed with a message.

  Rassam looked down and saw that it was from a friend at the academy. He opened it casually and asked, "What's up?"

  "Did you write the report?"

  "What report?"

  "Come on, did you forget? The observation report that Dr. Raka assigned in class! You have to read it aloud this afternoon. Don't tell me you forgot!"

  "Oh, I really forgot."

  Rassam quickly replied, "Thanks for the reminder. I'll do it right now, bye."

  He closed the communication and hurried back to his room, putting on the sensor.

  With the arrival of the space age, everyone had their own personal sensor. This device, which resembled an ordinary pair of glasses, had replaced the 21st century's most popular tool—the computer. All tasks could be completed in virtual space, and it could still connect to the Net.

  However, Rassam had no intention of logging into the Net right now. He was short on time.

  The sensor was very quick, and in an instant, he found himself in his personal virtual space.

  Everything in this space had been arranged by him—comfortable sofas, basic home configurations, and of course, the most valuable item: the giant fluorescent screen in front of him, which had cost him five thousand virtual coins.

  Even in virtual space, the system could capture the most subtle facial expressions. Rassam frowned and muttered, "What should I write?"

  In virtual space, there was no need to physically write. The sensor could instantly convert his brainwaves into text that appeared on the screen.

  He thought of a few sentences, but erased them. Writing about yesterday's experience in full?

  If he really did that, he'd probably end up on an operating table within a few days. He certainly wasn't ready to become a lab rat.

  Helpless, he exited the virtual space and stared at the sensor in his hand. It seemed like he'd definitely get scolded by Dr. Raka for forgetting the report. However, his mood wasn't downcast—after all, breaking through the fifth-level mental energy limit was far more exciting than writing a small report.

  Thinking back on what had happened yesterday, Rassam knew that his dream had not been a hallucination.

  He touched his left ear, where a small, unnoticeable bump had appeared. This tiny thing had completely changed his life.

  Were there such things as necromancers?

  It seemed there had never been any records of this in human history. Of course, records in fantasy books didn't count.

  But whether such beings existed or not, the strange training manual he had found was definitely a treasure.

  And then, the incantations—what were those?

  Rassam thought back to the descriptions of necromancers in fantasy books. Yes, controlling corpses.

  He searched around his room, but found no half-decayed bodies.

  Oh, he slapped his forehead lightly. He'd been too overwhelmed by everything today and had lost his clarity. This was his own room—if he really found a corpse, things would get ugly.

  He’d either be arrested by the police or get beaten to death by his parents...