Do ratmen dream of the sacred tree of spirits?

Chapter 42 Fireball

A fireball rose from Fafnir's palm, gleaming with an almost white, incandescent light; the surrounding air was distorted by the intense heat.

Cecilia appeared at the edge of the clearing at some unknown time; she probably sensed the spiritual fluctuations and came over.

Without hesitation, Fafnir, sensing the successful construction of the runes and the full infusion of spiritual energy, released the white fireball, which struck a stone wall fifty meters away.

"boom--"

A cracking sound rang out, sending up rubble and dust, and the ground shook.

Several students covered their ears.

Large dents appeared on the wall, the bricks at the edges were burned to a dark red by the high temperature, and gravel fell down in a rustling sound.

Several withered vines on the wall were ignited, crackling and burning with flames.

The open space was quiet for a moment, but soon the students were amazed by what they saw.

"My God!" "Fireball? This can't be right!" "Assistant Fafnir is amazing! I never noticed before..."

Victor walked over, examined the blasted-open stone wall, and turned to Fafnir: "Was that a Fireball spell?"

"Yes, Mr. Victor." Fafnir lowered his hand from the Pyroblast spell.

His hands were trembling; having exhausted almost all his spiritual energy, his head felt like it was about to split open, and his temples throbbed with pain.

But Fafnir did not show it as much as possible, and stood very straight.

Mr. Victor reached out a hand and gently placed it on Fafnir's head. Fafnir immediately felt a gentle spiritual energy slowly flowing into him:

"My little Fafnir, when did you start practicing? This isn't a good thing. Excessive spiritual energy consumption at once can damage your body. I only gave you the incantation guidance to familiarize you with the structure of second-tier spells."

You need to cultivate your spirituality first, ensuring your spiritual reserves reach at least fifty standard spiritual units before practicing second-tier spells.

Okay, you don't need to write anything down for me anymore. I've used my spiritual power to ease your discomfort a little, but you still need to go to your dorm and get some rest as soon as possible.

"I started practicing after you taught me the rune structure of Pyroblast," Fafnir replied.

"thank you."

"How many times did you practice?"

"I practice every day, and I've succeeded twice before. This is the third time."

Victor looked at him, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

"Tell me before your next practice session," Mr. Victor said. "I'll keep an eye on you so you don't blow yourself up."

"Thank you for your help."

Fafnir turned around and looked at Joël.

Joelle stood still, motionless.

She stared at the still-smoking crater in the wall, her lips slightly parted, her azure eyes reflecting the rubble and firelight.

Her eyes were still red, but no tears fell—she held them back.

"Your Excellency Joël," Fafnir's voice was weary but still steady, "you asked me why I was appointed a Second-Class Assistant Priest, why I wear this priestly robe. Now you see?"

Joel remained silent.

"You are the viscount heir of the Lorraine family, and you've had everything you could want since you were a child—how long have you been practicing that fireball spell?"

Joelle's lips moved slightly, and his voice was very soft: "Fireball spell, it took me... three months to master it."

"Three months? That's about the same effect as the fireball I cast on my first day of practice," Fafnir said.

"I practiced the second-tier Fireball spell for more than half a month, trying it every day, exhausting all my spiritual energy, until I had headaches, bled, and couldn't sleep at night."

He stretched out his right hand, the hand that had just cast the Fireball spell, his fingers still trembling slightly.

"I have nothing. When I practiced magic, no one forced me or urged me. I forced myself."

Because I know that if I don't fight hard, I'll always be what others call a rat-man's servant, a pet, a "bastard."

He lowered his hand:

"You are born noble, you don't need to work hard. Just stay in the castle, be your heir to the viscountcy, and when you reach the age to inherit the title, you will have everything."

"You don't even need to know fireball—with a guardian like Cecilia protecting you, what difference does it make whether you know magic or not?"

Joelle's eyes reddened even more, but she still didn't cry.

She bit her lip hard, until her lips turned white.

“But you just happened to come to grammar school,” Fafner said.

"You chose Mr. Victor's class of your own, and you insisted on competing against me. Do you know what that means?"

Joelle did not answer.

"It means you don't want to just be the heir to the viscountship," Fafner said. "You want to prove yourself."

Joelle's body trembled slightly.

“On this point,” Fafner’s tone softened, no longer as aggressive as before, “I respect you.”

“But,” Fafnir changed the subject, “you don’t respect me. You can be upset, you can want to compete with me, but you shouldn’t call me a ‘pet.’”

"You can say I am a ratman, that's true. You can say I am a descendant of servants, that's also true."

But you shouldn't call me a pet—you should know in your heart that I'm not.

Joelle's eyes finally couldn't hold back her tears any longer, and a tear slid down her cheek.

She quickly wiped it off with the back of her hand.

Then another drop,

But she didn't cry out loud; she just stood there, biting her lip, tears streaming silently down her face.

Cecilia walked over from the edge of the open space and stood half a step behind Joelle. She didn't touch her or say anything; she just stood there.

"You're right," Joelle finally spoke, her voice trembling slightly, but clearly: "I was wrong."

"I do not accept your apology, Your Excellency, Heir to the Viscount's Throne! Goodbye!"

"I'm so sorry, I didn't come here to humiliate you," she said. "I'm just... not convinced."

……

get out of class is over.

Fafnir watched Joël's retreating figure.

She's proud, unwilling to admit defeat, and stubborn, but at least she dares to admit defeat in front of everyone; she's relatively frank.

It's better than those who scheme against people behind their backs.

Mr. Victor patted Fafnir on the shoulder: "By the way, Fafnir, repair the fence before the holiday, and ask the logistics department for bricks."

"……yes."

Mr. Victor smiled. "However, what you said earlier was quite good. She needs to hear this."

Okay, go back and rest now.

The students gradually dispersed from the open space. Raymond was still immersed in the scene that had just unfolded: "Fafner, that... was that really a second-tier spell? That was amazing."

"Um."

"You're not even nine years old yet."

"Yes."

Raymond was silent for a moment, then said, "Fafner, good luck."

Fafner didn't respond.

He walked back to the faculty dormitory, pushed open the door, lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

The ledger surfaced in my mind.

"Fireball (Tier 2) (3/100), Change: Fireball +1."