In the spacious study, candlelight flickered softly, stretching long shadows across the walls.
Magus sat behind his desk, immersed in a thick volume titled Extraction and Modification of Green Chameleon Abilities.
The Green Chameleon was renowned for its remarkable talent—its body could alter color in response to environmental changes. This physiological phenomenon was driven by the autonomic nervous system, which expanded or contracted pigment cells within the skin. Compared to ordinary chameleons, the Green Chameleon's transformation was several magnitudes stronger—so refined that its body could become nearly invisible to the naked eye. Even standing directly before a normal person, it was difficult to perceive.
The book's author had taken this natural ability, extracted and enhanced it through modification, and then transplanted the result into the human body. Humans, through this experiment, could theoretically gain similar color-changing powers.
It was, in Magus's view, an ingenious concept.
But ultimately, not a very practical one.
At its essence, this ability merely changed one's outward appearance to match the environment. No matter how fast the process occurred, it still required time—fractions of seconds that created a perceptible delay. An ordinary person might overlook it, but any Wizard Apprentice with sharpened senses would notice immediately.
Thus, the ability was effective only against commoners or knights, but virtually useless against even a low-level wizard. Compared to true invisibility, it was a pale imitation.
True Invisibility, after all, was a Second-Circle Spell—one that a Third-Level Wizard Apprentice could learn and master.
For that reason, such physical modifications were often undertaken only by those who had given up hope of ever advancing to the Third Level.
And physical modification was not something to be performed lightly. The human body, while remarkably malleable, bore the scars of every change. Wizards frequently used it as an experimental medium precisely because it adapted so well—but once modified, it became exceedingly difficult to apply further improvements or bloodline fusions.
Therefore, although many wizards were willing to alter themselves, they did so with utmost caution.
If Magus were to choose, he certainly would not graft this color-changing ability onto his body. Still, the book held considerable academic value—its research methods and runic diagrams could prove useful for future experimentation.
Closing the tome, Magus laid it aside and unrolled a parchment scroll covered with intricate markings—the Energy Rune.
After a moment's thought, he opened a drawer and drew out several glittering gems, arranging them neatly on the desk.
The reason an Energy Rune could only be cast by a Third-Level Wizard Apprentice was simple: it consisted entirely of condensed energy particles. Manipulating such particles required extreme precision and strength of control. A First-Level Apprentice could merely sense energy particles, while a Second-Level one could barely nudge them—neither capable of sustaining the complex structure of an Energy Rune.
But if the rune were given a carrier—something to stabilize its form—then even a weaker Second-Level Apprentice might wield it successfully.
Many practitioners in Magus's past life had exploited this loophole, casting Energy Runes beyond their rank by embedding them into suitable carriers.
Among such carriers, gems were the most effective.
"Of course," Magus murmured, turning a gem under the candlelight, "it makes the rune a one-time consumable. Each cast burns a gem into dust. Painful—but perhaps worth the cost."
The world, he had already learned, was far more perilous than he had imagined. Even a legendary figure like the Storm Earl had once been ambushed and left grievously wounded by an assassin. If someone of that level could be felled, then Magus could not afford complacency.
To ensure his survival, every new method of combat was worth pursuing.
First, I'll master this technique, he decided. When I reach Second Level, I'll craft my first Energy Rune gem.
With the decision made, he pushed aside distractions and focused on deciphering the complex formulas inked on the scroll.
Days slipped by in silence.
Five days later, a new notification shimmered faintly across his mental panel—Puppet Refining: 100%.
Magus smiled faintly. At last, he had completed the learning process, and the Puppet Refining Skill was now integrated into his repertoire.
Standing before the laboratory doors, he gazed at the newly forged equipment arranged neatly within—each tool gleaming under the lamplight. The blacksmiths had worked quickly; Magus had provided them detailed blueprints copied from his own records after his return from the Black Stone Mining Area. The completed instruments had arrived several days earlier, awaiting this very moment.
Now, with both equipment and knowledge in place, he was ready to attempt his first true refinement: the Black Rock Leopard.
Over ninety percent of the creature's body was composed of black stone iron—a rare, heavy alloy prized for both resilience and conductivity. It formed the puppet's skeletal frame and armored hide. The second essential component was the energy core.
For this, Magus chose a gem.
Ideally, a soul crystal would have been used. But Magus neither possessed one nor yet understood the method to craft them—and even if he did, he lacked the necessary materials.
Soul crystals, as their name implied, were condensed from purified souls. To forge even the lowest-grade crystal, one required the essence of a thousand ordinary souls—or dozens belonging to knights. Such resources were far beyond Magus's current means.
So he would make do with gems as substitutes for energy cores.
With detailed experimental records and his newly mastered refining skill, Magus began the process. Hours later, smoke cleared, and before him stood a sleek, obsidian-hued puppet in the shape of a leopard.
He had succeeded on his first attempt.
What surprised him most was that the Black Rock Leopard could be stored within the Synthesis Cube—the same mysterious artifact that had aided him countless times.
[Black Rock Leopard (Puppet / Elementary Knight Level):
A construct forged from black stone iron. Possesses the ability to stealth within black stone iron veins and can replenish its energy or repair damage by devouring black stone iron.]**
"So," Magus mused, "non-living creations can also be synthesized and upgraded through the Cube."
That realization opened endless possibilities. He could merge and evolve his puppets into stronger constructs—perhaps even armies.
As for the ability described—stealth within black stone iron veins—he recalled encountering the same note in Anger MacLean's experimental diary. At the time, he had been somewhat disappointed; he'd imagined the creature capable of burrowing and vanishing into solid rock, a form of true rock-stealth.
But the record clarified otherwise.
"If it really possessed full rock stealth," Magus chuckled softly, "it wouldn't be just a low-tier puppet."
He turned his gaze toward the remaining pile of black stone iron stacked in the corner of the room.
"Refining one Black Rock Leopard consumes about five tons of material," he calculated. "Add a low-grade gem for the core… total cost: roughly thirty-eight gold coins."
Thirty-eight coins—enough to purchase two or three well-bred warhorses. Still, measured by combat power, the puppet offered far greater value.
He shrugged. "Let Tyrion handle the finances. I'll focus on the refining."
Higher-tier puppets, he knew, were designed to draw energy directly from the ambient environment—absorbing stray energy particles from the air to sustain themselves and mend injuries. But the Black Rock Leopard was a basic model; it lacked such autonomy. Its only means of recovery was to feed on black stone iron.
Even so, Magus doubted the practicality of ambient absorption here on the Starlight Continent. The density of free energy particles was simply too low.
"Even if I did forge an advanced puppet," he murmured, "it probably couldn't gather enough energy from the air to matter."
Still, as he watched the dark feline form before him, a faint spark of satisfaction flickered in his eyes. This was tangible progress—a creation of his own hands, bound by both magic and science.
He reached out, brushing his fingers along the puppet's cool metallic surface. The faint hum of energy vibrated beneath his touch, like a heartbeat forged from stone and will.
A beginning.
And perhaps, in time, the foundation for something far greater.
Author's Notes
This experiment marked a turning point for Magus. The path of synthesis was not merely one of replication, but of evolution. Each creation—each refinement—brought him a step closer to bridging the divide between human ingenuity and arcane perfection.
The world outside remained perilous, filled with warring factions, shadowy assassins, and secrets buried beneath ancient ruins. Yet within his laboratory, surrounded by candlelight and tools of his craft, Magus felt a rare calm.
He had chosen his path: to forge strength not through reckless modification, but through understanding—the harmony of runes, energy, and creation itself.
And somewhere deep within the glimmering depths of the Synthesis Cube, new possibilities stirred, waiting to be awakened.