Rhys was assigned to the Eastern Courtyard, where the primary catalysts for fire-type spells were grown.

The plant cultivation beds here were packed with flora that was highly flammable. Even a stray friction spark from a boot or a metallic tool could cause an instantaneous, raging inferno that would turn the entire harvest to ash.

For this reason, it was strictly forbidden to use any weapons or metallic instruments within the greenhouses. The laborers were only allowed to wear specialized, friction-resistant soft gloves and thick, padded uniforms woven from treated silk to manually extract the pests.

The work here wasn’t just mentally exhausting; it was a grueling physical challenge. Every movement had to be calculated.

You had to catch the insects without snapping a dry stalk or striking a stone, keeping your heart rate steady while surrounded by botanical tinderboxes.

The dominant flora in this sector was the Blazing Tendril, a low-growing shrub with crimson leaves that pulsated with a warm light.

These plants were the absolute favorite nesting grounds of the Flint Carapace Ant, which were tiny, dark red insects with shells that looked like polished obsidian.

The ants built their massive colonies right beneath the roots of the Blazing Tendrils. The roots gave off an intense, residual elemental heat, which the ants used to incubate their translucent eggs.

Left unchecked, the colonies would slowly absorb the fiery properties of the plants until the host flora withered, lost its magical potency, and became entirely useless to the Mages.

After collecting his gear from the outer shed, Rhys changed into the heavy, spark-resistant uniform and stepped into the humid, crimson-lit greenhouse.

Rows upon rows of glowing red shrubs stretched out across the tilled soil. It only took Rhys a single glance to spot the first ant colony. The soil around the base of a particularly vibrant Blazing Tendril was churned up, and a small mound of dark, volcanic sand indicated a subterranean nest.

Although the menial cleaners cleared these zones periodically, the ants were incredibly persistent, always returning within a day or two.

The cleaning process was non-stop. Ordinary insects on Earth could be wiped out with a simple blast of chemical pesticides, but not these mana-corrupted variants.

When mana had first arrived in this world centuries ago, it hadn’t just mutated humanity by unlocking magical circuits. Every single lifeform across the globe had mutated right along with it.

After thousands of years of rapid, brutal evolution, ordinary creatures had branched out into entirely new, terrifying species.

The Flint Carapace Ants were a prime example of this phenomenon. They possessed high heat resistance and hard shells.

Rhys dragged a large, woven collection basket over and set it down near the active mound. Without a hint of hesitation, he knelt in the dirt and shoved his gloved hand directly into the center of the nest.

The colony instantly erupted into a frenzy.

Thousands of dark red ants swarmed up his arm, their mandibles snapping aggressively against the fabric. Fortunately, the specialized gloves were thick enough to prevent their venomous, burning bites from actually puncturing his skin or hurting him.

The palms of the gloves were equipped with smooth, rounded rubber edges designed for crushing pests against the sturdy stems without creating friction. Rhys took a deep breath, pinned an ant against a root, and squeezed.

A sharp, satisfying pop echoed in the quiet greenhouse.

[You have killed a Flint Carapace Ant. Extracting Lifespan.]

[Lifespan extracted: 31 Days.]

Rhys let out a satisfied laugh. He didn’t waste a single second. He flattened his palm and began rubbing his hand in circular motions over the swarming ants.

[You have killed a Flint Carapace Ant. Extracting Lifespan. +31 Days.]

[You have killed...]

.

.

The notifications began to stream down the edge of his vision. Rhys ignored them as he became completely lost in the rhythm of farming lifespan.

Hours flew past in a blur of motion. He moved methodically from one glowing plant to another, completely uprooting one hidden colony after another.

A single, healthy nest contained nearly three thousand ants. With each individual insect surrendering exactly thirty-one days of lifespan, clearing just a handful of colonies yielded an astronomical sum of raw lifespan.

Despite the sheer volume of numbers stacking up in his soul, Rhys never allowed himself to feel truly satisfied. He knew it wouldn’t be enough.

For a basic Initiate spell, he only needed a hundred days. But according to the scaling laws the system had shown him, the cost didn’t just add up. It multiplied aggressively by factors of ten with every single tier.

Worse yet, the lifespan he spent to permanently draw a spell would be consumed forever. It would never automatically refill itself like a mage’s mana pool.

If he wanted to eventually draw the world-shaking, reality-rendering spells of the higher tiers, no amount of lifespan would ever truly be enough.

He needed to build a vast amount of lifespan.

Six hours passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. When the next laborer assigned to the rotation arrived to take over the shift, the man stepped into the greenhouse and completely froze in his tracks. He stared at the field, his jaw dropping open.

The entire hundred-square-meter sector of Blazing Tendrils was flawlessly, immaculately cleared. There wasn’t a single ant colony left in the soil, and the glowing red shrubs looked healthier than they had in months, completely freed from the parasites draining their heat.

The replacement worker turned his gaze toward Rhys, who was currently wiping a streak of dark soil from his forehead, still beaming with vibrant energy.

If it weren’t for the thick, dark stains of crushed insect fluid coating the rounded palms of Rhys’s gloves, the man would have genuinely believed that Rhys had just walked into the greenhouse to start a fresh shift.

Normal workers left this sector looking pale and mentally drained from the constant vigilance required to avoid fires. Rhys looked like he had just taken a relaxing stroll through a meadow.

Rhys gave the stunned man a brief, polite nod as he pulled off his soiled gloves. "All yours, brother. The roots are clean," he said casually, walking past him toward the exit while humming a simple, cheerful tune from Earth under his breath.

The moment he stepped out of the greenhouse and isolated himself in the quiet hallway of the outer facility, he eagerly called forth his status. His gaze locked onto the updated figures with breathless excitement.

[Current Lifespan: 8 Years | 3,242,982 Days (~8,844 Years and 322 Days)]

Rhys blinked, his eyebrows knitting together as he stared at the strange, disjointed formatting of the numbers. He frowned, tapping his chin.

"Hey, system. Why are you showing my lifespan in two separate sections like this? What’s with the divider line?"

A crisp chime echoed in his mind.

[The number on the left represents your locked, immutable natural mortality,] the system explained.

[You cannot use that natural lifespan to fuel your spells. It acts as an automatic safety protocol for the host, ensuring you don’t accidentally overdraw your account during a high-tier casting and instantly get yoinked by the laws of death.]

"Oh..." Rhys muttered, the realization sinking in. "So the three million days on the right is my purely expendable arcane currency. That’s actually a pretty smart feature. Good job, kiddo."

[Do not call me kiddo! I am an ancient cosmic consciousness!]

Rhys ignored the system’s tantrum, the excitement in his eyes bubbling over. Over eight thousand years of accumulated magical fuel had stacked up in a single afternoon.

With this massive treasury of time, he had more than enough to draw a Grandmaster (B-rank) spell!

Even the revered Sect Master of the Azure Lotus Sect, a terrifying figure who could split rivers with a wave of his hand, was rumored to only be a Master (C-rank) mage.

However, his bubbling excitement suddenly slowed, completely freezing over as a glaring, highly inconvenient reality hit him. He slowly let out a dry, defeated cough.

He didn’t actually know any Grandmaster spells. Hell, he didn’t even have the geometric blueprints for a basic Apprentice (E-rank) spell.

Right now, the only magical structure with him was that of Fire Spark, an Initiate spell. Still, Rhys wasn’t disappointed. In fact, he was more excited now.

Today, he could finally draw a spell.