Wizard: I Add Points and Hunt Monsters

The Clown hadn’t appeared since the incident in the Caster City State. Wei’en wasn’t sure if it was because of Tina’s influence or some other reason.

Although the Clown had always been a source of great trouble for him, he was still thankful for the Clown’s contribution to resurrecting Tina.

At this thought, Wei’en’s expression calmed. He raised a hand in greeting. ”We meet again, Mr. Leonard.”

”I am delighted to see that you still retain some goodwill and sanity, young Mr. Wizard.”

The Clown, still in his formal attire, flashed his trademark ’radiant’ smile, his blood-red eyes—brimming with murderous intent and malice—fixed squarely on Wei’en.

”Oh?” Wei’en hadn’t expected such an opening. He raised an eyebrow. ”In your estimation, was I supposed to be the kind of person without sanity or goodwill?”

”Of course... not,”

The Clown deliberately drew out his words, his tone less frantic than before. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a tall, ornate chair and leaned back into it comfortably. ”I simply thought you might have... changed, after an experience like that. Or, are you intentionally holding back to keep yourself from breaking down?”

’Restraint?’

Wei’en thought for a moment, then shook his head. ”You’re right.”

He didn’t argue, but his gesture made his stance clear—it wasn’t restraint, but growth.

It was the kind of growth that comes from experiencing disaster and hardship, from witnessing conspiracy and ambition firsthand.

At least, that’s what he believed.

”Mm-hm,” the Clown watched him noncommittally, lacing his fingers over his crossed knee. ”Still, I find this state of yours rather satisfactory.”

”Mr. Leonard, did you come all this way just to tell me this?”

’I have no desire to continue this conversation. Discussing shifts in mentality and personal growth with a raving lunatic... I’d have to be crazy myself to do that.’

Hearing his words, the Clown’s smile vanished, his gaze suddenly turning ice-cold. ”Are you implying that I am wasting your time?”

”Effectively, yes.”

Wei’en nodded and pointed to the workbench beside him. ”I’m very busy. There’s so much useful knowledge waiting for me to learn and discover.”

”Knowledge? Hah!”

The Clown glanced at the equipment on the table and sneered. ”In your mind, knowledge is a useful thing? Something that brings you power, or can be converted into useful abilities?”

”Is it not?”

”Of course not!”

’Huh?’ Wei’en froze. ’Knowledge can’t bring power?’

”What you understand as knowledge is merely text recorded on paper or carved onto steles. Its essence is just that—text, and text alone.” A mocking smile touched the Clown’s lips. ”As for the modicum of power attached to that text—oh, what you call knowledge—that is nothing more than the will of its writer.”

’Its essence is just text?’

’What does he mean, knowledge is the will of the writer?’

Wei’en frowned at him. ”What... what do you mean by that?”

He had a vague inkling of what the Clown meant, but the understanding wasn’t profound.

’Could it be that the runology, the science of Magic Potions, and the various types of Magic he’d learned were all derived from the power of their creators?’

’That’s... impossible!’

The Clown’s expression was derisive. ”You still don’t get it? It, or *They*, always enjoy imbuing text with rules and will, to leave behind a trace of their existence. What you’re learning can’t be called knowledge. It’s merely something adulterated by Their...”

”Wait, the word you just used was ’They’?”

’I had no choice but to interrupt his sermon. Could ”They” be referring to the gods?’

’Using text to leave a trace of one’s existence... a power of knowledge that carries personal will?’

In that instant, a name surfaced in his mind: Gonzalez. Not the Gonzalezian language, but the little-known Ancient God of the same name.

He remembered seeing a vision back when he was improving his proficiency in the Gonzalez language...

”Hee hee ha ha... you’ve figured it out, haven’t you? That’s right, it’s *Them*! *They*... the beings known as ’gods.’”

The Clown, as if remembering something, burst into a manic laugh. ”At its core, power is power, and text is text. Knowledge appears to be a combination of the two, but only a fraction of it is useful. The rest is not only useless, but it will lead you to inherit *Their* will.”

”Once you unconsciously grow accustomed to this power, laced with their personal baggage, your own will begins to change. You must understand, you aren’t just pursuing it; it is also actively approaching you, hoping you will bear more of ’Their’ will.”

”That is the essence of ’knowledge’!”

’Essence... pursuit... approach... bearing a will...’

Wei’en more or less understood what he meant, but it still felt incredible.

’Does all knowledge come from this? Can none of it be learned or used?’

’Wait.’

Wei’en suddenly recalled something from a month ago, when he had just become an apprentice. He remembered the words in that booklet—*When you pursue knowledge, knowledge also pursues you.*

Thinking back to what the Clown had just said...

”So, how do you judge or distinguish if... um, a certain will is present?”

”What is your own will never be a problem!” the Clown declared.

Wei’en was taken aback. ”My own?”

’But if I don’t learn and master that content, how can I ever make it my own? I can’t just create it from nothing, can I?’

”The things a ’person’ can master are limited,” the Clown said, seeming to read his mind. For once, his eyes were calm. ”Your origin, soul, Spirit, body, and innate talents—these are what truly belong to you. As for everything else... well, that depends on your luck.”