Ultimately, the intense excitement of finally holding the legendary spell structure completely overthrew his lingering doubts about the librarian’s sudden change in character.

It did not matter if the old man was acting distant or if the atmosphere in the room felt slightly off. What mattered was the glowing jade slip resting securely against Rhys’s palm.

He stepped forward and placed his official identity token onto the dark wood of the front desk, sliding it over alongside the cool surface of the jade slip.

The eccentric librarian did not say a word at first. He simply picked up the token and tapped it against a glowing crystal matrix built directly into his desk.

A soft chime echoed through the quiet archive as the required credits vanished from Rhys’s account balance.

With a faint click, the protective enchantments surrounding the jade slip faded away entirely, signaling that the transaction was complete.

"You have exactly one day to read the spell," the librarian said, his voice flat and completely devoid of its usual warmth.

Before Rhys could even respond or ask a follow-up question, the old man leaned back into his large chair, closed his eyes, and immediately began dozing off again.

Rhys noticed the precise choice of words the old man had used. The librarian had specifically told him he had one day to read the spell, rather than one day to learn it.

It made perfect sense from an outsider’s perspective.

It was considered absolutely impossible for an ordinary mage to fully comprehend and learn a complex spell structure in a single twenty-four-hour period.

Normal casting required weeks, if not months, of tedious meditation, trial, and error to safely imprint the magical runes onto a person’s spell book, so they could start casting.

The old librarian had no way of knowing that Rhys did not operate by the standard rules of magic. Rhys did not need to spend months practicing.

He simply had to look at the spell, memorize its exact geometric structure, and then use his hoarded lifespan to force the magic into reality.

With the jade slip firmly in his possession, Rhys walked over to a secluded study desk near the back of the restricted section.

He sat down, took a deep breath, and sent a thin thread of his awareness directly into the silver stone.

Instantly, a massive torrent of complex magical data flooded his conscious mind.

The Crown of Force was officially classified by the Magi Society For Rogue Mages as a standard Adept-rank spell.

But according to the system, the spell originally originated from the Sovereign Dragon, a mythical golden dragon who ruled over all other dragon species in ancient times.

Functionally, the spell was designed to manifest a visible, glowing psychic crown directly above the caster’s head.

This crown acted as a direct converter, turning raw, unwavering thoughts straight into physical telekinetic force.

Because of this unique mechanism, the ultimate power of the spell relied heavily on the caster’s specific mindset.

If a mage possessed weak thoughts or doubted their own abilities, the crown would only generate a weak, useless force.

On the other hand, if a person’s thoughts were backed by absolute, complete conviction and an unshakeable will, the crown could unleash a crushing physical force that far exceeded the spell’s apparent Adept rank.

It was a weapon powered by pure confidence.

Yet, what made the Crown of Force uniquely dangerous to almost every ordinary mage was the fact that it was an evolving spell structure.

It was not static. As the user’s mind, willpower, and general understanding of the world grew over time, the psychic crown would naturally evolve alongside them.

With each stage of growth, it would gradually reveal a much greater authority over the physical laws of the world.

Unfortunately, this constant evolution came with a terrible catch. Whenever the spell attempted to upgrade itself or adapt to a grander thought, its mana consumption would randomly spike to extreme levels.

A spell that normally required the energy of an Adept could suddenly demand the massive mana reserves of a High Mage or even a Grand Mage without any warning.

Because of this completely unpredictable energy requirement, the spell acted as a deadly, mana-draining trap for normal mages.

It would literally suck a regular caster dry, collapsing their magical core in an instant.

This was exactly why the old librarian had warned Rhys in the past that no ordinary person had ever successfully mastered it.

There were even dark rumors circulating through the magic world that the Crown of Force was actually a high-level Archmage spell in disguise, intentionally misclassified just to weed out overconfident beginners.

For Rhys, however, this terrifying drawback meant absolutely nothing.

The spell was completely perfect for his specific circumstances. Because he operated his magic using a limitless pool of hoarded lifespan rather than a fixed, fragile mana core, he could completely bypass the spell’s fatal mana backlash.

If the spell demanded an absurd amount of sudden energy, it would simply draw from his years, leaving his body and mind completely unharmed.

He could safely utilize this ancient draconic magic as a highly customizable weapon of pure dominance.

Rhys spent the next several hours staring intensely into the glowing silver text, burning every single rune, intersection, and geometric line of the Crown of Force directly into his memory.

He did not stop until he was absolutely certain he could visualize the entire structure perfectly with his eyes closed.

Well before the single day had officially ended, Rhys stood up from his desk and walked back down the quiet aisles toward the front counter.

He placed the silver jade slip back onto the wooden table, returning the spell structure ahead of schedule.

The old librarian stirred from his slumber and opened his eyes. He looked down at the returned jade slip, and then he gave Rhys a strange, slow nod.

Rhys could easily read the expression on the old man’s face. The librarian clearly assumed that Rhys had given up.

He undoubtedly thought that the young mage had looked at the terrifying complexity of the legendary runes, realized it was far too difficult, and decided to abandon even trying to learn the spell altogether.

The old man probably figured Rhys was just saving himself from a broken mind. Rhys did not bother correcting the man’s assumption.

He simply smiled politely, took his identification token, and walked away.

He ignored the impending feeling of something off from the librarian, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

As soon as Rhys left the grand headquarters of the MSFRM, a wave of restless energy washed over him. He absolutely could not wait to finally try out his brand-new spell.

He needed to prepare, and more importantly, he needed to gather a bit more security.

Navigating through the familiar streets, Rhys ducked into a dark, completely deserted alleyway located far away from the main thoroughfares.

He checked his surroundings to ensure no wandering citizens were watching him.

Satisfied with the privacy, he activated the Needle-Beak Hummingbird spell.

A massive swarm of glowing, ethereal hummingbirds began to materialize out of thin air, filling the narrow alleyway with the frantic, collective buzzing of their wings.

He did not stop at just a few dozen. He kept pushing the ability further until exactly 1,000 hummingbirds hovered in the dark space around him.

To achieve this massive summon, a massive amount of life force was instantly subtracted from his personal reservoir.

Roughly 1.97 million years of lifespan were spent by him in a single breath to bring the massive flock into existence.

It was relatively a small amount compared to his massive, accumulated lifespan of over 44 million years.

This time, however, he had a very different plan for his tiny avian summons.

He was not sending these 1,000 hummingbirds to the local farms inside the city walls like he usually did.

Instead, he cleared his mind and commanded the entire swarm to fly outward, ordering them to push past the golden outer light shield of Azure City and scatter themselves far into the wild, untamed territories outside.

After all, the amount of lifespan he could earn from untamed lands was easily double what he would get in the city.